Rushing into the house, I left my mother on the floor and turned the shower on high. Glancing back, I checked that the guy was still standing at the door, and then I headed off into the back. By the time my mother showered, my whole front was soaked through and plastered to my body, including the wad of cash in my shorts pocket, which was just awesome. “Now go to the bathroom before you go to bed, Mom, okay?”
“I’m the adult,” she slurred. “Goddamnit, January. I’m the adult.”
“Yeah, Mom. I know.” Shaking my head, I closed her into the bathroom and headed back toward the front door. Seeing that the dude was still standing there, relief washed through me. “Sorry, I’m here. Let’s go back to your truck.” Bailey rushed forward and pushed into my way as I attempted to leave again, effectively blocking the door.
The guy put his hands on the doorframe and leaned in over Bailey, and the living room lamp illuminated his features fully. I couldn’t help but notice that his face was smooth, the kind of skin that probably never once was afflicted with a pimple. His cheeks, slightly upturned nose, and jawline were made up of sharp, chiseled angles. A very slight cleft indented at the center of his chin. He had straight, dark eyebrows over dark eyes and a thick fan of black lashes. His lips were so full they were just short of pouty.
“We should just stay here,” the guy said. “It’s safer than on the street.”
I met his golden eyes and then glanced down at his body, wondering where he could be hiding eight bags of blood. “Um . . .” I looked behind me, considering. Part of me was screaming that I was acting like a total idiot, letting some strange guy into my house to sell me blood. We should be somewhere public. But most of me realized the flaw in that logic — we weren’t any safer in front of that liquor store or at any spot between here and there. “What’s your name?”
The question surprised even me. Like, what did it matter? The guy was going to give me a fake name. If my mother hadn’t shouted out mine, I’d have told him that it was August.
He leaned against the door, absently reaching out a hand toward Bailey. “Justin.”
Bailey started licking Justin the blood dealer’s hand like it was a lollipop, her tail wagging so much that even her giant butt was wagging.
I rocked on my heels, deliberating. “You go to Hampton?” There were two public schools in our city, Garrett to the south, where all the below-poverty-line teens and I went, and Hampton. Hampton was literally on the other side of the tracks from us, two sets of tracks.
“Blackburn Academy. I’m going to be a junior.”
Blackburn Academy was the school the snobbiest Hampton students complained was “too elitist.” The Academy students were from the wealthiest among the wealthiest families of Brightside, California. Every year, they allowed a small number of students to join their school, and teens came from all over the world to compete in the entrance trials. The competition was by invite only, and no one knew how you were invited. Yes. I’d checked … more than once. And, even the students entering the trials were rich enough to keep far away from this side of Brightside.
Why would a guy rich enough to go to Blackburn be running blood bags for eighty bucks? He probably wiped his butt with hundred-dollar bills.
This was a bad idea. No, actually, this was a bad situation. At sixteen years old, I was signed up to become a murderer against my will, and I had to trust some rich-ass stranger from Blackburn Academy to get me out of it.
A spark of humor shone in Justin’s eyes, the first glimmer I’d seen. “You seem really reluctant to let me into your place, but I’m the one going into a strange house with a . . .” He nodded, “You know.”
Vampire.
He had a point. Yeah, this situation was weird, but in reverse, it had to be scarier. And, this guy went to a high school in the same city as I did. It wasn’t like I was inviting Frank the creep to my room.
Sighing, I whispered, “Okay, my room is out here.”
Opening the door wider, I let Bailey out the front, and she bounded off. I used my keys to lock up and headed around the side of the house and unlocked the door to my room. My room had initially been a shed a few years back, but I’d cleared out the spiders, patched the missing boards, and even framed in an antique window I’d bought at the junkyard.
Bailey bounded in first, bouncing onto my bed and taking up pretty much the whole thing.
