A Taste of Crimson

by Marjorie M. Liu

  Keeli gritted her teeth and looked away at the wolves, who were finally retreating. Anger flared in her throat. Her emotions startled her.

  I almost fought my own clan. I would have fought them. For a vampire.

  Maybe that was the worst of it, what still had her fuming. The actions of her clan had forced Keeli to acknowledge something about herself that she never wanted to accept.

  You run apart, you stay apart.

  And for a moment, while familiar faces had bared fang at her throat, tasting first the blood of the man in front of her, she had not cared. She had not cared what it would mean to make pain on members of her own clan. Only that it was right, it was just, and that she would do whatever it took. Even if that meant exile.

  Michael touched her wrist. They stood so close together he only had to move his finger. His touch soothed, was warm, turned her body to liquid. She wanted to scream at herself in disgust. Was she choosing vampires over wolves?

  She pulled away. Michael’s gaze turned cold. So cold. Ancient and distant, and oh—it hurt. It hurt, and she could not understand why. She could not understand why she was feeling so much toward him.

  He is a vampire.

  But she had not been thinking of that when her clan attacked. She had not called him a vampire in her head. He had simply been a person. A man.

  Perhaps, even, a friend.

  “Are you hurt?” growled the Grand Dame, examining Keeli’s body with her sharp gaze.

  “No.” Keeli looked back at Michael, and gestured to his ribs. The Grand Dame’s mouth tightened into a hard black line.

  “Unacceptable.” She raised her voice to the retreating werewolves, most of whom had not yet reverted into human form. They hesitated, ears slicked back against their heads. “This vampire is here on important business. You will treat him with respect, or else answer to me.”

  No one made a sound, but there was understanding in their eyes. Understanding and resentment. It was the first time Keeli had ever seen anyone look at her grandmother that way, and it chilled her. Keeli knew dislike for vampires ran deep amongst the werewolves, but she had not realized that Michael’s presence—and perhaps the negotiations—would reveal so many undercurrents of dissatisfaction with her grandmother’s leadership.

  But was dissatisfaction enough to commit murder, even against a vampire?

  Keeli glimpsed Richard and his girlfriend. They stood off to the side against the wall, their hands linked together. They looked distraught, but when they saw Keeli watching, began sidling away. Keeli caught up with them before they could go very far.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked. She had been a little rough with the boy, but he was strong and a stranger. Better safe than sorry.

  “Fuck you,” said Richard, though the venom in his voice was quiet, tinged with fear. “All of you are fucked up, to let vampires run around here. We thought this place was supposed to be safe. Shit. We’d be better off on the street.”

  Keeli was quite ready to tell them that the street would be happy to have them back, when the girl grabbed Richard’s arm and whispered, “She smells just like him. A fang. He’s touched her. Been all over her.”

  Richard leaned close, sniffing. A sneer wrinkled his mouth. “Did he pay you?”

  Did he pay you for blood? Are you his whore? Is that why you smell like fang?

  Keeli blinked at the insult, too disgusted to answer. Human men and women did it all the time—it was a booming business all over the city. There were even restaurants where a vampire could go and choose a pretty face, an appealing body, and order a pint of blood straight from the source. Pricy and lurid.

  Keeli snarled. The girl bared her teeth in response and braced herself for another attack. Richard stepped between them.

  “Suze,” he snapped. “Don’t waste your energy.”

  “She smells dirty,” Suze said, butting her head against his biceps. Submissive. “She’s filthy.”

  Keeli felt Michael draw close; she did not need to see him to know he was near. Her body felt his presence; a slow tingle drawing up her spine. The Grand Dame was with him.

  “So,” said the old woman, in a dangerous voice, “you’ve met our new additions, fresh off the street. Richard and Suze. Siblings.”

  Keeli almost got whiplash. She looked at Michael and found him just as bewildered. Siblings?

  Holy shit.

  The two teens looked extremely uncomfortable. That, and frightened. Richard stared at Keeli, a pleading gaze, and if he hadn’t just called her a whore, she might have felt sorry for him.

