Galla steps back, stands between the two newcomers, and waits.
Sweat beads on my brow, which Alaric dabs with a cloth. I can’t see my body, but my skin continues to tighten, and I imagine it looks like a prune. I inhale deep, calming breaths, trying to calm my murderous instincts. It's as though my nerves extend beyond my body, wrap around the vampires, and find them abhorrent.
Something is peculiar about their scents, and the more I inhale, the more these urges recede to the back of my mind. The ever-increasing weight of the leeches turns my stomach, and I wonder when Galla will pull them off.
“Stay with us,” says Alaric.
I stare into his eyes and nod. There’s got to be a larger scheme, some elaborate manipulation, but I can’t think of that right now. If there’s a chance these vampires can fix me, I’ve got to trust them… At least for now.
Something soft and moist lands on my collarbone.
“Leo, get a bucket.” Galla reaches into her leather apron and pulls out a pair of thick gloves.
The blond male leaves the room, and I turn my gaze to Alaric, who forces a smile. The confidence in his expression gives way to worry, and I can’t help but fret that leeches won’t be enough to reverse the monster I’ve become. With each passing moment, the pain lessens until it reduces to the intensity of a simple migraine.
When the bucket arrives, Galla steps forward and picks off a leech. It's white and about the size of a peach. I flinch with the sensation of ants racing through the grooves in my skin. My mouth falls open, and a pained moan resounds from deep within my gut.
The leech lands in the bucket with a soft thud, and tears stream from the corners of my eyes. Galla stays close, picking off one leech after another and placing them into the bucket. Despair and revulsion shudder through my insides, but it’s an improvement from the intense anger from before.
Alaric places a hand on my brow. “Feeling better?”
I nod but don’t dare to reply in case my mouth forms another growl.
“Did you get it all?” he asks Galla.
Her brows form a deep frown. “We need to turn her around.”
He nods. “Can she take my blood?”
My eyes widen, and I shake my head. Whatever Galla replies, I can’t hear it through my screams. “I don’t want to—”
Alaric offers me his arm. Four spots of blood glisten from where he’s bitten through his flesh. They’re like tiny pomegranate seeds and smell like chocolate liqueurs. My mouth waters, my nostrils flare, and excited breaths heave from my chest. What have I become?
“Drink.” The seductive depth to his voice makes me bite down on my lip. Despite the feel of multiple sharp teeth, my eyes roll to the back of my head. “You won’t turn.”
I gulp. Hard. Of course, I won’t turn into a vampire. I’ve transitioned into something much worse.
He hovers mere inches from my lips, and I can almost taste the mix of sweetness and spice in his blood. The ends of my skin tingle with the desire to claim him, and an anguished gasp escapes my lips. What has he done to me?
The droplets of blood grow larger, and one of them trickles down his arm and slides precariously on his skin. If I turn my head to the side, it will land on my cheek, but I part my lips, desperate for a taste.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Drink.”
Normally, I would bristle at such an endearment, and spit out something about not being his pet, but all I want is Alaric and his blood.
The drop falls, and I catch it on my lips. Its warmth dissolves on my tongue before reaching my throat. “More.”
Even though the word doesn’t come out as speech, Alaric understands what I need and places his arm on my lips. I bite into his flesh and rivulets of rich, thick liquid floods my mouth. He hisses but doesn’t flinch.
Galla steps back and stares into the bucket. I turn my gaze to Alaric, whose dark eyes gleam with an emotion I don’t recognize. It’s not fear or revulsion or even satisfaction from seeing his natural enemy transformed into that monster, but they soften… for me.
I swallow mouthful after mouthful of Alaric’s blood, my panting breaths filling my ears. It slides down my aching throat like a balm and fills me with a different sort of power that feels more like that of a mage. I now understand how a vampire can drain a human—it’s exhilarating, and I could drink him forever. The pain along my nerve endings recedes to a dull ache, and I feel nearly like myself again.
