Revenge and the Wild

by Michelle Modesto

  Heavy black tapestries embellished with gold tassels hung at the windows. The walls were covered with black-and-white floral-patterned wallpaper, and the floors were blanketed in lush red carpet. To her right was the bar. It was well stocked with bottles of both whiskey and blood.

  It looked much like any other high-end gentlemen’s club except for the soiled doves—as wives liked to call the human women working for the vamps—sitting around tables waiting for either their next customer or their next fix. And then, of course, there was the rumpus of fornication coming from the curtained partitions upstairs and the swings hanging from the ceiling.

  “Come,” she heard Costin say.

  She followed his voice to a dark corner of the enormous room, blinking to adapt her vision to her hazy surroundings. Costin was slumped in an oversize chair like a heartbroken king, hair pooling around his shoulders. He had beautifully long limbs and perfect symmetry. She thought about him helping her home from the Tight Ship, his hands on her stomach, his cool lips on hers when they kissed, and started to feel giddy with nervousness.

  “Off you go,” Costin said to the others. The girls grabbed their drinks and rushed off without prodding, up the stairs and into their individual partitions. The guards were more hesitant. They knew Westie’s reputation for losing her head whenever she was angry. It was hard to kill a vampire, but Westie’s mechanics made a fair foe. “The rest of you too,” Costin said to the guards in the room.

  They looked ready to protest but eventually left Westie and Costin alone.

  Costin stood, grabbed a chair from a stack against the wall, and placed it next to his. He lit the candles in their sconces for her benefit and motioned her to sit. She did.

  “It’s quite an honor having you here. There is only one reason a human girl comes to a blood brothel,” Costin said with a mischievous grin.

  Westie screwed up her face. If he thought she was going to let him drink her blood, he had another think coming.

  “I need vampire blood,” she said.

  Even with blown pupils black as pots of coal dust, she could see the disappointment in his eyes.

  “All right, two reasons, but what you’re asking is against the law, as is barging into my establishment and threatening my guards. You could be hanged for your offenses if I were to go to the sheriff.”

  Westie knew the sheriff didn’t like her, but his hatred for creatures went deeper than any petty dislike. A fact she didn’t mention.

  “If I were the guest of honor at a string party every time I offended, I would’ve died as a child,” she said.

  The sultriness crept back into his voice. “Yes, you’re quite contrary, aren’t you?”

  She smiled sweetly, then let her lips fall back into a serious line. “Now about that blood.”

  “For your long-standing illness?” he asked.

  She remembered her kicking and flailing at the airdocks, and Nigel’s quick lie about seizures. “Yes.”

  He lifted his head so that he could gaze incredulously down at her. “You come in here wanting vampire blood, which could get us both killed were anyone to know I gave it to you, and yet you lie to me.”

  Their eyes dueled for a long moment before Costin turned his gaze away from her. “I know a seizure when I see one, and that display at the airdocks was no seizure. That, my love, was a fit of rage, though I have yet to figure out why.” Westie opened her mouth to speak, but Costin stopped her. “No. Don’t tell me. I like a good puzzle.”

  “I wasn’t going to. I need that blood, and I need it before Nigel wakes up and sees I’m gone.”

  Costin peeked at her through the corners of his eyes. “What will I get in return?”

  “I have money.”

  “I have more money than you can imagine. Why would I want your little bag of coins?”

  “I don’t have time for games, Costin. What do you want?”

  “I want you to drink from my vein.”

  She nearly choked when she heard those words. Drinking from a vampire’s vein was erotic for creatures, like sex was for humans.

  “No,” she said. “No way, nope.”

  He smiled, looking smug. “Then no blood. Do have a good evening, Westie, and be careful on your way home. The werewolves are out tonight; wouldn’t want to get fleas.”

  Westie stood from her chair and fought the urge to break it to splinters. “I need that blood, Costin—you don’t understand.” Her hand shook. “I need to cure my addiction. If I don’t get sober for good, Nigel won’t believe a word I say, and he won’t let the—” She started to mention the Fairfields but stopped herself. The fewer people who knew about her vendetta, the better. “I just . . . I need it.”

