When I reach the top, my white kitten heels sink into plush red. If the downstairs is like any other rowdy club in a big city, the upstairs is like an old-fashioned English mansion, at least how I imagine one. The bright strobe lights don’t reach up here. Dim light comes from stained-glass wall sconces that cast dull patterns on the deep blue wall behind. People lounge on burgundy velvet sofas and chairs gathered around gleaming mahogany coffee tables.
The first group I pass sneers at me in my sundress, which feels suddenly childish. I don’t fit with their black-on-black attire and slick hair. But I don’t care. I raise my chin and keep going. I don’t stop until I reach the other end of the balcony—the part that curves around the back of the club. This section boasts a velvet couch with a huge wooden frame, the back so high a giant could sit there and rest their head. Multiple people lounge on it and in the chairs artfully strewn around.
My blond maybe-vampire leans against the elaborately carved arm on the far side of the couch. I walk up and stop by a chair that holds a man with a woman draped in his lap. His head is at her neck, teeth probably nibbling. I stare, but with her long curtain of hair, I can’t tell if he’s kissing her or drinking from her. But her eyes are closed, and the arm she has draped across his shoulders seems a little too limp.
Nobody notices me. I study them: their expensive clothes, the way their bodies relax across the furniture like they own everything that ever existed, the boredom tugging at their faces. Part of me longs to draw them and all their dark shadows. I could capture their essence with charcoal alone—no color. Carter leans forward and picks up a glass of wine from the table, slowly raising it to his lips. The liquid moves sluggishly down the glass and into his mouth. Too thick to be wine.
I try not to shudder—that could be me one day. I’ll cope with it when I need to.
I wish I could think of a way to make a good impression. I’m not sure what that looks like, though. How do you introduce yourself to a possible den of vampires?
“Hi,” I say.
The guy in the center of the couch, who had been leaning forward and watching the throbbing mass of people below us, turns and narrows his eyes. He’s undeniably handsome, with warm brown skin and black hair hanging in loose curls down to his chin. His nose is large and hooked and gives him a sharpness only softened with his wide, heavily lashed eyes. His age is hard to guess—he appears my age or a few years older, but he could be hundreds of years older if he’s immortal.
“Who are you?” His deep voice gets everyone else to turn their focus on me—except the woman in the man’s lap, who I’m hoping is asleep. The man pulls himself free of her though, licking his lips as he takes me in.
I swallow, overly aware of the pulse in my neck.
Carter’s eyes widen as he finally sees me. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
Carter smirks. The one beside him, the guy everyone else seems to watch, stares at me with his dark-brown eyes. The leader. I get the sense he’s taking in every inch of me even though he appears disinterested. He swallows some of the liquid from the wineglass he’s holding, and when he lowers it, a faint smile graces his lips, stained red from his wine or whatever else he’s drinking.
“What did you do now, Carter?”
Carter glares for a moment before he composes himself. “I thought you might like her.”
I really don’t like his tone.
“Oh?” the handsome man says, placing his glass on the table.
I fist my hands into my skirt. I wish Henry were here.
“Come around this way, then.” He beckons me.
As I walk around to stand in front of the table, I take in each cup—all with the same thick, matching liquid. A few bottles of open red wine sit in the center of the table, but Mom loves red wine, and I’ve never seen her drink anything as thick as what’s in those glasses. I clench my hands tight enough that I’m sure the eyelet print will be ingrained on my palms forever. But this is what I wanted—proof. So far I’ve got two on my list: out at night and drinking what I assume is blood. My stomach turns at the thought of taking a sip to confirm that last one without a shadow of a doubt, but if I get the chance, I will.
“She’s not his type, Carter.” A man with dark-brown skin and a shaved head leans forward to shoot Carter a condescending look, then straightens his midnight-green velvet bowtie and relaxes with his own glass of red liquid.
“What do you know, Marcus?” Carter stretches back in his chair and swirls his drink, the blood sticking to the sides and then slowly pooling at the bottom of the glass.
