Bloodbound Nocturne (The Sophia Kelly Chronicles Book 1)

by Amy J. Wenglar

  Throwing my hands defensively out in front of me, I am shocked to see a beam of bright bluish-white light shoot out from my palms. That glorious but still overwhelming light-ray. With a collective howl of pain, every last Unseelie crumbles to dust right in front of me.

  "Whoa," I shout, jumping back, frightened by my own power. "Holy light-ray, Batman."

  "Sophia." Sebastian's voice calls from behind me. On shaky legs, I turn to face him, my mind scrambling to make sense of what's just happened.

  "Sebastian." I cling to his arms for support. "I think I just used my superpower," I pant. "It came to me when I needed it, and killed a bunch of Unseelie." I turn my attention toward the beach. "Where is Chris… I just saw him…"

  "He's there."

  Sebastian points to his master, lying on the ground about ten feet in front of us, thrashing and flailing, trying desperately to defend himself against a rogue Unseelie who'd failed to join up with his buddies a minute ago.

  With a growl of determination, I snatch my dagger from the sand and throw myself forward, aiming the palm of my hand at the Unseelie, ready this time for the beam of light that will follow.

  "Die, bastard!" I shout, feeling a bit like a superhero that has just swooped in to save the day.

  Except I'm not a superhero, and the white light is nowhere to be found.

  "Light-ray, I summon you. Go! Activate!" I scream at the top of my lungs.

  I practically throw my arm out of joint trying to reproduce the powerful light that vanquished five Unseelie in a matter of seconds.

  What the…

  No light-ray? No problem. With a surprisingly calm mind, I grip the dagger tightly in my hand, lunging toward the Unseelie, tackling it before it has even registered my presence. It swipes a taloned hand across my chest just as I sink the dagger deep into its neck. With an inhuman howl of pain, it disintegrates, its ashy remains scattered and lost in the ocean breeze, just like the others. Sebastian stares at me wide-eyed, as if I've grown another head.

  I touch my neck and face with my free hand, just to make sure I haven't, before kneeling beside Chris in the sand. I've never seen someone in such bad shape before, especially not a vampire. I know I should keep a safe distance in case he lashes out, not realizing who I am, but I can't move. I gasp, horrified at the sight of him clinging to life. His face is so bloodied he is almost unrecognizable, except for the narrow blue slits of his eyes as they blink open and then closed again. There is a huge gash in his neck where it looks like something raked sharp claws across his skin, just as it did mine.

  "He's not healing. Why isn't he healing?" I ask with a helpless look up at Sebastian, who stands, obviously shaken by the sight of his master lying half dead, his blood pooling in the sand around him. It takes a lot to move a man like Sebastian, but even he is speechless at the sight of the dying vampire at his feet.

  "Christoph must feed if he is to survive," he says to me, as he produces a fierce-looking dagger from inside his boot.

  "Christoph has also given me strict instructions that under no circumstances will he feed on me," I say, staring defiantly down at the man I love.

  Chris's eyes flutter open to narrow slits and then close again. I breathe a sigh of relief, happy he's not so far gone he doesn't know when I'm about to disobey him.

  "No," he groans through bloodied, cracked lips. "Sophia, do not… You cannot… You do not understand."

  But it's too late. I've already raked Sebastian's dagger across the skin of my palm, inhaling sharply as the blood begins to flow. I press my palm to his lips. He resists at first but starts to drink, slowly at first, and then as if his life depends on it, which it does.

  It is only a matter of seconds before his wounds start to heal themselves. Chris wrenches himself away from me and sits up, alert and sniffing the air, ready for another fight.

  "What in the ever-loving hell happened?" I ask as I turn to comfort him, but he only moves farther away from me.

  "I don't know," he hisses. "I couldn't see them. So maybe I should be asking you that question." He glares at me as if this is all somehow my fault, which it probably is.

  I chew my lip, not quite ready to admit that I could not only see them, but I also destroyed them. "Um. I think they were Unseelie."

  "This has been a mistake." Chris pounds the sand with his fist. "This whole thing has been a mistake."

