Bloodbound Nocturne (The Sophia Kelly Chronicles Book 1)

by Amy J. Wenglar

  They were, the assholes. The journal.

  If I'm going to own up to the fact that I actually possess that damned thing, now's the time to do it. It's now or never. I squeeze my eyes shut, struggling with how to best explain it. Will he use this as his out? Will he leave me once he knows I've been hiding this from him? Or will he just fly into a rage and kill me? Esmeralda warned me against telling him. Told me that my destiny was in my hands. Not his. But… No. I can't keep this from him any longer. Keeping little secrets is one thing. But this is different. This could change the course of everything. I have to tell him. With a deep breath, I open my eyes, but he and Greta are already gone.

  I pull my phone out of my evening bag, wishing that at least I'd sent the iron dagger with him. He's in no shape to fight Unseelie.

  "I NEED TO TALK TO YOU WHEN YOU GET BACK. ASAP. IMPORTANT."

  A chill creeps up my spine when my phone makes the little whoosh sound to let me know the message was sent. He's not going to like the urgency of that message. Not with everything else that's going on. And then he's going to wonder why I didn't tell him everything before. Why I've been keeping such vital secrets. He's never going to trust me again. Maybe he shouldn't ever trust me again. I've been lying to him. Keeping things from him. I'd probably kill me, too.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I rub my hands briskly over my bare arms and shoulders, feeling a sudden chill in the air that I'm positive wasn’t there a few minutes ago. Or maybe that's just the guilt I feel for not having spilled the beans about the journal in the first place. I head back inside, wondering what I can possibly do with myself until Chris gets back. I don't know anyone here. I am a nervous wreck. And even I'm in agreement with the no-drinking rule at this point. At least until he gets back and I know all is well.

  Except all isn't well. The universe isn't well. I can feel it.

  Feeling restless, I circle the room for what feels like the twentieth time, looking for someone, anyone, to talk to. A massive sense of foreboding has come over me, and I feel like I'm just standing around waiting for something to happen. The party has moved down to the lower level of the house, which looks more like a trendy dance club than the basement of a huge mansion in Beverly Hills. Shirtless and very chiseled male bartenders muddle, mix, shake, and sling drinks across a sleek concrete bar, and at the speed they’re moving, I assume they are all vampires or other supernatural beings.

  Pounding dance music pours out of massive speakers that frame an actual DJ booth, where a skinny, black-clad goth woman stands, her attention focused on the two flashy turntables in front of her.

  Some of the revelers twirl and maneuver around a dance floor in the middle of the room, complete with club lighting and a fog machine, while others sit in plush velvet chairs or around small tables in dramatically high-backed chairs that look like something straight out of Alice in Wonderland.

  A voice from behind startles me. "You look like you could use another drink."

  I jump and turn to find Chris standing there holding two glasses of champagne.

  "Oh thank God!" I exclaim, throwing my arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "Is everything okay? You've been gone forever."

  "Everything is as well as can be expected," he says, pressing the champagne into my hand. He gives me a curious look, followed by a wicked smile. "But let's not think about that right now. It is New Year's Eve, after all."

  Why is he so nonchalant? So relaxed?

  "Did you get my text?" He looks confused. "I need to talk to you about something that's pretty important and something I probably should've told you about when it happened. But I know you, and I know how you can be, and I was worried about how you'd react. Because this isn't the kind of secret that's like, 'Oh, I secretly hate In-N-Out burgers but only eat them because you insist on it.' It's big, Chris. It's big. And it's about the prophecy. And the journal. That stupid journal my mother tried to destroy, but apparently didn't destroy, and I have it…" I trail off, distracted by the strange flicker of excitement in his eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "Because it all makes sense now." A huge, uncharacteristically toothy grin stretches across his face, and for a second, I actually think he's relieved. "It all makes sense now," he repeats.

  "But, I don't understand. What about the stuff we talked about the other day? About how I…"

  "We'll talk about it in the morning," he says, pressing his lips to my forehead. "Right now, I just want to enjoy the night with you."

