Vampire's Kiss (15 page)

I went cold.
A different partner.
Dagursson had said it as though he knew something I didn’t, and I got the feeling he wasn’t referring to Yasuo. The implications made my skin prickle with foreboding.

“The word is Spanish, for ‘double time,’” Dag said, droning on about the Glories of the Paso Doble.

My belly knotted.
Spanish.
I knew just who’d ordered this, and I had a feeling it was a special request going out just for me.

“It is to be performed with drama, with strength of feeling and movement, full of spectacle. It is a man’s dance, like a bullfight, with the leader acting the part of the matador.”

What?
Yasuo mouthed at me.

Bullfighter,
I mouthed back. A man’s dance. Surprise surprise.

“And the female…” Dagursson paused for dramatic effect.

I raised a brow. Girls danced the part of
the bull
?

“Dances the part of the
cape
,” pronounced Dagursson with a grin. “Though some say she enacts the role of the matador’s shadow.”

My shoulders slumped. I couldn’t even play a bull? We might be fearsome kick-ass killers, but girls seemed to be the submissive ones on this island. Apparently we didn’t even get to enact the role of an animate object—instead, we were expected to dance around like some guy’s cape, or shadow.

Dagursson strolled to his iPod. There was an overloud clicking as he zipped to the correct track. And then Spanish trumpets blared and ostentatious classical guitar thrummed off the studio walls.

The ancient Viking began prowling his way toward me, and I had to swallow a laugh. It was just too surreal. With one hand over his pelvis and one in the air, he was sashaying those hips as if there were no tomorrow.

He came to stand beside me, speaking in his grand dance instructor voice. “The Paso Doble is a dance of passion.” He did a little step-step grapevine move, and it was a wonder he
didn’t dislocate something. If only his ancestors could see him now—I didn’t imagine he was winning his ticket to Valhalla with these
Dancing with the Stars
moves.

“You must loosen your joints,” he said, slinking behind me. “Free your hips. It is a dance of sensuality, of sexuality. But it is also a dance of power.” He grabbed me from behind, and I startled. “A contact dance.”

I hoped my disgust wasn’t apparent on my face. I stifled a shudder as he pulled me back into his stomach.

“Take my hand,” he ordered. “Spread your other arm.”

The moment I did, he startled me again, spinning me in, then out again. So much for sexy…Mostly I just felt dizzy.

He reeled me back in, slamming me into his chest, belly to belly this time, and my breath escaped with an
oof
. I didn’t know jack about the Paso Doble, but I didn’t think it was supposed to feel this erratic.

He hugged me closer. “Grab me.”

I did not. I would not.

He snatched my hips and ground me close, shouting, “Grab me, Acari. From behind.”

I had no choice. I put my hands on his bony ass, and it made my skin crawl.

“Passion, Acari Drew. Passion, children. It is about passion.” He shoved me from him, and I stumbled back a few steps. He prowled right back to me, not taking his eyes from mine.

The whole thing creeped me out. He slunk around like a tango master after a few too many sangrias, and the way he held my gaze made me intensely self-conscious. Even worse was the dreadful suspicion that I was going to have to dance this with Alcántara someday.

I waited for his next move, unsure what to do with myself. I knew I shouldn’t, but finally I had to ask, “What do I do?”

He addressed the class at large. “Acari Drew stands there. Watch as I walk around her.” He high-stepped another circle around me, prancing in time to the music.

“I go to her.” He grabbed me and slung me into position, chest to chest. He put an arm around me and grabbed my hand, as if we were ready to tango.

And maybe we did—from that point, the class was a whirling, nauseating, horrifying blur.

To think I’d dissed German folk dancing—doing the Paso Doble with Dagursson made a rousing Bavarian jig seem pretty ideal. I’d have been grateful to dance anything else, with anyone else—even with stupid Josh.

Little did I know just how grateful to Josh I was going to be.

T
hat night, in the dead of darkness, the sheets were torn from me. My eyes flew open, and even in my sleepy state, my instincts took over. I curled into a ball, covering my head with my arms. But it didn’t help.

I stole a peek over my clenched elbow. I saw that trademark sleek black bob and bangs, framing the face that had it in for me.

I could say I was startled, or shocked, but honestly I was neither. I’d been expecting this.

Masha’s revenge.

It’d been several days since our dining hall run-in, and she and her fellow Guidons had been mysteriously quiet. I’d known it was only a matter of time.

Hands grabbed roughly under my arms, dragging me to the floor. The dorm was never fully dark now, and my room was an eerie, colorless gray. I blinked rapidly, making out a
handful of girls, menacing in their dark Initiate uniforms. Most kept their mouths shut, and all I heard was their heavy breathing, the sound in the calm of my room disturbing.

One voice spoke, a Russian accent, crisp and husky. “Time to take out the trash.”

Masha.
Large and in charge. This would’ve been her brainchild.

They pulled me down the hall, and my feet stumbled to keep up. I was pissed and wanted to piss them off, too, and even though it was stupid, I let my body go limp.

I fell forward into someone’s back and heard a brittle curse. I hoped I’d clipped a kidney.

But they didn’t stop; they just kept dragging me toward the stairs, my legs trailing limply behind me.

I felt sharp tugging around my arms—girls’ hands like claws—and then a kick on my butt. “Move, fatty.”

“She weighs a thousand pounds.”

