Fingering the wad of bills in my pocket, I adjust my bag on my shoulder and push open the window. After locking it in place, I carefully remove the screen (which is difficult with one hand) and set it on the floor, before climbing into the window frame. It’s just big enough for me to slip through.
With a last, lingering look at my bedroom, I step onto the roof. As far as I can tell, no one’s home (or at least, no one’s awake), but I still creep cautiously past every window as I head for the lower roof of the garage. After that, I’ll go downtown, and then…
I stumble and force myself to concentrate with a pounding heart, ignoring the urge to go back inside. I need to leave. Neve proved that last night.
A startled sparrow flies out of the gutter when I come to a stop, but I focus on the garage and jump down. Landing lightly in a crouch, I immediately straighten and run across the roof to leap onto the driveway, wincing at the slight jarring in my knees. I allow myself a moment to test that I haven’t damaged anything while glancing around the street. It’s quiet, and a glance back at the house shows empty windows, so even if someone is still home, I don’t think I was seen.
Swallowing hard, I step onto the sidewalk and start running.
***
“…last call for passengers boarding the 2:10 train to Lamdon. This is the last call…”
I weave through the crowds in Main Station, narrowly avoiding tripping on an errant rolling suitcase. Grimacing, I slip between a group of businesspeople and hurry across the glossy floors of the station, ignoring the robotic announcements of departures and arrivals echoing around the massive building. My arm aches.
Against the wall across from the ticket booths are several rows of lockers of varying sizes, all made of the same dull golden metal. Shoulders hunched, I stride toward the centre of the wall and crouch down, slinging my bag between my knees. I tug up my sleeve and take hold of my right wrist, raising the arm to press my hand against the centre of the locker. Through the numbness, I can feel the tingle of warmth before the door clicks open. I quickly glance over my shoulder, but nothing seems suspicious, so I tug open the door and reach inside.
A small bundle sits at the very back, tightly wrapped in a plastic. I snag it and stuff it into my bag, then shut the door and stand up. There’s a washroom in the corner, so I head there. I’m not gonna go through my stuff where everyone can see me.
I stand to the side to let a tall businessman leave the washroom, before slipping inside. Someone’s at the urinals and another guy’s at the sinks, but neither of them pay any attention to me as I go into the farthest stall. Locking the door behind me, I yank the bundle from my bag and rip off the tape. My hand’s shaking as I awkwardly unroll the plastic bag and pull out the contents.
My Correnian passport’s on top, only used once since it’s a fake I got to get into the country. I flip through the pages and stop on my photo. Gods, even though it was only five years ago, I look so young…and scared. The look in my eyes is too painful, so I shove the passport back into the bag. Beneath it is my visa (also fake) and a list of contacts written in small print. Much neater than my handwriting.
I pocket the list and return the other items to my bag, slinging it back over my shoulder. Different men are in the washroom when I leave the stall, but I still wash my hands to keep up appearances. The last thing I need is someone reporting me as a druggie or something. Drying my hands on my jeans, I hurry out of the washroom.
Touching the money in my pocket, I decide to find somewhere to sit and plan my next move. There’s a coffee place across the street, and it’s always packed enough that I’ll be able to blend in. Manoeuvring through a wave of arriving passengers (mostly tourists, from the look of them), I leave Main Station and head for the crosswalk. I can smell rain, and I warily squint up at the cloudy sky. Great.
The line is long when I get into the coffee shop, but by the time I finally get my drink (a hot chocolate with a hefty amount of whipped cream), someone vacates a seat in the corner. I manage to snag it before anyone else, dumping my bag on the table to prevent anyone from trying to sit with me. Removing the lid from my drink, I lap at the whipped cream and pull out the list of contacts. The list is five years old, but I’ve done my best to keep it updated with scrawled notes next to the names. This person’s dead. This person’s missing. This one left the country, and this one’s gone straight. But the one I want remains unchanged. Hopefully, she’s still around and willing to help.
Sighing, I blow on my hot chocolate and take a slow sip, idly reading the other names. I’ve only met a couple of them, but so far, they’ve been reliable.
I just need my luck to hold out a bit longer.
***
Jordana Clarke lives on the other end of the city, and it takes two bus transfers to get me there. By the time I arrive at her row of townhouses (expensive, judging by the cars parked out front), it’s late afternoon. I double check my list and look up again, scanning the numbers next to the doors. There, number twenty-nine—right at the end.
Steeling myself, I cross the street and walk through the gate, pausing on her doorstep. When I called from a payphone at the train station (and thanking any god that might be listening that Jordana still lived at the same place with the same number), she said I could come over whenever I wanted. So there’s no point in hesitating now. Adjusting my bag, I press the doorbell and listen to the deep tones echo inside.
Almost immediately, the door opens, and a tall woman stands before me. Her dark hair’s swept back into a bun, and a black tank top and sweatpants cover her lanky body. Her grey eyes slowly rake up and down my body, making me hunch my shoulders. Then she nods and steps back, gesturing inside.
“Come in.”
I study her a moment longer, and then accept the invitation. She shuts the door behind me as I kick off my shoes, and then walks past with a brief, “Follow me.”
The townhouse seems to be going for the modern look, with floating stairs and lots of white. I’m happy to see that the living room off the short hall has comfortable furniture, at least. I’ve never been a fan of the modern look. It reminds me too much of him.
Jordana sits on the couch and crosses her legs, watching me with hooded eyes as I sit across from her in one of the armchairs. Aside from the TV hanging on the wall next to us, there’s very little to look at.
“So,” she said, leaning back in the cushions with her arms crossed. “What do you need?”
Having spent most of the bus ride practising, I’m ready with a straightforward reply. “I need a new identity. Passport. Citizenship papers, too, if you can get them.”
She nodded, expression not changing. “How long you been here?”
“Five years.”
She nodded again. “Where you going?”
