A Drop of Red

by Chris Marie Green

  Suddenly, her napkin became very interesting.

  “I’d even say,” he continued, “that you seem more isolated, overall.”

  “Isolated?”

  She couldn’t help it—she glanced up, only to find that hungry glint in his eyes again. But this wasn’t an aggressive gaze. It was . . .

  What?

  Was it asking her to recognize that he was isolated, too?

  As she tried to reconcile with that, he went on.

  “You think no one understands because you don’t feel quite human anymore,” he said. “But you don’t feel like the vampire you were, either. You’re somewhere in the middle, not knowing where you should go.”

  She couldn’t respond for a second. Two. Three.

  Then she managed something that resembled a cutting laugh, but it wasn’t a laugh. It wasn’t even close. “You must be really bored if you’ve decided to puzzle me out.”

  “No, it’s just that you’ve got a lot going on, and it’s . . . Well, slightly fascinating.”

  God, Jonah.

  “Yeah,” she said, “I’m the Mona Lisa with a mysterious smile that no one can interpret. I’m a question for the ages.”

  Jonah’s gaze sharpened to a dreamscape blue, vivid in the candlelight. “Costin’s so tangled up in his missions that he doesn’t think enough about you. He does think about you, don’t get me wrong, but you’re not the priority you should be.” He leaned forward. “But I don’t agree very often with the way he goes about business and . . . other matters.”

  Dawn raised a brow at the electric candles, the fancy dinner. Not that she was any prize worth the effort, but he’d obviously set her up for more than just a talk. “Listen, if you’re trying to seduce me, you’re wasting your time.”

  “Seduce?” Jonah folded his hands behind his head, reminding her of Costin just before they would fall asleep next to each other.

  She tried to shake herself out of the comparison, but she didn’t have to do it for very long when a whoosh of air from a vent invaded the room, the scent of jasmine overwhelming the aroma of dinner.

  And when that jasmine thudded against her, she knew just who’d entered.

  Thank God.

  “Aw, look,” Dawn said, righting herself in the chair. “Your girlfriend came to join us.”

  Kalin rushed over to Jonah. “Not done yet?”

  Sighing, Jonah sat up. “You should be resting.” Then he glanced at Dawn. “And for the record, Kalin’s not my girlfriend.”

  Something like an invisible shove made Jonah veer off balance.

  “Kalin,” he said to the air, “go to your portrait and take a nap or something.”

  Without any further antics, the jasmine screeched out of the room, leaving them alone again.

  Dawn watched as the bed drapes stopped stirring. “What was that about?”

  “Whenever I’m out, she wants to hang around. And she doesn’t like that I’m spending these precious moments with you.”

  “How sweet—a Friend crush. Just like middle school.”

  She realized she was joking around and shut up.

  But Jonah had noticed, too, and he was grinning again.

  “What do you mean she’s not your girlfriend?” Dawn asked, intent on wiping that mirth off his face. “You got her to mess with my mind back in L.A. Remember? It was before Costin stepped out of hiding to reveal your actual form to the team. You came to me in the dark pretending to be Costin and—”

  “I remember.”

  At his tight words, she wondered if he regretted using Kalin to bind Dawn’s arms so Jonah could touch her, just as he’d always desired.

  But that was only because he was in a twisted competition with Costin.

  “Kalin’s just bent on making Costin jealous,” Jonah said, “so she’s latched on to me.”

  “You sure took advantage of that.”

  “Oh, she’s done her share of using. She started coming to me whenever Costin used to give me free time because she wanted to show him how much he might miss her if she turned her attentions to some other guy. She always thought he should’ve loved her and only her.”

  Dawn was still back on the L-word part. Had Jonah just mentioned . . . love?

  Was he insinuating Costin might feel that strongly about her now?

  No way. They didn’t live in that kind of world.

  “If Kalin’s worried about him loving me now,” Dawn said, “she can get over it. He doesn’t.”