  There's something strange going on. Chris is not usually so relaxed and carefree. Especially since the Unseelie attack. There's got to be a catch. There's always a catch. But as he clinks his glass to mine, I can't help but relax a little, and I take an eager sip of the champagne. I'm happy he's given me the go-ahead to continue my New Year's indulgence, even if he is acting a little odd.

  "Wow, she must have busted out the good stuff," I laugh, delighting at the way the bubbles seem to dance down my throat. "This is nothing like the cheap swill she was serving earlier. Glad she finally realized that." I joke, of course. The stuff she was serving earlier was fantastic. But this is on a different level entirely. I look around the room and frown. "Where is Greta, anyway?"

  Chris grins, linking his arm through mine as he leads me to the edge of the dance floor.

  "She'll be back," he says. "Now finish that so we can dance."

  What in the world has gotten into him?

  "So, the house," I begin, feeling the effects of those first sips of champagne almost immediately. "Is everything okay?"

  Chris looks thoughtful for a moment. "It's fine, my love. Everything is fine."

  I down the rest of my champagne and set my empty glass on a passing tray, carried by another one of Greta's hunky vampire servers. We dance for a little while, moving in an uncoordinated mess of steps that is not anything like the bold, sweeping dances Chris and I have shared before.

  "Chris," I whisper, once we have exhausted our dancing skills and are tucked away in a dark corner of the room, seated on an antique wood-backed sofa.

  "Mmm." He nuzzles my neck for a moment before hooking a finger under my jaw, gently bringing my lips to his.

  I am lost in a euphoria of champagne and kisses as I move onto his lap. We'd agreed to act with some class earlier in the evening, but now that we are sitting in a dark corner, enveloped in a swirling haze of really potent champagne, that agreement seems to have gone out the window.

  "This champagne is really getting to me."

  My voice sounds like it's trapped in a tunnel, and the edges of my vision sparkle as if I'm wearing glasses made of glitter. I keep seeing little snippets of darkness. Old houses. A library. Corridors leading to nowhere.

  "It's what champagne does, sweetheart," he murmurs, as he trails kisses along my jawline.

  I become acutely aware of about a dozen pairs of eyes watching us. From all corners of the room. Some people look surprised. Some disappointed. I try to bring myself back to reality as best I can with the champagne swirling around in my brain. Something is wrong, though. I feel like I've been drugged. I pull away from Chris, but he only pulls me back in again.

  "What's the matter?" he asks between kisses.

  "Everyone is watching us." I push him away. "This isn't what we agreed to. This feels weird, Chris."

  I am overcome with nausea as my body seems to hurtle forward into another dimension without leaving the couch. Chris laces his fingers with mine, his thumb gently massaging the scar on my wrist, and I am filled with that familiar, glowing white ball of energy, which for a second makes me forget everything going on around me.

  "What are you doing to me?" I breathe. "Why do I feel so weird right now?"

  "Because it's time for you to go home," Chris murmurs, his lips brushing mine as he speaks. "Do you want to go home?"

  "I think I might need to," I say uneasily. "I'm not feeling very good. Maybe I shouldn't be drinking such, well, pink champagne."

  "Say the words, then,
" he whispers in my ear. "Tell me to take you home. You have to say it, or it won't happen."

  "What a stupid game, Chris. But okay, I'll say it. I want to go home," I breathe, as I start to imagine the rest of our night together. Which will probably involve me lying on the floor in the bathroom, throwing up for the rest of the night, just as he'd predicted. "Take me home. Please?"

  He watches me for a moment, eyes half closed, as a slow, mischievous grin pulls at the corners of his mouth.

  "Good," he murmurs. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

  A voice booms from across the room. "Sophia, no!" A man who looks an awful lot like Christoph von Drauchenberg races across the room, pushing his way through the throng of dancers on the dance floor so hard that some of them fall over, knocking others down like little rows of drunk dominos. "What are you doing?" he asks, his voice frantic, breathless with shock. "And who in the hell is that?" His lips pull back from his teeth, and for a second I think this Christoph von Drauchenberg hallucination is about to attack.

