by Liz Meldon
She tried to shove him aside, but it was like trying to move a mountain, even with her new strength. Teeth gritted, Ella ducked down and darted away, untangling herself from him and stumbling along the sidewalk. Shaking. Shaking so horribly that she thought she might just topple over into the snow.
Why had she rejected Severus’s offer? If the incubus had been here right now, he’d probably know what to do.
Or, at the very least, two on one offered better odds.
“Get back here.” A hand coiled around her arm, his grip cutting through the padding of her jacket and straight down to the bone. Ella swallowed her indignant scream when he jerked her away from the Inferno, hauling her down the sidewalk like she was a wayward toddler.
“Let go of me,” Ella snarled, slashing her talons at his bare hand to no effect. When he stopped with a brisk exhale, she snarled properly, lips peeled back, fangs exposed defensively for once, not just for hunger. Every muscle in Serafino’s handsome face tensed at the display, and his eyes snapped to black as he snarled back.
Fucking ridiculous—like two cats hissing at each other over territory. Before she could sneer the sentiment at him, the world around her blurred, and suddenly she found herself thrust up against the grey-brick wall of the candle shop, empty alleyway in either direction. The vampire’s hand snapped around her throat, and Serafino hauled her up and off the ground, features contorted with rage, with insult, as he closed in on her.
“How dare you bare your fangs to me?” Spittle sprinkled her cheeks, and his willowy hand crushed her windpipe to nothing when she kicked him hard in the knee. Pain jolted up her neck like the bare reaching branches of a winter maple, like a lightning bolt stretching across a black sky. Serafino inched closer, mouth brushing her skin with every awful word. “You may have been raised these last weeks in a house of supernatural oddities, but I will teach you appropriate vampire etiquette from here on out.”
Ella kneed him in the side, ignoring the strain in her neck and hating that he had wormed between her thighs. Panic tried its hardest to creep into her system, but disgust and rage battled it back to the depths as she glowered into those hollow black eyes.
“Too little too late, Master.” She spat the term at him, pleased when a bit of saliva peppered his nose, his cheeks. Tit for tat, fucker. “I’m all grown up.”
His laughter filled the alley, all that anger melting away in an instant. Somehow, his laughter was more unsettling than the fact that he could manhandle her with ease, toss her around and pick her back up like a rag doll.
Serafino stroked his free hand over her hair, coiling one of her braids around his finger.
“Not yet, my bella,” he murmured, his tone almost affectionate, like her little outburst was nothing. Par for the course. Ella squirmed against him, her efforts to physically dislodge him futile. Not that she didn’t try, of course, but shoving at his chest, pounding her fists against his arms, snapping at his smug face got her nowhere. She didn’t need to breathe, but as pain found its place again in her new body, being throttled by some psychotic demon didn’t exactly feel good either.
When she stilled, contemplating her next moves, Ella turned her head away, eyes cast down in what she hoped read as begrudging submission. His lips trailed from her chin to her ear, crossing paths with her mouth along the way. No more ghosting caresses—his touch was firm now, possessive.
This asshole actually thought he owned her, didn’t he?
As though him biting her and fucking up her life meant he had stuck a flag of conquest in her back.
“Now, my bella, will you behave?”
His touch, his voice, everything he stood for made her skin crawl. But she swallowed hard against his palm and fluttered her lashes all the same, as if she hadn’t the courage to look him in the eye anymore.
“Yes, Master.”
Something rumbled in his chest—just as something hardened against her thigh. Ugh.
“Good girl.”
She gritted her teeth again. Good girl. There was only one demon out there who could say that to her, and Serafino paled in comparison. Still, she stayed limp and loose as he lowered her to the ground; Ella even let him fix her braids and straighten her coat.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, eyes green and hungry again as they swept over her. “I always knew you’d be mine. From the moment I saw you, I had to have you.”
Barf. “Really?”