  But after the words were out, she wondered if she’d blurted them because she wanted a sign that maybe they were true.

  Or maybe she wanted to know they weren’t.

  Jonah settled back in his chair again, his enigmatic smile digging into Dawn. But she didn’t dare open her mind so she could hear what he was thinking.

  Love had nothing to do with anything.

  “I think,” Jonah said, “that no matter how much you pretend the opposite, you actually do want to know Costin’s deepest, darkest stuff. You want to know what he’s still keeping back, even if you believe he’s started to share so much.”

  She gathered her defenses tighter around her, keeping in a heart that was hammering to get out. “I don’t need to know anything.”

  “I’ll tell you if you want.”

  Temptation. God, it pulled at her. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell Jonah to take a flying leap.

  His expression grew serious—so serious that she got a weird feeling he was being absolutely genuine again.

  “Last chance to tell me to keep it to myself,” he said quietly.

  Still, she couldn’t tell him no.

  “All right then,” Jonah said, lowering his voice like someone who was breaking bad news. “For a start, Costin does have strong feelings for you, but he detests that you’re his master.”

  He didn’t seem to take any delight while his comment screwed in to her, but she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of a reaction anyway.

  She tried hard to keep her voice even. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “You suspected, but you didn’t know,” he said. “You try not to act like his master, but the truth is that you are, and he will never, ever forget that.”

  “Jonah.” She felt pummeled. Every inch of her. “Costin’s used to fighting back in every situation, even this one. I accepted that a long time ago.”

  “He’s your submissive, Dawn. And although he’s existed for hundreds of years and has trained himself to adapt to each era, there’s still a part of him that won’t stand for being below a woman. He was raised to be dominant.”

  She just looked at him while her emotions scurried around, trying to settle, never slowing down because the hurt would catch up. She’d been running to stand still with Costin, and she had always known it.

  She just hadn’t been able to admit it.

  Anger built again, and she got to her feet and walked away from the table, relieving the pressure before it exploded in a punch or a kick or . . .

  God knew what else she might do to Jonah . . . and Costin.

  “I get it,” she said. “You’re trying to drive a wedge between me and Costin, just so you can have your way.”

  Jonah didn’t confirm or deny. He only stood, too, his coat rustling down to his legs. “You’ve got to know that he’s not right for you. You’re going to get really hurt, Dawn, and you can stop it before it gets worse.”

  “You said this wasn’t a seduction.”

  “It’s not.”

  She almost believed him except for the wild, covetous gleam that had returned to his eyes. There wasn’t anything soft or even human about it anymore.

  It was just a gaze that devoured her and pumped her body heat on high.

  He moved away from his chair. “There’re a hundred other reasons you should distance yourself from Costin. He’s too old for you, for one thing.”

  This was a joke, right?

  Jonah came closer. “When you look at me, the body who houses him, you see an
eternal thirty-three-year-old. Don’t let that deceive you because Costin’s actually . . . what? Over six hundred years? That’s appalling.”

  Dawn inched away. Even though Jonah was controlling that body right now, she was too used to it, especially when it prowled as it was doing now. Her own jamming heartbeat and shaking legs and light head didn’t know the difference because they’d been conditioned to respond to every move that body made.

  Jonah came even closer, clearly knowing what he did to her, no matter who was in control.

  “Jesus,” she whispered, not exactly because she needed help, but . . .

  Maybe it was a last-ditch plea.

  At the oath, Jonah jerked, just like he’d taken a dart to the neck.

  She didn’t like to see that body in pain, and sympathy jabbed her chest, opening her up for an unfortunate instant.

  An instant too long.

  Jonah’s consciousness flooded into hers, warm and serene. It told her that she wasn’t alone anymore and, for the stretch of a second, her mind became his, revealing every reaction she’d been trying to hide.

  Why would you even want me? she wondered over and over again.

  He eased even closer. The fact that you have to ask explains it.

  He was so near that her world became the color blue—his gaze, swimming with that agonized plea for understanding.

