by Lana Sky
“You need blood,” Dublin warned as the water lapped up my sides. “You need to eat.”
He sounded hesitant and I couldn’t help but wonder why. Though maybe I already knew. I’d been so hysterical that he’d had no choice but to bind me just to keep me from hurting myself.
“How was I poisoned?” I asked as he settled behind me.
“Methodically. You were never given blood from the same person twice,” he said. “From the outset, I knew to source anything I gave you carefully. Every drop came from donors I considered to be the highest quality and least susceptible to corruption. For you to receive the dose you did, each one of them must have consumed trace levels of the poison long before I drew a drop from their veins.”
His gruff tone conveyed just how elaborate a scheme the level of planning revealed. Someone cunning enough to outsmart even his best efforts.
All part of a systematic scheme meant to infect me.
“Anyway, I’m not offering you human blood this time.” As he spoke, he withdrew something from his pocket. A small, thin blade—small enough, I realized, that should I grab it, I wouldn’t be able to do much damage to myself. “Do be a good girl,” he said as he slashed the blade across his wrist, drawing a line of blood. “You’ve bitten me with every attempt before now. Admittedly, it wasn’t very pleasant.”
“I did?” My skull throbbed. “I can’t remember.”
He stroked my cheek. “Drink.”
A million questions bubbled beneath the surface as I eyed the smooth skin of his wrist. Like how did he know if his blood alone would even sustain me? What happened if he was carrying the poison as well? And most importantly, was there some proper etiquette to follow while feeding from a vampire?
In the end, his free hand caught the back of my neck, guiding me forward.
My lips parted, allowing a sliver of liquid between them. The moment his taste registered, I no longer required coaxing. I lunged, gripping his arm to keep it in place as deep, ravenous pulls racked my body. Perhaps the fact that I was starving was the catalyst, but he tasted better than good. Better than sin. I drowned in his flavor, craving more…and more…more…
It was like surfacing from an eternity spent submerged beneath water when I finally came up for air, unbearably full. Regardless, my tongue was already chasing what few drops I hadn’t managed to swallow.
Fully prepared, Dublin brought a wet cloth to my chin and dabbed it along my bottom lip. “Already, you look better,” he murmured, a rare hint of praise.
I glanced at the mirror, which seconded his claim. Color gradually returned to my skin. The pain lessened. I didn’t feel quite as dizzy, and my thoughts felt easier to grasp and decipher.
Like the threat still looming above our heads, for instance.
“What about you?” I eyed him over my shoulder. “What if the poison is in your system—”
“It doesn’t affect me, which is why I didn’t sense its corruption until it was too late. No matter… From now on, I will take the necessary precautions.”
What they might be? He didn’t explain, leaving it at that.
By then, the water had reached a comfortable height, and he set about washing me thoroughly from head to toe. My body sang beneath the ministrations, and once again, I wondered just how long I’d been strapped to the bed.
Which brought up an even bigger question.
“Where are we?” I supposed deep down I knew at least part of the answer—nowhere good. Much like the bedroom, a decidedly ‘serpentine’ theme continued even in here. The water fixture on the bathtub was in the shape of a snake, spitting water in the place of venom through golden fangs.
Dublin ran a cloth across my shoulders, seemingly too intent on his task to respond.
I tried again. “Dmitri said something about an enclave—”
“You’re safe,” he said, parting my hair with his fingers.
A moan caught in my throat. I arched into his touch before I could help it, relishing the surprisingly pleasurable sensation of his chill on my scalp.
“You no longer seem determined to harm yourself, at least.”
I shivered, glancing at my bandaged arm. There was no use in avoiding it any longer. Gritting my teeth, I fingered the end of the strip and began to unwind it as Dublin’s hands stilled.
Once the entire length had come undone, pale, untouched flesh was revealed underneath. The properties of Dublin’s blood never ceased to leave me speechless. A few sips of it and I was already healing. Yet I had no trouble imagining the carnage that had marred the limb just minutes before. Damage I had done. The crumpled bandage conveyed as much, splattered with alarming amounts of scarlet liquid.