“Push her.” More hands, lifting me, then shoving me.

“Your vampire can’t help you now.” It was Guidon Trinity’s voice.

I’d receded deep into myself, but when I heard Trinity’s voice, awareness burst through me.
Emma.
Where was she? Did they have her, too? I tried to look behind me, but a hand grabbed my hair and shoved my head back into place. I’d seen enough to know I was alone—no Emma. This treat was reserved just for me.

“Blindfold her.” A ragged strip of cloth was bound tightly around my head, cutting into my skin. The unnerving feel of something pressing on my eyes, crushing them, was worse than any humiliation.

They reached the end of the hall, and I sensed open space gaping before me.
Staircase.
They were going to throw me down the stairs.

I swung my feet under me, catching myself in time. They ran down the steps, pulling me with them, and I stumbled along, my feet galloping awkwardly.

I’d experienced middle-of-the-night hazing before. At least now it was summer—the temp would be a bitter high forties, but no snow on the ground. That was something.

The front door opened. A gust of wind swirled around my legs. My nightgown was flannel, but it wouldn’t do anything to protect me. I chuff-chuffed rapid breaths, bracing.

“Is little Acari chilly?”

“It’s going to be a long night for you, little Acari.”

They dragged me outside, and I went limp again, but the path scraped my bare skin, and I flinched, pulling my feet back under me.

“Poor Acari. Do you miss your shoes?”

A shove, and I stumbled, then caught myself. A shove from the other side. Another from behind. I lurched drunkenly, but I stayed on my feet. It was a tiny victory, but in that moment it was everything. I clenched my jaw, girded. This Acari would fight back.

One more push, and I staggered as the terrain changed beneath me. Rocks bit into my bare feet, and cold dampness squished between my toes. I swung my hands blindly in front of me. We’d left the path—one of the vampires’ cardinal rules, broken.

“Strip her.” Rough hands were all over me, everyone wanting to be the one to rip my clothes off. Girls yanked and
jostled me, trying to rip fabric. The flannel pulled tight at my neck, jerking me back. I heard a short tear, then another, followed by a long, crisp ripping sound as my nightgown was rent from top to bottom. Bitter air gusted in, billowing it like a tent behind me.

I regularly slept in a jogging bra and panties to save time dressing in the morning. I’d worn them to bed last night, and how I loved myself for it now.

“Look at the fat ass. Too ashamed to sleep naked.”

Girls kicked me and laughed. “Look at her jiggle.”

Another kick sent me stumbling forward, but I caught myself on a tree. I clung for balance, and bark jammed under my nails.

My arms were wrenched behind me as my shredded nightgown was torn off. “Pull it off. Strip the fat ass.”

I’d been trying to keep cool, to keep my mouth shut and minimize the damage. But I’d had enough.

A foot pressed onto my butt. My skin wobbled, and of course it did, seeing as someone’s
foot
was grinding into it, but still the girls crowed over and over, “Fat slut.”

“As if I care,” I mumbled. I should’ve shut up, but I couldn’t. Did these ridiculous adolescent taunts work on some girls? “Am I supposed to cry?”

“I’ll make you cry.” It was Masha.

Crap.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

Another girl’s voice sounded, nasty and screechy. “Make her jiggle some more.”

More Initiates kicked me. A few kicks were clumsy, grazing off my calves. But some landed hard. I’d be bruised and scraped.

“Tie her up.” A final push propelled me forward, and my face slammed into the tree.

“Turn her around.” They spun me and pinned my arms at my sides. Bark scraped my back. “Get the plastic wrap.”

There was a crackling sound, and cool plastic touched my belly. Sheets of it wound around me. Panic dumped adrenaline into my veins. I was being Saran Wrapped to a tree.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I wriggled, but hands held me fast. “You think Headmaster is going to put up with
this
?”

The plastic wrap got tighter and tighter, and they wound it higher and higher, and some animal instinct flared to life, my heart pounding
Fight, run, fight, run
. I was going to suffocate. I’d wanted to be cool, but I struggled wildly now, and still they wrapped higher, and lower, and tighter, down to my ankles and up above my shoulders.

“I think by the time Headmaster finds out, you’ll be ground beef. He’ll be so psyched we packed him a little snack, he won’t care who did this. Wrap her up tight, girls. Gotta keep her fresh.”

This wasn’t hazing. This was murder.

“Alcántara is preparing me for a mission.” The words burst from me, and I didn’t know if it’d pour oil or water onto the fire. “He’ll have your heads.”

I was bound in a cocoon now. My face was free, but plastic covered my body, and my skin felt smothered. The cold made my feet numb and my nose run, but beneath the plastic, sweat soaked me, running between my breasts, under my arms, and down my spine to the crack of my butt.

Hot breath whispered in my ear, “Caught like a fly, Acari, and we’re going to eat you alive.”

I wriggled my shoulders but couldn’t budge. “Alcántara will find you. He’ll get you for this.” Panic fueled my words—I wasn’t quite sure what I’d meant by them, or where they’d come from.

Masha’s voice closed in. “So you think you’re Hugo’s favorite? So sure, are you?”

Hugo?
She and Alcántara were on a first-name basis. It silenced me.

“That’s right. Don’t speak about what you don’t know.” She jammed fingers under my blindfold and ripped it off, tearing hair from my scalp with it.