  A ravenous sorrow . . .

  He hushed another thought into her head, reaching a hand toward her face. I’m lonely, too, Dawn.

  So lonely . . .

  A burst of caution forced her to tear her gaze away from his, and she shielded her hands over her eyes, closing herself.

  “Get out of me,” she said. “Stay out.”

  Slowly, she sensed his hand lowering, sensed him retreating to the table. When she looked again, he had his back to her, posture bleeding rejection.

  Don’t get soft on him now, she thought. Don’t say you’re sorry. Never fall for anything again.

  He spoke. “I made you a promise earlier.”

  “Right, a promise,” she said, almost shaking with the pent-up emotions he’d dragged out of her. Rage nailed over the top of them all. But she didn’t know if it was because of Jonah’s deception or if it was because she’d allowed him in.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .

  “I’m not going to hold you to any promise,” she said, “because you’re not capable.”

  Yet, when he faced her again, his eyes were topaz.

  A wounded shade of gold.

  “Nevertheless,” Costin said in his deep, accented voice, “he has released me.”

  In the disturbing silence that followed, all they could do was look at each other because no words could cover what she’d found out about the feelings Costin had hidden so deeply.

  Or the fact that Jonah could come back to unearth more of them at any time.

  FOURTEEN

  LONDON BABYLON

  The Same Night

  ONCE again, Noreen was complaining.

  “I can’t suffer another night of this,” she said, tugging at the rusted iron shackles bolting her to the wall of their underground hideaway.

  Della watched her for a moment, then became bored with Noreen and glanced to her other side, where Polly wasn’t quite as active. Like Della, the other girl was sitting against the rock and taking their latest punishment in stride, tracing a finger round the hole where a key might’ve unlocked one of Thomas Gatenby’s servants once upon a time.

  “Noreen,” Polly said, “listening to you has got to be the worst punishment of all.”

  Next to Polly, Blanche was also calm about their wall-chained lot in life.

  But a restless Violet was shackled away from them all, her chains attached to the ceiling far from the rock’s face.

  With her hands extended over her head, she pouted as if wrongly accused. Never mind that she’d been the one who’d dreamed up the entire raven scenario that had kept the school whispering about “bad omens” throughout Sunday and today. Never mind that she’d attempted to blame the idea on Blanche.

  Their superior knew better and had punished them accordingly.

  Violet, her brown hair covering most of her face as she swiveled from the ceiling, glared at the other girls. “Stop rabbiting on, you two. I can’t bear to hear any more.”

  With a rattle of chains, Polly shirked away from her friend’s harsh command, but she and Noreen did fall quiet.

  Yet this was no doubt what they were meant to do, Della thought, leaving her mind open because she didn’t care if anyone else heard her. They should reflect on their behavior and carelessness. Their superior must have taken great pleasure in knowing that they had spent all of Sunday in Violet’s room waiting, then today sitting through classes and wondering when the hammer would fall. For Della, knowing that Melinda Springfield had become ill was the most excruciating punishment of all and, although lingering here in chains for hours wasn’t precisely a dream come true, it was fitting.

  In fact, throughout their punishment, none of them had dared to shrug out of the shackles, even if the task would’ve been a simple one. Accepting their due was symbolic—an admission that they were willing to redeem themselves.

  But, Della mused while laying her cheek against the rock, if they continued misbehaving after this . . .

  Thoughts of Briana and Sharon flooded her. Before both girls had left school, each had been punished for masterminding one misbegotten adventure or another, just as Violet was being punished now.

  Yet at one point, both had also challenged Violet. . . .

  Della went back to closing her eyes, knowing she might be here all night with the rust scratching into her skin, the shackles rife with a stench that reminded her of tainted blood.

  After what seemed like hours, footsteps sounded in the tunnel.

  Della didn’t breathe. None of them did. They didn’t dare stir for fear of seeming naughty again.

  But when the footsteps paused, Violet sniffed. Polly sniffed.

