Midnight Kiss (Bloodlines of Love #1)

1. Emily

1

EMILY

T he pages of the book were stained with blood.

The realization hit me as I held the thick paper between my fingers, admiring the artwork that depicted scenes of violence in sweeping strokes. Images of men with their heads torn off, of creatures feeding from their necks or sipping blood from chalices made of bone.

It was brutal. Brutal but beautiful, and a slow thrum started up in my core. An excitement that mingled with fear.

This was the best part of my job. It was the reason I’d chosen to work in the rare book division at the New York Public Library. Not the blood stains—that was disturbing—but the rarity of the tome.

It was leatherbound and heavy and … ancient. The words on each page were handwritten, neatly, in looping French, and it made my soul sing.

Something precious and old and morbid. But that wasn’t the most exciting part.

“Vampires,” I murmured.

The fluorescent lights in the rare book division flickered and ticked overhead, and I glanced around at the shelves, most of them holding books behind glass or cages of metal. You couldn’t “check out” books in this section of the library. You couldn’t even touch them.

Basically, it was like working in the forbidden section of the library at Hogwarts, which had to be, like, every girl’s dream.

I swallowed, my excitement building, turned another page, and was instantly confronted with the image of a … man. A vampire?

He was short, balding, with a stare that seemed to penetrate ink and soul alike, and he stared up at me with such hatred that?—

“Hey!”

I jumped and let out a shriek.

“Whoops, sorry,” Jenna said, grinning at me and shifting her backpack up her shoulder. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Being scared came with the territory for me at this point. It was a legacy of having grown up in the foster system and always having to watch my back.

Jenna gave me an apologetic smile. “What you working on? Wait … is that new?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Just got it in today,” I said. “It’s ancient. Like … I don’t even know how we got our hands on this one.” I turned, frowning at the box of books that had come by my desk earlier in the day. I’d cataloged most of them already, but it was getting late, and I ought to leave the rest of them, including this “tome” for tomorrow.

“Can I see it?” Jenna asked, drawing closer.

A strange emotion unfurled in my chest. A moment of jealousy or something equally dark, and I nearly shut the book and pulled it away from her.

I shook my head at myself then shifted the book so she could get a better view. “Sure,” I said. “Go ahead.”

Jenna was one of five employees in our division, and she had the same accolades and more experience than me.

She pressed one palm to my polished wooden desk and leaned over, flipping through the pages of the book, her head tilted to one side, the beads in her braids clacking together. “That’s weird.”

“What?”

“I mean, it’s handwritten right? It’s almost like a journal. And all in French?”

“We’ve seen stranger things,” I said. “There was that personal diary of that Italian violinist, remember?” French was another of my obsessions, and I’d studied it as an elective during college.

“Yeah, but we had to give that over to the Met. This is different. Is this blood ?” Jenna recoiled, wiping her hand off on her jeans. It was a more normal reaction than the one I’d had.

But then, Jenna probably hadn’t had her nose broken before or?—

I cut the negative train of thought and tucked a couple of strands of auburn hair behind my ear. “I have no idea,” I lied, “but it’s fascinating. Look here.” I pointed to a word on the page. “Vampire.” I gave it the French pronunciation.

“Vampire?” Jenna shivered. “That’s creepy. This might be, like, some sicko’s vampire diary. And I don’t mean like the show. I mean, like, maybe he had some weird fascination with vampires, and he documented it. He probably believed they existed.”

“And the blood?”

Jenna lifted her palms. “Don’t know, don’t want to know. My curiosity as a librarian only extends so far.” But her expression changed a second later. “Oh my gosh, you must be loving this. You’re working on that vampire novel, right?”

“Yeah. I’m still in the outlining phase. It’s killing me,” I said, then pulled a face and pointed to the page. “Excuse the pun.”

“Ugh, to be young and writing and without responsibility,” Jenna said, rolling her eyes heavenward. “Color me jealous. Dude, I have to work late tonight. Literally overloaded with work, and if I don’t finish up, Geraldine is going to lose it. I can’t afford to get fired from this job. Tyson lost his job at the diner.”

“Oh, Jen, I’m so sorry.” I rose and swept her into a hug.

“And Deshawn’s coming down with the flu. I can’t even describe to you how difficult it is to leave my sick kid at home and then have to stay late.” Her voice warbled. “Won’t even get to say goodnight to him, I—” She took a step back. “I shouldn’t be unloading my baggage on you like this, Em. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. That sucks,” I said, and then glanced down at the book. I longed to touch it. What was wrong with me? I blinked then met my friend’s gaze again. “Listen, Jen, you go home.”

“I can’t, I?—”

“I’ll handle your workload tonight. Like, point me in the right direction, tell me what you need done, and I’ll do it. You go home and take it easy, okay? Have a bubble bath, tuck Deshawn into bed. Just be happy.”

Jen’s eyes filled with tears, and she swallowed. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” I said, my insides twisting. Family was precious. It took losing the people you loved to realize just how precious and fragile life could be. “Go. I’m serious. Just go.”