  “We had a misunderstanding,” Michael said, before Keeli could confront them. He glanced at her, and then focused his attention on the two young people. His voice reflected his eyes: careful and quiet. “It won’t happen again, will it?”

  Suze looked so relieved, Keeli thought the girl might vomit. Keeli felt like vomiting. This was too gross. Either that, or it was the scam of the century and these two kids were totally messed up. Keeli preferred the latter, though her luck usually wasn’t that good.

  The Grand Dame tilted her head; there was a curious look in her eyes that made Keeli uneasy. “This is clan business, Michael. You presume too much.”

  “Of course. My apologies.” He bowed his head, stepping back. Keeli sidled near. They shared a quick glance, and in it, a warning. A promise of words. Later, though.

  Keeli saw Jas watching from the crowd. Her grandmother saw him, too. Called out his name. Gave the teens a gentle shove. They disappeared down the hall without a word, though Keeli did not miss the curious—and somewhat defiant—way they studied Michael as they left. He ignored them.

  Jas was a big man, broader of shoulder than Michael, and taller by at least six inches. Second-in-command to her grandmother, he was also a star amongst the wolves; highly popular as a storyteller, leader, and fighter. His approach was slow. He glared at Keeli and Michael.

  “Grand Dame,” he said, trying to match the old woman’s gaze. She was small—not much taller than Keeli—but she had power on her side. Jas looked away first.

  The Grand Dame raised her brow—a thick line of dark silver fur—and glanced at Keeli. The corridor was nearly empty now. There was no one around close enough to hear them. “Another vampire was murdered. He was found on Maddox territory.”

  “We didn’t do it,” Jas said. He looked at Michael, as though daring him to disagree.

  “It’s possible you didn’t,” Michael said, and Keeli wondered how long he could stand there, bleeding and in pain, before he showed any kind of weakness. “But that is what we are here to determine.”

  “You’re helping him,” Jas said to Keeli. A muscle twitched in his cheek, making his scar warp.

  “Deal with it,” she snapped.

  “You will also help them.” The Grand Dame’s voice was hard, rough with authority and the partial change of her fur-clad throat. It was disconcerting to see her in a twilight state, between human and wolf. Not many werewolves could hold such a shape for long. The strain on the body was too great.

  “Help them implicate our own kind? Grand Dame—”

  “No.” The Grand Dame stepped close to Jas, and though she had to crane her neck to look him in the eyes, there was no doubt who was taller in spirit. “I know you wish to be Alpha, and when it is time, you will challenge me. That, I accept. But while I am Alpha, you will not question me in public. After all these years, Jas … how could you undermine me like that? You know better.”

  For the first time in her long association with Jas Mack, Keeli saw a faint flush of shame stain his cheeks. “These negotiations are a mistake,” he said, glancing at Michael. “The vampires will betray us.”

  “The vampires will not break any treaty they sign,” Michael said. “It would be considered … bad form.”

  Jas scowled. “That’s no comfort, fang.”

  “The name is Michael. Learn to use it.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or he’ll bleed all over you.” Keeli pushe
d between the two men. “Now stop it. This is important.”

  “Yes,” said the Grand Dame. Her nose wrinkled. “Keeli, take Michael to your room and clean him up. Jas, I want you to spread the word. Michael is here under my protection. If there is any repeat of today—even a hint of such discord—I will hold you personally responsible.”

  His jaw tightened, but he nodded and backed away.

  “Watch your back,” Jas said to Keeli. He looked at Michael, and there was nothing friendly about that appraising gaze.

  “Watch your own,” Keeli replied, but he turned to stride down the corridor and did not respond.

  The Grand Dame sighed. Slowly, carefully, she changed shape. It was not until she became fully human that Keeli realized how great a strain she had put on her body. The old woman swayed and Michael caught her against his hip. Blood smeared over her pale wrinkled skin.