  “What is it you need Nigel to believe?” he said.

  She bit her lip to keep from screaming at him. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Then no blood for you.” He stood up to walk away.

  “Wait!” She put her hands on top of her head, cringing at the stupid choice she knew she was about to make. Costin stopped in midstride and turned to face her. “All right,” she said. “I’ll drink blood from your vein, but I can’t tell you why I need Nigel to believe me.”

  He put his hand to his chin in thought, though Westie could tell by his smirk that his mind had already been made up.

  “Very well. We will go to my room, where it will be more private. This could get messy,” he said with a wink.

  Nineteen

  Costin’s room was nothing like Westie had imagined. There was no coffin, no dirt floor, no blood on the walls, no horrible smells. Instead the walls were covered in white gauzy fabric and the room smelled like citrus. There was a circular bed in the center of the room, with mounds of feather pillows covered in silk. Everything was neat and in its place. Costin was a tidy creature.

  Westie’s neck arched as she took it all in. She was growing even more nervous, she realized when her stomach began to flutter.

  Costin fussed with pillows to carve out a space for her on the bed.

  She took off her duster and shoes, tossing them onto a chair across the room so she wouldn’t get blood on them. He watched her with brows raised and a curious smile. “Eager, are we?” he said.

  She plopped down on the bed, wriggling to get comfortable. “I want to get this over with. How do we start?”

  “Lie down,” he said.

  Leaning against a stack of pillows, she watched Costin pull a box from a dresser drawer beside the bed. Inside was a red glass dagger.

  Westie sat up, her muscles tensed for a brawl.

  “Relax,” he said. “It’s for me. Lie back down.”

  Alley was right, she thought. This is a terrible idea.

  But she didn’t leave. She needed Costin’s help. Vampire blood was the only way to achieve sobriety, even if it upset the Wintu spirits. She took a deep breath and melted back onto the pillows.

  Westie felt something stir deep within her belly when Costin removed his shirt, revealing a smooth white chest. He was lean and solid-looking, with cords of muscle beneath his skin.

  The mattress dipped when he climbed onto the bed and settled beside her, propped on an elbow. Her heart pulsed in her ears, and the stirring in her belly became more insistent.

  He’s a creature, she had to remind herself. But what she told herself and what her body was feeling were two very different things.

  Costin held the blade in his hand. When he moved, she noticed three perfectly spaced scars on his upper arm that looked almost like brands.

  “What are those from?” she asked. Vampires healed so quickly, she didn’t think they were capable of having scars.

  “General marks from the war.”

  She felt him shiver as she traced her finger over the bumps. “You were a general in the creature war? For how long?”

  “Five years.”

  “I was just a child back then,” she said. The war had ended while she was staying with the Wintu.

  Costin put a finger to her lips. “No mor
e talk of the war. Shall we get on with this?”

  Westie gathered her wits and nodded.

  He smiled, slicing the skin of his wrist open. She’d never seen anyone so happy to bleed. Red satin beads bubbled slowly out of the wound. His blood didn’t have a metallic, tangy scent like the human blood she’d smelled while assisting in Nigel’s surgical rooms. Vampire blood was different. It smelled sweet and buttery.

  Westie pulled long, slow breaths into her lungs. “I’m going to do this,” she said, “but I don’t want any funny business. You keep your hands to yourself.” If things got carried away, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able—or willing—to stop.

  “I promise. Now drink.” His voice was like a soft kiss.

  Costin held his wrist out to her. Cold, velvet orbs dripped onto the bare skin of her collarbone.

  All it took was five drops for a cure. One drink, she told herself.

  She took one last breath, held it, and braced herself as she put her lips around his wound.

  A cold drop trickled down her throat. His blood was thick and sweet like honey, just the way it smelled. As soon as it hit her stomach she felt serene. Not exactly like the tranquil daze that overcame her when drinking whiskey, but something deeper. It was the same kind of lovely ache one felt in one’s soul when hearing a beautiful song.