Alaric sways on his feet, his eyelids flutter closed, and alarm spikes through my heart. I try to release my grip on his arm, but my jaws won’t relax. My mouth won’t stop drinking, my throat won’t stop that noisy, incessant swallowing. All I can do is stare into his paling face.
“Stop, now,” says Galla.
“She can’t,” Alaric replies, his face turning slack. “Not until she’s taken enough to fight this thing.”
“You should have let me turn her over,” she shouts. “Now, you’ll—”
“It’s alright.” He gives her a grim smile.
I will my jaws to open, will my mouth to stop feeding on the vampire, will my throat to close, but the hunger takes control and it won’t stop, even if I reduce him to ash.
“Enough,” Galla stands between us and places both hands on his shoulders.
My chest tightens, and I glower at her back for trying to take away what’s mine.
“No,” Alaric croaks.
The dark-haired male steps forward and catches Alaric as he collapses, but I still grip his arm between my jaws. Leo, the blond vampire walks around the bed, his green eyes filled with determination. He places a palm on my head, and everything turns black.
Chirping fills my ears. It’s not the usual chirrup of bluebirds that reside in the convent’s juniper trees but the varied whistles and trills of nightingales.
Sunlight streams through my eyelids, which flutter open. I’m lying on a softer mattress in another white room with large windows at the foot of my bed. Net curtains obscure my view of the outside, but a warm breeze carries the scent of wildflowers.
I raise arms no longer restrained by chains or magically molded stone. My skin is back to normal but all the scars I’ve earned from years of training are gone. I swing my legs off the bed, walk to the window, and part the curtains. Outside is a large garden that’s mostly laid out to lawn. There’s a stone patio where wisteria plants sprawl around a wooden pergola that provides shade to a large dining table and chairs. Tall juniper trees create a solid border around the space, and in front of them grow thick beds of assorted flowers, including purple allium, also known as Dutch garlic.
The old me would have bolted for the door, but that was a person who had never transformed into a blood-drinking monster.
My throat thickens, and I clutch the window sill as a wave of cold shame swirls through my chest. I’m not safe around anyone. Not humans, not the Order, and not these vampires who tried so hard last night to reverse my transformation. Hunger courses through my body, but it’s not for solid food. I can’t get the taste of Alaric’s blood out of my mind, can’t push his scent out of my nostrils, can’t forget the way it made me feel.
Alaric was the balm to my pain, the oasis in a desert of thirst. I long to see him, but I’m not sure if I won’t transform and lunge at his neck.
A soft knock on the door catches my attention, and I turn around with my back to the window. Galla steps inside, clad in jeans, a white shirt, and a leather jacket that matches her apron.
She holds up a brown takeout bag and offers me the faintest of smiles. “An Ares latte and two apricot danish.” She walks around the room’s perimeter and places them on the bedside table. “Alaric said that’s what you would like.”
“Thanks.” I sit on the edge of the bed and pick up the bag. My gaze drops down to the froth bubbling out of the hole in the cup’s lid. “How is he?”
“Sleeping.”
My head snaps up at her curt reply. There’s more to it, maybe a tinge of resentment? I clear my throat. “Is
he hurt?”
She exhales a long sigh. “My brother lost a lot of blood last night. Because of our diet, he can’t recover as quickly as other vampires.”
Pushing aside my curiosity over what they could possibly eat, I rise to my feet. Galla steps back toward the door, her posture rigid.
My throat dries. If someone told me a vampire would be afraid of an unarmed slayer, I would never have believed them. I lower myself to the edge of the bed, extract the coffee cup, and take a long sip.
Galla leans forward, her dark eyes widening with curiosity. She moves her lips as though wanting to ask me something but evens her features and straightens.
I swallow my mouthful of milk, espresso, and a pinch of something magical but too weak to be effective. Then I reach into the bag, extract the apricot danish, and take a bite. It’s just flour, butter, apricot, sugar, dairy, and spices. I continue chewing, wondering if this new side-effect of having transformed into a monster will mean I can no longer gain enjoyment or nutrition from food.
Her brows rise. “Was he wrong?”