“It felt so real,” I whispered in horror. “All of it.”
“Even the doubts?” He sounded unusually calm as he continued to detangle my matted curls. “That I didn’t care about you? That I couldn’t love you?”
“Yes.” I hunched over myself, drawing my knees to my chest. I eyed the mirror across from us, marveling at the scene it showed. Dublin Helos, crouched in the water behind me, studiously arranging my damp curls. “It doesn’t matter. I know that—”
“Should I say it now?” His mouth lingered over my shoulder as he moved his attention to washing my back. “To counter him should he ever steal inside your mind again? At least then you’d have heard it once.”
I couldn’t breathe—equally alarmed and fearful. Even now, doubt festered somewhere inside me, fighting to resurface. Once acknowledged, it gleefully feasted on my unease. His love would be a lie. A lie…
“No,” I insisted, shaking my head. “I can ignore it.”
“I suppose you might require some token to assist in that quest.” Lowering the cloth, he lifted my hand from the water, extending the fingers for his inspection.
In confusion, I looked down, frowning as something caught the light. Something small, encircling my finger.
Recognition prickled through my chest.
“My ring…” Only it wasn’t. A fact made apparent as I drew it closer for inspection and realized the gold band shone far too brilliantly. Real? A delicately thin band, it encased a stunning blue stone far too beautiful to be formed of cheap plastic.
A replica, but one recreated of materials that I sensed were a million times the worth of the original design.
“Love is an archaic concept, I must admit.” Dublin sighed, brushing his lips against my throat as he spoke. “But I suppose we could name it that. What I feel for you. Love, in a sense.”
As his fingers traced the pulse quickening in my arm, I quaked, too stunned to speak.
“So remember that the next time you dare to slice into this flesh. Every inch belongs to me.”
My lips parted, a startled laugh escaping them. Only he could turn a romantic confession into a threat. But the reaction made him brace me more firmly, his body molding to mine.
His thumb brushed my jaw, urging me to face him. “Look at me.”
His eyes burned, nearly impossible to meet head-on—but in this arena, he offered no reprieve. Our lips met, the kiss slower than any other. Deeper. In it, I sensed more than he could ever convey out loud. Anything. Everything.
Enough to silence the remnants of the voices the way sunlight scattered roaches.
“I dearly hate to interrupt…”
I jumped at the intrusion. Before I could cover myself with my hands, Dmitri appeared near the mouth of the bathroom. Not even a heartbeat later, Dublin stood toe-to-toe with him, obscuring any view he might have glimpsed.
“Pardon the interruption,” Dmitri simpered as he was promptly herded from the room. “But I figured that you would prefer hearing this from me. He requests an audience with you and her.” He waved in my direction over Dublin’s shoulder. “I take it one of his little spies told him she was up and moving. You knew he wouldn’t wait for long. Not when you’ve come crawling back so conveniently into his control.”
“Who?” I croaked, snatching for a nearby towel
. Dread thickened my throat as I stood, drawing the material around me. Again, I suspected that a part of me already knew the answer.
“You didn’t tell her?” Dmitri remarked, practically singing with glee. “Oh my. Well, this will be quite a shock. I’ll save you the trouble. Raphael requested your audience, my darling Eleanor. Though I take it you’ve met our dear, dear mutual friend already?”
That I had.
“He suggested you dress for dinner,” Dmitri added as his giddy footsteps retreated. “Oh…and, and Eleanor?” He poised his next statement as if knowing the exact moment I’d flinch in response. “Welcome to the enclave.”
Lost
Dublin toweled me off in silence. As if conjured by magic, he pulled a black dress on over my head and guided me into a pair of matching heels. He said nothing, his expression stony—though, to be fair, I wasn’t inclined to ask too many questions.
Whatever this “enclave” might be, I suspected that its real purpose lacked any mystery in one context: This place was Raphael’s lair. Somewhere beyond the club where the ancient creature held full sway.