I hesitate at this, because I still haven’t decided. After a minute, I slowly reply, “I’m not sure. Ferland, maybe.”
“If you want citizenship papers, you’re going to need to have a destination,” she drawls with a smirk.
Good point. “Fine. Ferland.” It’s across the ocean, and the more distance I put between me and Dellare, the better. I would have gone to Ferland five years ago, but I didn’t have the money. Even now, it’s going to be tight, but I’m desperate.
Leaning forward, Jordana grabs a notepad and pen from the coffee table between us. “Okay, so new ID, Ferlandian passport, and citizenship papers.” She glances up at me. “Not cheap.”
Mouth thin, I lift my chin. “I’ve got the money.”
“Good.” She taps her lip with the pen, studying the notepad for a bit. Finally, she says, “This is gonna take a day or two to sort out. Maybe three.”
I hide my grimace and try to keep my tone mild as I say, “Sooner is better.”
“Isn’t it always?” Leaning back again, she adds, “So, have a new name picked out?”
I shake my head. “I don’t really care.” When was the last time I used my real name, anyway? Not like it matters what anyone calls me.
Jordana rolls her eyes, looking amused. “Come on, humour me.”
Rolling my eyes in return, I say the first name that pops into my head. “Fine, Ezra.” I saw it in a book once and thought it was kind of interesting. Good enough for a new identity, I guess.
Satisfied, Jordana looks down at her notes. “Alright then, Ezra. Age? Birthday?”
“Real or fake?”
“Doesn’t matter to me.”
Well, my passport has my real age and birthday, so I guess that’s what I’m using. “Twenty-three. July seventh.”
More notes, and then: “For all of this, we’re looking at about…ten thousand.”
I choke and try not to gape. I knew it would be a lot, but fuck. I guess I don’t do a very good job at keeping a straight face, because Jordana shrugs. “Hey, crime isn’t cheap.”
I know that, but…do I even have that much money? Felix can’t possibly carry that much. Nobody carries that much. “What about without the passport?” I can use the Correnian passport if I have to.
“Hm.” Jordana jots down something, before replying, “Four. I’m guessing you already have a passport?”
I nod and start to relax, but she says, “A passport that won’t have the same name as your other papers.”
Fuck. Okay. “How much is just the passport and citizenship papers?” If I have the papers to show I’m a Ferlandian citizen, then I won’t need a visa.
She raises an eyebrow at that. “About nine.”
I swallow hard and bite my lip. How am I going to get that within three days?
Sighing, Jordana tears the top sheet off the notepad and neatly folds it. “You’re not gonna find a better price for the quality I deliver.”
Hands clenched on my knees, I jerk my head in a nod. “Okay.” My heart’s pounding. I should haggle, but I don’t want to risk pissing her off. This is my only chance.
“I might—might—be able to get them for you by the day after tomorrow,” Jordana continues. “Day after’s more likely.” Looking up, her eyes meet mine. “Money upfront. Cash.”
I grit my teeth, knowing I’m about seven thousand short. “I can give you some now and the rest after I get the papers.”
She snorts at that, standing up. “Yeah, nice try. I have a business to run, kid. I’m not going to go to all this trouble just for you to stiff me.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the bills I swiped from Felix’s wallet. Under Jordana’s sharp gaze, I count them out. “I’ve got two thousand here.” I fold the stack and add challengingly, “It would be stupid to give you all of the money upfront. How do I know you’re not gonna screw me over?”
Hooded grey eyes study me for a long moment, before a smirk tilts her mouth. “Point.” She shrugs. “Fine. Half now, half later.”
“Two thousand now,” I counter, and before she can argue, I add, “I’ve got way more to lose than you do.”
After a long moment, Jordana walks around the coffee table and stops in front of me. She holds out her hand. “Fine. Give me what you’ve got now.” She smiles sweetly. “And if you try to rip me off later, I’ll rip off your balls. Deal?”
Trying not to let my panic show, I slap the money into her hand. “Deal.”
Pocketing the bills, she walks over to a plain box sitting on one of the even plainer shelves, and pulls out a small camera. “C’mon, stand against that wall there.” I guess I look worried, because she adds, “Need your picture for the passport.”
“Oh.” Right. Following her gesture, I go to stand in front of a smooth white wall and flinch when a bright light briefly blinds me.
“Sorry,” Jordana says, not sounding sorry at all. “Okay, stand still, relax your face.”
I take a deep breath and stare straight ahead, relieved when I hear the click of the camera and the light is turned off. Jordana returns the camera to its box. “Alright, I’ll call you when everything’s ready.”
“I don’t have a phone.”
Apparently that wasn’t the response she expected. “Seriously? Why the hell not?”
I shrug defensively, trying not to look annoyed. “I don’t need one.”
She sighs, not trying to hide her annoyance. “You are a pain in the ass, you know that? Fine, come back here on Friday at noon. I should have everything for you then.”
I don’t like that should, but I’ve already pressed my luck, so I reluctantly agree and stand up. At the door, she holds out her hand again, and it takes me a second to realise to wants me to shake it. I point to my right arm with a wrinkled nose. “Can’t use it right now.”
Jordana glances at the white bandaging and drops her hand. “Serious?”
“I hope not.”
The look she gives me is knowing. “I’ll see you Friday.”
With a quick nod, I step outside.
***
I wasn’t lying when I told Sei I’ve never gone to a bloodhouse. But I know how to find them, and a few tips gets me to one that appreciates new blood and pays decently. Not fancy enough to require detailed feeder information for a discerning clientele, but not sketchy enough that I’ll end up murdered in an alley. Just a middle ground that’ll make it easy for me to slip in and out without questions, as long as my blood is clean.
I stand on the street, staring up at the plain building, the setting sun making the red brick glow. At a glance, I’d never be able to guess what this place is.
But I can smell the blood.
