Beth_Fantaskey-Jessicas guide to dating the dark side.

by Jessica's Guide to Dating the Dark Side (lit)

  "I have the perfect shoes," Mindy squealed, digging amid her boxes. She held up a pair of strappy heels, very subdued for Mindy, but just right for the dress. "These will go great."

  "Are you sure it's okay if I borrow them . . . ?"

  "Yeah," Mindy said, with only the slightest hint of regret or jealousy in her voice. "It's not like I go anywhere. They might as well get some use."

  Taking the shoes, I hugged her. "Thanks, Min. You're the best."

  "Oh, don't get all sappy," she said. "We still have to do your hair, and it's almost seven o'clock."

  "Do you think you could help me with, like, an updo?" I re­quested. "I want it to be perfect. Even better than at Halloween."

  "Do I not read Cosmo, Vogue, and Celebrity Hairstyle?" Mindy pointed out, reaching for my hairbrush. "You're in good hands, Jessica Packwood."

  I hesitated, then reached for the photograph of my birth mother, which I had moved to a small silver frame that I kept on my desk. "Do you think you could make me look a little like . . . her?"

  I handed Mindy the picture, and she gawked at it, jaw ac­tually dropping. "Jess . . . this is . . . this has to be . . ." She glanced up at me, clearly astonished. "Was she like a princess or something?"

  "It's a long story," I said, taking the photo back. I gazed at Mihaela Dragomir. "But she was special. Yes."

  "What the hell aren't you telling me here?" Mindy de­manded, curious and a little wary. "Something's going on."

  "It's just a memento I was given," I explained vaguely, setting the photo on my desk. "Something I couldn't face before..."

  "Jess, she looks exactly like you. It's almost eerie."

  I flushed with pleasure. Is she not beautiful. . . powerful. . . regal. . . like YOU? "Thanks, Mindy, but can we talk about it later? Right now, I'm just desperate for help with my hair."

  At the mention of hair, Mindy snapped back to the pres­ent and scooped up a big handful of my glossy curls. "I am all over it, Jessica. When I'm done with you, every girl at Woodrow Wilson is going to wish she was you."

  About fifteen minutes and a complete pump bottle of hair-spray later, Mindy held up a mirror. My curls were artfully, but chaotically, arranged on my head, like a glorious, lustrous crown, and she'd taken a thick handful and twisted it around the updo, not unlike the silver coronet in the photo of my birth mother. Mindy had done very well. "I will never laugh about Celebrity Hairstyles again," I promised.

  Downstairs the doorbell rang.

  "Jess?" Mindy asked, giving me one last spritz.

  "What?" I was still admiring myself in the mirror.

  "Is all this for Jake ... or does this have something to do with the fact that Lucius is taking Faith? I know you always say you don't like him. But it still sucks sometimes when some­body who's been into you has a change of heart. . ."

  "It's all for me," I interrupted her, squaring my shoulders. The dress, the hair, the shoes . . . they were all about me tak­ing pride in myself. Believing that I was beautiful. Believing that I was worthwhile.

  Forget Lucius and Faith Crosse. I intended to have a presence.

  "Well, knock 'em dead," Mindy said, giving me a careful hug, so as not to muss my hair. "You look amazing."

  I caught my reflection one last time as I went down to greet Jake. Amazing. That was one word for my transformation. I would have added, perhaps, royal, too.

  In spite of being more than a little sad, and more than a little hurt, and completely confused by the state of my life, the young woman in the mirror managed a smile.

  Chapter 39

  "YOU LOOK REALLY pretty, Jess," Jake said, handing me some punch.

  "You look nice, too, Jake." Nice.

  "It's too bad you've been so swamped lately," he added. "I've kind of missed hanging out with you."

  "You know, senior year." I shrugged, sipping my punch.

  "I hear ya," Jake agreed. "It's totally busting my butt."

  I flinched a little at the crude expression. It seemed like something a . . . a . . . peasant might say.

