37 #2
“I think you care about yourself, and all the moving pieces that will ensure you survive,” I said sharply.
Even if my words had proven not to be true, I wanted to say something that hurt.
“I bet you’d crawl to my father if he opened his arms to you again.
Maybe you’d slip into his bed, as well. All is forgiven if you can dry your tears with money. ”
Luka lifted his arm, and I flinched, eyes closed tight.
But then my body was squeezed.
I opened my eyes, my face half buried in his shirt. His body was rigid in great discomfort. But perhaps he recognized the hurt, the animal thrashing in the trap ready to gnaw her own arm off. I tried to pull away but he squeezed tighter.
“How was she?” he asked.
I couldn’t answer. My breaths were unable to steady between the stuffiness of my nose and the irritation of my eyes as they became wet.
He locked his arms around my shoulders, suffocating me in his chest before I could calm down. For once, the silent treatment was everything I needed. I just needed to let something out before I broke down altogether.
As much as the man irritated me, he was no more annoying than my own brother, and over time, he’d felt more like a sibling to myself and the Host girls. Just as John was a secondary father, Luka had been adopted into this mess of a family too, but not without a little friction.
I was not a frequent smoker due to a sensitive mouth, but by God did I crave one now more than ever.
My new outfit was more proper for walking in moderate weather. I stepped outside, hoping to find a man willing to part with a single light.
Lo and behold.
My brother stood beside a pile of burnt-out roaches, sipping on another one slowly. He was in such casual clothes, no jacket or vest. His sleeves rolled up to his forearms and his suspenders exposed like he was just some man on the construction job next door.
“Have one to spare?” I leaned against the brick next to him, staring down at our shoes that kept the pile of butts company.
He took the one from his mouth and passed it to me.
I pinched the roll, inhaling deeply before I felt the burn in my lungs, making me cough. As I covered my mouth, he swiped it back.
He side-eyed me as I caught my breath, leaning back against the wall while my throat recovered. I caught a small smirk.
“We should go somewhere.” I tilted my head at him.
He raised a brow as he tapped the ash from the cigarette. “Like where?”
“Somewhere fun.” I shrugged. “I just feel like we don’t spend enough time together. We are both so busy. We never do time like we used to.”
“I thought I was an annoyance to your dainty sensibilities?” he said casually.
“Your company is nice when you are in the mood to be pleasant.” I dragged my shoe against the dusty sidewalk. “You’re thoughtful with your conversations when no one is looking.”
He seemed to ponder it, extinguishing the last of the roach on the floor.
“I can think of a place,” he hummed, “but it’s a bit early.”
“Does it matter when you have all the time in the world?” I teased. “Where is it?”
He shrugged, taking a stride in the opposite direction along the walkway.
“Wait!” I shouted.
“Keep up!” he called over his shoulder, but he picked up the pace on purpose.
It was filthy, degenerate, and perfect.
It wasn’t too far of a walk, but my lungs gave me grief between the quality of the air and the heat of the day. After several blocks, we cut through an alley and down the outdoor access to a basement.
It didn’t look to be much on the outside, a simple metal entrance opening to a cellar door.
But once you pushed it open, the scene was transformed.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The smells of smoke and herbs flooded the space. Not a single natural light snuck its way through. Lamps dotted the dark cave of a club, the tables and the ceilings. It was a good old-fashioned Den.
My hands vibrated with excitement. I kept close to him as he moved to the bar. They were mixing blood with all sorts of things—liquor, tinctures, other substances I was too inexperienced to name.
It felt so dirty, exhilarating. I felt like such a vixen, part of the crowd that was undeniably fashionable and underground. I should have explored out of my element more. Though I didn’t feel I matched the environment too well. Stuck out like a sore thumb.
All the lamps were shrouded in red, the entire room painted crimson with a few exceptions of azure littered between.
Silas spoke to the tender, but I heard not a word from the other conversations scattered about.
In one corner there was a man with several women surrounding him.
In the opposite corner, a woman with many men around her, listening intensely without interruption.
Other couples dotted the conversation nooks and left in groups to the back rooms.
Something cold hit my hand on the bar.
A drink.
It was either pink or clear, impossible to tell with the lighting.
Silas had his own, tipping his head toward one of the more comfortable seating arrangements.