Gripping the strap of my bag with my good hand, I force myself forward. I try not to think about what I’m doing. It’s stupid and self-destructive, but…but it’s just once. Maybe twice, but that’s it, and then I’ll be gone, and I’ll never have to do this again. I won’t relapse if it’s just this one time. I can’t.
I grip the cool stair rail and start down toward the door with a plain sign reading ROSE. The scent of blood grows stronger with every step, making me shiver and tighten my grip on the railing. I stop and take a deep breath. What am I doing?
“Hey, you going in or not?”
I jolt down another step and look back. Two women are standing there, one chatting on her phone and the other staring back at me with a raised eyebrow. Both are in business clothes and carrying laptop bags.
“S-sorry,” I mutter, and hurry down the rest of the stairs. Before I can second guess myself again, I open the door and step inside.
The lighting is low, but the room seems to be clean. There’s a closed door across from me, but my attention’s drawn to the desk and man in the corner. He greets the women as they pass me and head through the doors, before turning a smile on me.
“Welcome. First time?”
My mouth opens and shuts. Do I really look that lost? “Um…yeah…”
He beckons me closer and studies my face over his glasses. “Not a vampire. Feeder?”
The word sends a shudder through me, and I nod. “Yeah.”
“Have you been to a bloodhouse before?”
I can only manage to shake my head.
“Well.” His voice is soft. “We’re fairly casual here. Freelance feeders and laidback clientele. I’ll just need a blood sample.”
Expecting that, I hold out my left arm while he opens a drawer to pull out a small needle and what looks like a glass slide. He unwraps the needle and takes my hand, squeezing my thumb and quickly pricking it. He drags my thumb across the glass slide, smearing a line of blood, and releases my hand. I stick my thumb in my mouth and watch an orange spark jump across the slide and sink into the blood. The blood suddenly disappears.
“Looks like you’re clean,” the man remarks. “Feeders are paid 600 per hour, which you’ll get before you leave.” My mouth drops open in shock, but he continues without commenting on my reaction. “Just sit somewhere once you’re inside. If your partner wants to negotiate for more, it’s up to you to arrange a price and get payment, if you agree. There are some private booths in the back with condoms.”
My surprise at the high price I’ll get paid is replaced by horror at the idea of prostituting myself. “That won’t happen,” I instantly say, my tone harsh.
He just raises an eyebrow and holds out a plastic wristband with the current time stamped on it. “Put this on so people know you’re a feeder.”
Heart thumping, I stare down at the green band, before slowly taking it and wrapping it around my wrist. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.
“Go through those double doors.”
“Okay,” I mumble, glancing over my shoulder. “Um, thanks.”
He nods, and I slowly make my way across the small room. This is it. With a deep breath, I open the doors and step inside.
Couches and booths are spread across the dimly lit room, all plush and toeing the line of tacky. There are more people than I expected, and everyone looks…like they’re enjoying themselves. This isn’t how I pictured a bloodhouse at all. I glance down at my bright green wristband and bite my lip.
“Made it in after all, huh?”
I jerk back and look up, staring at the woman in front of me. It takes me a second to figure out why she looks familiar, but then I remember her from the stairs out front. She’s neatly dressed in a grey pantsuit, dark brown hair falling straight to her shoulders, and blue eyes narrowed in amusement.
“Yeah…” I shrug awkwardly and glance around the room again, unable to relax. “So, you’re a vampire?” When I look back at her, the expression she’s wearing tells me exactly how stupid she finds that question. I grimace. “Uh, right.”
She adjusts her grip on her laptop bag. “Wanna go sit down? Unless you’re spoken for.”
Oh shit, this is it. I stare at her mouth, nerves making it hard to breathe. I can only manage a quick nod and an awkward step forward, gesturing weakly for her to lead the way. She smirks and sets off, and if I didn’t realise she was a vampire before, the fluid way she moves now is a dead giveaway. I trail uncomfortably behind her as she makes her way through the occupied seats. She stops in front of an empty couch and sits down, looking at me expectantly. After a moment’s hesitation, I sit next to her, leaving about a foot of space between us. She doesn’t seem to mind, though. The couch is slightly curved and more intimate than I’d like.
Leaning back, she looks at me with mild interest. “So. Come here often?”
I stiffly shake my head. “No. First time.”
“Oh?”
That wasn’t really a question, so I just give her a small shrug.
She angles herself toward me, resting an elbow on the back of the couch. “Y’know how this works?”
“Uh, yeah, the guy out front gave me a rundown.” I think back to the comment about the private booths and suppress a shudder. I hope she doesn’t try that, because after she starts feeding from me, I don’t know if I’d be able to refuse.
No point dwelling on that.
“What about you? Do you, uh, come here often?”
“No, this is my first time, too,” she replies with a slightly bitter smile. “Broke up with my boyfriend, so my friend suggested coming here to soothe my broken heart. Or something.” She rolls her eyes. “Dude was an asshole, anyway. Turns out he spent the last month cheating on me. So fuck him, right?”
I nod uncomfortably. What the hell do I know about relationships? I mean, Felix was technically cheating when he married me, wasn’t he? Or maybe he wasn’t, maybe that’s just how they do things.
Apparently noticing the look on my face, the woman gives a self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry, guess I’m doing the bitter ex thing.” Abruptly changing topics, she asks, “You been to a bloodhouse before?”
I shake my head, even more uncomfortable. “No.” My hope of getting this over with is quickly disappearing.
She looks surprised. “Really? What made you decide to try one now?”
It was the only way I could think of to raise enough money to quickly leave the country? Out loud, I say, “I guess you could say relationship issues. Wanted to try something new.”
“First time being fed from, then?”
“No.”
“So I guess I won’t be popping your cherry,” she jokes, and I give a tight smile. She’s twelve years too late for that.
“From the wrist okay?”