It takes a moment for me to process that she’s asking about the choice of breakfast. The last time I had eaten this food, I’d practically swooned at the flavors, but now all I can taste are its components.
“This is fine,” I murmur. “Thank you.”
She offers me a tight smile but doesn’t leave.
I finish the first danish and wash it down with a mouthful of latte. “Can I have my phone back, please? The Order is trying to track me, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to return in this condition.”
“Of course.” Galla reaches into the pocket of her jacket and pulls out a transparent pouch that contains my phone. “Alaric switched it off after finding you and removed the SIM in case the Order was tracking it. One of the warlocks on the square sold me this detection-blocking sheath, which will allow you to use the phone without anyone tracing your location.”
“Thank you.” I meet her eyes, but the tightness in my stomach prevents me from asking about last night. “For everything.
She places it on the mattress two feet from me and backs away as though I might explode.
I turn it on, and it beeps with dozens of messages. Grandma, Uncle Fred, Aunt Clarissa, Luci, Ayesha, and Poppy have all sent texts, as have a bunch of slayers and mages from around the convent. My chest aches that I’ve caused so much worry, but I can’t share what’s happened until I speak to Alaric.
The first messages I read are Poppy’s.
Where are you?
We’ve tracked your location. Finn just hired a speedboat. Evangeline’s team will stay at the waterfront.
My nostrils flare, and I growl through clenched teeth. If I transform tonight and break free, I’ll fly to Evangeline’s window and drown her in the lake.
The bond still glows. I know you’re alive somewhere. If you get this message, please let me know you’re safe.
Tears fill my eyes. I tap out: I heard your voice last night but couldn’t reply. I escaped with bruises, but I’m lying low and trying to get a ride back to the convent. Please tell them to call off the search.
To Uncle Fred, I text: I’m safe and will return to the convent soon. Love you x
Before either of them can demand my location, I switch off the phone. Poppy will pass on my message to everyone at the convent, and Uncle Fred will tell Grandma and Aunt Clarissa.
The coffee and danish settle in my stomach without pain, so I eat the other pastry and finish my drink. Galla watches from the doorway with the curiosity of a scientist.
When I’ve finished, I place the empty cup and napkins in the bag. “Thank you.” I meet her dark blue eyes. “May I please see Alaric?”
Chapter 12
Galla agrees to let me see Alaric, and I glance at my bare thighs. I’m still wearing my tank top and panties.
She stops looking like she wants to escape, walks around the room, and opens the door that leads to a bathroom with black wall tiles and a white, claw-footed tub. When I finish bathing, my jeans, new underwear, and a fresh tank top lie folded on the foot of the bed.
Later, she leads me through a wide, wood-paneled hallway lined with gold-framed paintings of her, Alaric, and the two vampires from last night. They’re all wearing clothes from other centuries, and in one, they wear powdered wigs from around the time of the French Revolution. I rub the back of my neck. That would make them at least two-hundred years old.
One of the paintings is of a girl with features similar to Grandma’s and the exact shade of red hair. She wears a Roman toga, a garment normally reserved for men or prostitutes. I part my lips to ask about it, but Galla opens the door to a room with burgundy drapes that obscure the light. Lying on a four-poster bed is Alaric.
My chest tightens, and I rush into the room, which feels several degrees cooler than the one where I slept. Alaric doesn’t stir, and I hold my breath. He lies on his back with hair spreading across the pillow like streaks of midnight. The hints of color on his cheeks I noticed at the Black Bean Cafe haven’t returned, and all notions of drinking his blood curdle in my stomach.
Throughout the centuries, the Order has experimented on Vampires to see if there was a cure for their condition. One Presbytera ordered the imprisonment of a vampire for ten years to see if he would crumble from a lack of blood. In Supernatural Biology, Sister Anning showed us an artist’s rendition of the results of that experiment and of subsequent tests the Order made on other vampires.