  My stomach drops. There is no doubt in my mind that this attack has something to do with me. And my growing relationship with that journal. The Dark Fae tried to take out a thousand-year-old vampire to get to me. This is not a game anymore.

  "This is getting too real," I mutter.

  Chris leaps to his feet. "You're damn right it is," he growls, grabbing me by the wrist. "We're going home."

  I'm not sure where Chris has gone, and I'm afraid to go look for him. The Unseelie had been no match for me, apparently, but I'm a little worried about Chris. The drive home was painfully uncomfortable, and he didn't even so much as look at me, much less talk to me. When we arrived home, he'd made one of his lightning-bolt exits, leaving me standing there alone in the garage with his car collection. And now I'm standing alone in his big, empty house. I am at a loss for what to do. He obviously doesn't want to talk about what just happened, even if it means hearing an apology. A real one this time. Even though I was doing the right thing, I screwed up. I could go to bed, but I am much too wound up to go to bed. Unseelie just attacked Chris, and I was the only one who could save him. I may never sleep again.

  I have to talk to him. He has to understand that I did what I had to do. What my inner voice guided me to do. I have to try, at least.

  With a deep breath, I head straight to the one place I know I will find him. He stands in the darkness, his lean figure bathed in moonlight as he stares out the window. I enter the music room, making no secret of my approach, and join him at the window. He still refuses to look at me. The muscles in his jaw move in and out as he clenches and unclenches them. He hasn't bothered to wash the blood and dirt from his face, and it makes him look downright terrifying.

  "Chris?" I whisper. He ignores me, and I am filled with an uncontrollable urge to touch him, to make some contact with him. He recoils from me as if I've just burned him with my touch, but he says nothing.

  "Okay," I nod slowly. "I see. You're mad at me." Still nothing. He stands as still as a statue, his eyes narrow as he stares out the window. "And you have every right to be. But you were dying. An Unseelie street gang attacked you." Silence. "You couldn't see them, Chris. I could." I'm getting mad now.

  "You should've done what I asked you to do," he roars, suddenly coming to life. He turns, advancing on me until he has me backed up against a bookshelf in the corner of the room. "Goddammit, Sophia. You had no business being there. None. Yet you defied me anyway." He clenches his fists at his sides. "What is it going to take? Hmm? Tell me. What is it going to take for you to listen to me?"

  His voice booms so loudly I can feel it resonating throughout my entire body, and for a second I think he might actually hit me. It's a good thing he's taught me how to block him.

  "They were going to kill you on that beach," I argue, feeling my blood starting to boil. I'm kind of ready to hit him, too. "I'm sorry if I wanted to save your life. Had I not shown up, there's a good chance you would be gone. You should be thanking me."

  That was the wrong thing to say. He grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me so hard my teeth knock together.

  "Thank you?" he shouts. "Thank you? What you did was foolish and reckless. You left yourself wide open for them to kill you, too." He gestures toward the claw marks on my chest, which are oozing blood.

  "I killed them, Chris."

  He releases his death grip on me, his arms falling to his sides as he backs away from me.

  "You what?"

  "Well, they didn't just decide to leave on their own, you know." I glare at him. "I don't know how I did it. But there was a light. Or a spark. Something, Chris. It's the same thing
that happened when I almost killed Madeleine. Some kind of superpower light-ray thing came out of my… hands and disintegrated them. Except for one who was hell-bent on killing you. I stabbed that one in the neck with my dagger."

  My blood boils at the obvious delight the creature took in torturing the man I love, but I still manage a wry chuckle at the thought of me, Sophia Kelly, coming to the rescue with my little dagger.

  "You killed them? Unseelie? By yourself?" For a second I think he's about to laugh that bitter, scornful laugh he's so good at. But he doesn't. "Christ," he murmurs. "Show me." I frown in response, confused. "Show me what you did."

  "I can't." I hold up my hand and wave it around, trying to summon my inner light, but as expected, it does not come. "That's the thing. It's like that day with Madeleine. It just happened. I can't control it. I think I'm getting better, but I can't just summon it at will. It feels like something that's only good for one use before it needs to be recharged. Granted, if that is the case, it was a good use. Saving you."