I glance down at my arm, surreptitiously tugging back the sleeve. Any scars that remain are too faded to be seen in this lighting. “Yeah, it’s okay.” Before I can lose my nerve, I pull my sleeve up and thrust my arm toward her. She raises an eyebrow, but wraps her cool hands around my forearm. I rest my back against the couch and look away.
“Squeamish?” she asks, sounding somewhat amused.
“No,” I say shortly. I take long, slow, deep breaths, but I can’t stop the sharp gasp that escapes me when her fangs pierce my skin. And then it’s like a switch has been flipped, sapping all tension from my body. I sink deeper into the cushions with a barely audible groan.
If she notices, she doesn’t show any sign of it. Her tongue laps at the spilled blood, practically scorching the skin. I try to keep my breathing even and my mind clear, fighting my latent addiction. This was a bad idea.
A very, very bad idea.
She pulls back. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I manage to croak, even though I’m anything but. “It’s just been awhile.”
“A bloodhouse is kind of a big step, then, huh?”
I manage to roll my head toward her, squinting balefully. She just grins, before latching onto my wrist again. After a few minutes, it becomes more bearable. I’m not sure how long she continues, but she finally pulls back with one last swipe of tongue. Rather than overwhelmed, I just feel pleasantly buzzed.
Blinking slowly, I watch her brush her thumb across the bite marks with a critical eye. “Kind of a lightweight, aren’t you?”
Too tired to even scowl properly, I open mouth to retort, but she interrupts with, “Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s been awhile.” Looking way too pleased with herself, she adds, “So I guess I kinda did pop your cherry, after all.”
I snort. She’s definitely not like any vampire I’ve met before.
Her expression becomes more seriously, and she leans forward to ask, “You gonna be okay?”
Touched by her concern, I manage to smile. “Yeah, I’m good.” I pull my arm back and tug the sleeve down.
“Well, if you’re sure.” Her grin is back. “Thanks for the drink. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
“Yeah,” I agree, although I have no intention of remaining in the city any longer than I have to. Still, she seems like someone I’d get along with if I were planning to stick around.
Resting my head against the back of the couch, I watch her wander off, then shut my eyes with a long sigh. I never got her name.
That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe I really did kick my addiction.
It doesn’t feel like she’s taken that much blood, so I decide to stay for a bit longer. I dunno how long I’ve been here, but if I can manage another hour or two, I should have nearly half of what I owe Jordana. Hopefully.
It’s awhile before I’m approached again, this time by a middle-aged man in a well-cut tan suit. “I just closed a deal,” he confides as he pushes up my sleeve and strokes the soft skin a few inches above where the woman bit, “so I thought I’d treat myself to a night out.”
Eyes hooded, I just nod and smile, wincing when he suddenly bites down. He’s not as gentle as the other vampire, but at least he doesn’t take long to finish. I barely feel his teeth leave my arm; everything’s spinning. But he doesn’t leave me achingly aroused, which is what I was worried about. I’m immediately grateful for that when I feel his hand on my inner thigh.
“Why don’t we move to one of the private booths?” he says suddenly, voice low in my ear. His hand slides against my thigh, making me shiver. But I’m not that far gone. Blinking rapidly, I jerk back and shake my head.
“I gotta go.” I grab my bag and stand up, catching myself on the couch when the room tilts. But when I feel him reach for me again, a surge of panic propels me forward. I manage to stumble away, bouncing off of furniture and colliding with blurry bodies, before finally making it to the doors. I burst through them and stagger across the lobby to the front desk, breathing heavily.
The same man from earlier is behind the desk, and he watches me with raised eyebrows. “Everything alright?”
Gripping the polished wood of the counter, I nod. “Yeah, fine, just…just tired.”
A small smile appears on his pale face. “Not surprised. All done, then?”
I nod again, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Once I feel a bit calmer (but only a bit, because I could never be calm in a situation like this), I open my eyes and force a smile. “Think it’s about time for bed.”
I let him take my arm and remove the wristband. He glances at the time and jots something down. “Okay, you’ve been here…three hours. Longer than most first-timers.” His eyes flick back to my wrist. “You’re still bleeding.”
My eyes follow his, staring blankly at the twin trails of blood trickling down my arm. Oh.
Sighing, he takes my arm again. “Some of them get too excited and don’t bother cleaning up.” He flexes his free hand and presses his palm to the fresh bite marks, making me wince. I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but I’m too numb to care. As I watch, I see an orange light flow from his hand and snake under my skin, before disappearing.
He releases my arm and pushes his glasses back into place. “There.”
Frowning, I look at my arm. The punctures are still there, but all the redness and blood’s gone. “Are you a healer?”
“Blood witch,” he corrects, pulling open a drawer. “So that’s 1,800 for today. Large bills fine?”
“Oh, uh, yeah.” I’ve never heard of blood witches before. “Thanks.”
“Mhm.” He hands over a neat bundle of crisp bills, which I eagerly accept. I quickly count them and check for authenticity, before folding the bundle and sticking it deep in my battered bag. “We’ll see you next time.”
Not something I want to think about right now.
“Yeah, next time.”
***
The hotel’s small and rundown, but it’s cheap and has a vending machine in the lobby. After checking in under a fake name and (reluctantly) paying, I grab a few bags of chips, a chocolate bar, and a bottle of water for dinner. With a tight hold on my backpack, I head down the dim hall to my room with a hand on the wall for support. The hallway is tilting.
The room is just as cramped as the rest of the hotel, but the door locks and the bed is made, so it’s not that bad. There’s also a desk and chair in the corner. I grab the chair to wedge under the doorknob, before walking to the bed and tossing my bag on top. The carpet’s threadbare and the wallpaper’s peeling, but the stiff bed sheets smell like bleach and don’t seem to have any suspicious stains.
