Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Any solid plan has at least three backups.
ALISTAIR
“ . . . so I threatened him.”
In the storage room at the Fang, Luca and Celine stare at me, unblinking. Their silence grates, even as their heartbeats merge with the thumping bass coming through the flimsy door.
I can’t stop imagining what they would do if I sank my fangs into their necks.
“I don’t understand,” Luca finally says, scrubbing his palm over his face. “Ciprian said he had a plan, but you didn’t believe him, so you decided to threaten his friend?”
I blink at him and growl. “My source said this djinn was the key to destroying the Casanells.”
“Right,” Celine adds. “Because losing a friend is awful.”
My fingers twitch. They’re watching me like a dangerous animal that’s escaped its enclosure. It isn’t fair. I wasn’t even there when the street fight with the angels happened, and I’m putting all my energy and resources into helping.
“You’re the one who always thought he was hiding a girlfriend,” I remind her. “Think of this as insurance.”
“I’m not saying I trust him, Alistair, but even I think it’s reckless to threaten him when he’s literally on the way to do us a favor,” Celine says. “He could change his mind, come back here with an army, and kill us all.”
I scoff. “The enclave doesn’t maintain a fighting force large enough to meet anyone’s definition of an army.”
Celine sighs. “I’m not arguing semantics with you.”
“Then what are you arguing about, angel?”
“This reckless decision!” She throws her hands up, scowling at her cleavage as several moss green body jewels get dislodged. Luca bends to pick them up, making the curve of his neck vulnerable in the process. I gulp.
“You didn’t even talk it over with us before you called him, and after the way you stormed off . . .” Celine doesn’t finish the sentence, but we all know what she’s talking about.
My shame demands I lash out so that I won’t have to feel this way any longer. Stubbornly, I hold my tongue. Anger may be safer for me, but Celine doesn’t like it.
She drops her chin, and her fingers twitch. With a muffled curse, she removes the remaining jewels from her belly and chest. They’re too uneven for my angel.
Sighing, Luca grabs a bottle of whiskey from a crate, uncorks it, takes a healthy swig, then offers it to me. “What Celine is trying to say is, are you okay, Ali? You haven’t seemed like yourself recently.”
I’m tempted to ask him which out of character moment he’s referring to. The horrible scene I made the night I discovered who Ciprian was? Or nearly biting Celine without her consent before sprinting barefoot through the Fringes?
Ever since I surrendered to my hopeless fascination with her, everything about my life has spiraled out of control.
My temper is erratic at best. My self-control is hanging on with slippery fingers, and my bloodlust .
. . well, Celine’s heart has beaten one hundred fifty-seven times in the last three minutes, and I would kill anyone or anything to feel her pulse around my fangs.
I gulp the whiskey instead and taste nothing. The normal burn doesn’t even register because my throat is already on fire. My vision tinges red. I take another sip, then swallow.
As an experiment, I tried eating a rare steak last night. It ended the evening with a flush, as has every drop of blood I’ve attempted to consume for weeks.
I’m dying. There’s no denying it anymore.
Maybe I could accept death, but the monster inside me refuses to give up. It wants blood, and I’m becoming increasingly afraid of the lengths it will go to get it.
Will I lose myself to the bloodlust? Will I pierce every vein in the Fringes until I tap someone with blood I can keep down?
The idea is revolting. And it would destroy my business. My neighbors may trade information with a vampire who would tear their throat out if double-crossed, but they aren’t likely to get within striking distance of one who’s gone feral.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, forcing the words through my clenched teeth and praying to the gods that they’re true.
Before Celine or Luca can push harder, I use my vampire speed to leave.
Neither of them follows me. I tell myself it’s for the best.
“I’m responding to your blackmail,” Ciprian says, his voice angry, even through the phone.
I bite my swollen tongue to stop myself from telling him I wouldn’t have used personal information against him if he hadn’t played me for a fool.
“I’m listening,” I say instead, then chug a glass of water. It tastes like ash and does nothing to mute the agony in my throat.
“If I were to set up a meeting for you, would you keep her identity a secret?”
My eyebrows lift. He’s willing to introduce me to the djinn?
I expected death threats, but this . . . This is far more interesting.
“I take the confidentiality of my clients seriously, Casanell.”
“Sure, you do.” He makes a guttural sound in the back of his throat—a cross between a laugh and a scoff. “If she becomes a client of yours, I want your word you won’t try to fuck her over.”
