Refusing movie night had left Will with a hollow pit in his stomach. It had pained him almost as much as discovering Conrad had been invited. He knew it was a difficult night for Ashley, one she hated to spend alone. This one night they always had a sleepover, watched movies, cooked disastrous foods, and ordered takeaway. Anything to ensure the night was a good one. It was a painful anniversary for Ashley for more reasons than one. Not only had it been the day she became an orphan but, by some cruel fate, many years later it was also the night the accident had happened.
Ashley had stepped away from the car only moments before the collision occurred, propelling the vehicle down the small embankment. The driver had sped away, not caring for the devastation he had left in his wake. Will knew she still had nightmares, although not as frequently as before. She had survived only with minor scratches caused by the debris from the initial collision, and despite her phobia of hospitals had stayed by her parents’ bedside, but after weeks of false hope, they had both succumbed to their injuries. The doctors had said the burns had been too severe for beings of their nature to survive. The accident had been a tragedy, but, if he were honest with himself, it had also been the excuse he had needed to insert himself into her life. They shared a pain, one of loss.
His level of understanding had been something neither Jack nor Tess could offer, despite their age-old friendship. He knew she still blamed herself, and had suffered with survivor’s guilt for years. It was their common ground, the one thing they talked about alone. Their secret. This time every year, she would surround herself with those she loved and, in her own way, both celebrate and mourn the lives of those she had lost. It was a night she never wanted to spend alone, and one he could never imagine not been a part of. There was nothing that could have kept him away, except for this.
Tonight, as much as he wanted to join in, to find joy within her presence, he couldn’t. He was in trouble, and the less time he spent in their company at the moment, the better. Slowly, he had been pulling away, watching his friends from afar, knowing the ones he owed money to watched him for signs of any weakness they could exploit. He had not quite scraped together enough for the payment this month, and now he had to repay them in other ways.
Often vampires were known to bleed someone owing such a small amount. He was short of less than the price of a meal, but because he had been using the Taphouse to supplement the payments, he was, literally, tapped-out, a phrase they assigned to regular donors who couldn’t safely give again until their blood count rose. Given his abilities, he replenished quicker than most, but the test still showed he was not suitable. So he had to do something far more excessive. It was his first warning. If he defaulted again, things would only escalate and people he loved could be hurt.
His entire body trembled as he held the coarse metal key in his grasp. It still showed the rough edges from the less than perfect mould it had been cast from. Not for the first time, he was grateful for the glamour charm. If the apparently disabled cameras did detect him sneaking into the faculty head’s office, they would find no trace of the person existing before tonight.
The metal rattled from the force of his trembling fingers as he inserted the key into the lock, turning it with more ease than expected. Quietly, he crept to the desk, his heart pounding as he fumbled through the room from memory. The academy was submerged in darkness, only the occasional flicker of torches from the outside patrols breaking the unnerving blanket. He ducked behind the desk, expecting, like happened in so many movies, for a guard to happen past the door, shine the torch within and investigate further. It didn’t happen. He connected the small device the vampires had given him to the faculty data storage device. The tiny, blinking, red light was almost undetectable, yet to him it felt like a beacon announcing his presence.
Time seemed to stretch on endlessly and he focused on his surroundings in an attempt to distract himself. The sickly odour of smoothies brought his focus to the small bin that hadn’t yet been emptied, another complication he hoped had been taken into account. When the blinking light finally turned green, he snatched the magnetic device away, securing the door behind him, leaving no trace he was ever there. Or at least he hoped this was true.
He sped to the agreed meeting point, shedding his glamour as he pulled off the black sweatshirt. Any who saw his change would have thought it nothing more than a trick of the light; after all, a face and hair colour didn’t change when someone pulled a jumper over their head.
The vampires had chosen his regular Taphouse near the cinema for the exchange. He opted to donate here because it was one of the calmer locations he had visited. The interior was maintained to a high standard. Low level lighting, easy on the eyes, flickered almost like candlelight from large chandeliers and mounted sconces. The aroma of delicious, if not slightly undercooked, meats wafted around with the mingling of the patrons. Food was served here from opening until closing, with their more favoured vices available to order. The menu changed daily depending on shipments and who came in to donate. Everything from blood to magical essence could be consumed here, but such treats were handled solely as a dessert.
The night was young, and the Taphouse had only been open for around an hour, meaning the customers were few in number. Everyone knew the interesting desserts never arrived until after ten. His eyes wandered the expensive wooden furniture, padded with luxurious fabrics and cushions. Seeing an open booth far from the regular path of foot traffic, he slid in, placing a card upon the table as he had been instructed. Apparently, this was to ensure his safety until Devon arrived. A human this side of the Taphouse was usually something of a hustler, seeking to peddle their wares without the safety and commission of the Taphouse.
As he sat waiting, he saw a familiar black car pull alongside the cinema’s exit. His skin bristled as Conrad emerged, carrying Ashley in his arms. Something was wrong. For the last few years, he knew she had been suffering from dizzy spells and fainting, but never had he seen her unable to walk. The thought of her being so close to Conrad made him seethe. If anyone should be holding her it should be him, not some stranger who followed her around like a lovesick puppy.