Sighing, I dump my snacks on the nightstand and sit on the bed to toe off my shoes, shutting my eyes when my vision blurs. I grab the chocolate bar and rip it open, taking a big bite. The sudden sweetness makes my teeth ache, but I force myself to finish it, before washing the taste down with a few gulps of cool water. I screw the cap back on and flop back on the bed with a groan, pressing the heels of my hand against my sore eyes. I forgot how fucking tiring bloodsucking is. This is how I felt after the first time, before my foster brothers got bolder.
No. Not thinking about that.
Rolling over, I grab the clicker from the nightstand and turn on the small TV across from the bed. Some sort of cop drama appears on the screen, which seems like a good enough distraction, so I turn up the volume and toss the clicker aside.
I should shower.
…fuck it, too tired. Instead, I squirm out of my clothes and crawl between the stiff sheets, burrowing into the flat pillows. On-screen, light flashes and a car flips, but I have no idea why. Instead, I look down at my arm and run my fingers across the new bite marks with a frown. So weird to see these again. It’s been…what, four, five years? Really doesn’t feel like that long ago I had marks like these every day.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I hide my arm under the sheets.
***
I wake up hard and clammy. The dream’s already fading, but I know what it was, can still feel the hands and teeth all over my aching body. Just the touch of the blanket makes me pant and squirm.
Fuck.
I throw back the covers and tumble out of bed, blindly stumbling toward the bathroom. Ignoring the light switch, I yank back the shower curtain and turn on the tap with shaking hands. After a second to brace myself, I grit my teeth and step under the uneven, icy spray. I gasp and hunch my shoulders against the feeling of knives tearing into my skin, barely managing to stay still. Just need my erection to go away, then I can get out. I’m not gonna jerk off, not when I’ve been dreaming about that.
By the time I’ve finally gone soft, my body’s numb, and my jaw aches from how hard my teeth are chattering. I grab for the tap, barely managing to grip it with my frozen hand, and wrench it around to HOT.
“Oh, fuck!” I jump back and slam into the tiled wall, before scrambling forward to turn the temperature down again. Shit, that hurt. Even lukewarm, the water stings, but it’s more tolerable against my abused skin. I clutch my aching right arm and slide down the wall to sit in the tub, letting the water pound down on me. Such an idiot.
There’s a little bottle of shampoo/conditioner in the corner, as well as body wash. Tempting to just get out of the shower now, but I’ll regret it later, so I suck it up and grab the first bottle. Twisting the cap off one-handed, I dump the entire bottle on my head, and then wrinkle my nose. Citrus-scented; of fucking course.
Eyes screwed shut, I roughly scrub at my hair and rinse off the suds as fast as possible, rubbing at my face. The body wash is some generic herbal thing, at least, but it makes my arm itch under the bandage. I stare down at my arm for a second, hesitating, and then unravel the soaked gauze and toss it over the side of the tub. Grabbing the body wash again, I squeeze more into my hand and spread it across my legs. Fading bruises have been replaced with new ones, and I can’t help but think back to my fight with Neve. It’s not the first time I’ve been thrown around, but…
I scrub my cold feet, clenching my teeth. I didn’t deserve that. I was just trying to help him, and he fucking—
I slam my fist against the bottom of the tub with a choked growl, eyes burning. I’m not gonna think about him anymore, not gonna think about any of them. None of them have anything to do with me now. And just because they were a bit nicer than other guys doesn’t mean shit, because that’s how they all start out, and then next thing I know, I’m getting fucked over.
My eyes burn even more when I look down at my arms, the mess of my right and the bites on my left. I swallow hard and brush my thumb across the marks, shivering. Water continues pounding down on me, washing away the suds, so I pour the rest of the body wash into my hands and smear it across my stomach. As my hands slide lower, I look for the scars on my thighs, but they’re pretty much invisible. I stroke the soft skin, feeling for them, and jolt when my hand brushes against my groin instead. Biting my lip, I try to concentrate on finishing my shower and ignoring any scars. But that touch and the sight of the marks on my arm…
I’m getting hard again. I try to ignore the memories filling my head, but my wrist is aching, and it’s just too easy to remember what it was like before…
Groaning, I squeeze my eyes shut and grab my cock before I can stop myself. A tremor runs through me, and the soap on my skin makes it easy to pump my hand up and down my erection. I pant and stroke faster, but it’s not enough, so I tilt my hips up and reach back with my free hand to push two soap-slick fingers inside. I hiss as my muscles clench, but don’t let up until my fingers are all the way in and pressing against my prostate. I jolt with a whine, squeezing my cock and wondering when I last got fucked. Too long.
My fingers thrust in and out, twisting and spreading, but even a third isn’t enough to get me off. My cock is aching and my balls are tight, but I just…can’t…
Panting heavily, my eyes slide to the hand around my erection and land on the marks on my wrist. My cock throbs. I can still feel fangs sliding into my skin, a hot mouth sucking. If I could just…if I could just get that feeling back…
Rubbing my prostate harder, I lift my wrist to my mouth and sink my sharp teeth into the soft skin. Pain shoots up my arm, but there it is, this is what I need, and I roll my hips against my fingers with a whimper, blood filling my mouth. Tremors run through my body, and I’m almost there, just a bit more…
I bite deeper and gasp against my wrist as I suddenly come, back arching and legs shaking violently. Shutting my eyes, I let my arm fall to my side and slowly pull my fingers out of my trembling body. Water pounds down me as I bask, but eventually, the endorphins fade, leaving me with a burning arm and a sore ass. The scent of blood is suffocating, and when I finally open my eyes, I feel like I’m going to be sick. I’m covered in blood and semen, and it’s like the last five years never happened. My throat tightens, and I choke on a bubble of laughter that quickly becomes a sob. I gulp down mouthfuls of damp air and cry harder, curling around my knees, because there’s nothing else to hold. No one else to hold.
There never is.