Crossing over to my standing lamp, I gestured to a plush chair that I squeezed between the wall and the bed. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I’d found the nearly perfect condition chair on the side of the road, waiting with the trash, and I’d dragged it all the way home. It had only needed some mild cleaning and a few patches, and the plush chair looked store-bought. And yet, Justin eyed it warily like it might have fleas.
“Or don’t make yourself comfortable.” I shrugged. “I have some soda if you want. I also have juice and milk.”
The fridge had been another find, this one beside a dumpster. It wasn’t in quite as good of condition, but it worked, and I’d inked a fantasy battle scene across the front, with elves attacking a fortress.
“You should probably get me juice.”
It was a weird way of putting it, but I grabbed a mason jar off the shelf I built and filled it with some orange juice before handing it over. Justin’s golden eyes met mine, and he kept my gaze while taking a sip.
Inhaling deeply, I sat on the edge of my bed. “I have no idea about this vampire stuff. Do you know how long eight bags will last me? And, if I need more, do I call the number again? Is the price fixed? Oh. You probably want your money.” I pulled out the soggy twenties and winced. “Sorry, they got a little wet.”
Justin didn’t even look at the money. He set his orange juice glass on my shelf and perched on the armrest of my chair. His legs were just inches from mine, and he stared down at me intently. “Okay, this is how this has to go, January. In exchange for me coming by every Tuesday and Thursday at 1 a.m. so you can drink from my wrist, you have to agree to three things. First, you’re never going to call that number again. Second, don’t ask me questions about your condition. I won’t tell you anything. Last, don’t tell anyone what you are — and I mean anyone at all.” Another small glimmer of humor shone in his eyes. “Oh, also don’t try to give me money again — I’m not a prostitute.”
“What the what? Drink from your wrist?” I blinked hard and shook my head. “The recording said I was buying blood bags.”
“Nope.” He lifted his wrist toward my mouth. “Fresh blood. It’s better for your health.”
My incisors seared with pain, and I felt the telltale stab of my fangs piercing the inside of my gums. I shook my head. “No, no, no . . . what if I turn you into a vampire? That’s not what this is, right? You’re not trying to get me to turn you or something, because I can’t even deal with me right now. I’m not doing that.”
Leaning forward, Justin grinned. “Never going to happen. I won’t tell you how that’s done, but it’s not from that. You need blood, January.”
“So, you’re just going to show up here twice a week for nothing and feed me from your vein?” The word vein again made my mouth fill with saliva, and I had to swallow to speak. “Why do I have to keep this a secret from everyone but you?”
“Because I said so. It’s important.”
“Yes,” I drew out the word. “But why is it important? If you’re not going to tell me about vampires, I need to figure it out somehow.”
His gaze dipped down to my teeth, where my fangs were now fully extended.
“I’m not explaining anymore. I can help you, but I’m only going to help you, for free, if you do it my way. You keep it our secret. You don’t ask questions. That’s it.” He opened up his hands and shrugged.
“What do you get out of it?” I asked.
“Call it . . . charity work.”
Really? Honestly, he couldn’t have said anything more infuriating, and from the wry little smile on his face, Justin knew it.
>
I wasn’t stupid. This was the best deal I was going to get. I couldn’t afford eighty dollars a month, much less twice a week. Calling that number again and hoping someone else came with blood bags to the liquor store just seemed too risky. I’d have to do the whole, ‘prove I’m not a matricide-committing monster,’ to someone new.
“So, I can’t even tell my best friend?” I told Charlotte everything. I’d spent a good part of this week trying to figure out how to break it to her.
“No one. Ever.”
His words were actually kind of a relief. I was feeling a little guilty for not confiding in my friends, but if I was required not to in this deal, then I didn’t need to feel guilty about it. Inhaling deeply, I reached out toward his wrist.
“Say it out loud first. You agree to my terms.”
I froze. “You are a seriously bossy person, Justin.”
“Your point?”
