When it became obvious that Craig had walked away, Fred and Poppy retreated into Fred’s room just as Andrew pushed the door to the corridor open.
“Why’d you follow me in here?” Fred hissed when he realised Poppy was still with him. “Fuck off.”
Poppy scowled. “I panicked. I’ll leave when I’m sure Andrew won’t hear me.”
“So what are we doing about Hunt?”
“Just leave that to me.”
“Oh, really? Leave it to you? What will you do?”
Poppy’s eyes had grown glassy, as if her head was already somewhere else. “I have an idea. It’s fine. Just leave it to me, Fred.”
He frowned down at her bandaged arm, realising quite suddenly that she’d used it to keep Fred from opening the door. “Your arm seems much better than it was a few days ago,” he observed.
She flinched. “What do you mean? Of course it’s getting better. The accident was close to three weeks ago.”
“No, I mean it’s specifically better than it was four days ago. It got worse over the weekend.”
“No it didn’t.”
“Yes it did.”
“Fred, I think I’d know how my own limb is doing.”
“And I’m calling bullshit. What’s up with you?”
Poppy rolled her eyes. “And here was me thinking we had somewhat dialled down the animosity for the sake of the trip. Can’t you just give me a break this summer? We literally never have to see each other again come September.”
Fred knew she was trying to deflect which only solidified his suspicions that something was going on. But he also knew there was no way Poppy would actually tell him what was happening.
“Just get out, Poppy,” he sighed. He’d have to work out what was wrong in his own time.
Poppy stared at him for a few seconds before quietly opening Fred’s bedroom door and creeping over to her own.
Fred had no doubt that Poppy would take care of Craig Hunt, though he didn’t know why. Maybe she was finally growing up and becoming more responsible, though even as Fred thought it he almost laughed at how unlikely it was.
But Fred had other things to think about that were decidedly not pertaining to Poppy, nor Craig, nor anyone else in the club for that matter. Dorian’s clients would be back in a couple of days to go bouldering with the club, and he was determined to impress them. Though he’d never admit it to Poppy, he had just as little clue about what he wanted to do after summer as she did. If he could funnel his love of outdoor sports into a career then Fred was happy to explore that route.
And he needed to check in with Andrew, in a way that didn’t make it obvious he had overheard his altercation with Craig. Fred had no idea how.
Shaking his head in frustration, he left his room and retrieved his book from the table he’d left it on. He no longer had any desire to read it, of course, but Rachelle had lent it to him. He didn’t want to lose it.
When he passed by Poppy’s door, which lay ajar, on his way back to his own room, Fred just barely heard her mutter, “Well that was an easy one…”
He froze. What the hell did she mean?
But no matter how long Fred lay on his bed trying to make sense of Poppy’s words nothing came to mind.
The words were just as infuriatingly nonsensical and mysterious as Poppy King herself was.
NATE RICHARDS
Dorian
Dorian was growing somewhat concerned for Poppy.
With every day that she showed off her physical prowess and fearless attitude more and more of his clients grew interested in her. In particular, Nick Richardson – who filmed every activity for the benefit of his sprawling, extended family – seemed set on buying her. Dorian didn’t want to imagine Poppy getting torn apart by his bullish, atrociously strong arms.
For he was quite certain that his clients would want all of Poppy, not just part of her. He wondered what they’d do when they discovered her blood was far more valuable than her muscles, bones and organs.
I have to make sure that never happens, Dorian thought sullenly. But Poppy was making his job of keeping her under the radar incredibly difficult, and nothing he said or did to her seemed to make an ounce of difference anymore. He considered himself lucky that, other than the one time Poppy did fall, her reputation for being indestructible seemed to hold true. She hadn’t scraped or cut or bruised herself in any way that would allow one of his kind to work out just how special her blood truly was.
He couldn’t help but smirk as he remembered why Poppy had fallen in the first place. She had caught Dorian staring at her, and it had thrown her off-balance.
Dorian wished she’d look at him the way she’d done before she fell once more.
