Bait and Bleed

by Elizabeth Blake

  “Lay down so you can get sleep,” I said.

  “I don't want to sleep.”

  “Then lay down anyway, because I'm not sleeping on that bed and I want to prop up my feet.”

  He stood, abandoning the chair, stretching a mile high.

  “You're like forever tall, you know.”

  He huffed and stretched out next to Svetlana. Haggard fatigue clouded the symmetry of his handsome, brooding face.

  “Do you want some hot chocolate?” I said.

  He gave me an odd look, as if I was the crazy person. I shrugged and arranged myself as best I could atop the two chairs. He watched me warily the whole time, like I might steal Svetlana away and burn her while he slept. His anxiety crept into me, pore by pore. The terror that Svetlana was dead, the agony of putting Davey aside, the grand echoing hollowness to his heart. The air, heavy as dark matter, pressed me down and troubled my breathing. Even with my eyes closed, I knew he guarded Svetlana against me.

  “God, Peter. Stop.” I swallowed, harassed by a tightness in my throat. “I’m not going to steal her from you.”

  Slowly, the tension eroded away. His heart eased its chaotic beating. Stress markers faded from his hormones. Gradually, he fell asleep.

  For good measure, I eased a small case from the nightstand, selected a tranq, and popped it in his leg. He didn’t even stir. I watched him, his black-as-night hair spread over the pillow, the shadow on his jaw, his hunter’s bow mouth. He’d die for Svetlana, and he’d die for Davey. We had that in common. I promised, “I won't let them take her, either.”

  Some guard I was. I fell asleep.

  A scent crawled up behind me, and I knew who it was without opening my eyes. A dry-ginger sweet aroma scrambled up my spine like an animal with a hundred sharp legs, a hundred tickling antennae. The vampire was in my house. No one asked me if he could come in! He had no business at Svetlana's bedside. What the hell could he possibly want?

  Odoriferous. Nothing but trouble. If he knew how much the dry-earth musk of his vampire flesh offended me, he'd run away.

  “Kaidlyn?” Sigurd said. How I hated the fragrance he flaunted, a perfume designed to make me love him. Well, I didn't. He didn't feel like god anymore. Hand rising, he reached for me.

  “Don't move,” I snipped.

  He stopped. The sight of him in my house was wrong. Indecent. Violate. I wanted to break him open, pluck out his eyes, rip up each blood vessel, and get to the metallic heart. I wanted to drag him around by his hair and tell him he was beautiful.

  “Who let you in my house?”

  “The mongrel, Erik.”

  “What do you want?” I spoke through my teeth.

  “I want to see the wolf who killed Alexei.”

  I crossed my arms and glared.

  “Sedate the guard dog and take her away. Burn the remains.” Sigurd watched her. “End it quickly.”

  “Do not give me orders in my house, vampire. If you touch either of them, I'll tear you apart. Why are you here? To make certain Svetlana stays dead?”

  “You think she is?”

  “I don't know.”

  He folded his hands in front of him. “Did she eat Alexei's heart?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he die?”

  “Are you joking? She ate his heart! Seriously, what kind of question is that?”

  He didn't answer. I wasn't sure if it was because he didn't have anything to say or if he was hiding shit. God, he could really use a good slap across the face. He sniffed and flapped his hands in the air as if shaking water from his fingers.

  “A vampire heart is a recipe for certain uncertain disaster.”

  “What do you mean?” I perked up. “You think she might survive?”

  “In the beginning, there were two sorts of vampires: those born of blood and those brought back by miracle of life.”

  “Uh, okay. Pretend I understand. Why the history lesson?”

  “New vampires are commonly created via blood transfusion, and the creator’s blood can determine how strong the new vampire will be. Svetlana ate Alexei's heart, which is a transfusion of sorts, and he was a strong vampire.”

  “Svetlana may have vampirism? How is that even possible? She’s a wolf.”

  He smiled, and it threw me. He sat like a grinning cherub, and I didn't know whether to smile back or kick him out. “Many things are possible, Kaidlyn.”

  “Has this happened before?”

  He cocked his head and didn't answer.

  I growled. “Provided she's cross-contaminated, how do we wake her?”