He rumbled back, drifting closer again to run his nose along her neck. Ella glanced to the end of the alley, to the scantily clad gang of undergrad girls chatting and laughing as they hurried toward the line outside the Inferno. He hadn’t taken her very far. She had an ally nearby. Hell, maybe even the bouncers loitering around the front doors might be useful—
“What have you been drinking?” Serafino demanded, grasping one braid and roughly yanking her head to the side. Ella winced as he purposefully sniffed along a vein in her neck, growling. “You smell… odd.”
“I’ve been drinking blood,” she said, catching her flat affect halfway through and forcing a smile when he straightened. Serafino released her braid with a roll of his eyes.
“Well, obviously, but what kind?” He flashed the tips of his gold fangs as he spoke.
“The kind that’s none of your business,” Ella fired back with her best Malachi-sneer. She then headbutted him with everything she had, and it was a fucking miracle her skull didn’t just shatter into a dozen pieces, because holy hell did that ever hurt. Agony sliced down her face, her neck, her spine, and Serafino reared back with a snarl. Seizing the opportunity, Ella zipped down the alley, forgetting the brutal sting of headbutting granite, her gaze fixed on the snowdrift ahead.
“Ella, stop.”
His voice echoed around her, yet it rattled around inside her skull too. To her shock—and dismay—her body responded, slowing from a sprint to a brisk walk.
“Now, Ella.”
From a brisk walk to a shuffle. She glared down at her treacherous legs; what the hell?
“Good girl,” Serafino muttered, his chuckle whispering down her back. “Now, turn around and come here.”
Something tugged at Ella’s core, like he had lashed a rope around her and tethered her to him. And his words—his words were the tug of that rope, beckoning her, summoning her so intimately that it felt like her very soul responded to him.
Only Ella didn’t have a soul.
But she turned around all the same, brows knit, hands in fists. While her left foot moved toward him, she buckled down, refusing to let the right follow. Serafino stood where she’d abandoned him some twenty feet away, his hands in his pockets, dark crimson blood oozing from his nostrils. She could smell the metallic tang from there, his blood’s scent fusing with that of his leather jacket—a combination she would remember forever.
“No, don’t stop.” He snapped his bony fingers at her and pointed to the spot directly in front of him, as if ordering a dog to come. “Right here. Come along, Ella.”
Another step, a sharper tug of that rope.
She shook her head. No. No. Whatever this influence was, it stopped tonight. She had been able to block out his voice for weeks now; she could overcome this too.
With a deep, unnecessary breath, she forced herself back around, fixated on the snow at the edge of the alley, on the salt-covered sidewalk. While it felt like wading through quicksand, she moved, step by step, closer and closer to freedom, that invisible rope cinching her in the middle and threatening to rip her apart.
“As your master, I order you to my side!” Serafino bellowed. When she stumbled a few more steps, fighting the pull with everything she had, heavy footfalls stomped down the alley after her. “You will not refuse me. I am your master! Ella!”
She clamped her hands over her ears even as his voice screamed inside her head, groaning through the pain, and ran. Something snapped inside her, the rope wrenched too taut at last, and she all but collapsed onto the sidewalk, catching herself on her knees. Down the way
, the shivering university crowd was finally being let into the Inferno, the line moving at a steady clip with bouncers checking IDs—and Alaric watching over them, dressed in a black trench coat like he was on his way out.
To meet her.
At Rose’s Corner.
“Alaric!” His name seared up her throat, slicing through the otherwise muted winter evening. His head snapped in her direction, and out of the corner of her eye, Ella spotted Serafino storming toward her. She pushed up, salt crunching underfoot, just as Alaric beelined for her, human heads rubbernecking when he sprinted by.
“Ella!”
“I should have known you’d be difficult to break.” Serafino’s hand slammed onto her shoulder, forcing her around to face his raw, striking fury. “But it shouldn’t be this trying, bella. No vampire refuses her master—”
Alaric shouldered between them in a flash of red and a whirl of black cashmere. Sputtering, Serafino released her, his expression suggesting he’d been so focused on Ella that he hadn’t even noticed Alaric until the hybrid bodychecked him away from her. The vampire collided hard with the candle shop’s glass window, splintering but not shattering it, light grey spiderweb patterns skittering out from the point of impact.