  Soon Westie’s tentative licks became greedy slurps. She knew she’d consumed more than the five drops necessary for a cure, but it was difficult to care about that when feeling the rush it gave her. She wrapped her legs around Costin’s waist to keep him from pulling away.

  Costin let out a moan as she sucked at his vein. The taste was pleasant enough, but it was the feelings being dealt to her body that kept her mouth clamped to Costin’s skin like a deer tick. It was like waking up, like seeing everything beautiful in the world for the first time, and all at once. The blood was cold going down her throat, but it warmed every part of her until she was a puddle in his arms.

  She felt her bodice give and his cool lips touch her chest. When Costin started to kiss her neck, she reluctantly pulled away from his wrist and grabbed him by the throat with her machine. The amount of pressure she used would’ve killed a human but only made Costin wince.

  “I said no funny business.” While her mechanical hand squeezed his neck, her flesh hand caressed his cheek. Though she still had some of her wits, it was a losing battle. There was no telling how long she could keep resisting him. If she were to take a guess, she was at the end of the countdown.

  He choked out a laugh, barely able to get words through her stranglehold. “You said to keep my hands to myself. You didn’t say anything about my lips.”

  Her body quivered, knees shaking. When he offered his wrist to her once more, her breaths became urgent. “Just . . . behave.”

  By the sound of his laughter, he knew the effect he was having on her. She let go of his neck and grabbed his wrist again, latching on.

  She was enveloped, too submerged in bliss to notice his dark eyes drinking in her curves, her ripe, warm skin. His mouth parted, and a carnal growl escaped from deep in his chest.

  He pulled his wrist away and she was finally able to fill her lungs. She sat up just in time to watch his mouth open and his fangs bury themselves deep into her inner thigh. She gasped in surprise at first, and then in pleasure.

  The luxury of his bite was more than she could have imagined. Somewhere, deep within, she knew she should stop him. Not that she had the greatest reputation to begin with, but if anyone found out a vampire had drunk from her, she’d be ruined. In that same deep pit of thought, she knew she would regret giving herself to Costin, but right then none of that mattered.

  Bursts of color popped in front of her eyes. Greed was royal blue with sparks of gold. Her machine clawed at the bed, shredding the sheets. She saw her desire in shades of rich, dark purple.

  Forget whiskey, forget everything. She wanted to live beneath Costin’s teeth forever. She finally understood why the living dead girls gave their lives to the blood brothels.

  The blood swirling in Westie’s stomach turned from cold to warm to blazing hot. Her pleasure was diluted with tendrils of pain. That was new. She’d liked it at first, before her pleasure thinned and only the pain showed through. Splashes of black smothered all other colors.

  Westie’s stomach cramped. Pain raced through her, hooked its claws onto every nerve as it passed, and pulled her from her pleasure stupor. She wrapped her machine around her waist and groaned as the cramps dug deeper.

  Costin sat up. Her blood dripped from his fangs onto his chin. “What is it?” he asked. His face showed more concern than she’d thought a vampire was capable of. “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t know. She couldn’t speak. It felt like a serrated blade had sliced through her abdomen. When she opened her mouth to speak, a scream came out instead. Her body slammed against the pillows, back arched off the bed as a new barb of pain cut through her consciousness, causing her muscles to stiffen. She could hear Costin’s voice and other voices around her, but the pain was too agonizing to care about her modesty.

  “I don’t know what’s happening,” she heard Costin’s desperate voice say. “Find Alistair, tell him to fetch Nigel—and tell him it’s urgent.”

  When everyone was gone, Costin appeared above her. His face went in and out of view, the lights flashing as she blinked.

  His hands clutched the sides of her face. “Westie, my love, stay with me,” he begged her. His voice was a high tremor.

  He was frightened. A frightened vampire—now there’s a first, she thought just before she blacked out.