And where Dublin did not.
I eyed my ring as he swept my wet hair back from my face to observe his handiwork. Satisfied, he took my hand and steered me from the bathroom. As we crossed the threshold of the bedroom and entered the unknown, he pulled me closer. Enough so that his bulk obscured my view of our surroundings. I could only make out a floor a milky shade of marble and blood-red walls accented in gold.
As blinded as I was, the trip through unseen corridors felt as disorienting as being led through a maze. While blindfolded. In the dark.
Eventually, the corridor must have expanded into a larger, more open space judging from how our every footstep echoed like a gunshot. My ears caught whispered conversations from unseen figures. When Dublin finally drew to a stop, he tugged me to stand beside him.
And when I finally scanned our surroundings unobstructed, my shock transformed my expression, impossible to contain.
We were standing in a throne room. One decorated in swaths of scarlet and gold. More disturbing frescos adorned the walls and high ceilings. Images of angels slaying demons and fiery portrayals of Heaven and Hell.
Like an angel himself, a lone figure was sitting upon a raised dais positioned with the commanding presence of a throne. Raphael. His shoulders draped with a scarlet cloak, he looked every bit as chilling as when I had seen him last. His skin was a thin sheet clinging to bluish veins, enhancing the hollow bones of his eternally beautiful face.
“Eleanor Gray.” His faint tenor slithered against my eardrums, conjuring imagery of death and decay. “I am pleased to find you safe and sound…as promised.” His dark, lifeless eyes flickered toward Dublin. “You were wise to come to me, as well as to reveal such a miracle. Such…gifts must be guarded at all costs—”
“She is still under my protection,” Dublin interjected. His hand gripped mine tight, boldly conveying possession. “Barring whatever agreement may be between us.”
“And what a marvelous job you’ve done.” It was impossible to discern from Raphael’s blank smile whether he meant the phrase as a genuine compliment or an admonishment.
The figures on the outskirts of the room collectively flinched, providing the answer. A threat.
“But I do not humor Mero and his toys like you have. Now do you realize the danger he represents? I warned you once when he chose to forsake this life. My Cael, I warned you.” His voice resonated more strongly. “You should have destroyed him along with his abominations. And yet you let him scurry in the shadows, protecting him even as he taunts you.” Something that may have been genuine emotion made his eyes narrow a fraction. “It saddens me to see what you have become, old friend.”
“You’ve always seen time as a commodity,” Dublin replied, matching his detached tone. “You command thousands of years’ worth of it. A lifetime at your disposal, yet that is all you choose to do with it: hoard.”
“You mean without living?” Raphael issued a chilling, whispery laugh, his disdain for the concept palpable. “As Mero did. Back when you rightly chastised him for forgetting his true nature. Oh, how I wish I had been there. To help you command your senses without this pointless guilt.” He shook his head, gazing expressionlessly at events far beyond this room. This century. “While I sit here now, you and I both know whose soul carries a deeper stain upon it. But ever since that day, you’ve tried to appease him, haven’t you? Obeying his inane rules. Until now. Suddenly, you seem determined to consume everything dear Mero cherished. His little pawns. His Grays. Even his old pet… I know you’ve been trying to find her.”
His eyes flickered with renewed interest as Dublin went rigid. “Has it truly come to this, my friend? Hunting a witch in the hopes that what? She could undo the curse she placed at his behest? Ignorance,” he chided, clasping his pale hands over his lap. “Then again, so was the mere belief that saving dear Eleanor from Mero’s curse would be as simple as turning her. Did you think I didn’t realize?” A cold sound trickled out of him, a soulless imitation of a laugh. “I knew from the moment you resisted Saskia’s attempts to sell her just what she meant to you. Your prize in Mero’s game. I can only imagine her appeal.”
His attention cut to me with the swiftness of a slicing blade, further scattering my thoughts. Turned? That word teased the fragile order of my psyche. I trembled, deciding to ignore it. Not now. I couldn’t examine it now.
