by Jaye Wells
“When was the last time you fed?” Callum asked as he reached to help me into the chair.
“Don’t remember,” I mumbled.
“Here, drink this,” Callum said and handed me a glass filled with blood. Normally, I would have said no. Bagged blood was disgusting. But I could feel my fangs extending as soon as the rich iron scent hit me.
Pride be damned. I was in pain and starving. Desperate times called for desperate measures and all that. I lifted the glass and chugged it in one gulp, trying to ignore the taste of plastic commingled with the cold fluid.
I felt better almost instantly, though. I probably needed more, but I felt well enough that I couldn’t justify consuming another ounce of that shit.
Wiping my mouth with the napkin Callum offered, I saw my father’s mouth hanging open.
“Well, I’ll be damned. I have been trying to get her to do that for decades.”
“Let’s not send out a press release yet,” I said. “That was a one-time shot.”
“Not to worry, you’ll be drinking synthetic blood where you’re going,” Father Dearest shot back.
I flinched at the reminder of our conversation before my nosedive.
Callum’s eyebrows shot together. “Where is she going?”
My father walked back to his chair, as if relieved to have the histrionics over with, and indicated Callum should take the chair next to mine.
“Actually, that is why I called you in. The council has decided on Gabriella’s punishment.”
Callum’s eyes shifted toward me in surprise when he heard my real name. I gritted my teeth, knowing that correcting my father again would be a waste of breath. I ignored his curious look and examined my fingernails, idly wondering if manicures were available in Norway. He took the hint and looked back at my father.
“We are banishing her for two hundred years for her crimes against your family as well as her misdeeds in the past,” said Father of the Year.
“We feel she needs some time to think about what she has done and accept the Brethren doctrine,” he continued, ignoring Callum’s shocked expression. “Furthermore, as your family’s representative, she is required to offer a formal apology to you for her actions.”
“Sir, forgive me, but don’t you think that is a little extreme?”
My head swiveled toward him so fast I felt dizzy. Not that I didn’t agree with him, but I couldn’t help question his motives.
“Excuse me?” My father’s outrage was clear. “Are you questioning the wisdom of the council?”
“Of course not, sir. Obviously she should learn a lesson, but it seems excessive given the circumstances.”
“Are you forgetting everything she did to your family?”
“Of course not, but I don’t think banishing her will make her more sympathetic to the Brethren way. I think she needs to be taught to understand our way of life.”
“Um, hello? I am in the room.” The night was shitty enough without being talked about like I wasn’t there.
They ignored me as they continued to debate the best way to “rehabilitate” me.
“So, what would you suggest is the right way to change her?” Orpheus asked.
“Has anyone considered I don’t want to change?” I asked. “Guys?”
“I think she needs to be immersed in the lifestyle. To take the products which allow us to live like mortals. Plus she need to be exposed to humans so she can learn they deserve our respect, not to be treated like food,” Callum argued.
“Over my dead—” I began, only to be cut off by my father.
“And how exactly would you accomplish these lofty goals?”
“Let’s see, first she would need to be monitored by someone familiar with the products who could make sure she actually used them. Second, she would need to be around mortals, perhaps in a volunteer capacity,” Callum said. “Community service, maybe.”
I started to rise to tell them where they could shove their community service when my father spoke again. I expected him to put Callum in his place for his presumption, but what he said instead caused me to drop in my seat in shock.
“An excellent idea. Thank you for volunteering.”
“What?” Callum said.
“What?” I shouted.
If I hadn’t been so horrified by what was happening, seeing Callum’s mouth drop open like an idiot would have been comical.
“Yes, I think it’s a wonderful plan. Gabriella will not only be forced to learn our ways, but she will also be making restitution directly to your family.”
“Sir, I . . . I didn’t mean . . .” Callum began.
“No way!” I said loudly over him.
“It makes perfect sense because your family is responsible for creating the products,” Orpheus continued, ignoring our protests. “Not to mention you have a stake in seeing her rehabilitated.”
“And you,” he said, turning his dark gaze in my direction, “it is either this or the Land of the Midnight Sun. Take your pick. But be aware, whether you do it now or in two hundred years, you will be expected to embrace our ways before you are released into society again.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off again. “Oh, did I mention that the prison you’ll live in has no running water?”
Shit. He had me, and we both knew it. Exile would be frozen hell on earth. But I wasn’t convinced being under Callum’s power would be much better. However, while there would be no escape from banishment, I might be able to fake my way through the rehabilitation plan.
Keeping one eye on Callum, I sorted through the pros and cons of each option. He shook his head ever so slightly with his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. That decided me. If he was reluctant to go along with this, then it suited me perfectly.
“All right,” I said with what I hoped was a resigned sigh. “I guess I have no choice.”
“Gabriella,” my father said, “if you think you can fake your way through this you’re wrong. I will expect daily reports on your progress, and it will be me who makes the final judgment.”
I tried not to flinch as he called me on my plan. Still, even with those rules, I figured this would be a piece of cake.
Callum cleared his throat. “Sir, are you sure this is the best idea?”