  “I’m fine,” she murmured, straightening. Michael’s arms fell away but he remained close; a torn shadow, long and lean. Keeli glanced around the corridor; all the doors were shut, no sounds of movement from within. No one else had witnessed her grandmother’s astounding moment of weakness.

  The Grand Dame took a step and swayed again. Michael picked her up.

  “Stop,” she said. Michael ignored her and looked at Keeli.

  “Meet us in her room,” he said.

  And then he was gone, running faster than she could have dreamed possible. He left behind the scent of blood.

  And one very confused werewolf.

  Keeli ran down the hall. As she ran, her body remembered.

  Hands stroke her hair, a quiet hum—sweet and pure—and “sleep” she says, and “I love you,” she ends, slipping light into darkness, pulling covers tight to chin, and later, later, shouts—the scent of blood—and she looks for her mother, looks, and finds her on the floor and “mommy, please,” and “mommy, no,” and her father’s shadow flickers, writhing beneath wolves, shouting mommy’s name—her name—screaming …

  Keeli staggered, falling hard against the wall. She scrabbled for something to hold herself up with, but the concrete was slick beneath her nails and she slumped to her knees. Tears ran down her face. Keeli pressed her forehead to the ground, rocking.

  It’s been so long. Images flashed through her head and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the horrible sounds of her parents screaming. The scent of their blood. The wet laughter of the men. Such a long time—she had not thought of that night for years—and now to find herself still weak with memory, still crippled by that night …

  Tunnel air swirled, cool on her hot face. Fingers touched her cheek.

  “Keeli,” Michael whispered urgently. “Keeli, look at me. What happened?”

  Keeli hid her face from him. “Granny May?”

  “In bed. I came back to look for you.” Michael’s hand snaked around her waist. He swung her up into his arms. Keeli did not protest. Her legs felt like jelly and her head was aching itself into a series of lights. She could not fight even if she wanted to—and she didn’t. Right at the moment, it did not matter that the man holding her was a vampire. Only that he was doing something to take care of her and she trusted him enough to do it, no questions asked.

  How can you trust him? You’ve known him less than a day.

  I don’t know, she answered herself, as he ran down the hall. I must be insane.

  And that was all right. For now, anyway.

  “Your grandmother said your room was next to hers. So she could keep an eye on you.”

  “You shared life stories?”

  “No life,” he said. “Just stories.”

  Keeli’s eyes closed. She felt Michael stop, shift her slightly in his arms. A door opened in front of them, releasing a wash of cool air. Keeli smelled books. Her own fading scent.

  She felt her bed, soft beneath her back, and opened her eyes. Michael’s face was only inches from her own. Her breath caught. It was good, looking into his eyes, being so close to that dark liquid warmth. Warm, not cold—the man could shift so quickly. Mecurial, Granny May might say. A mystery, Keeli called him.

  Michael looked just as caught by her gaze. He licked his lips, and Keeli found her attention riveted to his mouth. She glimpsed fang.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “Memory,” she said, startled at how easily the truth came out. She pushed herself away from him, suddenly desperate for distance. “I need to check on my grandmother.”

  “She said you would feel that way. She also said not to bother.”

  Keeli blew out her breath. “She hates a fuss. Despises weakness in herself. To have a vampire see her in that position, and then to need his help …”

  “I will not tell anyone,” Michael said.

  She hesitated. “Thank you.”

  “You believe me?”

  “If I find out you humiliate her in anyway, I’ll burn your balls off. Don’t think I’m kidding.”

  “Why would I?” he said dryly.

  Keeli scowled. “My grandmother doesn’t shift as much as she used to. I guess the years are finally catching up.” She studied his side, noting the rip in his shirt. “You’re still bleeding.”

  Michael glanced down at himself. “I don’t think I got much on you.”

  “I don’t care about that.” She rubbed at her eyes, smearing out the last remnants of tears. Her head still hurt but the pain was manageable. “Take off your shirt.”

  Michael’s lips twitched.