***
I clutch the strap of my bag, shuffling along the sidewalk to ROSE. It’s just about dark, and the streets are filling up with people heading out to dinner or meetings or whatever normal people do at night. I feel heavy, and I wish I could just go back to sleep, but I need to get my papers in two days. The thought of leaving the country, of creating another new life, sends a wave of goosebumps across my skin, despite the warm evening. Brief dizziness makes my steps falter and vision blacken, so I try to shove my worries to the back of my mind and concentrate on getting to the bloodhouse. One thing at a time.
Taking a deep breath, I stop and lean against a grey brick wall for a quick break. I dig into my bag and pull out the water bottle I refilled in the hotel bathroom, unscrewing the cap and draining half of it in greedy gulps. The muffin I had for breakfast wasn’t really filling, and the water sloshes around uncomfortably in my stomach when I start walking again. I’ll get some real food after I’m done being food.
I snicker at my lame joke and continue down the street until I reach the stairs leading down to ROSE‘s plain front door. The steps sway beneath my feet, but my tight grip on the railing gets me down and through the door. I blink hard, focussing on the front desk. Same guy from yesterday.
“You’re back,” he says with a hint of surprise, but produces a glass slide and needle, gesturing for my hand. The desk holds my weight as he pricks my finger, and I squint at the magic blood test. All clear.
Putting away the slide, the witch stamps the time on a blue band and wraps it around my limp wrist. With a casual “busier tonight”, he sends me off with a wave. Somehow, I make it through the doors without falling or losing the death grip on my battered bag. The atmosphere hits me harder tonight. I press myself against the cushioned wall with a weak gasp, stifled by the scent of blood. I’m shaking. I don’t think…fuck, am I on the floor?
I press my fist to my mouth, swallowing hard. It doesn’t help.
Cold hands suddenly wrap around my arms and pull me up, and I stumble into a soft body with a surge of nausea. “Hey, there,” a warm voice says in my ear, sending a shiver through me. A strong arm wraps around my waist, and I blearily stare at the woman smirking at me. I open my mouth, but she presses a finger to my lips. “Let us take care of you, yeah?”
Us? Oh, there’s someone on my other side. I turn my head and catch sight of his bright red hair. For one confused moment, I think it’s Felix, but this guy’s eyes are brown, not green. The woman tightens her grip on me and pulls me away from the wall, and I can’t find the energy to pull away.
But it’s okay. Everything’s okay.
They half-carry me through the crowded room and let me bonelessly fall onto an empty couch before taking the spots on either side. The woman lifts my right arm and pulls back the sleeve of my sweater, but pauses when the bandage is revealed. She lets my arm fall back to my side, then shrugs and leans across my lap. They share my left arm, the slide of teeth through skin and rough tongues making me shiver. My heavy head falls back against the couch with a groan, and I squirm when I feel a cool hand on my thigh. I weakly try to push it away, but another hand easily traps mine.
My stomach rolls, and my mouth goes dry. I need to get away. I want to stay. No, I don’t.
I whine when a finger strokes between my legs, the will to run fading. But then my stomach rolls again, and bile burns my throat. I gag and manage to swallow down a heave, before rasping, “Gonna puke.” I gag again, and suddenly, I’m free. Head pounding, I surge to my feet and stumble away, a hand pressed against my mouth. My vision blurs, but I manage to stagger through the plush couches and chairs toward the washroom, which is thankfully nearby. When my stomach gurgles in warning, I force myself to run the last few feet and barrel through the heavy wooden door. Painfully bouncing off the tiled wall, I slam to my knees in one of the stalls and cling to the toilet, giving up the fight. I choke and gag, every muscle clenching painfully when I lose what little was in my stomach. My groan is interrupted when more vomit surges up. My body heaves again and again, until there’s nothing left but bile burning my throat. I slump against the toilet, trembling and panting, waiting, but it looks like my stomach’s done. I spit out a mouthful of phlegm and shakily reach out to flush the toilet, squeezing my eyes shut. Fuck.
Spitting again, I use the stall wall to get unsteadily to my feet and stumble out to the sinks. The door opens while I’m rinsing out my mouth and gulping down mouthfuls of cold water. Taking a deep breath, I quickly wash my hands and face, before finally looking blearily at the guy who just entered. He’s in front of a urinal, not paying attention to me. Tall, neat black hair, nice suit. I lean against the sink, trying not to stare as he finishes up and walks toward me. My cock twitches at the way he moves, like a predator, and I can’t look away while he washes his hands. Sinrian, I think; he has the sharp features and slanted eyes.
He finally notices me watching him and raises an eyebrow while drying his hands. I answer the questioning look with a slow smile, dragging my eyes up and down his body. I watch him in the mirror as he walks past, then follow him out of the bathroom.
The crowd’s grown a bit, but I’m too focussed on my target to care. Licking my lips, I press close and casually trail my hand down his back, bringing him to a stop. He turns toward me, and I lean in, murmuring, “Why don’t you show me what those fangs can do?”
His smile is quick to appear, and the flash of razor sharp teeth makes my heart pound. My body aches.
I flinch when he taps one of my arms. “Looks like you’ve had plenty of demonstrations already. Don’t want to push yourself.”
Frustrated, I pull him fully around and rest my hands on his narrow hips, squeezing. “I look like a lightweight to you?”
“Well, you do look like you might pass out any second.”
Fuck, I am this fucking close to just ripping his clothes off and forcing his teeth on me. “I’m feeling just fine.” Pressing closer, I tilt my head to the side with hooded eyes and add, “Although I could feel better.”
He raises an eyebrow, before suddenly laughing. The sound startles me, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Now that’s a line.” Eyes dark behind his glasses, he rests an arm on my shoulder, his bright smile returning. “What’s your name?”
“Devon,” I lie breathlessly, eyes fixed on his teeth. I reach up and brush my thumb across his lips, shuddering when the tip catches on one of his fangs. Before the blood can escape, he soothes the cut with his tongue, eyes trapping mine. My chest feels tight.