  I have been drugged. Please tell me there aren't two Christophs. I can barely handle one.

  There is a wicked laugh from the Christoph von Drauchenberg sitting beside me, and I jerk away from him when I see that he is not Christoph von Drauchenberg at all, but Horace, the British faerie from the bookstore.

  I leap unsteadily to my feet as pressure builds between my temples. I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them again. This can't be real. Except it is real. I've been making out with a faerie-in-Christoph-form for at least twenty minutes. My mother would say that I've fallen for the old Fae glamour trick, where they fool you into seeing what they want you to see. In this case, it was Chris.

  "Chris! I-I thought… I thought it was… that he was you," I say, rubbing my eyes. "I thought you came back. He was… he…" I shoot Horace a look.

  "I had to get to you somehow," he says innocently as he sits back, making himself comfortable on the couch, a lazy grin spreading across his lips. "Your stubbornness and complete ignorance kept me at arm's length for way too long. Sending him off on a wild goose chase while glamouring you was the last resort."

  “So, glamouring. That is a thing then?” I grumble.

  I feel lightheaded. This isn't supposed to happen. Not like this. I've been such an idiot.

  "Christ, Sophia, please tell me you did not drink this Fae crap." Chris picks up my empty champagne glass from the little table next to the couch, sniffs at it for a moment. "What have you done?" he asks me, his eyes a mixture of fear, fury, and disappointment.

  "I-I thought… I didn't know…"

  He lunges at me, stopping when his face is just inches from mine. "You never know, do you? Because you're just so innocent." His eyes narrow, slits of red fire that seem to burn right through to my core. "Or are you? Are you really that clueless, Sophia?"

  My mind is peacefully blank, all thoughts slipping away as I struggle to find words. Any words. But I'm tired. I'm tired of trying to keep these two lives separate. I'm tired of hiding from my destiny and what I know I need to do. And most importantly, I'm tired of watching the man I love deteriorate because of me. I have to do this. I have to end it, and now is as good a time as any. I have to end this as smoothly as—

  "If you don't mind, sir, we really must be—"

  I whirl to face Horace. "Can you give me a minute?" I hiss, my courage retreating a few paces, making me question everything all over again.

  Horace holds his hands up defensively and then stands, taking a polite step back, arms clasped behind his back, waiting for me to say goodbye.

  "I'm not clueless," I say, turning back to Chris, my voice small against the heavy pulsing of dance music. He arches an eyebrow, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I was clueless. In the beginning. But I'm not anymore. And as much as you would love for me to stay in a state of blissful ignorance waiting for you to come home to me every night, I'm fully aware of what I am and what I must do. And for once, I'm making my own decisions. Without you. Without Colin. Without my mother. Without anyone."

  "They've brainwashed you. They've given you this… this poison." He hurls the empty glass at the wall over the couch so hard that it shatters to dust, leaving no trace of its existence. "That's what they do, Sophia. The Fae cannot be trusted."

  "No," I say, slowly shaking my head. It all seems so clear now, despite the heavy ache that pulls at my chest. Knowing that I'm about to lose the love of my life. Knowing that I'm choosing destiny over love. "Chris, no one has brainwashed me." He opens his mouth, but for once, I'm doing the talking. "I'm not supposed to be here. Doing this." I gesture toward the party with my hand. "I'm putting you in danger. Putting everyone around me in danger while I live a life in hiding. Chauffeured around. Constantly protected. And for what? For a few more nights together?" The words catch in my throat. "What is the point when it was going to come to this eventually?"

  "We were making it work," he says helplessly. "I thought we were making it work."

  "I'm killing you, Chris," I shout. "I can see it. More and more every day." He takes a step back, shocked at my revelation. "You're weak. And you're falling apart because of me."

  It's obvious I've caught him off guard with not only my show of strength and determination, but the courage to admit that our relationship must end. He didn't think I had it in me. I didn't think I did either.