I fight a gag. I need to stop thinking about the blood.
“She’s a marshmallow,” says a woman with black braids that reach her waist. “Look at her dress.”
I shoot her a glare, and she catches it with a smile. She’s wearing white too, but where my dress flares, hers clings. Her shimmering gold lipstick even gives her a pop of life I don’t have, which is truly unfair if she’s undead.
The leader rubs his chin.
I need to do something, anything, to regain control of this situation.
I unclench my aching fingers and reach across the table, offering my hand to him. “I’m Victoria.”
He takes my hand immediately, his long fingers cradling mine with a gentleness I don’t expect. He stands and bends over, glancing up through thick lashes. “May I?” he asks.
I give a nod that probably looks a little like an involuntary twitch. His hands are cold, which I anticipate, but his lips are warm when they graze my knuckles. When he rises, he keeps my hand. I let him. Half because I need him to like me and half because I don’t mind the feel of his fingers beneath mine. They ground me in the moment. Otherwise, I might believe I’d stepped into a movie scene or one of my dreams that always border on nightmares.
“Lovely name,” he says. “I’m Nicholas.”
We stand for a second, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say or do, but everyone seems to be waiting on me.
I catch Carter’s eye, and he cocks his head like a cat watching a wounded animal and deciding if it’s still worth playing with or if it needs to be put down. That’s what I am in this scenario—a mouse.
Be entertaining or die.
“Are you going to ask me to dance or just stand there holding my hand?” I ask Nicholas.
Carter lets out a sharp, delighted laugh.
Nicholas’s eyes widen slightly. Good. I’ve surprised him, and most people love surprises. Vampires even more so. Eternity would get monotonous otherwise.
His answering chuckle is low and throaty. “I never say no to a beautiful woman.”
Heat races from my chest to my neck to my cheeks. Hopefully, the dim, reddish glow from the sconces covers it.
He walks around the table without letting go of me and leads me down the stairs and into the throng of bodies. Somehow, they part for him, maybe from the instinctual shying away from a predator, or maybe from his commanding presence. He carries himself like a king, and I drift behind in his wake, which I can’t have. I need to be on equal footing. Need them to part for me, too. I let go of his hand and grab his arm instead, pressing up against his side as I make the crowd bend to my will.
It’s a stark difference to struggling through with Henry. I already feel more powerful.
I fight the urge to search for Henry in the crowd. I hope he’s not watching.
I catch Nicholas glancing down at me.
“What?”
He shrugs, shifting his biceps beneath my fingers. “Impressive.”
And then, when we reach the middle of the mass, he pulls me into him, grasping the center of my waist. My hands instinctively land on his chest like I’m one second shy of pushing him away or latching on and pulling him closer. We move together, my body embracing the sharp beat and his hands holding me. His touch is simpler than Henry’s—no complicated history, only this moment. When the song shifts and slows, he spins me around so my back presses aga
inst his chest. I feel every shift of him behind me. His fingers spread across my belly, and though his hands felt icy before, my skin flares hot beneath them.
I fall into the heat until one hand trails up my arm, drifting across my bare collarbone and trailing gently across the front of my neck. Suddenly I’m the naive girl in every bad vampire movie—the girl Dad and I would yell at to get out of there before it’s too late, and then we’d laugh at her inevitable demise.
I never understood why they didn’t come to their senses and run before their throats got ripped open.
Now I do.
I shiver from the heat. The music swallows me and spits me out again until I’m nothing but another human vibrating to the pulse in the beats, mind completely, blissfully empty.
His head bends down to mine, his hair brushing my cheek. “Tell me what you want.”
To keep forgetting, to stay like this in a haze of touch. That’s why the victims so rarely run. It’s not about feeling at all. It’s about not feeling.
“To be like you,” I say.
His hand tightens ever so slightly on my neck. “Do you know what that means?”
