02 Blood Roses - Blackthorn (8 page)

Leila’s throat constricted and she fought to swallow. All the sleepless nights she’d had in the previous three months when Alisha hadn’t come home and this was where she had been – sleeping soundly in a vampire’s bed in the centre of Blackthorn.

Where had their lives gone wrong? Grandfather long gone. Sophie missing. Alisha sleeping with a vampire. It was her responsibility to keep Alisha safe, to keep both her sisters safe, and she had failed. If she hadn’t, Alisha wouldn’t have turned to a vampire for what she was missing. She would never have been there now – neither of them would, the hours ticking towards their undecided fate.

She would get Alisha out of there somehow. Back to Summerton. Back home. No one messed with her family. And certainly not a vampire.

She opened the bag and rummaged inside. It was all standard Alisha stuff, brimming with make-up and creams. But she did find a toothbrush.

Leila thoroughly brushed her teeth. Filling the sink with warm water, she washed her face and neck and wiped any traces of the dungeon off her arms, legs and feet. The heat of the water made her skin tingle painfully at first until the blood flow started to catch up, at which point the act became soothing.

She put the bag away and glanced at her watch. Less than eight hours until dawn. Less than eight hours to think of a way out. Eight hours up close and personal with Caleb. Her survival would be a miracle.

But she could handle this. She could do this. Somehow she would beat this.

Leila stepped back over to the door. After a couple more seconds of hesitation, she took a deep breath and pulled it open.

The living room suddenly seemed darker, the voile over the terrace doors wafting languidly with the passing of the storm.

There was no sign of Caleb, but the aroma of fresh coffee in the air told her he either wasn’t far away or was intending to come back.

Wrapping her arms around herself, the gentle breeze ruffling her dress, she hovered awkwardly before heading over to the terrace.

There was no sign of him out there either.

She headed back inside and perched on the sofa, only to stand again as he appeared down the hallway that mirrored Jake’s.

With only a swift glance in her direction, he stepped behind the bar. He emerged moments later with a glass tumbler of amber liquid in one hand and a mug in the other. Stepping up to her, he handed her the coffee. ‘You look like you need this.’

She looked distrustfully at the contents then back into his sullen green eyes.

‘Don’t worry, I haven’t drugged it,’ he said. ‘As you’ve seen, I’m not that subtle.’

She accepted it, the heat making her hands tingle.

‘Come with me,’ he said, and turned back the way he had come.

Chapter Nine

L
eila remained warily rooted to the spot for a moment. But reminding herself to be acquiescent, she followed him down the hall.

Reaching the end and opening the only door on the right-hand side, Caleb indicated for her to enter first.

Leila snapped back a breath as she stepped inside. The room had to be at least thirty-by-fifty foot. Three out of the four walls were masked floor to ceiling with bookcases, housing the largest collection of books she had ever seen outside of the library.

Void of any artificial light, the expanse was ignited by an amber blush from the roaring fire set in the bookless wall to her right; a warm glow that mingled with moonlight from the two tall segregated sash windows ahead. Facing the window directly in front of her was a winged-back armchair, its forest green and gold fabric complementing the heavily embossed drapes that pooled in excess on the polished dark-wood floor.

Another winged-back chair sat beside the fire, facing a double sofa with its back to Leila. Central to that wall and beside the fireplace was an ajar door, darkness looming from within, another bookcase on the far side of it. A lengthy mahogany table, accompanied by two chairs, sat in the distance to her left.

She looked up at the ceiling, spellbound for a moment by the intricacy of what was clearly the original plaster coving of the building, two ceiling roses encircling the black chandeliers. The musty scent of books and leather mingled with the aroma of burning wood filled the room.

Leila glanced nervously over her shoulder as Caleb closed the door behind them, stepped over to the fire and placed his drink on the ornate mahogany mantelpiece.

‘Take a seat,’ he said, the fire clearly for her benefit and doubtlessly the primary reason he’d led her to the room.

As he disappeared through the dark doorway, she hesitated for a moment before perching central on the sofa. She leaned forward and craned her neck so as to peer into the room now ignited by a faint, distant glow. A heavy drawn-back curtain hung over the solitary sash window to the left, partially covering the window seat. Beside the window was a large, broad chest of drawers. A black metal bed seemed to sit against the wall directly ahead of the door, an ornate brass orb marking the corner. Aside from that, all she could see were the bedcovers, the same rich navy as the curtains.

She pressed her knees together, grateful for the tingling heat already encompassing her feet and shins as she tucked her slightly in-turned feet into the warm tufts of the deep-pile rug. She took a sip of her hot drink, grateful for the added warmth sliding down her throat. The coffee was sweet, the kind of sweetness that was given to assist someone after shock.

Caleb emerged minutes later, his blood-smattered grey shirt removed. In its place he wore a black one which he’d left unfastened, displaying every honed, hardened muscle of his bare chest. She could now see the tattoo that coiled around his neck was the aggressive upward curl of the tail of a scorpion that covered his right pec. On his flat stomach, slightly to the left, something Celtic spiralled down out of sight into his jeans. Jeans that sat low on his slender hips and revealed an inch of the black hip band of his underwear.

