Chapter 3
His blood – the viking’s – surges through me like white hot glass, searing the inside of my veins. It has been a long time since I tasted mage blood, let alone one as powerful as him. And, if the story is true, it’s not just his blood I’ve tasted; the Fire Bird’s blood lives inside him.
I licked her remnants from his skin, and then I drank from him.
Which means Nova is in me, too.
I haven’t run this fast in years. Through the museum, to the fire escape, and up onto the roof.
The sun is setting. I stalk the shadows, my entire body twitching with the urge to be free. To fill the streets with my darkness and my power.
It’s an urge I have learned to keep under control. Over many, many centuries I have tamed this side of myself. Caged it. Beaten it into submission because the only way I could hope to keep control over this hell-damned city and its wretched inhabitants was to be above them. More than them.
Zephyra likes to think she took the opposite path, but even she does not indulge the base impulses that once ruled her.
She wants power, and to outlive the humans that taint our existence. And she knows the only way to achieve that is to be smarter than them.
Unlike me, however, she has let her lust for pleasure sully her ambition.
I stalk toward the parapet and lean forward, bracing my hands on the cold, slick stone. Remnants of the day’s rain still cling to it, and sit in shallow puddles on the flat roof of the museum.
I pull my shirt closed and fasten the buttons. As soon as the sun goes down, I won’t be able to stop myself.
I will go to her.
I know I will.
Luna.
The woman who drives me crazy, who occupies every waking thought even when I try to lock her in the shadows of my mind.
I have watched her for so long now, I can barely remember what it was like not to know her. All that time, I’ve controlled the urge to speak to her. To breathe the same air as her. To look directly into her eyes.
All this time, she has had no idea I existed.
But now, like this, I cannot resist the hold she has on me.
Luna.
It has not escaped my notice that her name feels a little like Nova’s on my tongue. Except, Luna is nothing like Nova.
She is soft, and quiet, and her strength is nestled somewhere between the cracks of her bones. In small hairline fractures that she cannot feel or see. Fractures I want to snap open so she is forced to confront them.
I want to coax her strength free.
I want to open her up to herself and show her what I see.
Luna.
I glance at the sun. It is creeping down below the buildings on the horizon. Giving way to the night. Relinquishing its power.
Despite being quaintly unable to confront the realities of the supernatural underbelly of their city, every single person who lives here knows what happens after dark.
If they didn’t, they wouldn’t scurry back to their homes as soon as the sun sets.
If they didn’t, they wouldn’t avoid my museum because of the darkness that swells inside it.
If they didn’t, they wouldn’t leave garlic hanging above their doors and crosses in their babies’ rooms.
Ironically, if they paid more attention, they’d learn neither of those things have any effect on vampires. And that there are plenty more, plenty scarier, things to be worried about.
Finally, the light has gone, and the shadows of Cambridge reign supreme. I jump from the roof, swing my legs over the parapet and scale the building, scurrying down the wall as my muscles twitch and hum with the pleasure of being used to their full capacity for the first time in so long.
It takes barely a minute to travel the dark side streets between the museum and the bookstore where she works.
Before I even turn the corner at the end of the street, I smell her. Her scent has always been a paradox, both innocent and alluring. But tonight, I sense something else.
There’s her usual perfume, which reminds me of autumn leaves and warm vanilla, but beneath them lurks a note I can’t place – like the first wisps of smoke before a fire catches light.
I force myself to slow down, and linger beside the abandoned graveyard. I can hear her packing up for the day – tidying the last of the books that were shuffled or moved by ignorant customers. Her pace is slow and considered. It forces me to breathe a little slower, so I close my eyes as I lean into it.
Nearby, patrons are lining up to enter the theatre, restaurants are full to bursting, tourists are wandering back to their AirBnbs and their hotels in their sad, damp raincoats.
But her stillness is like a blanket of cloud, softening the noise. Reeling me in.
I stalk closer, sticking to the shadows even though it is dark. When I reach the bookstore, I position myself by the wall opposite, so I can see inside. Now, the scent of old books seeps out into the street, too.
I know at least twenty of them.
The ones that carry an aroma unique to my family. Taken from the Thornfield estate around the same time Luna began working here.
I have thought often about buying them back. But I like the idea that she occasionally touches them. Caresses them. Spends time with them.
For a moment, all I see is the window display and the shelves of books behind it. Then, finally, she moves into view. I flex my fingers, nails biting into my palms so hard they draw blood.
She is a symphony of perfect imperfection. Her hair hangs loose over her shoulders, in curls that are a little unruly. Fizzing at their ends and their edges. She wears barely any makeup, but the dark gray liner she uses to make her naturally large eyes look larger has smudged at the corner. It is only just disguised by her glasses.