“Yes. I want it.” And in that moment, I’m not thinking about my father at all. I’m thinking about myself dressed in black leather like Selene, able to stop any threat against my family. I’m thinking about being eternally gorgeous and fierce and always in control—my own romanticized version of vampires with none of the horror. I’m thinking about how Nicholas’s cold fingers against my warm throat makes me want more of him. I let myself sink into that empty, emotionless want and spin to face him. His hand slides from my stomach to my back without losing pressure, and I end up with my face against his chest and his other arm pressed tightly between us because he still hasn’t let go of my throat. My pulse rages under his thumb, but not from fear. It is free to beat without consequences in this dark club where nobody can see me. An addictive feeling for a girl whose heart’s been pumping lead for months.
My fingers mindlessly count his ribs.
Perhaps being a vampire gives you the power to seduce anyone, even someone who should be thinking about other things. Norse mythology mentions mind control as one of their powers, but I know my mind’s still mine—it just wants to forget for one second, and focusing on all my quivering physical senses lets me.
And then Ariana Grande sings a line about having no tears left to cry, and it breaks through my heat and turns my skin cold. I stop moving, and he stops the second after I do. His hand leaves my throat and pulls my chin up with one finger.
What kind of daughter am I that I can forget about my purpose here and get distracted in the arms of a handsome guy? Not a great one.
My emotions, locked safely in my well, begin to spill over, and a deep, sorrowful blue leaks through me.
He sees it as he searches every inch of my face.
“I can’t give you what you want.”
“Why?” My voice cracks.
“It’s not right for you.”
He lets go of me and pulls away.
I latch onto his sleeve. “Please help me.”
“I can’t.”
I don’t know when he called them over, but the next thing I know, one of the bouncers is guiding me to the door, and I’m out on the street, disoriented and alone.
No. Not alone. I spot Henry leaning against the building where the line of waiting people ends.
My stomach flips. How much of that did he see? I didn’t just forget about Dad—I forgot Henry and the way his hands felt pressed into my back. His fingers did not make me lose myself like Nicholas’s. They made me feel too much—all the past and all the future I thought we’d have together eventually. The future I’m trying to change.
I walk cautiously over to him. He doesn’t look at me, so he saw enough.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he says, scratching the side of his head, glancing down at me and then away again. I wipe at my dress like shame can leave a stain, and the movement makes me angry.
I’m allowed to feel ashamed at myself for forgetting about my dad, but Henry certainly doesn’t get to feel it for me. I bite my tongue to keep myself from yelling at him.
“I found them,” I say instead. “They’re real.”
Henry spares me a condescending look I want to smack off his face.
“I’m not kidding.”
“Right,” he says. “So you got all their secrets, did you?”
“I got kicked out.”
He taps his foot against the pavement.
“I need to get back in, but I can’t go back as myself—the bouncers know me now.”
Henry pulls himself off the wall so he can stand and face me. Folding his arms across his chest, he says, “It’s getting pretty late, and I’m tired.”
“I have to do this tonight. Who knows where they’ll be tomorrow.”
“Well, it looked to me like you could handle yourself. I’m not sure you need me at all.”
A judgmental silence stretches between us as fresh hurts pile onto old ones.
“Fine,” I say, brushing past him and moving down the street. He doesn’t follow.
* * *
I need a new look. Something that says I’m a creature of the night and can spend an eternity in clubs, pulsing to the music and never caring about anything again. Turns out, most clothing stores close before ten, but lingerie stores tend to get a nighttime clientele.
When I strut back toward the table of vamps at 2:00 a.m., I wear a black lace top with thin, solid triangles covering my boobs, but see-through lace is the only thing covering my stomach. It’s tucked into a short, white pleather miniskirt. I pulled my hair back from my face in a tight, high bun, rimmed my eyes in black, and covered my lips in red.
Who knew the power of an outfit? As I glide through the club, I hold my head higher and my shoulders squarer. I’m not even a vampire, but I feel like I could break anyone with a single look.