“I’m Jules,” he says, voice coming from far away. Underwater. “Let’s go sit.”
I’m nodding without really noticing, because all I can think about are his teeth sinking into my neck. His lips are moving, but I’m no longer listening.
Hand resting on my waist, he leads me through the scattered seats. Everything’s taken, but he keeps looking, heading across the room. After another minute of fruitless searching, frustration surges through me, and I grab his arm to haul him to the nearest wall. I barely acknowledge his look of shock as I pin him to the cushioned surface, hands on his shoulders.
“This is fine,” I rasp, and aim a bite at his exposed collarbone before he can reply. I nip at the smooth skin and drag my tongue along the ridge of his clavicle, before wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. Using my grip for leverage, I rise to my toes and bite down on his neck. Hard.
He gasps sharply in my ear, lean body shuddering against me, so I bite down again. And then my back hits the wall, Jules lifting me and pinning me with an arm around my waist. His long fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head…
I jerk in his hold and whimper at the first sting of teeth, clutching his shoulders as they sink deeper. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I grind our hips together and moan. Blood rushes in my ears, into his mouth, and I can’t stop trembling at how fucking good it feels.
I barely notice he’s pulled away until he roughly says, “Let’s go to the backroom,” and then all I can do is nod dizzily.
He lets me down, but I keep a tight hold on him to avoid falling on my ass as he leads me through an arched doorway in the back wall. A hallway stretches out to my left and right, filled with doors, and I can hear exactly what’s going on behind the shut ones. One particularly loud moan makes my cock throb, and I stumble with a gasp. Luckily, Jules keeps a tight hold on me, and we make it into one of the empty rooms with a few steps.
As soon as the door shuts behind us, I drag Jules to the wide padded bench and push him down, clambering into his lap and letting my bag hit the floor. One of his hands tangles in my hair, the other sliding down to my ass, and he pulls me in for a coppery kiss which I eagerly return. Reaching down between us, I yank his buttoned shirt out of his pants and struggle for a minute to get his fly open. As soon as the zipper’s down, I shove my hand inside and wrap my hand around his clothed erection. He groans against my mouth, grip tightening on me, and suddenly, I’m on my back beneath him. I barely have a chance to be surprised before his teeth are back in my neck and I’m arching up against him with a sharp cry. Panting, I dig my nails into his shoulders and squirm when I feel his hands slide down my body.
“Touch me,” I beg, voice tight and cracking. “Please…” I can’t take it anymore, and if he doesn’t do anything, then he’s gonna be the one on his back.
Before I can snap, though, my pants are gone. But then so are his teeth, and I want to scream—
“Oh, fuck!” My whole body jerks against his tight hold on my hips, eyes wide in shock. He’s wrapped his hot mouth around my cock, swallowing me all the way down. My eyes flutter shut as I scramble for a hold on his silky hair, but my hands are shaking too much.
Doesn’t matter, though, because within seconds, I’m coming hard with a breathless cry. Jules holds me down and swallows, dark eyes flicking up to meet mine. He smirks around my softening cock, before slowly pulling back and licking his lips. I shiver and let my eyes fall shut again, body at once too heavy and too light. My brain is numb.
Hands stroke my thighs and push them farther apart, and something cool and slick—a finger—pushes inside me. I squirm weakly as it slides deeper, back out, and then a second digit joins it to stretch me. Too worn out to move, I let him finger me, whining softly when he finds my prostate.
I feel his lips slide up along my inner thigh, teeth nipping gently at the sensitive skin, before stopping high up on my leg. He crooks his fingers inside me, sending a jolt straight to my cock—and bites down.
I stiffen as my surroundings shift.
Hands. They have me trapped, pinning my arms and forcing my legs apart. One’s over my mouth, but even though I want to scream, I can’t. They’ll tell her.
My legs are covered in bite marks, and he’s got his fingers in me, forcing them deeper until I’m crying and struggling to get away. But they’re stronger than me.
He stands up, keeping a hand over my mouth. I cry harder, trying to close my legs, but he shoves them back open with his body, and then shifts until his hard cock is at my hole—
This isn’t real.
I gasp for breath and throw myself to the side, tumbling off the bench. I hit the floor, bashing my elbow hard and yelping in pain. One pair of hands reaches for me, and I cringe, scrambling back and holding my numb arm to my chest.
“Devon? Hey, are you okay?”
Devon? Who the fuck is Devon?
Heart pounding, I look up and force myself to focus on the man kneeling in front of me. Jules. His glasses are gone, and he looks scared.
Throat raw, I rasp, “F-fine…” I’m not fine. I’ve never been fine.
His hands (gentle, not demanding) rub my arms roughly. I still flinch. “What happened? I thought you were having a seizure.”
I quickly shake my head, trying to get my breathing under control. A seizure would be easier. “Just…” Just what? “Just…not feeling well. Suddenly.” I close my eyes with a grimace and pull away from Jules’ hands. “Sorry.” My pants are still around my ankles, and I awkwardly work on tugging them up one-handed. I jump when Jules’ wraps an arm around me, but before I can push him away, he’s pulled me to my feet. Without a word, he pulls my jeans up the rest of the way and carefully zips them up, offering me a small smile.
“Don’t apologise.”
I eye him warily, but his face doesn’t seem to be hiding anything. Still, I pull away, fighting to stay on my feet when my vision blurs. “I think I’m done for the night.” Or, at least, I try to say that, but my mouth isn’t cooperating, and the words come out garbled. My vision blurs again, and this time I can’t catch myself. Before I can hit the floor, though, Jules grabs me again and presses me to his side with a sigh.
“C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”
I don’t try to pull away this time. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut and lean heavily against him, breathing in the tang of sweat and expensive cologne. He can lead.