  His bewilderment turns to rage once again.

  "Dammit, Sophia, this is not your fight!" he shouts.

  "Not my fight? Are you kidding? They're after me, Christoph. Isn't that what you said?" I snarl. "And you could've just stayed out of it, for once. Not followed the lure of screaming humans. But you couldn't. You had to go in there all testosterone and bravado, trying to save the day." His eyes follow me as I pace back and forth in front of him like an enraged lioness. "You know? I think you're more pissed off that I had to save you. Silly little human, coming to the aid of the almighty vampire. That's what you're pissed about."

  "I'm pissed because you defied me. I told you to go home. Sebastian would've come for me. You were not supposed to take it upon yourself to slice your hand open and force-feed me your blood when there are other ways."

  He closes in on me again, and I try to push him away, but he's too strong. "Let go of me," I shout.

  "Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" he says as he grabs my chin in his hand, forcing me to look at him. "You want me to feed on you? You think that it's romantic and beautiful?" His icy features morph into a frightening, grotesque expression as his anger builds. My heart leaps into my throat at the sight of long, pointy, razor-sharp fangs, but I refuse to look away. He is, after all, the man I love, even when he's in full-on scary-vampire mode. "You think this is romantic and beautiful?"

  "Yes," I shout back. "Slightly terrifying, yes, but you're still beautiful to me no matter how scary your face becomes. I love you more than anything. You know that. And it's only right that I—"

  "I could kill you," he says with a sardonic laugh, as his hand twists through my hair. "Just as I have killed so many others. Thousands of others." My neck gives a sickening crunch as he jerks my head to one side. I feel the sharpness of his fangs and the warmth of his breath as his lips graze my neck. "I could tear out your throat."

  Something stirs inside of me and flutters deep in the pit of my stomach. Desire. My throat tightens as I press myself shamelessly against him.

  So this is how they do it? This is how they lure us in?

  "Then do it," I say, daring him with my eyes. "You make these threats. You try to scare me. Do it, then. I am not afraid of you. I trust you."

  My entire body is buzzing with energy. Light-ray aside, I don't think I've ever felt as alive as I do now. Chris senses it as he slams me hard against the bookcase, his eyes glowing red and carnal. Bloodthirsty. I wrap my legs around his waist, using the strength in my legs to pull him closer. His breath is hot, his kisses needy.

  "You can't undo this. What you've started—"

  "I don't care," I say, grabbing his face and kissing him hard on the mouth. I catch his lip between my teeth and he inhales a sharp breath as I tug hard. "Don't you get it? I don't care, Chris. I'm yours. I will always be yours."

  The bookshelves dig into my lower back so that I have to hold my breath to keep from crying out. Chris snakes his hands through my hair, kissing me hard on the mouth.

  "Do it." My voice is nothing more than a breathy whisper. "Feed from me. Whatever you need. Do it. Please. I just want—"

  I am interrupted by a deep stabbing pain that radiates from my neck up to my temples and down the length of my body. I am strangely comforted by the warm trickling of my blood down the side of my neck, followed by the warmth of his mouth as he moves to drink every last drop. I am feeding him. He is not drinking from the veins of dead pimps and drug dealers this time, as he once told me he did. I am feeding him.

  It's raw and organic and feels strangely natural. Until the pain becomes intense. Too intense. For a moment I wonder if he does intend to kill me. I feel myself weakening. My heart is slowing. But I can't stop him now that I've made such a fuss over it. I slow my breathing and try to relax. I've handed my life over to him, and I hope he loves me enough to know when to stop. After a second or two, I feel numb and light, as if I'm floating on air. Perhaps I am dead. I don't know, but if this is death, it feels quite lovely.

  "You're not dead," Chris murmurs. The sound of his voice sends shivers along my spine. My senses are heightened, and I feel invincible. "You're not invincible, either," he continues. "What you are feeling is the aftereffects of our drinking from each other."

  "Like a hangover?" I whisper through cracked lips as I carefully move to sit upright. "When did we get into bed?"