I cradled my drink, sipping it as we settled on a curved sofa on the other end of the bar. The glass table was just as ornate as the collection of tasseled rugs overlapping across the room. At least over here it was more removed from the noise.
The drink was a lovely gin, a hint of blood, and a flower garnish.
I felt rather rebellious and unruly. Never would I attempt this at home, where most knew me by face and name. The feeling of being nobody was more alluring than the desire to be known.
“This feels like a place to keep secrets,” I said.
Silas laughed at me, sipping his drink and staring at the small lamp on the table. The red glow erased any sign of fatigue or stress in his face. It was the face of the brother I remembered, free-spirited, carefree. I always wished to be him, or to be a man, but it was all the same to me.
“Tell me one.” I cupped my drink with both hands in my lap.
Silas wore a playful frown. “One . . . ?”
“A secret.” I shifted in my seat. “Something you’ve never told anyone. Maybe not even admitted to yourself.”
“Quite the mood you’re in.” He took a slow sip.
“You can remove the socialite from the gossip, but never the gossip from the socialite.” I smacked his knee. “Now do it.”
“I never liked polo.” He shrugged.
“That’s all?” I rolled my eyes.
“I’m not sure what you’re looking for exactly.”
“I’ll do one, then.” I bit my cheek as I thought. “I still get toothaches.”
“Yet you deemed my secret weak?” he laughed, then stared off to search his brain for something. “I used to steal keys.”
“Steal keys?”
“I would collect them in a box. A compulsion. I think Father commissioned hundreds of keys for the keepers,” he laughed. “I’d steal them from anyone. It was just so easy. One swipe and it was hidden away in my little fist.”
“I’m surprised you still remember,” I teased.
“I remember the hand hitting my arse when they found the collection,” he joked.
“I used to eat rats.”
Silas grimaced and leaned in as if he’d misheard.
“I felt some way about feeding on Hosts. You know, when you move from cup to skin—it felt too intimate to me.” I shrugged, thumbing the edge of the glass.
“I struggled with it too,” he admitted. “Only in special circumstances do I find myself able to stomach it.”
“You and Alina both, then,” I laughed, but he didn’t.
We were both uncharacteristically quiet. The sounds of company surrounded us as we finished our drinks. Everyone was having moments, even us. We were just lucky enough to be here, witnessing it. Host, Vipera, humans—we all were part of something larger, even when we are small pieces.
It could be the liquor, but today my heart was sensitive. A bit too sentimental.
“There is no one else but her.” My last admission. “I don’t know what I will do if she leaves.”
“I know,” Silas said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“She is the only reason I do anything.” I laughed. “If not for her, I may still be cooped up in my father’s Nest or married off to some poor fellow.”
“She has a way of moving people.” He tilted his empty cup in his lap. “Sometimes that means out of their immediate comforts.”
“She’s cruel, and selfish, sometimes shortsighted and stubborn—”
“Sometimes?”
“But I am no different.” I shrugged. “She is my other half.”
We both traded grins, shaking our heads at the many ways we’ve been charmed by such a creature.
“You’ll take care of her, won’t you?” I asked him. “If she makes it out of this.”
“When,” he corrected. “I will.”
“But do you love her enough to do what needs to be done if she doesn’t?”
I had never seen his eyes so strained or glassy. He looked down, nodding his head slowly.
“Father is going to kill us, you know.” My lip quivered, but I was finally able to admit it. I saw Silas, and I knew he was right all along. I didn’t want it to be true, I wanted it to be a happy ending for us all. But that was childish to believe to begin with.
“I know,” he mouthed, gesturing to the tender with two fingers up.
“What do we do?” I sighed. “If there is anything to be done.”
The tender brought over two small glasses with a clear liquid inside.
Silas slid one across the glass table to me. It chimed against my empty glass.
He lifted his glass, waiting for me to join.
I held mine carefully.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he finally answered, tapping his dram against mine and letting it slip down his throat with a single slow swig.
“Cheers then.” I swallowed mine too, the sting of moonshine burning my throat all the way to my stomach. Oddly, I didn’t think any alcohol was able to do that and have the feeling last.
I screwed my eyes shut as I swallowed it, reaching over to squeeze Silas’s hand.
He squeezed back.
One last night to drown our worries in liquor, numbing us until we had to face the challenges ahead.