“Hey, Dorian, can you help us with this?” Rachelle asked politely as she walked past him, arms laden with blankets. Most of the club was bouldering in the caves below the cliffs that sheltered the south side of the facility. It followed, though, that even in an outdoor society there would be some people who were claustrophobic and couldn’t think of anything worse than willingly entering a hole well below the earth’s surface.
Rachelle was one of those people, as was Andrew and three other club members whose names Dorian was pretty sure were Lily, Ciaran and Grace. Patrick had also hung back, since his forte was water-based activities, though he was pretty fond of exploring caves. Dorian was fairly certain he’d stayed behind simply to keep him company.
He smiled at Rachelle. “Of course. Do you want me to get the barbecues going?”
“Please!”
It was a glorious day, so those that had stayed behind were preparing the small meadow that lay between the facility and the cliffs for a surprise picnic. It had been Patrick’s idea; he’d brought along the supplies on his boat, anticipating that the club would readily agree with the plan.
Only Andrew seemed less than enthused. Dorian sidled up to him. “Want to help me with the barbecues, Andrew?”
Andrew shook his head. “No, thank you. I don’t like smoke. Or eating outside. Do you think I could go back in and read?”
“I mean, you could,” Dorian replied as he lit a twist of paper and threw it amongst the coals of the first barbecue, “but then how would you be able to socialise with all your friends? Or help me to keep an eye on Poppy?”
“Why would you need my help to do that?”
He smiled grimly. “Because you’re one of her best friends. She might tell you what’s up.”
“And why do you think something’s up?”
Dorian narrowed his eyes at Andrew, wondering if he was playing dumb or was simply oblivious. For it wasn’t just that Poppy was putting herself at risk by being, well, Poppy. There was more to it than that, Dorian was sure. He had noticed her becoming altogether increasingly frail as the week went on. It had nothing to do with her arm, he was sure, as that had fully healed a few days ago.
No, something else was wrong with her.
“Do you not think she looks a bit…sick?” Dorian wondered aloud. “And she seems rather preoccupied by something.”
“Maybe she’s just nervous about impressing all your clients?”
“Maybe.”
“But she’s also not eating, if that’s what you meant by looking a bit sick.”
Dorian resisted the urge to slide a hand over his face in exasperation. “You could have led with that.”
Andrew frowned. “You asked if something was up with Poppy or if she was sick. Her choosing not to eat isn’t either of those things. Unless she’s choosing not to eat because –”
“I get the picture. Thanks for the information, Andrew.”
“Can I go back inside now? Until everyone returns, at least.”
Dorian waved him off to the sound of Rachelle laughing at him.
“Nice try, Dorian. You must know by now how literal you have to be with Andrew to get him to answer properly. How long do you think the club will be in the caves?” Rachelle asked as she fussed around him, placing neatly organised piles of
burgers, chicken, sausages and peppers by the barbecues. “Why were you asking about Poppy, anyway?”
“Probably no longer than half an hour,” he replied. And then, after a pause, “I just wanted to know what was wrong with her. She seems…off.”
Rachelle’s eyes darted up to his immediately. “So you noticed too, huh?”
“Andrew said she isn’t eating.”
“Yeah. She barely touches her food. But she doesn’t seem like she’s caught a cold or anything, and she’s acting normally otherwise, so hell if I know what’s wrong with her. To be honest she’s been pretty distant with me lately. Wish I knew why.”
Dorian almost felt bad for Rachelle; she’d never know that Poppy was avoiding her for her own good.
“Is that Nate?” one of the other girls called out from where they lay on a blanket, propping themselves up on an elbow to take a closer look at the mouth of the caves. “I thought they weren’t due back yet?”
“Yeah, you’re right, Lily,” the other girl – Grace – concurred. “Is he…holding someone?”
“Poppy!”
Rachelle rushed to meet Nate, who was propping a barely-conscious Poppy up on his shoulder. Dorian felt his insides go cold.