The rush was exhilarating, the instant tension in her body making her short of breath. Feeling herself blush, she was grateful for the darkness.

Feet now bare, he silently stepped over to the fireside chair and collected something from the mantelpiece before he sat down.

Removing a cigarette, he returned the packet to the mantelpiece, his biceps flexing with the motion. He ignited the tip with the lighter he had used back in Jake’s room, before discarding that alongside the packet. The whole process was smooth and well-rehearsed – enigmatically captivating.

Smoking was prohibited in Summerton along with every other pollution source, let alone because of the irrevocable damage it did to the smoker’s body as well as those nearby. It just wasn’t tolerated. But that didn’t matter to vampires. It had been proven that it had no effect on them. She remembered it was a clever argument used by anti-vampiric protesters to add weight to their argument that vampires were perfectly able to survive in pollution-riddled Blackthorn.

She’d always thought it a detestable habit, but there was something mesmerising about the way Caleb had ignited the tip with easy precision, drawing attention to his strong hands and competent fingers. And when he exhaled a steady stream of smoke through those entrancing lips, she felt an uncomfortable rush that sickened her.

She glanced back at the tattoo on his pec and wondered how many others he had marking that perfect, honed body. She silently berated herself but not more so than when he looped an arm around the wing of the chair, emphasising the strength in his biceps and forearms, his shirt gaping to reveal more of his smooth, sculpted chest.

His hint of a smirk told her he’d noticed and she instantly averted her focus to the flames.

‘You’re very quiet,’ he said after a few painful moments.

She kept her eyes on the fire, refusing to meet his gaze, the heat only exacerbating the sense of claustrophobia. ‘What’s there to say? I know you’re not going to let me go. Not now you know what I am.’

‘Then look me in the eye and swear you haven’t done a holding spell.’

She glared back at him. ‘Look me in the eye and swear you’ll let my sister and me go.’

It was only a slight smile but it was enough to make her stomach flip. ‘Whatever each of us claims, the other isn’t going to believe. I guess we both need to wait until dawn for the truth. And in the interim, we both know this is best kept pleasant.’

She couldn’t help but glower at the hypocrisy of his rebuke. ‘As pleasant as charming my sister into deceiving me, forcing me into saving your brother, sticking needles in me and locking me in a freezing dungeon?’

‘I’m sure you’ll excuse my lack of hospitality under the circumstances.’

‘There’s no excuse for what you’re doing.’ She lifted the mug to her lips and took a steady-as-she-could sip as she stared back into the flames.

In the corner of her eye, she saw him exhale another stream of smoke, his gaze, she could feel, still fixed on her as the fire crackled through the silence.

She feigned an itch behind her ear, using the motion to pull her hair over her cheek as a barrier against his scrutiny. She shouldn’t have cared how she looked. It should have been the last thing that mattered, but she still found herself wondering what state she was in – not just from the ordeal but from days of sleepless nights and overworking, let alone the poor diet and worry of the last few weeks.

She knew she should have been reassured by her unappealing appearance, not ashamed. But she knew it made no difference. It wasn’t the physicality of serryns that attracted their vampire victims, though the attractive ones were clearly the most successful. It was the temptation in a serryn’s eyes, the chemical balance that exuded from their blood that drew vampires in against their will. Once the charm was turned on, the vampire was helpless, whatever the serryn’s physical attributes.

But she was not one of them. Never had been one of them. Never would be one of them.

‘Alisha tells me you work in a library,’ he said.

‘I collect, repair and restore old books.’

‘Very glamorous.’

‘I happen to like it.’

‘Not quite slaying vampires for a living though, is it?’

‘I told you – I have no interest in that.’

‘You’re a serryn – it’s all you have interest in.’

‘I’m an interpreter, that’s all.’

‘An interpreter with very bad blood.’

‘Which you gladly used against one of your own knowing the effect. Whatever Tay had done, he didn’t deserve that.’

‘That’s what intrigues me about you. You really didn’t like what you saw, did you – what your blood did to him? You should have enjoyed it. It’s what you’re about. It’s why you exist.’

‘You don’t know anything about me.’

‘I know how to get you to talk though, don’t I?’ he said, exhaling another stream of smoke, a playful glimmer in his eyes.

She blushed at the directness of his gaze. She instantly broke from it, despite loathing the fact she had faltered. She lifted the mug to her lips and stared back into the flames in frustration, reluctantly absorbing the intensity of the silence.

‘How many vampires
have
you killed?’ he asked.

‘I haven’t killed any.’

‘Except Tay.’

She glanced at him. ‘
You
killed him. Not me.’

‘There have been others though. You turned away as soon as I gave Tay your blood which meant you knew what was coming.’

‘Of course I knew what was coming.’

‘But if it was the first time, curiosity would have made you watch.’