I guess I didn’t have one. He was bossy, and I was going to have to deal with it and him — end of story. “Yeah, okay, I’ll agree to your terms, but if you vanish, I’m going to have to call that number again. Also, no adding on favors or anything like that. ”
“Deal,” he said, lifting his wrist toward my mouth.
I wrapped my hands around his wrist. “I’ve never done this before. Will you tell me if I’m hurting you?”
“You won’t hurt me.” He lifted his hand to my mouth, and I could smell hand soap and maybe a gentle cologne on his wrist. “Now bite in gently, and then pull out your teeth.”
Slowly, I pressed my fangs against his wrist, breaking his skin with gentle pressure, and warm, coppery blood dripped onto my tongue.
CHAPTER THREE
One Year Later
The clock ticked closer to one, and my heart thumped in my chest, beating like a cracked-out drummer. Like always on Tuesday nights, I left my door unlocked, and sat on my bed. Spread open on my lap was Wuthering Heights in its plastic library jacket, but the familiar words all blurred into a smear of gray.
The door opened, and Justin stalked in, practically falling into the chair. As per usual, he gazed around my room with a tolerant apathy, as if he would rather be anywhere but here. Utterly unaware of Justin’s antipathy, Bailey crawled off the bed and settled down on his feet. She’d settle in his lap if she’d fit. For some unfathomable reason, Bailey had fallen absolutely in love with Justin over the past year. Laying her head on her paws, she closed her eyes, so content that her boyfriend was here.
Taking a steadying breath, I focused on the book in my lap, knowing that if I looked directly at the guy, I’d probably lose my nerve.
Well, lose my nerve were the wrong words. The problem was that I didn’t want to say what I needed to, but it was getting harder to look at myself in the mirror every day and not because of vampires being invisible to mirrors or anything, that wasn’t true. For the most part, I was just like any normal living teenager. Aside from fangs and blood, every urban legend about vampires that I’d researched proved false, and I’d studied every single one that our community library had access to.
“Hey, Justin. How’s it going?”
“Good.” His eyes closed, and he lifted his wrist.
For almost a year, this was the extent of our twice a week visits. Justin walked in and slumped into a chair. I tried to engage him in conversation about anything, anything at all. I told him about books, art, my day, anything to normalize these blood-drinking visits. If I was lucky, he would give the odd one-word answer. I drank his blood. He left. Repeat.
Sucking in a long breath, I steadied myself. “Look — I was thinking that maybe we should . . .”
His golden eyes snapped open, and he lifted his head. “What? What’s up?”
Damn. I had this awful squirming feeling in my stomach. It felt like I was breaking up with the guy, but I was pretty sure that Justin hated me. Closing my book, I rolled back my shoulders and sat up straight. “CPS got involved with my mom and me. Well, they’ve been involved on and off for a while now. This time it was because my mom got arrested for like her millionth drunk and disorderly, and now she’s going to 12 months of court-ordered rehab.”
“Shit.”
“Thanks,” I said, even though he wasn’t exactly giving me condolences. “Anyhow, my grandmother has temporary custody of me, and a friend of mine hooked her up with a housekeeping job on your side of town. So, we’re going to be living there.”
“You’re moving to my side of town?” In a single second, Justin’s look switched from exhausted to alert and almost angry. “Whose house?” he demanded.
I chose to ignore his anger and shrugged. “Yeah, I know, I was surprised too. They allow people from this side of town over in your side. There wasn’t even a waiting period —”
“January.” He leaned in. “Whose house?”
“Elvis. Turns out . . .” I threw up my hands, “He’s alive.” When Justin only continued staring expectantly, I sighed. But what was the harm in him knowing who we were moving in with? Tracing my fingers around the cover of my book, I said, “Do you know the Roberts?”
The tension drained from his expression, and he leaned back into his chair. “Yeah, alright. It won’t be a problem for me to find you.”
“Well, about that . . .”
Justin nodded slowly.
“I was thinking that maybe I could switch to bagged blood. You work for an agency, right? Couldn’t we maybe make another arrangement?” I said it all in a rush, and by the time the words were out, I wanted to stuff them back in.