  "I mean, if I don't get a wrestling scholarship, I'll be stuck at community college for two years," he continued. "That's gonna suck. I guess your applications are all out there already."

  "I have to go to Grantley," I said. "You know, where my mom teaches. I go for free."

  "Cool. Free."

  I sipped my punch again, wishing Jake and I had more in common. Maybe it had been a mistake to come with him. Maybe I should have just stayed home. . . .

  "Whoa." Jake's eyes widened, and he pointed over my shoulder. "Check that out."

  "What?" I turned, and my heart seized up for a second. Lucius had arrived with Faith's hand tucked in the crook of his arm. She was shimmering in a silver gown, with thin straps that slithered down her shoulders and gloves that snaked up to her elbows, her fair hair seized within a sparkling tiara, like some sort of ice princess. A harshly glittering snow queen.

  And Lucius . . . Lucius was her dark counterpart in a per-fectly fitting tuxedo. Even from across the gym it was easy to see that his suit was no rental like Jake's. Lucius's tuxedo was ex­pertly custom-tailored for his tall, lean body, the pants cut per­fectly to break at the top of shoes as impeccably polished as his manners.

  I glanced at Jake. His tux was appropriate. Conservative black. Nothing obnoxious or embarrassing. But it strained across his bulging shoulders, and his bow tie was just the slight­est bit askew.

  It was completely unfair to compare the two—I mean, Jake couldn't afford a custom tux—but compare them I did. My blood-pact partner had never looked so good. And Faith glis­tened like a tall, cool icicle dripping from his arm. She leaned close, pulling Lucius down, whispering in his ear. He laughed, flashing teeth as pure white as his crisp shirt.

  "Ethan is not going to like this," Jake muttered, grinning.

  Glancing around the dark gym, I easily located Ethan Strausser, with his pudgy goon partner Frank Dormand at his side. Ethan was shooting daggers at Lucius and Faith, his chest actually heaving with rage. He clenched his paper cup, and punch shot out onto his shirt, which only angered him more. He brushed at the stain, and I could see his lips forming a stream of curses.

  "Oh yeah, he's pissed," Jake noted. "Luc better watch him­self in the parking lot. I heard Ethan wants to annihilate him. Go nuclear on his ass for going after Faith."

  I looked back to Lucius. He was leading Faith onto the dance floor, and she sort of tumbled into his arms, her gloved hands creeping up his chest, circling his neck. He slipped his hand onto the small of her back, resting it in the curve of her spine.

  I'd seen enough. "Come on," I said, grabbing Jake's hand. "Let's dance."

  "Sure, if you're not afraid of me stepping on your shoes," Jake joked. "I'm not too good."

  "It's okay, Jake," I assured him, suddenly feeling a tender spot in my heart for the guy who led me across the gym, my hand clutched in his stubby, work-calloused fingers. Of course Jake couldn't dance, and he didn't own a tux, or know how to pay a suave compliment. He was a farm kid, not Romanian royalty. I slipped into his arms, and we made slow circles under the twinkle lights.

  "This feels nice," Jake said, holding me close.

  "Yes," I agreed, trying to focus on that feeling of tender­ness. He's nice, Jess. Try to feel something. Try to just enjoy being with a nice, normal guy. . . . Try to forget Lucius and vampires and pacts. . . .

  Jake leaned his forehead against mine. We were nearly the same height. "Jess . . ." He pulled me closer. "It's been a while since I've kissed you."

  "Yes, it has been," I agreed, not sure what else I could say. Just try, Jess. . . .

  Jake nuzzled closer. His lips were just about to meet mine, when he was yanked away. "Hey, what the . . . ?"

  "May I cut in?"

  Lucius was looming over us, smiling, but not in a happy way.

  Jake twined his arm back around my waist. "Luc, we're kind of dancing here."

  "And I 'm cutting in. That's how dancing works whe
re I come from."

  "We're not in . . . wherever you come from," Jake said.

  "Lucius!" I hissed through gritted teeth, glaring at him. No. He had no right.