“As I said, I do my utmost to deliver satisfactory results to everyone who makes a deal with me.”
Ciprian laughs at that. The sound is ugly—nothing like his usual carefree amusement. “Because you didn’t turn on me the second you got the chance, even while I was actively helping.”
“You know why that happened,” I say. “Celine and Luca—”
“Had nothing to fear from me,” Ciprian interrupts. “I want you to swear to me you won’t hurt Sheena. She’s been through enough, and—” He chokes up, his voice fracturing before he clears his throat. “She deserves to have some positive interactions with this fucked-up supernatural shit show.”
I frown, wishing I could see his face.
Ciprian is mad. He also sounds emotional, but that could be an act, an attempt to gain my sympathy before he pulls the wool over my eyes again. I can’t forget how good he is at playing the game he pretends to hate.
“I swear I will treat her with respect,” I say. “Providing she offers me the same in return.”
For a full minute, the only response he gives me is heavy breathing.
Ciprian is thinking hard. This djinn, he truly cares about her. I’m convinced that part is no act. “I’ll tell you when we’re on our way,” he finally says.
I scowl. “You’ve given me no assurances that the enclave won’t attack Celine and Luca. Our deal isn’t done.”
“That was never part of the deal, Ali, because I was never going to sell them out. Celine told me what happened, and I believe her. You see enemies in every corner, even when there are none. You’re fucking blinded by my last name.”
“Excuse me for protecting my . . .” I trail off. Helpless anger presses on my chest.
“Your what? Oh, that’s right, she’s not your girlfriend anymore, is she?”
I hiss, unable to hide my rage. “Perhaps I see enemies in every corner because I’m haunted by a nightmare.”
“Yeah? Keep telling yourself that, dude. Whoever or whatever made you this way has nothing to do with me. I’ll be in touch about the meeting.”
He hangs up, robbing me of the last word, and I taste my own blood. Gods. It’s been years since I accidentally tore my lips with my own fangs. I swallow, but the drip can’t satisfy my thirst. Another glass of water, it is.
I stand and stumble. Black dots muddle my vision. The room spins, and . . .
I wake to the deep, sinking sensation of fear. My head is pounding.
Did I pass out? I roll to my side, my shoulder throbbing from the uncomfortable way it’s wedged against the base of the couch. My forearm stings. I blink, confused.
Glass. Why is there broken glass on the floor? My empty cup. It must have shattered when I collapsed. When I collapsed. This is even worse than I thought.
My stomach growls loudly, twisting in on itself with a cramp that squeezes the air from my lungs. This thirst. It isn’t normal. I’ve found nothing to explain why it’s happening to me, but I’m losing the ability to function. You’ve got to call her.
Mind rebelling, I stagger to my bedroom to plug in my phone. It’s completely dead, giving me the length of time it will take to power on to talk myself in or out of calling my mum.
It’s the middle of the night in England. I know she’ll be up. Asking for her help, though . . . My stomach cramps again. The only thing I want to do less is drink another bag of tepid blood only to decorate my toilet bowl with it later.
The phone screen lights up. I unlock it and open my contacts. Scrolling through the names, I hover over hers, waiting for a better idea that never comes.
Turned vampires don’t ask questions. They don’t congregate in groups, and they don’t compare notes—except with their maker. It’s a maker’s responsibility to care for their progeny, and they usually take it seriously. Unless, of course, they’re a vampire who hates what they are . . .
“Bloody hell,” I mutter, pressing on her name and bracing myself.
I listen to the ringing absently, half hoping she won’t pick up.
“Alistair, to what do I owe this unexpected surprise?” Her voice sounds the same.
Posh and cool. The disdain dripping from the words wouldn’t be obvious to everyone, but I know her.
The bitter anger that lurks beneath the surface when she thinks of me and my choices is as familiar to me as the back of my hand.
“I can’t keep blood down,” I say, coming right out with it. The sooner she refuses to tell me anything; the sooner I can explore other options. But there are no other options.
Her delicate intake of breath is the only sign she heard me at all. There’s a clink of fine china, and I picture her setting her cup of tea down on the saucer. Gritting my teeth, I wait. And wait. And wait.
“Mum?”