The creatures never die, only become dormant. The moisture will leave their bodies and dried flesh stick to their bones, leaving them desiccated like mummies. In the age of photography, the Order uncovered an experiment where the vampire had been left for a century and shriveled to a colored skeleton. With enough blood, they revived his body, but the hunger had driven him mad.
A lump forms in my throat, and I exhale a long, ragged breath. Alaric looks like he hasn’t fed for days, and it’s all because of me.
“When will he wake?” I whisper.
“Anytime now,” she replies from my side. “We wanted him to rest after yesterday.” Her voice trails off, and she leaves the rest unsaid.
I turn my wrist around and stare at the blue veins running under my skin. “Does he need blood now?”
“We don’t feed on humans.” She walks around the bed, across the vast room, and flings the curtains open.
Alaric appears even paler in the harsh sunlight, and I stifle a gasp.
Behind us, the door creaks open, and Leo, the blond vampire from last night, walks in with a tray. He inclines his head at me with a warm smile. “Good morning, Acolyte.”
“It’s Brielle,” I say, my cheeks heating.
He’s handsome, with hair the color of caramel melted by warm sunlight, with sculpted cheekbones, smiling lips, and piercing green eyes. But I’m not blushing at his masculine beauty. The way he said my title, combined with the meaningful look exaggerates the irony of my situation. I’m a slayer who drinks vampire blood.
If Grandma and the Order ever found out what I’ve done, that winged monster will be the least of my problems.
“Don’t tease her,” Alaric rasps from his bed.
My heart flip-flops in my chest, and I turn around to find Galla helping Alaric to sit up. She casts Leo a glance and asks him to set the tray aside and help Thoris with preparations. The blond vampire places the tray on the bedside table and walks out of the room.
I cross the room on wooden legs and stand at Alaric’s bedside. His dark eyes are expectant, but I don’t know what he wants me to say after everything that happened last night. “Sorry for drinking so much of your blood.”
Alaric shakes his head and smiles. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you to feed on me. How are you feeling?”
“Fine, but you’re—”
“Galla, leave us,” he says.
She stiffens. “Are you sure?”
He pats the space next to him on the bed. “Give me some credit
. I can handle an acolyte even in this weakened state.”
His sister raises a brow, and the wry twist of her lips says she thinks otherwise. “I’ll be outside. If you need anything, scream.”
Alaric chuckles, his eyes landing on the tray. “Is that for me?”
“Here.” I rush to the bedside table and pick it up.
It’s a fancy one designed for breakfast in bed with tall legs. There’s a large jug, a clear glass, and a small bowl containing what appears to be lumps of sugar. I place it over his hips and lower myself onto the space next to him.
He casts me a sly look. “I won’t worry about offending your delicate slayer sensibilities.”
Heat flares from my already cheeks and spreads down to my chest as the memory of his blood caresses my taste buds. They never told us what would happen in Supernatural Biology if a slayer drank from a vampire, only that it would be poisonous.
Swallowing back my lingering desire for Alaric, I point to the bowl. “What’s that?”
“Granulated ether.” He raises his arm to reach for the jug, but the slight tremor in his fingers betrays his weakness.
“Allow me.” I pick up the heavy jug and pour thick blood into the glass. It’s fresh with only the barest scent of a slaughterhouse. “What is that?”
“Ox.” He picks up two lumps of ether and adds them to the blood.
It’s probably like the candied ether Poppy’s family produces from cocoa leaves that give mages a boost. The ether sinks to the bottom of the glass, fizzes, and releases hundreds of bubbles before rising to the top and creating a mass of white foam. When the froth dissipates, the blood’s deep red color fades, as does its scent.
My eyes bulge at the clear liquid. “How did that happen?”
“Ancient alchemy.” He raises his glass and takes a long sip. “Did you know the mages produced an alternative to human blood centuries ago?”
“I heard about that.” My gaze lingers on the vein running along the muscles cording on his neck.
“They employed the help of Doctor Mirabilis, a friend and an eminent alchemist of the time. This was one of the earlier versions of what he produced.”
Vampire Bonds (Darkbloods Book 1) Page 12