Why she never sought help for her condition was beyond him. Perhaps she assumed that whatever it was would cost her her job. For a long time, he had intended to heal her, confess about his gift and lift the curse from her. He had played the scenario over in his mind so many times. It was at this point that she would notice him, look at him the way he’d seen her look at Conrad. He’d been waiting for the right moment, a time when she was in desperate need and he could be her knight, offering her salvation through his touch and earning her affections. He snarled at the thought of her within Conrad’s embrace. It should be him there, holding her, comforting her. But since he had come to their academy, everything had changed.
Will had been working so hard to get Ashley to see him that it bordered on insulting that she seemed too intent on analysing everyone else to notice him. That would end now. Tonight, he would take her from Conrad’s arms and be her saviour. He rose to his feet in determination, but a strong hand seized his shoulder, shoving him down.
“Going somewhere?” the dark voice questioned.
Fumbling for a reason, Will glanced around. “Thought you were a no-show.”
“As if. You got it?” Devon asked, a sneer twisting his lips as he ran a hand through his light-brown hair.
“Yes.” He revealed the small device in his hand, loading the debt tally on his own device, where Devon pressed his thumb to strike the latest payment as complete.
“Now there’s a matter of interest.” He could see the vampire’s hunger as he slid in beside him. “Don’t worry, I know you’re tapped-out, but if I let you go without at least a taste, it would reflect badly on our arrangement.”
“I thought my job covered it,”
“It did, but our contract says if you default, I must take at least a portion of the outstanding dues in blood. Don’t worry, I’ve no plans to turn you. After
all, your blood is too good to pass.” Will felt alarm fill him. “Oh yes, I’ve been here when you were letting, you’ve a taste of magic in those veins. We don’t have many MI letters these days. Worth a lot. I hope you’re getting well compensated.”
Will heard himself gasp as Devon’s tongue extended, the leech-like sucker piercing his flesh as the three jaw plates within closed. It was more shock than pain that caused his reaction, but he could see it had pleased the vampire.
The tongue released him, allowing the blood to flow freely into the awaiting mouth as it nuzzled and suckled at his wrist. There were three kinds of vampires he knew of, Will reminded himself trying to focus on something other than what was happening. There were the ones with fangs, the ones whose tongues pierced the flesh, and psychic vampires, who fed on a person’s energy rather than their blood.
Those from the blood-sucking clans released an anaesthetic and sometimes an anticoagulant, too, depending on how long they planned to feed for. It was said the different types evolved in this manner due to environmental differences. He tried to think of their names to keep himself focused as the room began to sway around him. For a moment, his vision fixed upon the grey-coloured text upon the menu, triggering images of Ashley’s smoky eyes. Thoughts of her gave him strength to hold on to his consciousness. He imagined her expressive gaze turning towards him as she smiled, welcoming him into her embrace. Just as her image began to fade and a cold darkness took root, he felt the pressure upon his wrist ease. “All settled, until next month. By the way, if you want to skip the middle man, I’ll give you a good price to bleed for me. Think it over. You know how to reach me.”
As Devon left, Will let his head fall back against the soft, padded seat, all too aware of the danger of being caught on this side of the bar. Blood-letting was very strict in order to protect clients and donors. They were assigned a number which rated their blood attributes in type, properties, and purities. He was MA+MI60, where MI stood for magic innate, meaning his blood had magic in it, and its overall purity was 60%. It was rare to find anyone with a score higher than 60%. Even virgins only pushed the balance up to 70%, although they were said to taste purer than their stats, thus were gifted with a V at the end of their statistic. Then there was his Letting ID for people who favoured a certain person; this was like a brand, used to identify regulars since the properties could change depending on the donor’s diet and health.
“You need to leave,” whispered a voice. Its soft, honeyed tones were familiar. It took a moment for him to place its owner as Whitney, one of the servers who was assigned to remove the syphons—the leech-like creatures that harvested blood—from their donors and deliver them to the appropriate customer. She slid into the booth beside him, her hand carefully stroking his arm as she looked upon him with concern.
She always seemed to have a radiant smile, no doubt from the many hours she spent practising for the patrons. “Sitting here is an invitation for others. Come on.” He felt her arm supporting him as she led him towards the back. His balance faltered, causing him to stumble, almost pulling them both from their feet. “I’ll get you something to eat and drink. Devon’s bad news, better if you steer clear from personal dealings. He’s not one to play by the rules.” She sat him in one of the many empty donor booths, fussing around him and repositioning the cushions until he was comfortable.
His eyelids flickered closed for a moment, his heavy limbs unwilling to respond to even the simplest command. He had not heard Whitney leave, so when she shook him gently to place the sweet drink and snacks on the small, swinging side-table, it caused him to startle. The glass cup steamed, its fragrance of honey and chocolate causing a small amount of saliva to pool in his dry mouth. He struggled to straighten himself as she unclipped the table, swivelling it until it rested before him. “You can stay here until you’re recovered. You know the drill. Don’t disturb the donors. I’ll be about, just don’t leave until you’re ready.”
“What do I owe you for this?” he asked, his weary arms extending towards the glass.