  Lucius put a hand on Jake's shoulder. "My apologies, if I misunderstood your customs. But please, indulge me. I will not keep her from you long."

  Jake looked to me, uncertain.

  "Just give us a second, Jake," I said, looking daggers at Lu­cius. "I'll handle it."

  Jake shot Lucius a dark look, too. "Just one dance." Then he stomped off through the crowd, clearly not pleased.

  "What do you want?" I demanded. "We were just about—"

  "Yes, I saw what you were 'just about.'"

  "That's none of your business."

  The song ended, and I crossed my arms over my chest, as though shielding myself against him. Because even when I hated Lucius, I felt vulnerable to him. "The song is over, Lu­cius. Go back to Faith."

  "There will be a new song," he said. "That is how these events work, yes?"

  And, of course, another song started.

  "Shall we?" Lucius asked, slipping his arm around my waist, drawing me to himself.

  "You won't stop until you get your way, will you?"

  "No."

  "Just one song, then," I grumbled, allowing myself to be pulled into his arms, hating the traitorous flutter in my stomach.

  "Do you dance, Jessica?" he asked, smiling down at me. "Waltz? Quadrille?"

  "You know I don't."

  "Ah, but with your grace, you should. I could have ..." Lucius seemed to catch himself, and trailed off. "For now, like this," he instructed, guiding my left hand to his shoulder and taking my right hand into his own, holding it close to his chest. His palm felt cool against the small of my back. That familiar coolness. Part of who he was. No, Jess. . . don't buy into it. . . . He's with Faith. . . . You're just a potential "mistake."

  "Just follow my lead," Lucius advised. "I shall guide you. Just trust me."

  Yeah. Trust you. ... Yet I allowed myself to be led, my body echoing his.

  "Yes, Jessica," Lucius said, looking down at me with admi­ration in his eyes. "You are a natural, as I would expect."

  As soon as he said that, I stumbled against him, stepping on those impeccable shoes.

  "Sorry," I apologized as he steadied me, drawing me even closer.

  "It's all right," Lucius said. I realized that we had slowed, al­most imperceptibly, but enough to put us out of synch with the music, moving to our own quieter rhythm. "Everyone stumbles now and then," he added. "As you well know." He guided my hand to his cheek, placing my fingertips against the place I'd smacked. "I still sting here when I shave. But it was deserved."

  "If you're trying to apologize ..."

  "I'm trying to compliment you," he said. "It is the rare in­dividual who can strike me and walk away unscathed."

  The song was a long one, and we swayed together, still slightly out of time, but my heart had begun beating its own quick rhythm, the longer we held each other. God, I didn't want to feel this way. I wanted to hate Lucius with even greater fervor for thrusting himself into my date, interrupting my attempt at a nice evening. I tried to keep Faith in mind. Faith, Faith, Faith. Jake, Jake, Jake. Mistake, mistake, mistake.

  Lucius placed his fingers under my chin, tilting my head so he could see my eyes again. "I had no right to barge in like that. . . but I suppose old habits die hard."

  For some reason, when he said that, I wanted to cry. I wanted the song to end right then, or maybe go on forever. And I wanted to cry.

  "You just look so beautiful tonight," he continued. "When I saw you in that gown . . . God, Jessica. I thought you were gorgeous before—and yet you outdo yourself this evening." His fingertips stroked the back of my gown, feeling the rich fabric. "Black velvet and silk are perfect upon you. You are like a living Chopin nocturne. A soft, yet stirring harmony meant to be enjoyed at night..."

  "Don't, Lucius . . ."

  "I just couldn't allow that boy—"

  "You're with Faith," I reminded him, a bit sharply. "Not me."

  A fleeting pain flashed in his eyes, almost as if I'd slapped him again. "Yes, of course. Of course you are right. I won't in­terfere again, Antanasia. I promise."

  My fingers tightened on his shoulder at the sound of my old name. The name I'd noticed he'd stopped using. "You called me by my name. My old name."