  He gave me his blank face. “Let me taste her.”

  “What? No!”

  “It may revive her, like a magical kiss.”

  “Sleeping beauty? C'mon. You're not going near her.”

  “Isn't it worth a try?”

  I hesitated and hopped from foot to foot. What's the worst that could happen? She'd die? We were past that point. “Make it fast.”

  He took Svetlana's wrist, turned it up, and bit. His teeth sunk past the maternal vein. I didn't want to know what it tasted like. Cold, dead meat, blood thickly congealed in the tracks. Made me want to vomit. Made me hungry. He suckled, clamping his lips tight over her skin. Nothing happened. His mouth left a wet ring, but the bite mark was a puckered, bloodless print. He dropped her arm and it fell like a log. He smacked his lips.

  “Well?” I said.

  “Nasty aftertaste.”

  Thump.

  I twitched. “The hell was that?”

  “My heart,” he said. I waited, listening, but didn’t hear another beat. The vamp ignored me while I tuned in, but Peter’s rhythm was the only mortal music I heard.

  Erik came in, brought food, and flipped on the light. Excitement about what he carried overwhelmed my concern over the vampire. I tore the bag of Thai food out of Erik's hands, sat down on the floor, and popped open cartons. The noodles were too spicy and there wasn't enough meat, but I was so hungry. I plowed through the food in an unladylike fashion.

  “Have they tried bringing food to Svetlana?” I said.

  “She's already dead, Kaid,” Erik said. “I don't think we should let Peter stay here. You realize he's sleeping next to a corpse? He needs to talk to someone, and Davey may be the place to start.”

  “Peter talked to me. He'll come around as soon as Svetlana wakes.”

  “Kaid! Don’t—”

  “It's eighty degrees in here, Erik. Do you smell a corpse?”

  He frowned. “No.”

  “Exactly.”

  I hoisted the fork, but a juicier smell struck me and pulled longing deep from my gut.

  Sigurd stood over Svetlana, his dripping wrist pressed over her lips. Rage dizzied me. I wanted to dig out the sweet smell and leave him a dry, useless husk, a truly-dead dead thing. Overwhelming anger, inexplicable cravings, and a temper nearly beat me senseless. I dropped my fork, swooning and drunk.

  Erik grabbed Sigurd by the scruff of his neck and threw him against the wall, which cracked. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Sigurd gathered himself. “Many poorly-made vampires only rise to blood.”

  I watched his wrist heal, thinking about how he might taste. Despite being an immortal, he bled as easily as anyone.

  Hesitantly, as if he knew my thoughts, Sigurd said, “Kaidlyn?”

  “God, I don't know what's come over me.” A ravenous hunger lurked around the edge of my thoughts.

  “What do you need?” Erik said.

  “My hand really hurts, and my head is heavy. I'm nauseous, buzzing on painkillers, and I'm hungry.”

  “I'll order more food. And you!” Erik pointed at Sigurd. “Don't try that shit again. I don't know what twisted ideas you've got, but you ask permission to breathe in this house.”

  “My permission.” I pointed at Erik. “And you ask permission to make people ask permission in this house.”

  “You're serious?” he said. “You want to fight about it?”

 
; “Maybe. Hows-about you make a call for more food?”

  Peter cried out, an alarming sound followed by a fat thump as he fell off the bed. I half-crawled, half-stumbled across the room. He was on the floor, legs tangled in blankets. He scampered to his knees, peering onto the bed through a tumble of hair.

  Svetlana gagged, coughed, and puked up a splatter of chunky black blood.

  “Oh my sweet fucking Christ,” I said.

  Svetlana raised her head and screamed silently. At least, it looked like a scream. She dragged air into her lungs with a dry, choking sound. Peter crawled onto the bed and touched her. His hand flinched. From the pallor of her skin, I guessed she was cold. I was looking at a corpse, but she lived. Her body shook with tremors. Great, hacking shakes jolted her limbs.