“This one’s on me, as long as you promise not to make a habit of what you did tonight.”
“Deal.” She seemed to eye him critically as he agreed to her demands. Obviously seeing that he was earnest, she gave a curt nod before returning to her work.
As promised, she left the door open, and Will allowed himself to sink deeper into the soft cushions, enjoying the way they supported his weight so perfectly. These booths were made for comfort; after all, a donor could be here for hours. The thick glass separating them from each other was a measure to ensure they felt safe, and whilst they were kept separate during donations, they never felt truly alone. Entertainment was provided and was displayed on one of the glass partitions near the door, where the opacity of the glass altered to allow it to become a monitor. A donor could also register for chat and either type or talk to other willing participants. While they were in isolation, they were never alone, and seeing others offered a feeling of security to everyone.
He glanced towards the booth next to him, seeing a young man with several syphons on his arm. Syphons had been specially bred to draw an exact measure of blood from their designated host, and they tasted delicious, much like the sugar shell of a rich, expensive chocolate, and were served on a platter and eaten like candies.
Feeling a little steadier, he slowly rearranged his energy in order to replenish his reserves and stop the fading in and out sensation of his vision. As soon as he was able, he would leave. He knew better than to loiter here longer than necessary. He sighed in frustration, knowing that in his current state, there was no way he would darken Ashley’s door, as it would invite too many questions and bring a serious tone to what she needed to be a pleasant evening.
Chapter 4
Ashley stifled a yawn as the cool night air greeted her, stinging her damp face. Her eyes were still reddened from the tears she had shed. One of the worst parts of working with the elderly was when they lost someone. For three days she had sat at Ada’s bedside as she took one laboured breath after another, until finally tonight, her exhausted body had surrendered to death’s embrace and her soul returned home. The doctor had arrived on site twenty minutes ago, and Ashley had clocked out, making her way home.
Over the years, she had grown close to the small number of residents in the nursing home. They were more like her extended family than patients and she loved them all. Losing any of them hurt.
Glancing at her watch, she quickened her pace. While the days had become warmer, the night air still bit, especially on a night like tonight where the stars shone brightly and were rarely masked by the scant skittering of dark, wispy clouds. She was looking forward to her next pay cheque when finally the bike would be hers and the forty minute walk would become a fifteen minute ride.
As she walked, an uneasy feeling crept over her. With a quick glance at her surroundings, she pulled her jacket tighter as her fine hairs rose. Darkness engulfed the path before her, swallowing the pale walkway where the lamppost’s mechanics lay in tatters, coiled around their stone plinth like a nest of snakes, hissing and writhing as their once-working gears churned. In the distance, the flickering welcome of the bandstand’s solar-powered illumination beckoned, with a promise of light beyond the darkness. Passing each broken lamp, she counted aloud, reminding herself how many remained until the comfort of light would once more embrace her. She tucked her right hand into her pocket, caressing her device, wondering if she should call Tess to keep her company during the walk. A glance at her watch dispelled the notion. Besides, if there was someone lurking, any speaking would only serve to alert them of her whereabouts.
Stopping, she crouched to fasten the lace on one of her black, low-heeled shoes, using the time to steady her breathing, slowing it down into long, controlled breaths while taking the opportunity to better survey her surroundings. Her heart hammered as each rustle set her nerves on edge.
When the light from the bandstand washed over her, her shoulders visib
ly relaxed as she released a breath. The small, winding passage beyond was bathed in the dappled illumination of the lampposts, their orange glow welcoming to her weary vision.
The sound of gravel crunching beneath her shoes counted the paces as she walked the decorative garden. Even in its pale illumination it was a sight to behold. Flowers that worshipped the sunlight bowed their head in tribute to the night, as the garden’s night bloomers revealed their own beauty. Day or night, this was a mesmerising place.
A sudden chill encompassed her. Her instincts told her not to look behind, to keep her head down and continue walking, and she succeeded, her ears straining to hear any other footfalls upon the gravel. She paused again, swearing she heard a sound buried within the noise of her own movement. Instinctively, she glanced over her shoulder and yelped to see a figure barely a breath away from her. Staggering forward, her mouth opened to scream but, before the sound could pierce the air, a calloused hand clasped around her mouth, dragging her back as his other arm snaked around her torso. Sinking her teeth deep into his hand, she pierced his flesh, drawing blood. She prepared to run, but instead of loosening his grip he held her tighter, a low chuckle growling within his throat as he seemed to press his bleeding hand harder into her mouth, causing her to choke and retch as the salty, bitter fluid slid down her throat.
A shrill whistle pieced the air as she kicked out, thrashing backwards and forwards, hoping to connect a blow, hoping to free herself from his crushing grasp. The gravel underfoot slid as she thrust her weight one way and another until a second figure appeared as silently as the first, grasping her. Bucking, she used all her strength, managing to free one of her legs. The sound of tearing fabric echoed almost as loud as her muffled screams, as the attacker at her legs sunk their teeth into her exposed calf with more aggression than was needed. Her flailing momentum tore his exposed teeth through her flesh, splitting her skin like a hot knife through butter.
Salvation's Kiss (Tales Of Mython Book 1) Page 5