  I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing myself to be strong. He looks as if he's about to cry. Which is when I decide to drop the bomb I've been hiding for the past couple of weeks. "I found the journal. And I've been reading it. You should know." He stares at me, his powerful frame completely frozen, like a predator poised for attack. I feel like I've just admitted to cheating. And I may as well have been cheating. "And before you can wave it away like it's nothing, or talk me out of it, or go talk in your hushed whispers with your advisors, or run off to attend to whatever secret business you have, let me say with complete confidence that the Changeling prophecy is true. It's not a fairy tale, or something dreamt up by a bunch of Druids. I am the Changeling prophecy, Chris. And it's time for me to go to them. It's time for me to go home."

  Chris's shoulders fall forward, slumping with defeat. He is broken. I have broken this beautiful, selfish mess of a man who only ever wanted to keep me safe from all of this. I want to reach out to him in one of our famous silent conversations. Promise him that I will be back as soon as this is all over. And that this tough-girl thing is really just a facade. But I can't. Coming back won't change the fact that my very presence is enough to eventually kill him. Coming back isn't even on the table right now, because I don't know exactly what is in store for me, and if I will be able to come back. The road to Faerie is paved with supernatural uncertainty.

  "Then go," he says, his voice low. "If that is the choice you have made. Go. Now. Before I kill you, Miss Kelly."

  "You won't touch her," Horace says, taking a lazy step toward me. "Or you'll have the Seelie Court to answer to."

  What?

  With a strangled growl, Chris is gone before I can say another word. The man I love is gone. And considering that he's really ready to kill me this time, I don't think I'll ever see him again.

  "What have you done?" I ask, my voice shaking. I'm not sure if I'm talking to myself or to Horace at this point.

  There is a battle raging inside of me. And destiny continues to win, while love continues to lose. It's impossible for me to have both.

  "Nothing," he says with a childlike flutter of his eyelashes. "I have merely opened your eyes. Helped you see what you really are. It is apparent that not everyone is so keen on the new and improved Sophia Kelly. But you mustn't worry about that now. You are ready. You have opened the portal. And now it is time to depart."

  With an animal-like sound that is a cross between a shriek and a growl, I lunge at him, fists flying, in an attempt to take him down, but as usual, my offensive attacks seem to do nothing, and I instead stumble clumsily forward, looking more like a drunken idiot than a
fighter.

  "To be fair, we wanted to ease you into it," he says as he pulls me back to my feet. "Since your worthless mother did not follow through with her end of the agreement and did absolutely nothing to prepare you for the road ahead. Fortunately, I was able to maintain just the right amount of physical contact to provide you with the ability to see your true self." He lets out a long sigh. "You have been a work in progress for sure, but what fun it’s been." He claps his hands together. "Horace the cat was a fun project. I've never been a cat before. Then, rustling your music about during your rehearsal was my next attempt at contacting you — I liked being referred to as a ghost. That was fun, too, but it wasn't enough." He pauses for a moment, thinking. "Then there were the visions of Christoph's past, the strange dreams about Faerie, and even your light-ray, as you like to call it. All brought to you by me.” He grins proudly as the image of Madeleine collapsing to the floor under the weight of my uncontrollable light-ray flashes in my mind. "Auberon says I've lost my touch in my old age, but I beg to differ. I am brilliant."

  "Wait, you did all of that?" I ask, frozen with shock. "How could you possibly—"

  "Sadly, my attempts to thwart your budding romance with the vampire failed. That was the one thing I could not stop." Horace chews his lip. "Auberon will not be pleased to find you bound to a vampire, but—"

  "What… Why…" I blurt, trying to wrap my head around all of this. "Was following me around all over the country not enough? Couldn't you have just talked to me? Pulled me aside and just told me what you needed and asked politely if I could help?"

  Horace rolls his eyes, suppressing the triumphant grin that continues to pull at his lips.

  "And where is the fun in that, Sophia? One thing you learn about faeries is that we most certainly like to have fun. And we prefer to show rather than to tell." His eyes dance with amusement as my anger flares once again. He ducks when I attempt another swing at his face.