  Then they were all sniffing, attempting to confirm an identity. . . .

  Yes.

  Della’s limbs went weak at the scent: sulfur from an oncoming rain clinging to cotton, leather, hair.

  The group got to their knees as the tunnel’s beaded entrance parted, revealing a man with golden eyes under wild eyebrows and long hair the color of a thorned thicket. He looked like a fallen rock star in his tanned leather boots and pants, which were topped by a dashing jacket that covered an untucked gypsy-loose shirt.

  He smiled, gaze gleaming. “Have you been punished enough?”

  At the amused hint in his east-European tone, the girls grew hopeful.

  Violet spoke. “We’re so very sorry, Wolfie. Please, is it time for our release?”

  The beads clicked together as he let them go, then reclined against a wall, his shadow warped beside him like a bigger, more unforgiving twin. “Twice this weekend alone you have disobeyed. I’m afraid your straying has grown wearisome, my dears.”

  Della couldn’t look at him anymore, not when she feared that Wolfie might discard them now that they had overstepped their bounds one too many times.

  But then she heard her voice bouncing off the walls, even before she realized she’d spoken.

  “We were only hungry, Wolfie.”

  Oh, no. Why? Why had she dared?

  Out of the corner of her lowered gaze, she saw his boots step away from the wall.

  “Della, sweet?” he asked. “Was that you? I can hardly hear you behind all that lovely hair of yours.”

  His voice . . . It had been kind, holding no malice, only perhaps a chiding reminder to have a care for their feedings in light of current events.

  Still, she wouldn’t raise her gaze to see what his eyes might tell her for certain.

  His leather boots stopped in front of Violet.

  “Will you vow no more shenanigans with ravens or house raids?” he asked.

  “Yes,” they all said together.

&
nbsp; “Well, then.” The weight of his gaze pressed on Della, then removed itself. “I suppose you’ve proven your good intentions. After all, I know you meant no harm—discounting what you did to the human food.”

  She saw his boots move to the rock wall, to the farthest girl first. To Noreen.

  Violet stifled a guttural sound, and Della finally glanced up. The girl was furious, and Wolfie’s grin revealed that he knew it.

  With a gesture, he unlocked the shackles from Noreen’s wrists, and they fell to the ground.

  “Wolfie,” Violet said, her envy traveling in wave upon wave over all of them, “if we cannot go out or even feed here, then how can we decently survive? How can we recruit?”

  He took Noreen’s wrist and smoothed his long fingers over first one, then the other, healing any raw skin with the glow of his touch. All the while, the redhead gazed upon Wolfie with adoring relief.

  He smiled down at her while addressing Violet’s question. “You will have ample time to recruit. Truth be told, you have already done very well in that department this year.” He’d finished his healing, but remained with Noreen, undoing the shirt button at her wrist, sliding his fingers inside to tickle her. “Hence, it’s time for you to see the fruit of your labors.”

  The girls tensed, holding their breaths.

  “That’s right, my darlings,” he said. “A field trip is in order, just as soon as I can be assured of your manners.”

  Exhaling, the girls glanced at each other, eyes shining. Ever since being turned, Wolfie had dangled the promise of the main Underground; after all, they had been the ones bringing in more members, growing the community’s numbers.

  But no matter how proud Wolfie was of their recruiting endeavors, not every choice of candidate had been successful. Consider the last one, Kate, for instance. They had recognized what they thought to be a kindred spirit—fun, pretty, someone Wolfie would have enjoyed in the long term—yet she had ultimately been horrified by their courting, so they’d used her for the short term instead.

  Della had always burned to ask Wolfie if they might see Briana and Sharon in the Underground—if they had perhaps returned for his sake especially, knowing how he’d favored them. Yet Della didn’t chance it because of what she feared she might see in Violet’s reaction—a familiar smugness indicating that the departed girls weren’t in the Underground at all and that only Violet, the privileged leader, knew of the girls’ true fates.