Chapter Four
Chapter
Four
Professor Gustavsson’s warning has left me with a layer of sweat that doesn’t dry, even as the tunnels around me cool down.
Is he onto me? I was too bold, wasn’t I?
“Doesn’t matter.” My whisper echoes off a winding tunnel, riddled with puddles, white weeds growing beneath the lanterns.
But at least I now know The Book of Blood and Roses is not a secret.
Which means that I should be able to find more information about it in Kinsnet. Just as long as I don’t have to see her again.
The air is damp, moss clinging to the stones.
I hear water dripping somewhere in the distance.
It’s an old passageway. The air is too close, the ceiling low.
The more I walk, the older and darker the tunnels become, stones larger, with candles illuminating the arched ceilings instead of electricity.
And each new tunnel, I realise, is stranger than the last, some with crumbling mosaics on the floors, and others with long poems etched into the walls, in English, Latin, or Gaelic.
Just as I run my fingers along one of these words, the sound of high heels clicking on stone reaches my ears.
A chill runs through me as I make out her silhouette through the shadows, lanterns flickering on as she walks, following her steps.
Something about her presence, even in the distance, makes every instinct I’ve been trained to pay attention to come to life.
My eyes adjust to the dark hallway, and I take in her entrancing features.
A cascade of chestnut hair falls to her waist. Her eyes are a twilight blue, her full lips stained dark red.
A perfume of blood and rosewater prickles my nostrils.
I expect to see her lips dripping crimson.
But the blood is on her hands. Small puncture wounds litter her palms and fingers.
“Lost?” she asks. Her sweet voice is instantly familiar.
She’s the one I heard up on the fifth floor of Kinsnet, begging to be bitten.
My cheeks are aflame as I try to push the image of her and Aliz Astra out of my mind.
But my imagination works against me, and I fill in the blanks of what I heard last night.
Aliz Astra pinning her to a bookcase, deadly fangs puncturing her neck. The sounds she made echo in my mind.
She arches a perfectly groomed brow, waiting for me to reply.
My mouth is dry, and my voice comes out in a croak.
“I think so.” The more I look at her, the more I understand why Astra would choose her. Though the word Julia used, plaything, doesn’t suit her in the slightest.
“These tunnels were carved for vampires to avoid the sun.” Her voice is suddenly too sharp. “There’s no reason for you to be down here.”
“Some classrooms are underground,” I counter. Her gaze sweeps down my body, stopping on my watch.
“Where were you going before you got lost?” she asks.
“Kinsnet.”
The tunnels are completely silent but for the sound of my own breathing. Her gaze burns through me, and I fight the urge to back away from her.
“You’re in luck,” she finally says. “I was just heading there myself.”
Despite her staggeringly high heels, she’s already five metres ahead of me before I even start walking after her. “Thanks,” I say.
She reminds me of some of the vampires I’ve killed during my missions. The old ones with centuries of blood stolen through their fangs.
“What happened to your hands?” I ask. When she stretches her fingers, the wounds are gone. She looks at her skin, furrowing her brows.
“My hands?”
“You had cuts on them,” I say, and she seems amused.
“No, I didn’t,” she says lightly. All vampires heal quicker than humans do.
But the speed at which they do so is usually determined by whether they are Heritages or Converts, and by the type of blood they’ve been drinking.
Given the speed with which her wounds vanished, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has been drinking fresh blood.
Before I can ask another question, the tunnel comes to an end, and a sign over an archway reads Kinsnet Library. She walks up a stone staircase and glances back down at me. “See you around,” she says, smile not reaching her eyes.
The relief of finally being out of those dark, narrow tunnels loosens my every nerve. And being left alone certainly helps.
I make my way up to the fourth floor of the library. I notice new details in the blue dome, a bunch of words in Latin fringing the paintings. The fourth floor has two dozen tables, with six chairs each, and they’re just as busy as the tables on the ground floor.
Even though existence of The Book of Blood and Roses seems to be common knowledge amongst the vampires, I can’t find any books about it.
Had I asked Professor Gustavsson for more information, he might have pointed me in the right direction.
Or reported me to the dean. So, I start with a broad search; Vampire Myths and Legends, along with some other books that will hopefully help me locate the secret library: The Complete History of Tynahine, The Architects of Tynahine, and Vampires in XIII Century Scotland, amongst others.