  Westie woke up in her own bed. Her cramps became straight razors cutting into her intestines. Each stab of pain was worse than the last, like fingers had reached inside to braid her guts. Her tongue felt stretched and heavy in her mouth. She went back and forth between blanket and cold rag as fever and chill battled for supremacy. If she’d known the pain vampire blood would inflict, she might have thought about the idea more thoroughly before seeking Costin’s help.

  Her insides felt like they had liquefied and were coming out at all ends. Any hangover she’d ever had paled in comparison. Embarrassed by her lack of control over her body, she begged Alistair to leave her. He wouldn’t. Luckily, Bena insisted Alistair leave when it came time to change Westie’s bedpan and clean her. Still, the humiliation was complete.

  Nigel gave her sugar-grass milk—which was anything but sweet—to help her body absorb the healing qualities of the vampire blood and flush out any toxins. She got devil’s claw root to ease her pain and fluids to keep her from dehydrating.

  When the sun was high in the sky, her fever finally broke and the pain had turned from a savage flogging to a mere stab in the belly. Every muscle in her body was wound tighter than a banjo string, but she no longer wished for death, and the thought of whiskey sat worse than a bad smell. By nightfall she felt better than she had in years, and she was famished. Bena sent up a bloody steak the way she liked it and a fire-cooked potato with fresh-churned butter.

  There was a knock on the door, and Alistair and Nigel walked in. Nigel sat on the chair beside her bed while Alistair, still wearing a red kerchief, stood by the door.

  “What happened?” Westie asked. She knew vampire blood was a cure for alcoholism, but she’d never heard of it causing the pain she’d felt.

  “Your immune system was compromised because of your alcohol abuse over the years. When you drank Costin’s blood, it became toxic in your system.”

  “It worked, though, didn’t it?” Westie said. “I’m cured.”

  “One more drink and you would’ve turned into the Undying, but yes, it worked. You are as healthy as a girl your age should be, and with magic in your veins, will probably outlive us all by a hundred years,” Nigel said.

  Alistair’s eyes burned with anger. He paced around the room, his hands moving in a flurry. I should’ve been there in the room with them to make sure she was all right. I can’t
believe I left her with the vamps, he signed.

  Westie felt her cheeks warm when she remembered the lusty sounds she’d made, and Costin’s hands and teeth all over her. She felt guilty, which made her cross. She had nothing to feel guilty about. It wasn’t like Alistair loved her. Loyalty was not something she owed him. She could tell herself those things until her tongue fell out, but it wouldn’t matter. The guilt had set up camp and was there to stay.

  “Neither of you should’ve been there,” Nigel replied. With a sigh he turned to Westie. “You should eat hot oats, something that will be gentle on your stomach.”

  She put a protective arm around her plate so Nigel wouldn’t take it from her. “I want steak. Don’t you see I have my appetite back? I feel good, Nigel. Better than I have in a long time.”

  She ate her food and drank her glass of apple juice.

  “Normally you would ask for a glass of wine with your steak,” Nigel said.

  Even the mention of wine made her stomach clench. “I’d rather drink hot piss.”

  “Lovely.” Nigel shook his head and dropped his shoulders in resignation. “You’re definitely back to normal.” He looked at Alistair, who continued to pace the room. “Alley, would you be so kind as to fetch more devil’s claw root from my office? And bring clean sleeping clothes for Westie from the washroom.”

  Once Westie and Nigel were alone, he turned to her, a serious look in his eyes. Westie knew she was about to get an earful of something.

  “I can’t believe you would break the law and go to the vampires for help when you know how I feel about Costin. Not only did you put your own life in danger, but you put Alley’s life on the line as well.” He folded his arms over his chest. Westie grumbled and sat back, waiting for the rest of the tongue-lashing to go by so she could finish her meal. Nigel was no slouch when it came to sermons against brothel vampires. Only what she thought would be a lengthy speech fell short, and his chin began to quiver.

  “After Alistair being shot and now you nearly being poisoned to death, I don’t know how much more I can take. The two of you are all I have left in this world.”