  She threw back her head and screamed for real. I’d never heard such a sound, like a swarm of cicadas, the grind of metal ears, and the shriek of a wounded animal. So loud, so fierce. We all ducked like her voice was a weapon. I covered my ears and shrank into a ball. Goosebumps jolted over my flesh. Even Sigurd cowered, but he was the first to recover. Before her scream faded, he sniffed closer to the bed, investigating her. He cocked his head near her chest, listening to her heart.

  A crowd poured in with Vadik and Kliment at the head of the kennel. They didn't say anything. I bet on scared-fucking-speechless. Peter wrapped her up in his arms, holding her against his heat. I grabbed the blanket off the floor and threw it on her, mostly to add heat, partially to cover her nakedness. Peter cried huge, raspy sobs, careless of the fact that he was a macho, full-grown man with a crowd of onlookers.

  “Holy shit,” I said.

  Erik asked Peter, “Do we need a blood transfusion? Does she need more blood?” He stepped toward Sigurd in case someone needed to bleed.

  “Sweet of you to offer,” Sigurd snipped.

  Her eyes lightened, turning caramel instead of dead brown.

  “How you doing?” I said.

  She laughed and coughed watery blood. Peter wiped at it with the hem of his shirt. She clenched him, gripping the thick muscles of his arm so hard his flesh bruised. He kissed her forehead and rocked her.

  Vadik, Kliment, and Tatka crept forward. She saw them and gasped, a happy, desperate sound. Her fingers fluttered, not entirely under her control. They threw themselves on her lap and legs, crying and stuttering bits of Russian at her. The kids pushed each other around to get to her, and they all talked at once. She was covered in messy, sloppily placed kisses, her attention tugged in several directions. Vadik crawled right up on the bed, set Svetlana's feet in his lap, and curled up around her shins. Vanya climbed up, gave her a bottle of vodka, and received several cheek kisses for it. She couldn't stop smiling.

  With her heart and lungs working, the blood—in whatever shape it was in—began to oxidize and slug through her arteries and veins. Her white, dead skin had tracks of purple and blue. Somehow, her will had been working before her heart, her mind before her blood. Peter slid out from under Svetlana and pushed more pillows under her shoulders, helping her sit upright. He kissed her hand, and then it dropped lifelessly to the bed. Well, not quite lifelessly, not anymore.

  “The other children?” she asked Peter.

  “All well and accounted for.” He wiped at her lip with his thumb. She kissed his hand, and he kissed her small mouth. He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs rubbing her cheekbones. Her eyelashes sparkled with tears. A bit of color rose in her cheeks.

  Then she looked at the rest of us, Sigurd and me. Erik smiled, slowly, and she smiled back. She looked, and it dawned on her that someone was missing.

  “Where's Davey?” She watched me for indicators that the boy had died. I shook my head and arched an eyebrow at Peter. She grabbed him by the hair. “Where is Davey? You bring him to me, you stubborn suka. Go out and get him or…or you're grounded.”

  Erik burst out laughing. Peter didn't look properly chastised: more like a kid on Christmas morning. He kissed the top of her head. “Need anything?”

  “I'm hungry. Fried chicken and doughnuts?”

  “Oh!” I said. “I second that.”

  He walked by Sigurd and said, “Don't touch her while I'm gone.”

  The vampire didn't make any promises.

  She patted Vanya's head. “I need rest. Vadik and Kliment, you boys take Vanya. Tell the others I'm alright, I'm simply not up to much company.”

  “Yes, mother.” Kliment was pale and shivering. The back-from-the-dead bit rattled him. The twins kissed her goodnight and pried Vanya off her. She kept the vodka bottle.

  Erik sat in Peter’s chair near the bed and tucked the blanket around her feet.

  “Do you need blood to live?” he said.

  “I am not a vampire!” A growl crept into her voice.

  “Then what are you?”

  “I'm freezing.”

  “We can find more blankets.”

  “Mmmm.” She looked at the door. She didn't want blankets, she wanted Peter back. Erik brought another blanket from the hall closet and spread it over her, tucking it around her body. She grabbed his hand. He went entirely still, waiting. She squeezed him repeatedly, like he was a lump of rising dough. What did she really think of him? How did her beast experience his scent? I thought he smelled delicious. She squinted at midair, as if she couldn't think of anything else she was supposed to worry about. The children were safe. The bad guy was dead. What next? She looked around the room, lost, and squeezed Erik's hand as if she was testing her own strength.