Her lips are pale, and her skin paler.
She reaches up to replace some books on a shelf that is too high for her. It makes her top ride up, exposing a soft belly that drags a growl from deep in the back of my throat.
Dropping her arm, she adjusts her clothes self-consciously, smoothing them over her stomach.
I want to stride in there, grab her arms, hold them behind her back and tell her to never, ever disrespect her body in that way again. Not in my presence.
I want to taste every inch of her, and let the noises that vibrate on my lips convince her she is a goddess.
Before I can turn my attention to the swell of her breasts beneath her pale blue knitted sweater, movement at the end of the alleyway makes me draw back further against the wall.
Human. Male. Floppy hair, a suit jacket that screams ‘professor’, and brown shoes that have been shined to within an inch of their life.
He ignores the ‘closed’ sign and pushes the door open.
I feel her heartbeat quicken.
“Good evening, my love.” He leans in and kisses her.
As she turns to return the kiss, once again her sweater rides up. He notices immediately, glances down, then tugs at it and says, “Did you shrink this? It used to be bigger on you.”
Flames of red lick her cheeks. She blushes so hard, I can almost feel her body cracking and crumbling on the inside.
“I…”
“Leave it by the door tonight, I’ll take it to the clothes bank in the morning. No point keeping it when it doesn’t flatter you.” He hesitates, and cups her face. But it is not gentle or loving. It is the performance of a gentle, loving moment. Hiding something darker. “You’re so beautiful, Luna. Remember that.”
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but she nods at him and says, “Thank you.”
“Speaking of clothes…” He leans back against a bookshelf that shivers when he touches it. “We have the dinner at Patterson’s tomorrow. Have you chosen something suitable?”
Luna swallows hard. She returns to the counter and sifts some papers, moving them back and forth. “I thought I’d wear the black,” she says. “You liked it when I wore it to the Christmas party.”
He thinks for a moment, chewing his lower lip, while Luna avoids looking at him. “No,” he says. “Something new. You should wear something new.”
Now, she does look up. She blushes again, picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. “Steven, I can’t really afford?—”
He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. With a flourish, he takes out his wallet and tugs free a gold credit card. He hands it to her, but holds onto it when she tries to take the other end. Meeting her eyes, he says, “Keep it under one-hundred. And don’t ask again, Luna. Supporting you is becoming rather tedious.”
Without thinking, I stride forward and push the door open with such force it sounds like it might crack in two.
Luna’s eyes widen. Her fingers flex on the strap of her purse. Steven frowns at me. “I’m afraid she’s closed,” he says, gesturing to the sign.
Turning slowly to face him, it takes every ounce of willpower in my centuries-old vampire body not to rip this snivelling cunt’s eyes out for daring not to see what I see when I look at her.
For daring to make her feel like she’s not worthy of his stunted, narcissistic gaze.
I close the gap between us, aware that every muscle in my body is coiled, ready to spring open.
Steven doesn’t flinch. The vein in his neck pulses loudly, but not because he is scared of me; he’s simply impatient.
I hold his gaze for a long, simmering moment, then I smile. I give him my best, most flattering smile, and extend my hand. “I’m so sorry, Professor, I’ve forgotten your name. We met at a dinner at St. John’s last year. Patterson introduced us.”
Steven’s entire demeanor changes. Instantly, he is a picture of charm and charisma. He shakes my hand. “I’m terribly sorry, old chap. I don’t recall yours either.”
“Thornfield.” I tighten my grip. “Head of Occult Studies at St Catherine’s.”
And that’s the moment.
The moment when he questions what I am. For they have all heard the rumors about my department.
His eyes flicker with fear. He notices the sense of unease that hangs in the air.
“Oh, ah, yes. Fascinating stuff you’re doing at the museum. I’ve heard fantastic things.”
Luna is hovering behind me. I can feel her watching me, and her gaze is like the long-forgotten sun. Warming my skin from afar.
She clears her throat and steps out from the counter. Lingering between Steven and I, she allows him to wrap his arm around her and squeeze hard.
“Steven’s right, I’m afraid,” she says quietly. “We’re about to close. But if there’s something specific you wanted…?”
I want to flirt with her. I want to make her feel exactly what is running through my head right now. But I can’t. I know humans like Steven. I know she will bear the brunt of my lack of control.
“No, no. My apologies. I didn’t realize you were closed.” I move toward the door, then stop in the threshold and over my shoulder say, “I shall return, Luna. Thank you for your help.”