Bad Blood: A Reverse Harem Bully Romance (Bonds of Blood Book 2)

by Cate Corvin

I turned left.

  23

  Tori

  Apolline didn’t notice she had a tail. I followed her casually, watching her weave erratically through the pixie club.

  I expected her to find some dark corner to hole up in, but surprisingly, she ignored the abundance of gyrating pixies and kept going down.

  Not once did she look back, not even when my footfalls mixed with hers in the echoing concrete-and-steel stairwells.

  I almost felt bad for stalking her. Whenever I found myself wavering in my need to punish her, I just remembered what she’d instigated, the point of Beatrice’s knife in my breast, or the hot gush of blood pouring from my nose when she’d kneed me in the face on Samhain.

  Will and Sura may have humiliated me, but they hadn’t drawn blood. Apolline deserved to have some of her own drawn and splattered everywhere. It was pure luck I’d run into her at all.

  When she turned down the concrete corridor, I almost stopped. Càel’s quarters were down that way, and the vampire himself probably was, too. He wouldn’t have left me alone up there for anything less than Thraustila’s direct orders.

  But Apolline went that way. Her chestnut curls were tangled, and the dark polish on her fingernails, dragging along the wall, was chipped to bits.

  She’d look a hell of a lot worse when I was done with her.

  I steeled myself and plunged down the hall after her before I lost sight of that wavering form.

  We descended.

  Past Càel’s room, to the next level. Past the amphitheater, and further still. Past the door housing the Clouded Court’s formal throne room.

  I expected her to stop at any of these places, but she kept going. I tensed, every sense on high alert, as the reek of bleach and old blood reached my nose.

  Where the fuck was she going?

  The next floor was all concrete. The sole hallway I could see from the stairwell was lined with what looked like jail cells, the concrete fresh and the bars of still-shiny steel. A dark muzzle peeked out of one of them, then vanished as its denizen withdrew to the shadows within.

  Hellhounds. Thraustila had an entire fucking corridor of cells, each one possibly housing its own hellhound. Just one of the infernal beasts could wreak catastrophic damage.

  Every cell in my body was screaming at me to go. Whatever shit Apolline had gotten herself involved with, it had nothing to do with me.

  But she was a slayer, a student of Libra Academy, same as I was. If I went back to the Headmaster with nothing but a vague suspicion, they wouldn’t be able to do shit. Not even we could break Thraustila’s Law without the most ironclad of reasons.

  Which meant proof. Either physical, or just the sight of Apolline breaking our laws. If I witnessed it, Headmaster Burns could call in a Mater Memoriae to pull the memory-down to the perfect details I wouldn’t remember on my own- out of my mind.

  Apolline was heading further down, away from the hellhounds. I considered my options. Revenge could wait; all I had to do was witness.

  I followed, my hand resting on my dagger. I had to see without being seen.

  She didn’t go much further. After another concrete-lined floor that smelled a little too much like fresh blood for my liking, the stairwell became old, jagged bricks that had gone almost black with age and moisture.

  Apolline pushed open a rusted metal door into pure darkness. My breath caught, lungs frozen, as the ancient door slowly began to swing shut.

  I slid in before it closed, making sure not to touch any part of the frame or door itself, and stepped off to the side as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  Within seconds, my retinas had adapted to the almost total lack of illumination. If there hadn’t been enough to just barely see by, the musty smell of old brick, oil, and standing water would’ve made it very obvious: it was an old access tunnel, probably built around the turn of the century.

  Apolline was already twenty yards ahead. She’d hunched in on herself, no longer touching the walls, which were choked with moss fed by dripping water.

  I stuck close to the wall as I hurried after her, every fiber of my being focused on keeping my steps silent. Luckily, I didn’t have to follow her much further. We passed a broad, open culvert with brackish water pouring deeper into the depths of the underground. A disturbing number of footsteps had been pressed into the clay-dense mud at the base, but Apolline continued past.

  Lights flickered on ahead, not in the tunnel, but spilling through the side. An entire section of the brick wall had been hammered out. Apolline ducked into the gaping hole.