  Lucius squeezed my hand, pressing his thumb against my palm. "Old habits. Old names. Old souls."

  "Is that what we are?" I searched his dark eyes. We had a connection. . . . Dark mountains, blood pacts. . . He couldn't deny it. . . .

  But he did. "These are new times."

  Still, Lucius let go of my hand in order to embrace me more completely, draw me even closer, until I almost felt like I was a part of him, hardly dancing anymore, just standing together in the middle of the room.

  "How you do vex me," he finally whispered, bending close to my ear. "How you do test my resolve."

  And before I could even question what he meant—me, the vexing one?—he rested his forehead against mine, as Jake had just done. Only Lucius didn't move his mouth toward mine. He simply drew his lips gently across my cheek, down along my jaw . . . down to my throat.

  A ferociously wonderful and terrifying sensation shuddered through me, and in the split second his lips crossed my jugu­lar the whole gym disappeared. We were alone, I swore, in a candlelit stone room, our bare feet on a thick Persian rug, a fireplace blazing at my back. I'd been there; I knew it.

  Lucius opened his mouth slightly, and I felt the faintest touch of his fangs caressing my skin, just above the spot where my blood pulsed strongest.

  His fangs. . .

  I didn't care if it was irrational. I didn't care if it was im­possible. I just wanted to feel them. I needed them, like I'd never needed anything in my life. In my own mouth, my own teeth began to ache. That delicious, delirious agony of some­thing struggling so hard to be born.

  "Lucius . . . please ..." I bent my head back, exposing my throat to him, longing to wrap my hands around the back of his neck, shove my fingers up into his long, dark hair, and pull those fangs deep into my veins. The longing was so intense that it was pain, too. Pain and pleasure intermingled in the most inconceivably marvelous way possible . . .

  "Oh, Antanasia," he whispered, voice rough in my ear, moving against me, testing my flesh with those razor-sharp incisors. . . .

  Now . . . now . . . please make it now. . . .

  "Excuse me! Hello!"

  The image shattered. My eyes popped open, and I was back in the Woodrow Wilson gym, under the red and green stream­ers, bombarded by too many twinkle lights. We stepped apart abruptly, and Lucius raked his hand through his black hair, licking his lips, his fangs gone. He seemed genuinely shaken.

  "Have you forgotten me completely, silly?" Faith Crosse was standing next to us, hands on hips, shaking her head. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were getting a little too close to your housemate here." Her tone was light, but she jabbed a finger at me, and there was anger and disbelief in her eyes. Her expression said, very clearly, "There is no way that you aban­doned me for that."

  "Lucius and I were just dancing," I said, voice even, im­mediately regaining control of myself. I would not panic. I would not be flustered. And I would not act like she was supe­rior to me, or deserved Lucius more. I turned away from Faith. "I have to find Jake," I told Lucius.

  "Wait," Lucius insisted, reaching for me. But Faith inter­vened, grabbing his hand.

  "I'm sure Jenn wants to get back to her date. And I'm pos­itive you do, too."

  “Jess—“

  A scene was brewing. Other couples were starting to stare.

  "Thank you for the dance." I smiled, backing away. "He's all yours, Faith."

  "Oh, I know that," she said, her own smile as glitteringly frosty as her dress. She swung into Lucius's arms. But he was looking at me. I think there was pity in his eyes. Or apology. M
aybe he really just couldn't help himself. Maybe he really was like every teenage boy. Any throat would do in a pinch. Once again, I'd nearly been used—a mistake—just like that day in his apartment. Why was I so powerless to see through him? What hold did he have over me that I fell for him again and again and again?

  God, he almost bit my throat. . . .

  I met his eyes for a good long time across the dance floor, then I slowly turned my back on Lucius Vladescu and walked, head high and shoulders back, directly through the crowd. People stepped aside, making way for me. I refused to look back. But I hoped he was watching me. Watching me and re­alizing that he had made a terrible mistake, abandoning me for Faith Crosse.