What has she done, what has she done, what has she done?
But Nate held up a hand as Rachelle reached his side. “She just fainted, nothing too serious. Gave us a scare, though; one moment she was climbing up behind me and the next she was hanging off the rope like she was dead.”
Nate’s dark skin was about as pale as Dorian expected it could go. Clearly he was underplaying how much of a scare Poppy had given him. Dorian felt a flash of irritation as he watched the young man grasp onto Poppy protectively as she tried to stand on her own.
“Nate, I’m fine, honestly. You’re making a way bigger deal out of this that you need to.”
But still he didn’t let go of her.
Dorian was just about to move forward and take Poppy away from him when one of his members of staff came out of the facility, signalling him over. Giving Poppy one final, hard stare which she blatantly avoided, Dorian turned and walked towards the staff member.
“What is it, Jane?” he murmured under his breath.
“Mr Richardson – Nick’s father – is here. For bid number one.”
“Ross?”
Jane nodded. “He says he wants to consume him the old-fashioned way. I set him up in room three on the first floor.”
Dorian couldn’t think of a worse time for this to happen. He glanced back at Poppy, who Nate was still refusing to let go of, and felt his anger rise.
Then he had an idea.
“Take Mr Bridges through to room three, Jane. Tell Mr Richardson I’ll be with him presently.”
Jane turned and left without another word. Then Dorian marched back over to Nate and promptly swept Poppy up into his arms.
Nate’s eyes widened in alarm. “What are you doing, Dorian?”
“Taking her to the infirmary. You guys just relax out here and watch the barbecues for me.”
“I’m fine!” Poppy exclaimed weakly. “Put me down. I’m probably just anaemic.”
Dorian stared at her incredulously. “Is that supposed to be a joke?” he muttered, for nobody else to hear but her.
She squirmed uncomfortably in his arms. “Shut up, Dorian.”
“We won’t be long,” he said to Nate, Rachelle and Patrick, who was watching Poppy in interest and concern from his spot on the grass. Then he left the meadow, returning to the facility with a uselessly-struggling Poppy in tow. When they passed Andrew on their way to the infirmary he jumped up from the sofa he was curled up on, dropping his book in fright.
“Poppy, what happened –”
“I have it under control, Andrew,” Dorian cut in. “Just go back to your book.”
He didn’t give Andrew an opportunity to say anything more as he made his way through to the west wing. But Dorian didn’t enter the infirmary. Instead, he took Poppy upstairs. She stiffened.
“Where are we going, Dorian?”
He didn’t look at her as he said, “It’s Saturday. And I’m hungry. Who are you putting up to sacrifice and save this week?”
“You’re really going to – right now? Really?”
“Yes, really. Give me some names.”
She didn’t say anything for a few moments, then murmured, “Saving Nate. Giving up Craig Hunt. Should you really take blood from me when I just fainted?”
“I thought that wasn’t a big deal?”
Poppy fought against Dorian’s arms once more; he only held her tighter against his chest.
“It wasn’t. But it still happened.”
“Then start eating again. Why are you starving yourself, anyway?”
She made a face. “I’ve not had much of an appetite.”
“That’s no excuse. You can’t put yourself in a position where you might hurt yourself in front of my clients the way you did in front of me.”
“But ultimately you can just refuse to take any of their bids on me, can’t you? So it shouldn’t matter.”
“Are you that stupid?” Dorian spat out as he reached room number three, shifting Poppy into one of his arms to free up a hand to open the door. The room was split in two by a one-way, soundproofed glass wall. On the other side of the glass stood Franco Richardson, Nick’s hundred-year-old father, and a terrified, one-armed Ross Bridges, finally free of all restraints. He had backed himself into one corner of the room as the intimidating figure of Franco stared at him.
Poppy’s bloodless face grew even paler as she took in the sight in front of her. “Dorian, what is – what are you showing me?”
He put Poppy down on her feet, facing the glass, then leaned against her to prevent her from moving away.