Carter actually cracks up when he spots me. “Look at this. I win.”
Everyone swivels around to stare. Nicholas raises his brows and sips his wine as if on a scale of surprises, I’m about a two.
The girl with the long, gorgeous braids eases out of her chair and somehow glides toward me in her six-inch gold stilettos. She holds out her hand and gives me a sly smile. “I’m Daniella, and you just got interesting.”
“Um, thanks.” I smile and strut back with her in my equally high silver pumps. I may prefer flaring sundresses, but I am no stranger to rocking a towering heel.
Marcus looks bored as ever.
I swagger over and stand across the table from Nicholas. “Well?”
“Well what?” He rolls the blood-red liquid in his glass, an uninterested movement, but I’m not blind to the way his gaze keeps catching on my bare thighs.
“Will you reconsider?”
He draws out the silence with a slow sip. Finally, he sets it on the table. “Leave us,” he says to nobody in particular. Carter and Daniella share a quick look and stroll away without a word, but Carter winks as he brushes by me. Marcus grumbles under his breath but leaves as well.
When we’re alone, Nicholas gestures to the empty space beside him. I force my feet to move without hesitation even though the common sense inside of me tries to turn them to lead. Sitting, I tug at my skirt, but it wasn’t really meant for this position, and the cool velvet cushions tickle the backs of my thighs. I cross my legs and make one more attempt to drag it down. It refuses to compromise.
“Comfortable?” Nicholas asks. A trace of amusement tugs at his lips. He knows I’m not.
“Never been better.”
He smirks.
“Will you change your mind now?” I reach toward the table, casually lifting the wineglass Carter abandoned like it’s no big deal. I lift it, bracing myself.
His fingers close around mine, guiding the cup back to the table but not before I get a faint whiff of something coppery.
He lets go of me and leans
back as if I didn’t just try something. “It was never about how you looked.” He searches my face, and I don’t know what he finds there under my black-rimmed eyes and blood-toned lips, but his eyes narrow. “Why do you want to be a vampire?”
My heart pounds at the admission coupled with the smell of copper still lingering in my nostrils. I can’t believe he said the word. He must plan to kill me—one way or the other. I swallow, trying to get my dry mouth to work. “I told you. I want to live forever.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re too sad—a change of clothes can’t cover up the kind of sadness you carry in your bones. I know that kind of sadness. I’ve danced with it before.” His voice suggests he still knows it. “People who know that kind of sadness exists in the world never really want to live forever, and if they do, they’re fools. Are you a fool, Victoria?”
He’s right, of course. I don’t want to live forever with all the pain and sorrow simmering inside me. Containing it is a constant, exhausting battle I keep losing, but that’s the point. All my pain can be linked back to one thing: death. If Dad and I escape it forever, I won’t be sad. I’ll escape. But I don’t know how to explain that to him without laying myself bare.
“Can’t vampires turn off their emotions?”
“You’ve seen too many movies.” His voice is tired. He rests his head against the back of the couch and closes his eyes. “So that’s what you really want. That I can believe, but I can’t give it to you.”
“No.” I scramble to regain control. I’ve let him see too much of me. “I want to live.” I dive through my well of sorrow and try to find the part of me that once loved living. I know it’s there somewhere even if I don’t feel it anymore. I turn away so he can’t see all the pain I have to dig through to find a sliver of joy to share with him.
“I want to stand in the moonlight on a summer night. I want the bite of fall to nip at me through my sweaters. I want to dance with the snow under a full moon. I want the spring breeze to blow my skirt so hard I have to keep it down with my hands. And I want to live those moments forever.”
My voice shakes at the end, and I have to swallow hard to keep the aching sadness inside of me from bubbling up and drowning out my words with sobs. Because that’s the problem with emotions: It’s all or nothing. You can’t pick and choose which ones you want to feel.
Vampires, Hearts & Other Dead Things Page 10