Orpheus smiled widely and said, “Absolutely.”
I looked at Callum and sent him a look that clearly said, “serves you right for brownnosing.”
“Fine. I’ll do it. However, I insist on a time limit and a zero tolerance policy if she refuses to follow my rules.”
“Just what do you mean by that?” I asked, offended.
He looked at me, a grin on his full lips. “It means, princess, the first time you throw a tantrum, it’s off to Norway with you.”
“Excellent,” Orpheus said, clearly enjoying my suffering.
“But that’s not fair!” I said, slapping a hand on the desk.
“How many times have I told you? Eternal life isn’t fair.”
Instead of responding, I glared at Callum, warning him with my eyes that he’d better watch himself. They might have me in a corner now, but once I passed their little tests, they would pay for every moment of humiliation.
“Gabriella, you are dismissed. The guards will take you to your rooms.”
“Excuse me? I want to stay and hear about what you have planned.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. The brilliance of this plan is that you have no say in how you repay your debts.”
I was furious and ready to hold my breath until he let me stay. But then I imagined myself standing on the tundra—freezing and alone. Not a blood donor or Starbucks in sight.
I clamped my mouth shut and nodded. Throwing tantrums this early might make them scrap this idea altogether. Best to keep them off guard.
“Can we at least decide on the time frame before I go? Knowing how long I have to prove myself will help me muddle through.”
My father’s eyes narrowed. I smiled angelically.
“I suppose that’s fair,” Orpheus said slowly. “Callum?”
“One month,” he said.
I could have kissed him. Given the alternative of two hundred years, one month would be a walk in the graveyard.
“No, I think she needs longer. After all, she has much to learn. How about six months?”
Callum sputtered for a moment. “Sir, with all due respect, I have a business to run, and we are scrambling as it is to get production of Lifeblood up and running.”
I silently cheered his logic and quick thinking.
“Three months. Your family can pitch in if you need to attend to the business.”
Callum’s shoulders slumped. He knew he’d been beaten by a superior negotiator. My hope of getting away with a shorter sentence died a painful death. “Three it is,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I suggest you go get some rest,” my father said. “You have a busy three months ahead of you.”
I nodded because I didn’t trust my voice. Three months? I knew it wasn’t that long for an immortal, but it still stunk.
“Before this is through you’ll be thanking me for making you do this,” Orpheus said.
I nodded again, this time to keep from gagging. My fists clenched in an effort to keep my cool. How dare he go all “tough love” on me?
I looked at Callum one last time. A muscle worked in his jaw as he watched me rise. Well, tough cookies. It served him right for opening his big mouth to begin with.
As I walked away, my father said, “I see a great future for you in the council, son.”
That decided it. Starting tomorrow, Callum Murdoch was going to rue the day he ever met Raven Coracino.
Chapter Three
The next night Callum and I boarded the Murdoch private jet to leave New York, home of the Brethren Sect’s official headquarters. He had wanted an earlier start back to Raleigh, but I couldn’t travel in the daytime.
Callum, like all members of the Brethren, took medication to deal with his sun allergies. Because I refused to take them on principle, going in the sun for even a few minutes would incapacitate me for days.
On the way to the airport, he kept muttering about my backward ways and swore he’d start me on the sun regimen the minute we touched down in North Carolina. I sat silently, but inside I was laughing. Not even a day into this debacle, and I was already annoying him. What can I say? It’s a gift.
We boarded the plane and were greeted by the bubbly flight attendant. She introduced herself as Misty. She’d been with us on the flight up from Raleigh. I still hated her. She had one of those perky peroxide-enhanced hairdos and wore a lot of makeup in nauseating pastel colors.
“Mr. Murdoch, everything is ready for takeoff. Miss Coracino, it’s a pleasure to have you back on board. Can I get you something?”
“A stake would be nice,” I said.
Misty’s perfect Cupid’s bow turned into a frown. “Oh dear, I’m sorry. We don’t have any steak. I could whip up some pasta, though,” she said, her singsong voice raising the hairs on my neck.
I was proud of myself for not smacking her. “Just get me a whisky. No ice.”
“Coming right up! Mr. Murdoch? Care for anything?”
“Just a bag of blood, if you don’t mind,” he said with a sigh, taking his seat.
“Of course I don’t mind! It’s my pleasure!” she enthused and practically skipped toward the galley.
I watched her go, shaking my head. “What do you feed her? Speed?”
“Misty is good at her job. That’s no reason to mock her,” Callum said, his deep voice disapproving.
Sighing, I walked over to the seat on the opposite side of the plane from Callum. Some people just didn’t have a sense of humor.
I slid slowly into the buttery leather of the seat, both for effect and in deference to my corset. It tended to pinch if I wasn’t careful. Not for the first time, I wished I’d thought to grab extra clothes when Callum took me into custody.
Plus, my feet were killing me again. One might think I would be immune to such annoyances—being a vampire and all—but no such luck. The shoes couldn’t literally kill me, but right then I’d have shucked eternity for some Epsom salts and a tub of hot water.