“It’s about time you saw the full strength of another member of my kind. Not actually acknowledging what they all are – what I am – has made you complacent.”
“That’s not true!” she protested, wriggling against Dorian in a vain attempt to break free. “I know fine well what you are!”
“No, you don’t,” he growled into Poppy’s ear, holding her chin in place with his left hand so that she couldn’t look away from what was happening through the glass. “I think you’re the kind of person who needs to see something in order to truly understand it. So it’s time you saw one of us in action.”
Poppy stared up at Dorian in horror. “No…you don’t mean it. You don’t –”
“I do.”
“Please don’t do this to me.”
“You brought this on yourself, Poppy.”
Before their very eyes, Franco Richardson’s silhouette began to ripple and warp and change until, in the blink of an eye, the tall, broad man was replaced by something monstrous.
Close to twelve feet tall, the creature that had taken his place had to stoop in order to not hit the ceiling. His bulging muscles and heavy tail took up much of the available space in the room. Though the shining, golden scales covering his body were reptilian, Franco’s head was more akin to an ox, with curling, vicious horns and eyes gone white with the excitement of blood in the air. A forked tongue darted in between cruel, serrated teeth.
Poppy tried to back away as much as she could from the glass, though that only pressed her closer to Dorian. He smiled grimly as he pushed an intercom button and announced, “You’re all set to go, Franco. I hope you enjoy your meal.”
Ross, who up to this point was struck silent in blind terror at the look of the nightmarish predator edging closer to him, breathed out a whimper that became a wail.
“This – this isn’t funny. Let me out! Let me out!”
Franco let out a garbled laugh. “The only way you’re getting out of here is in pieces, in my stomach.”
And then he pinned Ross against the wall, his claws digging into the man’s flesh as he let out an agonised scream.
Poppy’s heart was beating so hard and fast that Dorian could hear it. His own heart rate
almost matched it from sheer excitement and anticipation. Blood rushed through his ears, informing him that his human guise was slipping.
“Dorian, please.”
Poppy’s voice was so quiet that Dorian barely heard her. He looked down as his body changed and grew, eyes pinned on the exposed nape of Poppy’s neck. He slung an arm around her waist and picked her up so that her head was level with his own, her legs flailing almost three feet off the ground. When she turned slightly and saw Dorian fully transformed she tried to kick away.
“Why Nate?” Dorian asked as he pinned Poppy against the glass once more, forcing her to watch as Franco tore Ross’ remaining arm from his body. He began to chew on it like it was a drumstick from the barbecue Dorian had left just ten minutes prior. Ross’ yowl was blood-curdling when Franco’s teeth crushed through his bones right in front of his eyes.
“Dorian, let me go! Just let me out of here!” Poppy cried out as she pushed against the glass.
He merely smoothed her ponytail away from her neck and ran his teeth along her shoulder. “Why Nate?” he urged once more. “You said you were being unbiased. Why him over anyone else?”
“Let me –”
“Answer me.”
“Because I don’t want him to die!” Poppy wailed, chest heaving as she closed her eyes to the bloodbath that a mere layer of glass was protecting her from.
Dorian sunk his teeth into the back of her neck; Poppy’s eyes flung wide open in shock and pain.
“St-stop!”
But of course Dorian didn’t. He was excited, and infuriated, and jealous beyond words. He didn’t want to admit it, especially not because a human had caused it, but he was. Poppy was his. Nate was nothing.
But Nate wasn’t nothing to Poppy.
As her blood rushed down his throat Dorian bit into her neck a little deeper, even though he knew he was taking too much.
“Dorian, please…” Poppy breathed out, almost choking on the words. She clawed at his arms; smashed her fists against the glass; kicked at his legs. Dorian didn’t budge.
Ross’ screams grew louder and all the more sickening as Franco ripped into his stomach, spilling his intestines all over the floor. And then he fainted – or died. Dorian wasn’t sure which. Regardless, death was inevitable for the unfortunate young man who had though it clever to stalk Cassandra O’Donnell.
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