“You’d rather someone drop off bagged blood?” The stunned hurt that fell over Justin’s features took me off guard. I didn’t understand how he could be offended. I’d always suspected he was doing this out of obligation. Why keep this going if there was an easy way out?
I set my book aside and scooted to the end of the bed. “Look. You don’t want to be here.”
“I don’t?” He lifted his dark brows. “Because it sounds an awful lot like you don’t want me to be here, even though I come here twice a week and ask nothing in return.”
“That’s just it.” I winced. “You’re giving, and I’m taking. It’s not right. This arrangement is clearly making you miserable. And, I just want to be in relationships that bring happiness in my new life.”
“So, now I’m not happy enough to be in your sunshine life, January? Should I fake smiles and sing you “Kumbaya”?”
I suppressed the urge to flip him the bird and sighed. “Dude, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry —”
“Stop apologizing and just say, straight out, that you don’t want me in your life anymore.”
Without meaning to, I slid my legs just inches from one of his, and he’d slipped his leg between mine. Neither of us had moved away. An all too familiar and unwelcome fluttering sensation tingled through me. There were so many reasons that these little blood-drinking sessions had to stop, but the deluded butterflies in my belly that took flight every time we touched were a big part of it. Even knowing how wrong it was, I didn’t move away from him as I continued, “Justin, you hate me. You don’t want to be here, and you don’t want me feeding on you. I can tell. This . . .” I gestured between us. “This is toxic. It’s wrong of me to keep this going just because it makes me feel good. You’re obligated to do something you don’t want to, and it sounded like maybe there was another way. I want to be happy. I want us both to be happy, and this is making us both miserable.”
There. I’d said it, and there was no way to take it back.
We said nothing for a minute, and the silence felt charged like I’d unloaded raw electricity into the room, and it was crackling between us.
“No,” he said.
I leaned even closer. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I’m not going to arrange for you to get blood delivered. If you want to replace me with blood bags, you get them yourself.”
“All right.” I shrugged. “Not a problem.”
“And . . .” He
set his elbows on his knees, bringing his face so close to mine that I could smell his minty toothpaste. “Don’t call that number. It was part of our deal, and I think we both know that I more than lived up to my side of it. I’m also more than willing to continue upholding my side of it.”
Unbidden, my gaze slipped down to Justin’s lips. The dopey butterflies in my stomach grew into full-blown monarchs. “Okay. A promise is a promise,” I whispered. Slowly, I looked back up to his big golden eyes. Our faces were only inches apart. And then reality struck hard and fast. This was as much as this guy and I had talked in a full year. A. Full. Year. What was wrong with me? I was trying to break this non-relationship off, and instead, I was two seconds from throwing myself at Justin. Finally convincing my body to break away, I scooted back, pulled up my knee socks, stood straight, and headed toward the door. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done. Even though I think this is for the best, I really, really want you to know how grateful I am.”
Justin stood and closed the distance. At first, I thought he was walking straight past me, but his hands came up and propped against the wall to either side of my head. His scent enveloped me, soapy with a sandalwood cologne.
“Woo-kay. You are definitely in my personal space bubble . . .” My voice came out embarrassingly breathy. Heart racing, I leaned back into the wall behind me, not sure how to feel about his closeness. My stupid butterflies were rejoicing, probably because it almost looked like Justin was going to be the one to kiss me. Lifting my brows, I asked, “Are you trying to scare me?”
He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and sighed before his gaze fell back to mine. “No. But, if you’re heading off on a blood bag search, you’re going to need some blood to tide you over. It’s already been almost a week.”
Even though I tried to stop myself, my eyes slid over to Justin’s pulse. Perhaps feeling my gaze, he tilted back his head, showing me his neck. I’d only ever drunk from his wrist, but for some reason, there was something so much more enticing about biting him on the juncture where his neck met his shoulder. But the guy was just too tall.
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