  "You were out cold." His mouth twists. "Afterward. I put you to bed."

  "Well, I feel like a million bucks now," I say, rubbing my hands together, ready to conquer the day.

  Chris doesn't say anything. "Don't get too ambitious. You haven't felt the comedown."

  "It's a bitch, huh?" I mutter. "Great."

  There is a moment of very awkward silence between us, which I, of course, absolutely need to fill. "Chris, about last night. I wasn't trying to—"

  "What's done is done," he says, cutting me off. His fingers are unusually cold as they twine with mine. "Now come on. It's Christmas morning. Let's have breakfast."

  He offers me a tight smile, and I smile back, but I can't shake my nagging intuition that something is off between us. Something feels different, and I'm not sure it's something that can be fixed this time.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I never knew there could be a world where oblivious humans could play alongside the supernatural, where the mortal could mingle with the immortal without a clue, but that's precisely what happens at Greta's New Year's Eve party. There are far more supernaturals than humans, but the humans are too engrossed in what they're wearing, who they're with, and what they're drinking to be bothered with the glint of fangs or the strange glow of otherworldly eyes that peer out of darkened corners.

  Chris and I are happy sitting away from the crowd, dazzled by the other's company as we sip champagne on the patio. Whatever was plaguing his mind on Christmas morning seems to have diminished, but I can't shake the feeling that something is still off between us. The Unseelie attack on Christmas Eve left him weakened, and despite the brave face he puts on, and the blood he takes from me, his decline becomes more obvious every day. But he doesn't speak of it, and for once in my life I decide not to press him about it.

  "Slow down, Sophia," Chris says, prying my champagne flute from my hands and setting it on the gray marbled coffee table in front of him. "You are going to get drunk and embarrass me."

  He drapes an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to him on the enormous outdoor sectional.

  "Oh, come on." I reach for my glass, but Chris holds it out of my reach. "You're taking away my holiday spirit."

  "There are some high-level music industry executives here, and I'd rather not have to explain my drunken girlfriend's behavior."

  I fold my arms over my chest and thrust my lower lip into a pout. "I'm a college kid, Chris. I'm supposed to party. Now give that back."

  "Drunken behavior is not becoming," he says, eyes flashing. "Do not argue with me."

  "I'm just going to get
another one and slam it while you're not looking." I eye a tray of bubbly champagne flutes as they pass swiftly by.

  "I'd rather you didn't," grumbles Chris. "If you want to get trashed and spend the evening throwing up, fine by me. But do it away from prying eyes, at home."

  He's right. Why do that to myself and to us? Save it for a night out with Greg or for a raucous music-major party. But who would I be if I gave up the fight that easily? I open my mouth to argue when we are interrupted by a frazzled-looking Greta, who suddenly appears beside us.

  "Christoph," she says urgently, sitting at the edge of the sectional. "We have a bit of a situation." She glances at me and then back at Chris, her body rigid and ready for a battle despite the sleek Valentino gown she's wearing.

  "Situation?" I ask, a little too loudly. Lowering my voice, I ask, "What kind of situation?"

  "Your home. They got in," she says, throwing a worried, yet put-out glance at me again. "Sebastian thinks it was more Unseelie."

  "What?" I exclaim, a slow chill climbing up my spine. "Your home is like a fortress. You have servants. And big, hulking vampires who work for you." Chris mutters something under his breath as he leaps to his feet, nearly upending the entire table as he moves. "How did this happen?"

  "There's no time for questions, Sophia. Christoph and I must go."

  "Let me come, too." I stagger to my feet, the heel of my shoe catching the edge of the coffee table. "Pretty sure it's me they want. Let me help."

  Chris catches my elbow. "You'll get us killed," he growls.

  "But, I can—"

  "Yes, I know what you can do." Chris gives me a sharp look, knowing quite well that I intend to summon my light-ray again. "And I'd rather you didn't."

  "Until we figure this out, Sophia, you'd best stay here." Greta turns to Chris. "They were only interested in her personal items. Nothing else," says Greta, turning her back to me. "Her bags were ransacked. Papers and music everywhere. We think they were looking for something."