“What have you done?” Her cold indifference is gone, replaced with the white-hot fury I’ve only seen on the rare occasions she allowed her vampiric nature to surface.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “Why do you assume I’ve done something?”
“Answer my question, Alistair, have you bitten a lover?”
I freeze. A strange tingling sensation runs down the back of my neck. Mum sounds . . . scared.
“I-I have,” I admit, swallowing around the growing lump in my boiling throat. “Only a couple of times, though. It wasn’t a big—”
“You’ve doomed yourself,” she hisses. “More comprehensively than I ever expected. First, you insisted on becoming a monster, now you’ve created a blood circle. Tell me, Alistair, is your marked safe? You must always keep them in your sight.”
“Slow down, Mum, you’re not making sense. What’s a blood circle?”
“A blood circle is what happens when foolish vampires bite for pleasure. The bite can be harmless, but when deep attachment or emotion is present, a blood circle forms.”
“And what happens then?”
“You will be linked to that person—your marked—and only able to consume their blood. Any attempts to seek sustenance elsewhere will fail.”
My heart begins to race. “Is this why I’ve been struggling to control myself? My anger—”
“Will only grow worse. If you fail to feed regularly from your marked, you’ll lose all control, then desiccate.”
“How long does it last?” I demand, grasping for options, anything to redirect the creepy, hopeless way she’s talking to me. “If I wait long enough, it will wear off, right?”
“It won’t wear off, son. A blood circle is broken only by death, yours or theirs; it doesn’t matter which comes first, you die either way.”
Mum laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound.
Oddly enough, it reminds me of my phone call with Ciprian. As soon as his snarky face pops into my head, my heart skips a beat. I bit him too. The night I was stabbed. That blood saved my life, but if Mum is right, it shouldn’t have. I had already formed the blood circle with Celine at that point.
“I bit someone else,” I tell her. “After the first person, but not during sex.” I wince, not wanting to have this intimate conversation with her. “That blood was fine.”
“Blood circles are not limited to one marked. In rare circumstances, vampires have reported adding to their sources, but only if they’re able to form a genuine attachment.
The circle thrives on emotion, yours and theirs.
” She says the words as if they disgust her to her core, as if she doesn’t think I am capable of—or deserve—such feeling.
“Why?” I demand, my hand trembling around the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me this? As my maker, it was your responsibility to explain, yet you refused.”
“Vampires shouldn’t exist,” she snaps. “You gave me no choice but to turn you, therefore I kept the grotesque knowledge my maker told me to myself. It was what you deserved for forcing my hand.”
Her need for revenge overshadowed any maternal feeling she had for me. Familiar anger and sadness war inside my chest, even as my mind races.
“Why tell me now?” I ask, my voice flat and emotionless.
“Because you’re beyond redemption,” she says. “As I always feared, your insatiable curiosity will be your downfall. It’s too late to save you, but you might as well understand the full consequences of your careless actions.”
“What about your careless actions, Mum? If you had told me like you were supposed to—” I bite my tongue. Arguing with her won’t help. It never has.
Another ceramic clink, this time louder.
“If I had warned you of the blood circle. Explained the taboo of it along with the danger and risk of binding yourself to the whims of another, your contrary need to experience everything would have drawn you forward like a moth to a flame. In leaving you in the dark, I bought you a longer lifespan. You should thank me.”
I breathe through my bitterness and her familiar disdain for me. Maybe she’s right. If she’d told me about the blood circle, I might have wanted to experience it, but by hiding it from me, she set me up to fail.
“How can I thank someone who never wanted me to succeed in the first place?” I demand, making no attempt to be polite. Why bother if she already thinks I’m a monster?
Through the phone, I hear a dish break and smile cruelly.
I picture her tossing her cup at the wall in rage, blue eyes flashing to red as tea drips onto the ancient, polished hardwood.
“You mistake me, Alistair. All my life, I have longed for nothing more than to repay the indignity of my creation by raising a child who would live a long, healthy, human life. You robbed yourself of that life, and you’ll rob yourself of its devilish echo too.”
My fingers tighten around my phone until they ache.
“I chose my life, Mum, complications and all. This blood circle may be dangerous, but I’ll navigate it on my own as I always have. You may wish me damned, yet I won’t fall easily. I’ll survive this—I swear it—but I won’t call you again.”
I hang up before she can respond, then rack my brain, wondering how the bloody hell I’ll keep my promise.