I spot a table right by the balcony, which is yet to be claimed by any other students. I open my notebook, placing it on my left side, and work my way through the glossary of the first volume, searching for the book’s odd title.
The chair diagonally across from mine squeaks as someone pulls it back.
While good manners dictate that I should look up and exchange hushed pleasantries, I keep my attention focused on my book.
Only when I hear the rustling of a page, do I glance up at my tablemate.
Instantly, I wish I hadn’t. My heart lurches, breath stuck in my throat.
It’s as if the entire library became invisible, because all I can see is her.
Aliz Astra is focused on the book she just opened, with a blunt pencil dangling between her long fingers.
She holds a single page up, and her lean frame, her broad shoulders and long neck, all angle towards that piece of paper.
Her white hair is a tousled mess, and she runs her fingers through it, keeping it away from her eyes.
The top buttons of her cream shirt are unbuttoned.
I force my expression into a mask of neutrality, waiting for her to notice me.
My blood burns, shame colouring my cheeks. What the fuck am I thinking? And more important, what is she doing here? Aliz Astra isn’t supposed to study. The library is of no use to her, except as a spot to mess around with her girls. And out of all the tables, why did she have to sit at mine?
While my mind rushes, the heiress draws a flask from her bag, the scent of hot blood reaching my nostrils. She slips a metal straw between her lips, not glancing in my direction. As though she doesn’t know I’m here. But she sat here on purpose, didn’t she? All because I looked at her.
I try to look away, but I can’t. She’s still focused on her book, rubbing the page mindlessly. Her white hair has a pine needle stuck in it, and when I allow myself a deeper breath, I find she smells like moss and rain.
She takes another sip of blood before wiping her lips, staining her index finger crimson. Aliz Astra runs her tongue over the blood on her finger, and her gaze locks with mine.
Her eyes, surrounded by white lashes, are black, not red.
But all the same, it’s like being compelled.
As though she’s invaded my mind in a way no vampire has been able to since my recruitment.
Time slows, and the whispers of the surrounding tables quieten to the thudding of my own heart, harnessed entirely by her attention.
I hear her again, against the bookcase. I see the girl from the tunnel, with those small cuts on her hands, pressed against her, moaning, and Aliz Astra’s lips in the crook of her neck, her fangs piercing her skin, my skin, my blood, rushing to her tongue.
And as this vile desire sears through me, she takes another sip, her eyes not leaving mine, as though my every thought is filtering straight into her mind.
Her lips curve.
I look down at the book open in front of me, the words upon it a scrambled mess. That’s the third time she’s smiled at me, and the third time I looked away. I won’t let it happen again.
It’s not unusual for a hunter to be entranced by a vampire.
We can’t be compelled, we’ve been trained not to be, but we’re still human. I don’t know what it is about her. Maybe it isn’t even her, maybe it’s just this fucking place.
When I see Penny’s number light up my phone, my anxiety only seems to increase. “What is it?” I ask, phone pressed to my ear.
“Hello to you, too,” Penny says. “How is the search going?”
I stare up at a streetlamp, a few moths braving the damp air to fly towards its light. “I’ve covered forty tunnels, but I have a feeling that I’ve only scratched the surface.”
“Send me your progress,” she says.
“I will,” I say. “But I need more information. Where did you first hear about The Book of Blood and Roses?”
“In one of Callisto’s libraries,” she says. In the headquarters. Which I’ll finally be able to access once I get my promotion.
I make my way along the narrow streets of the campus village, glancing up at the bars, all of them advertising blood. “I have another job for you,” Penny says. “Something unexpected has come up.”
“But I’ve just arrived,” I say, stopping in my tracks. She can’t make me leave. Not yet.
“A girl was found half drained in Inverness last Thursday,” Penny says, and my racing heart slows.
“Can’t you send someone else?” I ask.
“This should be easy. I just need some intel.”
“Fine,” I say. I spot a group of vampires walking along the campus village’s main street.
Despite the cold, they’re in thin blazers and white shirts.
But what makes me look at them, perhaps longer than I should, are the red ribbons tied around their necks.
“Send me the details,” I say after a shallow breath.