“Are you all right?” Alaric demanded, an arm around her shoulders as he hurried her away from Serafino, warm emerald greens assessing her from top to bottom. “Ella?”
“T-take me home,” she managed, her tremors back and muddying her words. Serafino snorted behind her, glass crackling as he climbed off the ledge and brushed a hand over his leather jacket.
“Your home is with me, Ella Thomas—with the colony.”
Alaric’s eyes flicked to dark grey, full and stormy as he nudged her behind him. “Come one step closer and I’ll involve my father.”
Serafino’s lip curled into a sneer, but at the sound of a squadron of bouncers approaching from the Inferno, he held up his hands and retreated a few paces.
“Your father has lost his touch, abomination.”
Scowling, his eyes black and hateful, the demonic vampire darted into the alley, footfalls vanishing a few moments later. When Ella peered around Alaric, she found herself staring into an empty alleyway. Gone. Gone, but certainly not forgotten.
“Ella—”
“I-I need to go,” she whispered, a tear slicing down her cheek. She brushed it away on her coat sleeve, glaring at the red smear. Just before she could take off, however, Alaric locked a hand around her elbow, keeping her firmly in place.
“No vampire speed here,” he murmured, waving off the bouncers. “Not in front of the humans.”
Although he wouldn’t let her zip off at the supersonic vamp speed she had been gradually testing around the house, Alaric marched her along at a steady clip. Ella kept pace easily, despite her far shorter legs, and spent half the walk wiping at her face, not wanting anyone to see her crying tears of blood.
To see her shaking.
To see the shock written across every inch of her, plain as day.
“Bet you wish you didn’t have all those pesky human emotions now, huh?” His cheeks dimpled when she glanced up at him, and Ella let out a watery laugh.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I’m sorry—stupid joke.” Alaric shook his head as he fished his phone out of the inner pocket of his trench. “Let me call Severus… Tell him the change of plans. Are you all right?”
“Shaken. He… He said he was my master. I…” The tears started up again, and she let Alaric hold her hand as he ushered her across the street, their home just a few buildings down. She needed the physical contact, the support.
Most of all, Ella just needed a hug.
If only Malachi had been with her tonight; he would have pounded that creep into the pavement, then laughed over his corpse.
Not that she wanted that…
Well, maybe.
“I’m sorry, Ella. This shouldn’t have happened. We’ll get it sorted, I promise.” Alaric’s eyes were still dark grey when he brought the phone to his ear, unfazed by the fact that the few people they had passed along the way had been giving him double takes. “Sev? Hi. Look, change of venue. I need you and Moira to come home immediately. Yes, we’re fine, but there was a bit of a situation…” He huffed, breath fogging in front of him. “Moira, she’s fine. Just come home, not to Rose’s Corner. Hmm? Yes. I’ve got her here. She’s fine. I can assure you— For goodness’ sake, I’m looking right at her.”
Ella, bella. You belong with the colony.
She ripped her hand from Alaric’s when Serafino’s voice echoed in a cruel, biting whisper inside her head.
Ella, bella, you belong with me!
“Oh!” The whisper swelled to a roar, to a scream that knocked her off balance, reaching its brutal crescendo as she grabbed at the nearby brick wall for support, then plummeted to her knees. Over and over again, Serafino shrieked at her—that she belonged to him, that he’d take her soon, that she would never be rid of him. “Stop! Stop!”
Alaric dropped down in front of her, taking her firmly by the shoulders, his face crinkled with concerned confusion. While she could see his mouth moving, possibly saying her name, she couldn’t hear him over the thunder inside her head. Panic soared. Tears flowed freely. She clamped her hands over her ears, sobbing. Serafino’s voice was relentless, an ever-present battering ram pounding at her skull, threatening to break through at any moment.