“I admit I was skeptical at first,” Raphael continued. “When I heard of his curse. I should have anticipated its power, however. His little witch was a rare creature. Such arcane talents she possesses.” He sighed, lifting his slender shoulders in defeat. “How I regret not claiming her for myself. You think you are the only one hunting for her? Perhaps the next time you come prostrate before me, I’ll name her as my price.”
“You want to berate me?” Dublin inquired, stepping forward. “Fine. But none of your anger concerns Eleanor.” He released my arm, his posture stone once more. Only his eyes reflected life, and I suspected that what little humanity remained in them was wasted on the glance he spared in my direction. “She needs rest. Let her go.”
“So desperate to shield your true nature from her still, Cael?” Raphael’s lips twitched in amusement—but in the end, he nodded and raised his hand in a silent command. “You. Show Ms. Gray back to her quarters.”
A slender figure stepped forward, his head bowed, his red hair gleaming.
“There.” Turning to Dublin, Raphael murmured, “I assume this is agreeable with you?”
Dublin said nothing. But he didn’t react when Dmitri appeared by my side and reached for my hand, either.
“As you wish,” the vampire simpered with mock piety. Even before Raphael, he lost none of his coy amusement.
Dublin on the other hand…
When I looked back, my Devil no longer existed. A stranger was standing in his place—a tormented creature who answered to only one name.
“Well, Cael,” Raphael murmured. “What do you have to say for yourself now?”
Dmitri murmured into my ear, “Let us make our escape before the shouting begins, eh?”
Moving quickly, he guided me back to the room I’d woken up in.
“Do have a seat, my dear.” He gestured to the bed but remained standing while I perched myself on the end of it.
I was too uneasy to care as he watched me, his eyes gleaming.
“You’re shaking.” He sounded positively pleased by that fact. “But try not to pout too much, my darling. While the men chat, we can hold a conversation of our own.”
“What kind of conversation?” I eyed him sharply, an eyebrow raised.
“Ah, now, that is the question.” His eyes glowed an ominous golden hue in the firelight. “You want answers, I presume. More than dear old Dublin has given you, yes? Not that I can blame him, of course,” he admitted with a sigh. “This is such a very sore subject for him—”
“What do you
want?” Even as I bristled in annoyance, I couldn’t deny that he was right.
I wanted answers. But I also wasn’t naïve enough to assume he’d give me anything for free. Something warned me that even his assistance during the aftermath of my poisoning had carried a price tag.
“You misunderstand me, my dear one.” His smile did nothing to ease my suspicion. “I merely want to wheedle myself into your good graces.”
Common sense told me to ignore anything he had to say. To wait for Dublin. To play my hand if I had to. But that same part of me warned that I could maintain my innocence for only so long…
“Who is Mero?” My lips felt dry. I had to drag my tongue along the bottom one.
“Mero?” Dmitri laughed. “That’s the wrong question, my dear. The rather boring history between him and Dublin doesn’t matter. Not a bit. What you really should be asking is where do you, and your child, fit into the grand scheme?”
“M-Me?” But I was well aware of my role—I was a liability to Dublin. A burden he had gone out of his way to bear. His pawn requiring protection.
“Oh, but that’s where you are wrong,” Dmitri claimed as if reading my mind. “You need to go deeper than that. Right to the beginning. Ask yourself, do you know why only Dublin could feed from you, though I am well aware that is no longer the case? Why is it blood that sustains your current condition, as if to mock his very nature?”
My eyebrow rose. “How did you—”
“Rumors,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Answer the question.”
I shrugged; the answer didn’t seem to have the makings of a trap. “He said his venom made it so that only he could—”
“That is what he told you?” Barking out a harsh bit of laughter, Dmitri slapped his hand against his knee. “You can’t fault the man for creativity, though I suppose it is true in some sense. But really, Eleanor, use that critical mind of yours. Go deeper than that. What happened when another vampire fed on you? Someone other than Dublin?”