  “Just … shut up.” Keeli pushed herself off the bed, ignoring Michael’s outstretched hand. She almost took his help; her legs felt weak, tired. Keeli stumbled across the familiar threadbare rug to the small bathroom tucked at the far corner of her room, the open door barely visible between stacked books piled chest high on every available patch of floor. It was a familiar maze and she walked it without thought.

  “Does all your money go into books?”

  Keeli turned, a sharp comment on her tongue, words well-used from years of reacting to snide observations, but she stopped when she saw his face.

  “I wasn’t trying to insult you,” he said quietly, somehow understanding her silence. “I was curious, that’s all.”

  Keeli glanced around her room, taking in the stiff bindings, the hard-earned tales bought or inherited or scavenged. “Yes,” she said. “Books make me feel … safe. Calm.”

  Michael followed her gaze. “I envy you. I have never stayed in one place long enough to collect books. It would not be practical. Carrying them with me each time I leave …”

  His voice trailed off. Keeli turned away.

  The bathroom was small, but clean. Keeli didn’t care much about makeup or fancy lotions, so the counters were pleasantly bare. She grabbed a towel from a shelf.

  “I can do this,” Michael said.

  “I want to see,” Keeli said, meeting his gaze. “I need to know how badly you were hurt. What they did to you.”

  Michael’s gaze flickered. Slowly, he began to unbutton his shirt. Keeli watched his face, and when that became too much for her, she watched his hands—the slow descent, gentle and careful—revealing pale flesh, the line of his chest, running lower, deeper, to his navel. Blood covered his waist. When he peeled off his shirt, Keeli sucked in her breath.

  “It looks worse than it is,” he said.

  “I know.” Keeli leaned close. “Just one bite. Shallow. Those hurt the worst, though.”

  “I’ll heal,” he said, his voice tight. “What I need now is rest and blood. Neither of which is in good supply down here.”

  Keeli blinked. “Blood.”

  Michael sighed, reaching for the towel in her hands. “Just let me clean up. The bleeding has almost stopped. You may have to begin the investigation without me while I return home for clothes and some … food. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  “Vampires eat solid, right? We’ve got food down here.”

  Michael looked uneasy. “I cannot eat solids.”

&nb
sp; “Are you sick?”

  “No. Just … different. Not every vampire is the same, Keeli. Genetics can … alter the way we are made.”

  Keeli frowned. “I’d ask you more questions, but I’m not sure I want to hear the answers.”

  His lips twitched. “Fine, then.” He patted his pocket, and froze.

  “What?” She didn’t like the expression on his face.

  “My sunscreen is gone. It must have fallen out during the fight.”

  “Shit. It’s not even ten in the morning yet. How are you going to get home? Walk? We don’t exactly carry sunscreen for vampires down here, Michael.”

  “Is there a drugstore nearby?”

  “Nothing near a manhole or sewer grate. The closest place is maybe five blocks away.”

  He stared at her, and there was a question in his eyes that made Keeli want to bury her head under a mountain of pillows to muffle the screams waiting so desperately to come out.

  “Why don’t I hate you?” Keeli asked him. “I should hate you. You’re a vampire.”

  “You do not strike me as a bigot, Keeli. I think it is poor reasoning to want to become one.”

  Keeli flushed. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes,” he said, and there was sadness in his eyes. “I do.”

  Keeli sighed and patted her pockets. Maybe she still had money in the other room. She didn’t know how much that special stuff cost, but she’d bet it was expensive. “How much sunscreen do you need?”

  “One bottle should be enough.” Michael reached into his back pocket and removed a worn twenty. “This should cover it. Thank you, Keeli. Maybe you’ll see it on the way out.”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever,” she grumbled, taking the money and tucking it away. “You must be the most careless vampire I’ve ever met.”

  A cool hand slipped under Keeli’s chin, lifting her face until all she saw and felt was Michael—pale and lean, smooth as the river stones littering her bookshelves. The cuts on his face were beginning to fade. His tattoo glittered, golden and smooth. She wanted to touch it, to ask him, “why?”

  “I don’t hate you,” he said.

  “I can tell,” she answered.