She looked back into his eyes – those darkly framed, stunning green eyes. ‘Why, how many serryns have you killed?’

‘Not enough.’ His eyes lingered coaxingly on hers. ‘Clearly.’ He exhaled another stream of smoke. ‘Never a latent though. I’ve yet to have that pleasure.’

She frowned. ‘Makes you feel good, does it – torturing and murdering women who are victims of their blood type, stereotyped by your kind just because we’re a threat to you?’

‘Because you’re all just innocent victims to your nature, right?’ His vibrant green eyes emanated something between amusement and displeasure. ‘Remind you of anything?’

She stared back into the flames, his perceptiveness doing little to help abate her tension. Just sitting there, the draw to him was compelling. Whatever it was about him, it was intensifying, only adding to her annoyance and unease.

‘An anti-vampiric protestor but an inactive serryn,’ he said. ‘How does that work exactly?’

‘Just because I don’t approve of you doesn’t mean I have to kill to make my point.’

‘And what point is that?’

‘What you really are – when you’re not hiding behind superfluous terminology.’

‘And what are we really?’

She defiantly stared back into his penetrating gaze. ‘You’re the one who’s keeping us prisoners here even after we saved your brother’s life. Why don’t you tell me?’

He almost smiled again. ‘No –
you
tell me.’

‘You want to rule us,’ she remarked. ‘That’s all you want. You’ve slipped down the power chain and you don’t like it.’

‘Is that what your magic books tell you? The propaganda of your forerunners?’

‘I don’t need to have read about you to see what’s right in front of my eyes.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Proof of why the regulations are in place.’

He frowned. ‘Dogmatic little thing, aren’t you?’

She knew she’d already said too much. She looked back into the flames, trying to block out the intensity of his presence.

‘So do those books also tell you you’ve got to be the monster to chase your monsters?’ he asked. ‘How, to carry out your cause, you strip yourself of every iota of humanity whilst hypocritically hiding behind its mask?’

She glanced back at him, but she wasn’t going to engage in the debate.

‘It doesn’t matter who the vampire is, what they’ve done, where they’re from,’ he added. ‘Male, female or child, your kind has only one objective – make us suffer for what we are. Because suffering is what it’s all about, isn’t it? Luring vampires to their deaths, tempting them to bite. You feed us your poison then sit back and watch our incurable agony, revelling in it and boasting of our torture. Because that’s what it is – hours, maybe even days of torture, depending on the dosage your kind has chosen. So don’t you look at me with that sanctimoniousness in your eyes.’

Leila forced herself with every iota of willpower not to retreat. ‘How can you judge me when you just tortured and murdered one of your own? What kind of cold-hearted monster does that make you?’

‘A cold-hearted monster would have left him to suffer. A cold-hearted monster would have already brutalised and violated you in ways you can’t possibly conceive.’

Her stomach flipped. ‘And what are you planning to do with me instead, Caleb? Kill me like the others? Use me as some kind of weapon against anyone who displeases you? Or are you just going to sell me to the highest bidder?’

‘Maybe I could just rent you out as my serryn whore – the ultimate vampire risk-ride.’

She glared at him as indignation and fear fought each other for supremacy. ‘If I’m half as dangerous as you claim, why are you even in here talking to me?’

The glimmer of amusement in his eyes irritated her, his self-assurance annoyingly alluring. ‘Don’t fret. I’ve never been tempted to take a bite out of one of your kind yet.’

‘And what about Jake? The reason I’m here in the first place is seemingly because of his lack of self-control.’

‘Don’t you concern yourself with Jake.’

‘But I will concern myself with my sister.’

‘I know you’re struggling to get your head around this, but Jake’s not doing anything against Alisha’s will.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

‘Know every part of her, do you, Leila? Just like you knew she was here? Alisha knows what she’s got herself into, and my brother has made her no false promises. What they choose to do is up to them.’

‘I’m here because he was with another woman,’ she reminded him.

‘Another woman he fed on with Alisha’s full knowledge.’

‘And she just nods and agrees because she’s too infatuated with him to see him for what he is.’

‘He likes variety in his feeding and he sleeps around, but Alisha’s the only one who gets through the door. She can walk away any time she wants.’

‘We both know that’s not true. Not anymore. And that’s why I don’t want Alisha to know about me.’

Not that Alisha would even know what he meant if he told her that her sister was a serryn. Sophie would. They’d had an awkward conversation about it a few years before. After Sophie came home with news that she’d found out a vampire was responsible for what had happened to their mother, it was all she’d talked about for months. She was convinced the killer was still on the loose. The Vampire Intervention Unit had never found out who was responsible and the case had been closed. It had been the first of its kind in Midtown and had raised a lot of questions that the authorities wanted brushed under the carpet. Fortunately so had her grandfather. No witnesses had ever come forward. They couldn’t – she was the only one. She and her grandfather, who had turned up in less than half an hour when she’d used her mother’s phone to call him. A half an hour in the darkness having dragged her mother beside the dumpster, huddling into her lifeless body as she waited.