“You are a rockstar. Seriously. I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”

I shrugged. “It’s partly selfish. The more time I spend here tonight, the more I get to read from this book.” I gestured to the tome. “Call it research.” The librarians had to stick to the rules too. We didn’t get to take ancient tomes home, and no matter how much I wanted to spend nights reading this book and using it as a research tool for my novel, this was the only place I’d get the opportunity.

“You’re sure about this?” Jen asked.

“Hell yeah,” I said. “Nothing better than paging through creepy blood-stained books. It’s almost Halloween, right?”

“You,” Jen said, grinning, “have issues. Also, you’re awesome. I owe you one.”

“Eh. We’re good.”

She shouldered her backpack and waved goodbye. “Just don’t get locked inside this time.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to sleep underneath my desk again.” It had happened once or twice that I’d stayed behind a little too late, gotten lost in a book, wound up missing closing time and the janitor who cleaned up after dark hadn’t realized I was still here. As librarians, we only had the key to this particular section of the library, but not the main entrance. “See you, tomorrow.”

I admired the book for a minute then lifted it from the desk carefully and took it with me to the counter where we entered books into the system. The computer was still on, and I set to work on Jen’s extra tasks, occasionally glancing over at the thick, leatherbound book as I worked.

Minutes ticked by, and by the time I was done, it was already 08:00 p.m. The library had closed two hours ago, but the janitor was around, and the place would only be firmly locked up by ten. I had time.

I moved the book back to my desk, a little disconcerted by how good it felt to hold it. It felt almost like it belonged to me. Like it was my journal instead of some French nobleman’s from the turn of the century who had a torture kink.

I sat down and paged through it again, clicking on my desk lamp to get a better view of the pages, and bringing my phone out to snap pictures and take notes. I lost myself in the pages, the room emptying out around me.

One image in particular drew my attention and set my pulse racing.

A vampire, overbearingly tall with wild, curly dark hair, grasping a beautiful woman in his arms. Her bodice had been ripped down to reveal her breasts, and he held her gently, like they were lovers.

The title on the page opposite, still in that red looping handwriting, read Gardienne.

A thump sounded between the stacks nearby, and I jolted on the spot, peering around.

Nothing.

No one.

Had I imagined the noise? Probably just the janitor. I checked the time, and sucked in a breath. Only five minutes until the doors were locked for the night.

Hurriedly, I stowed my phone in my tote and shouldered it, considering the book.

I turned to leave but stopped. A whisper in the back of my mind, a hint of intuition, nagged at me to take the book home.

It was the weirdest feeling. I wasn’t permitted to take it home, not that there was anyone here this late to stop me, but it wasn’t like anything would happen to the book at the library. This was literally the “home” for books. And taking it meant potentially losing my job.

So why did I feel this urgent pull to take it?

When I’d lived in the foster home, I’d learned to trust my gut instincts. The times I’d ignored that instinct, I’d wound up hurt. It was like I had a sixth sense for when trouble was on the way, and every cell in my body screamed at me to turn back.

I took another step, then shook my head and returned to the strange book.

I lifted it from the desk, torn between breaking the rules—totally not my thing—and saving it from … From what? There was nothing to?—

The lights overhead flickered and went out.

I let out a muted scream then fumbled my phone out of my tote and switched on the flashlight. The beam sluiced through the darkness in the library.

I tucked the book under my arm, taking two steps back.

A noise came from my right, and I spun toward it, trembling so hard that the light danced across the caged shelves. “W-Who’s there?” I called out. “This isn’t funny.”

A creak from my left.

Again, I spun toward it, taking more steps back, my palms growing clammy, my mouth dry. Nothing again.

“Y-You can’t be in here,” I called out, squaring my shoulders. “This is a prohibited section of the library and?—”

A figure, swathed in a black cloak, dropped from the ceiling and landed a few feet from me. Burning blue-white eyes glared at me from underneath the hood, and something glinted in his hand.

I screeched, turned, and sprinted for the exit. My lungs burned, my heart pounding against the inside of my throat as I banged out of the doors and slammed them shut behind me. I scrambled the key out of my pocket and locked the doors, just as the person banged into the other side of them.

“What the— What the—?” I backpedaled, my heartbeat frantic.

What were they going to do?

The thought scudded through my mind, but I ignored it and ran for the exit, my phone flashlight sweeping across the darkened floors. I descended the stairs instead of taking the elevator, heedless of the scope or beauty of the library, and burst out onto the front steps.

Immediately, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed 911.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“Yes, hi, I’m at the New York Public Library. I’m one of the librarians, and I was just attacked by a man in a cloak. I—I—managed to lock him in the rare book division. I think he’s still in there. Can you please send the police. Send someone? Please?”

“All right, ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down. Can you repeat what you?—”

A hand closed on my shoulder, and the phone fell from my grasp, clattering to the stone steps below.