  “Are you a vampire now?” Erik said. No answer. Her face chilled. She didn't want to talk about it. Fear sparked in her eyes, a slow, building terror.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You want some hot tea or something?” He pulled his hand loose and snatched the vodka.

  “That would be nice, but don't go taking my bottle too far. I haven't decided how much I like you yet, and it might sour relations.”

  Erik smiled. “You like me.”

  She hmphed, flustered and noncommittal, and he went to make her some tea. She was left, empty handed, staring at the vampire and I.

  “Can you command blood?” Sigurd said.

  “What?”

  “Alexei's god-plague. Do you have it?”

  “I don't know,” she said.

  “During the last moment of his life, what did you want from him?”

  “I wanted him to die,” she said, slowly, aggressively, as if Sigurd was being thick headed. “Considering I recently rose from the dead, do you mind if we wait a few days before we do a supernatural inventory? Blasted vampire, you drive me to drink! Where did my vodka go?”

  “There's a beer beside the bed,” I said. “Peter brought it.”

  “How has he been holding up?”

  “Not well at all. He wouldn't admit you were dead. He blamed himself for your death and pushed Davey away because he thought you had forgotten how much he loved you. The basics.”

  “I imagined it was something along those lines.” She sighed and picked up the beer. “Silly boy. He knows I don't like warm beer.”

  “You have nothing to say?”

  “What should I say?” Her voice rose. “I died! I know I was dead. He should have known it, too. The fool hoped to pull the right strings at the right time and he would never have to be alone. He thought so, I didn't. I told him so.”

  “But he was right,” I said. “You're still here.”

  She gazed at me. Stared, really. Discerning at first, but then her attention wavered. She tried to chase her thoughts, and I wondered how scrambled her brain was.

  “How do you feel? I mean, do you feel like yourself, or what?”

  “Or am I a monster, a zombie?” She shrugged. “I am cold throughout. I haven't felt such cold since I was a pureblood human. A proper vampire has a lower core temperature, though this is absurd. I don't know what it means.”

  Erik returned with a steaming cup of tea in one hand, a large slab of raw beef on a cooking tray,
and a damp towel over his shoulder. We straightened at the sight of thirty pounds of meat, and I was jealous. She fell on the meat like a ravenous wolf—thank goodness—and I fixated on her gaping wet mouth. When she finished, he passed her the towel to clean herself. Finally, he gave her the teacup. She smiled at its heat.

  “Get as much sleep as you can as fast as you can, Svetlana. When the Russian community learns you rose from the dead, you'll be up to your eyebrows in shit.”

  She groaned.

  Erik smiled. “A devil’s work is never done.”

  “Hmmm.” She smiled into her tea. Erik started to leave. She touched his arm, skimming the soft skin inside his elbow. His face fell neutral, so if she had pissed him off, he was getting better at hiding it.

  “Sleep,” he said, and left without another word. Svetlana tossed aside a one of the pillows stuffed behind her head and pulled the covers up to her chin, leaving a trail of blood.

  “Ah, shit,” she said. The bite on her wrist opened and gushed. Since she couldn't afford to lose more blood, I grabbed a towel and seized her wrist. Already, the blood was slowing. I watched it slide under the wound, through it, but not falling from it. Yikes. God-plague.

  “Looks like you've got a handle on things,” I said.

  “Wrap it anyway.”

  With my good hand and her help, we wrapped the wound.

  “What now?”

  “Sleep.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She sighed. “I don't have any immediate answers, Kaidlyn. I didn't plan on this. I expected to stay dead.” She scooted down and rolled onto her side. She fidgeted and moved onto her other side. She threw the remaining pillows off the bed, then she turned back over and looked at me, pulling the blankets up to her chin. Her husky voice filled with concern: “Will Davey give Peter a hard time?”

  “Nope. Well, maybe a bit at first, but Davey is the forgiving type. Peter would have to do something really, really stupid to get rid of him.”

  “Good.” She yawned. “Happily ever after. The end.”