I had to admit that some days being a vixen vampiress really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Sometimes I really wanted to forget all about my bid for world domination and just lounge around my lair in sweats. But what kind of message would that send my minions?
Damned human minions, I thought, recalling the sniveling rats who had abandoned ship when the Murdoch family burst into my hideout to save that chick I kidnapped.
Freakin’ mortals. Couldn’t live with them, couldn’t suck them all dry. And while I was at it, I decided to curse the entire Murdoch clan.
Narrowing my eyes, I glared at Callum. He seemed to have forgotten my presence and was engrossed in a copy of Forbes.
I reached down and rubbed my feet through the leather of the boots, biting back a groan at the pleasure-pain sensation the move caused. Removing the cursed things wasn’t an option since I’d only have to put them back on when we landed.
“I’ll never get why you women wear those torture devices,” Callum said, interrupting my moment of bliss. Obviously he hadn’t forgotten about me.
If he wasn’t careful, one of my boots was going to end up thrown at his head.
“What?” he asked, looking genuinely perplexed.
“A woman’s shoes are her calling card to the world,” I said patiently, as if explaining something to a child. “They send a message about her sense of self-worth.”
“The only message those shoes send is that you’re a masochist.”
“I’m sorry. I am really not in the mood to get into a footwear debate with you,” I responded, feeling weary and distracted. Normally I could have talked him into the ground about the philosophical state of our soles, but I was beyond exhausted.
“You’re bitchy when you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous. I just find you tedious.”
“Sweetheart, women have called me a lot of things in my life. Tedious is not one of them.”
“I am sure ‘insufferable’ and ‘idiot’ are also on the list.” Part of me enjoyed the verbal sparring because it kept my mind off what awaited me in Raleigh.
“That’s big talk from a spoiled brat,” he said, the edge to his words erasing the joking banter.
“Oh no, whatever shall I do? The Golden Boy called me a brat. I guess this means you aren’t asking me to prom?”
He stared at me for a moment, his jaw working.
Misty returned, saving me from whatever response he’d planned.
“Here’s your drink, Miss Coracino! Captain says we’re ready for takeoff. Please fasten your seat belt.”
Misty stopped by Callum’s place to drop off his bag of blood before heading to her seat at the rear of the plane. Seeing the dark red fluid reminded me that I had not eaten since last night’s post-faint meal. The reminder caused my stomach to cramp. But I’d be damned if I lowered myself to ask for a bag. Instead, I sipped on the whisky, hoping its burn would distract me from my hunger.
The plane started up with a whir of engines followed by a jolt as it started moving down the runway. We quickly gained speed and suddenly my stomach dropped out from under me as we left terra firma.
My free hand gripped the armrest. It wasn’t that I was scared of dying in a fiery crash or anything. But having been born in the seventeenth century, I sometimes still had problems adjusting to the advances of the modern age. I felt that if the goddess had intended for us to fly then she would have given us wings.
Another belt of whisky, with its smoky flavor, helped a little.
I couldn’t wait until the fasten seat belt light went out. Nicotine was of the essence. In the rush to get to the plane, I hadn’t had time to stop for a smoke break. Lighting up at my seat would probably just make Goody Two-shoes Murdoch give me a hard time about the smell.
So, being the considerate person I am, I decided to head to the lavatory.
“Where are you going?” Callum asked as I got up from my seat.
“I need to use the little vampire’s room. Or do I need your permission to pee, too?”
He didn’t blush, but I could tell he was embarrassed for overreacting. Where else would I be going? It’s not like I could escape at 20,000 feet.
“Just go,” he said.
“Fine. I will.”
“Fine.”
“Whatever,” I said in a lame attempt to get the last word. With that, I sauntered off to the head. I passed Misty on my way back. She smiled enthusiastically at me, although her eyes looked worried. “Is everything okay, Miss Coracino? The Captain hasn’t turned off the seat belt sign yet.”
“Sorry, Misty, but nature calls. You won’t tell the captain on me will you?”
“Well, I suppose an exception can be made. Just try to hurry.”
“Scout’s honor. I won’t even flush.”
She opened her mouth and then shut it quickly. Her brows knit as if she were working out a complex calculus problem.
“Uh, that’s okay. You can go ahead and flush.”
Obviously, someone was a few chuckles short of a sense of humor. I patted her on the head and continued down the aisle to my destination.
I slammed the sliding door and clicked the lock, which engaged the light. The cramped space smelled like that awful blue toilet water. I scrunched my nose and tried to breathe through my mouth.
Then I gasped when I saw my reflection in the mirror. Fluorescent light did nothing for my complexion. As a creature of the night, I was already pretty pale. But seriously, I looked dead.
My usually luminous midnight black hair—the color achieved with a wonderful human invention called Miss Clairol—hung limply around my face. My black lipstick had faded away, leaving my lips looking chapped. Damned recycled airplane air. The only spot of color in my entire face was the brown of my eyes. I stuck my tongue out at the boring color. What I really needed was colored contacts—violet perhaps. Maybe I’d looked into that once I got myself out of this mess.