  I moved along the side and peeked in. It looked like a warehouse, all steel and cement, with wooden crates stacked neatly and a large structure covered in a plastic tarp. Something dark moved inside it, just visible through the plastic, accompanied by a wet, burbling noise.

  A sick feeling began in my stomach and radiated outwards.

  What the fuck was this?

  Nobody was visible. I slipped inside and took shelter behind a huge crate, just as an accented voice rang out and echoed off the walls. “Apolline, my love.”

  Every hair on my body rose to attention. That was Thraustila.

  I hunkered down so no one would see me from the tunnel access door or the main room. The King of the fucking Clouded Court was only steps away. Apolline’s high heels scraped the dusty floor, just out of sight, and the sound of plastic being crumpled filled the air.

  The crate I was hiding behind shook as something crashed into it from the other side.

  I was so incredibly fucked. I just had to have revenge, didn’t I?

  Apolline’s voice was breathy and slurred. “You got me a Faerie. I love you so much, baby.”

  Another thump, and the crate rattled. Apolline made a noise that might’ve been sexual… but somehow, I didn’t think so. There was too much tension and pain in that sound.

  My fingers were wrapped around the hilt of the dagger so tightly my hand ached. If there was ever a time I’d wanted to hear Càel or the Morrígna’s voices, this was it.

  Thraustila sighed, and a wet noise-the slurp of a mouth against an open wound? - cut through Apolline’s whimpers. “Not just any faerie,” he said. “One of the kelpies that ate your little friend.”

  Oh, sweet fucking Jesus.

  Apolline let out a low moan, and the crate stopped moving. When I heard footsteps, I dared to slide forward and peek around. I had only a thin slice to view her through, but it was enough.

  The structure under the plastic was a cold iron cage. Apolline stood in front of it, one hand out to brace herself, the other hand pressed to her bleeding throat.

  Thraustila walked up behind her and slid his thin, pale hands up over her shoulders. Growth stunted at only sixteen, he was an inch shorter than Apolline, his dark hair mussed like she’d dragged her fingers through it. He wore only a kilt, revealing the planes of his thin back and the crude dark tattoos that had been emblazoned on him over three thousand years ago.

  One of the kelpies from the Hudson River stared back at Apolline, its phosphorescent eyes dimmed. The black hide stretched over its bones was dry and dull, like seaweed in the sun too long.

  The slayer leaned forward, wrapping her hand around one of the iron bars. “I’m going to skin you alive,” she whispered, and Thraustila’s grip tightened on her shoulders.

  He brushed her tangled hair aside and kissed her, making no effort to be gentle with his fangs. Deep gouges appeared in her skin. Apolline winced, her body tensing, but she said nothing.

  “Can I eat it?” she asked him between quiet gasps. “Is it like the pixies?”

  Thraustila just shook his head. I was going to puke if they had sex in front of the poor kelpie, which had backed as far away from them as it possibly could, knowing it was going to be skinned in short order.

  “No, singer.” Thraustila ran his tongue down the line of her shoulder blade as understanding blazed to life in me. Càel wasn’t the only vampire in this family who’d recently heard a bloodsong; mayb
e I was just lucky that Càel was so gentle with me, and all vampires treated their singers this roughly. I almost felt bad for Apolline. “They’re Fae of the earth.”

  Apolline made a disappointed noise, and Thraustila let out a low laugh. “Are you disappointed?”

  She shook her head. “No, no, not at all.”

  “Yes, you are.” Thraustila spun her around and pushed her against the cold iron cage. “I hear it in your voice. Never lie to me, Apolline.”

  I saw the tendons in her throat work as she swallowed. “I’m not lying, my king,” she rasped.

  “I have all the dust in the world for you, my hungry girl. Better dust, the kind that will make you feel everything and nothing.” If I hadn’t been scared shitless at that moment, it would’ve been almost comical to watch the eternally-teenage boy pull the taller Apolline down for a kiss. When he released her, her mouth was bloody. “The blend is coming along beautifully- ah. Gwendoline.”

  Bricks crunched underfoot at two o’clock. Someone was walking through the access tunnel door.