“Make it stop, please,” she begged, grabbing at Alaric’s coat, frantic. “Alaric, make him stop!”
Chapter Twelve
“I just wish you would have told me, that’s all.”
“Honey, I thought I was going crazy. Hearing a creepy guy’s voice inside my head?” Ella snorted, then brushed her bare hand over her hair when she caught her muddled reflection in a storefront window. It came away cold and snowy. Beside her, Moira’s white locks were also crowned in snowflakes; there was no escaping the onslaught of fat flecks, the kind that drifted down languidly from puffy grey clouds for hours and hours. To her right, pure white drifts towered to about four feet, doomed to melt in this weekend’s forecasted double digits and showers. “Yeah, no way was I telling anyone about that.”
Moira fiddled with her plum-purple mittens, the pair Ella had knitted for her in tenth grade home economics class. The complex stitch pattern had gotten her an A; Moira wore them every winter. “Still though. We could have addressed it sooner if you’d said something—then you wouldn’t have spent all this time thinking you were going crazy.”
“I know,” she muttered, forcing a sigh for emphasis—to express an unspoken emotion, something apologetic and contrite. Sharing with the household that she had been hearing Serafino in her head had been unsettling at best, but after her run-in with the vampire who had destroyed her life, she couldn’t put it off anymore. Much to her surprise, Severus had been the one to offer the most comfort; apparently hell-born vampires liked to pick and choose who to speak to amongst their offspring. She wasn’t crazy—Ella had just been chosen.
Not that that made her feel any better, but at least she wasn’t slowly losing her mind. Her whole world had been turned upside down. She had a new body that craved blood and went savage should she lose control, but at least Ella was sane.
Mostly, anyway. She had decided months ago that you needed to be a little nuts to live in this supernatural world. You had to accept the crazy, or you would go crazy—period.
“Anyway, how are you feeling?” Moira threaded her arm around Ella’s. Somewhere a few streets over, a car raced by, the wet tread tickling her ears and spoiling the thick, blissful quiet that had surrounded them since they’d slipped out the front door. Still, it was three in the morning in Farrow’s Hollow, a city where the supernatural operated every second of the day. Absolute silence was a pipe dream.
“Hungry,” she admitted without hesitation, “but I can handle it.”
For how much longer was anyone’s guess. Two painfully slow days had crawled by since her
encounter with Serafino, and Malachi fucking Saevitia was nowhere to be found. Although she had kept her blood cravings in check around her two favorite hybrids, no one could deny that she was spiraling into an agitated, stir-crazy, hangry monster. Severus and Alaric had thought it best to keep her in the house until Malachi and Cordelia returned, but she was losing her mind in there. Sure, television and social media could distract her—but staring at all the humans on the TV only made her hungrier, and ghosting through her old social accounts just made her sad.
Alaric was right: it had been much easier to get by without her human emotions. But they were trickling back in, piece by piece, growing stronger each day, making her feel again. She wanted that, but starving would have been more manageable without fear and anger and pain and soul-crushing anxiety.
Her best friend had once again stayed home with her. Forgoing assignments and group projects from her social work program, Moira had spent the last two days trying her best to keep Ella busy—trying to keep her mind off blood. Sneaking her outside while the boys were asleep, promising to barbeque Serafino if he reared his ugly head again, had been a stroke of genius. The crisp air, the snow, the quiet, the oppressive weight of winter—it was exactly what Ella had needed to finally breathe again.
Metaphorically, of course.
And while she could feel the cold, it didn’t bother her. It settled her, quieted her racing mind and muted her howling belly.
They had no final destination, strolling along side by side, letting their feet lead them through familiar streets—streets they had known their whole lives, streets they had grown up on. Unsurprisingly, they drifted southwest toward the suburbs, toward an old familiar haunt. Walking without her new vampire speed, however, meant they had quite a ways to go—another forty minutes, at least—before they reached their old neighborhood.
Ella wouldn’t let them go that far. While she felt and relished the bitter December chill, Moira didn’t seem quite as immune to its bite.