  “Change in plans, my king. The factory gate was compromised by slayers. We’re delivering future shipments through the Cerberian Gate.”

  “You could not just kill these slayers?” Thraustila’s tone grew silky. The tension that stretched the room was a palpable force. “It was much simpler to import directly through his court.”

  From Gwendoline’s stance on the other side of the crate, I heard her shift uncomfortably. “The slayer faction is backed by a Helsing. With all due respect, sire, that is not a hill we should choose to die on now. We don’t have the numbers nor the-”

  “We have my son and daughters.”

  The thought of Càel and the Morrígna ripping through a slayer clan just because Thraustila had ordered it sent a jolt of nausea through me. As long as his Maker lived, Càel could always end up my enemy.

  “My King… the Queen of Gravesend Bay is refusing the ocean tax now, as well, until the kelpie is released.”

  There was a long, eerie silence. My stomach flip-flopped, waiting for Thraustila’s explosion, but the only sound that broke that silence was Apolline’s cry of pain.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed. “Tell the Queen that she can pay what she owes, or her scales will be the next tax I demand. I’ll fillet every fucking mermaid in that bay and leave them to rot in the sun.”

  “I’ll send an ondine, your majesty.”

  “No.” At Thraustila’s sharp word, Apolline went flying back towards the kelpie’s cage. I jerked behind the crate, the sudden movement taking me by surprise, but she caught herself before her skull cracked the bars.

  The kelpie was watching. Those fey eyes looked up and met mine.

  My heart hammered in my throat. I shifted back out of sight.

  “You will go to her, Gwendoline, and ensure my message is delivered exactly as I dictated it.”

  Slayer.

  “Now.”

  I know your face. The river-horse’s mental voice was weak and brittle.

  Gwendoline muttered obeisances, her footsteps backing towards the door the entire time. When it was just me, Thraustila, Apolline, and the kelpie, another ominous silence fell.

  “Baby?” Apolline’s tentative question filled the space. She gripped the edge of a crate and hauled herself upright. Now that some of the dust was wearing off, both with blood loss and shock, dark shadows had bruised the underside of her eyes.

  “Go home, Apolline. I have no need of you tonight.”

  Tears filled the other woman’s eyes. Despite my rage at Apolline, a twist of anger on her behalf filled my gut. The motherfucker had mutilated her throat and drank her blood, but he had no need of her? She was a human being, not a fucking Capri Sun.

  “Okay. Okay.” She hesitated, and from my thin vantage point, I saw the side of Thraustila’s face contort as he bared his fangs. “I’m going! I… I love you.”

  “I know.” He flicked his hand toward the exit.

  Apolline’s face shivered and crumpled. I held my breath as she stumbled back out into the access tunnel.

  God help me, it was me and Thraustila. He had to hear the hammering of my heart; it was a sound that filled my ears in a deafening roar, drowning out everything else. Just me and an elder vampire, in the depths of New York, where no one would ever find my body.

  But someone was looking out for me today. Thraustila let out a low snarl, slapping the cold iron bars of the kelpie’s prison as he stalked past it into the depths of the warehouse.

  I let my breath out in a slow rush. It was my window of opportunity to get the fuck out of here. He hadn’t turned back ten seconds later, so it must be safe-

  I crept towards the smashed bricks, moving as quickly and quietly as possible.

  Don’t leave me, I beg you.

  Fucking fuck. I glanced over my shoulder, in plain view if anyone should come back. The kelpie stared at me plaintively, as close to the cold iron as it could get without burning.

  It raised and lowered one hoof. A tendril of its mane cracked and broke off.

  It was dying slowly, far from water. Either drying out in a slow, merciless torment of thirst, or being slaughtered by Thraustila and Apolline.

  A smart slayer would save her own ass. A smart slayer wouldn’t turn back to help a Faerie, let alone one from a herd that’d eagerly killed her own kind.

  But I wasn’t being smart. I was terrified, my mind swirling with information I needed to return to my Headmaster as soon as possible, and I couldn’t knowingly leave the kelpie to die.

  Please. Free me, and no Faerie will ever touch you, your children, or your children’s children.

  Without making a sound, I nodded with a short, sharp jerk of my head and bolted to the cold iron cage.

  Luckily, there weren’t many bolts. Even if the kelpie had hands, she wouldn’t be able to touch the cold iron. I slid them back, my hands shaking with the need for silence, and pulled the door open.

  The kelpie stepped out, its hooves clicking against the concrete. I cringed internally, especially with how fucking slow it was moving, but it was like watching a sunbaked fish try to swim. If it went any faster, it’d crumble apart.

  I didn’t bother to shut the door. The scent of my hands was already on it; I needed to get out of here, as far from Club Bathory as possible, in about the next thirty seconds or I was fucked.

  Thank you, thank you, thank you. The kelpie’s mental litany was a fervent, desperate prayer.

  I stepped back into the access tunnel, silently urging the kelpie on with terse hand gestures. The Faerie perked up at the sound of running water from the culvert, but its hoof clipped the bricks.

  Oh my god, I was going to end up dying to save a human-eating Faerie.

  I urged it along, going so far as to dash ahead to the culvert and shove my hand under the water, wincing as I thought about what might be carried along in it, and ran back to the hobbling Faerie to trickle the water over its face.

  It tossed its head, the phosphor eyes brightening, and pushed a little harder.

  What had to be minutes, but felt like a hundred goddamn years later, the kelpie’s hooves sank into wet clay. It shivered in front of the culvert.

  My promise stands, friend of the Fae.

  It thrust its head into the stream, allowing water to sluice over its dried-out hide, and climbed into the gaping mouth of the culvert.

  The Faerie vanished, its tail flicking behind it.

  As soon as it disappeared into its natural element, I booked it like a pack of hellhounds were on my heels.

  The rusty door opened for me, and I only paused long enough to drag it shut before sprinting up the stairs. My heart was hammering with hope now, the trembling relief of having just outrun the jaws of death.

  Down the concrete corridor to Bathory’s first bar. The humans in there were already drunk off their asses on shots. Nobody paid attention to a lone woman pushing through the crush of people, past the red door and its requisite bouncer. I t
hought I heard Will’s voice, my name yelled over thumping music, but there was no stopping now.

  Fresh air had never tasted so good.

  I didn’t pause on the sidewalk in front of Bathory. This entire block was still Clouded Court territory, bound under Thraustila’s Law.

  As soon as I was safe in Libra, I’d send Càel a missive sealed in my own blood, explaining that I could never go back. Thraustila could be sniffing the iron cage right now, memorizing the scent of my hand oils left on the bars and bolts.

  None of Libra’s taxis were idling. I spun on my heel to cut through the alley behind Bathory, which was a shorter distance to neutral territory than heading east up the street.

  I was halfway down the alley, hidden in shadow, when a slight figure stepped in from the other end. I had less than a second to register Thraustila’s features, the smug teenage smirk, before he flashed forward and slammed into me.

  I would’ve bounced right off him and gone flying backwards, but Thraustila grabbed my wrists and jerked me forward.

  The muscles in my neck screamed as I stopped myself from whiplashing forward into him.

  “Little spy,” he whispered gleefully, holding me in place. “A mouse in the larder.”

  I didn’t say anything, still dizzy from the sheer force of being flung back and forth like a rag doll. Besides, he’d know I was lying. My scent was all over his little secret warehouse.

  “A slayer.” Thraustila scowled. “Our security has gotten lax. Haven’t you trained the hounds by now?”

  For a confused second, I thought he was talking to me.

  “The hellhounds only respond to an infernal touch, Father.” Càel’s deep voice cut through my panic. “Korso told you it would take time.”

  I didn’t look over my shoulder. I didn’t want any hope on my face at all, not when Thraustila was watching me like a cat with his own personal larder-mouse. He licked his lips as he looked me over. Apolline’s blood had dried in a crackling brown glaze over his lips and chin.

  Then his gaze landed on the fresh scar in my throat. He pulled me closer, cocking his head to bury it against my neck and inhale deeply.