Jules opens the door and guides me out into the hallway, easily keeping me upright. The din of the main lounge is enough to make my head buzz, and I stifle a groan against Jules’ shoulder. He squeezes my arm reassuringly, but if he says anything, I don’t catch it. Then a door creaks and things get quiet again. I force my eyes open to slits, slowly recognising the lobby. And there’s the blood witch, leaning over the desk and watching us with one eyebrow raised.
“Overdo it?” The question’s directed at me, but I can’t find the energy to reply. I manage a weak nod.
He clicks his tongue and holds out his hand. “Well, let me calculate your payment, and then you can go get some rest.”
Jules helps me over to the desk, and I lift my heavy arm for him to take the wristband. My eyes open—I closed them?—when a bundle of bills is pressed into my hand.
“You should wait a bit longer before coming back,” he comments. “Give yourself time to recover.”
I nod again, even though I’m not going to take the advice. I have a deadline to meet.
Fuck, my head hurts. I awkwardly shove the money into my pocket without counting it, before letting my eyes shut again.
“Let’s get you home,” Jules murmurs, leading me toward the main door, and I want to laugh. I don’t have a home. “Where do you live?”
“Nowhere,” I mumble. I checked out of the motel before coming here, planning to find a different one tonight. Harder to track me. But I don’t think I’ll be able to stay conscious long enough to look for somewhere else to stay. I swallow hard against my rising panic and let out a shuddering breath. Numbness creeps up my body, making my ears buzz.
“Devon?” Jules gives me a small shake, but it’s hard to open my eyes again. “Did you hear me?”
I struggle to reply, but…can’t. Jules’ voice is at the end of a tunnel, and I can’t…I can’t hear him.
My swollen fingers claw weakly at his arm, but my mouth won’t open.
Everything’s…fading…
***
My ears twitch at the sound of voices. Grumbling, I slowly open my eyes and blink blearily.
…where am I?
The voices move farther away, and I hear a door shut. Carefully, I push myself up and squint at the room. TV, armchair, stuffed bookshelves… Living room? But whose?
I slink off the couch and stand on unsteady legs, rubbing my burning eyes with one paw.
Water. I need water.
I wobble across the room, tripping over the area rug and into the hallway. Shaking my head, I hurry down the hall, looking for a way out. It’s hard to concentrate with my mouth so dry. Maybe I should find a drink, then an exit…but, no. I can’t waste time. I don’t know where I am.
Fuck.
Staying close to the wall, I keep walking forward, even though I don’t know where this hall leads. I really hope it’s a front door or a window or something, because I’m starting to get more and more freaked out—
I break into a run, careening around a corner and skidding on the hardwood. Up ahead, I spot a few pairs of shoes, and just beyond them, a door. Panting, I speed up, sprinting the last couple feet—
“Whoa!” The man stumbles back in surprise, and I tumble into the shoes. Shaking my head, I get back to my feet, but the man is suddenly between me and the door. Ears flattened, I eye him warily.
I know that face. My nostrils flare in confusion.
“Devon, what are you doing? I thought you were asleep.”
Devon?
“What’s your name?”
Jules. Jules the vampire. The vampire who…
My eyes widen in realisation, and in seconds, my skin’s rippling as I shift.
I slam into him, ramming us both into the door.
“Where the fuck is this?!” My hands knot in his shirt, pinning him. “Where the fuck did you bring me?!”
“Whoa, hey, calm do—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I press close, teeth bared, and hiss, “If you don’t let me out, I’ll rip out your fucking throat.”
Jules is scared; I can smell it. He’s taller and bigger than me, but I’ve got the strength.
And we both know it.
When he still doesn’t move, I tighten my hold. If I have to throw him aside, I will.
My ears twitch at the sound of footsteps, before a mild voice asks, “Am I interrupting something?”
Eyes narrowed, I look over my shoulder while bracing for an attack, but falter when I see who’s standing behind me.
“Leigh?”
He looks just as surprised as I sound. Eyebrows raised, he asks, “What are you doing here?”
I turn a glare on Jules. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Oh, for—” Jules abruptly grabs my wrists and shoves me back. I stumble, but hands grab me before I can land on my ass. “I brought you here so you’d be safe, you moron!”
“I don’t even know where the fuck I am!”
The hands let go of my arms, and Leigh steps between us. “Okay, enough arguing. Kit, where are your clothes?”
Scowling, I cross my arms. “How the hell should I know?”
“They’re in the wash,” Jules says, straightening his shirt.
Leigh sighs and rubs his eyes. “Fine, I’ll find you something. Follow me.” Without waiting for a reply, he heads upstairs.
I warily follow him up the creaking stairs, Leigh’s steps muffled by the carpet. There are a number of closed doors along the hall, and I glance at the variety of photos on the walls as we pass them. Leigh opens the door at the end of the hall, revealing a bedroom. Hovering in the doorway, I watch him open a dresser and pull out a couple things.
“Here,” he says, holding out the clothes. “You can come in; I won’t do anything.”
Flushing, I carefully step inside the room and accept the clothing. “Thanks.” I avoid his eyes and tug on the baggy T-shirt and pants, rolling the waistband as much as possible.
“So. What are you doing here?”
I frown. “I already said—”
“Yes, you don’t know. Maybe I should ask why you were at a bloodhouse? Especially since Sei hates them.”
I stare at him, mouth tight, before turning away. It’s none of his business.
“Don’t run. It’s just a question.”
“I barely know you.” But I turn back toward him.
He shrugs. “True.” His unnerving eyes meet mine. “So what should I call you: Kit…or Ezra?”
It feels like ice trickles down my spine as his words sink in. I swallow hard. “Who’s Ezra?”
Leigh tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “I have your papers.”
Somehow, my mouth is drier than before. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He sighs and leans against his dresser. “You don’t need to lie to me, Kit.” He runs a scaly hand back through his white hair, looking tired. “Your husbands have been good friends of mine for awhile. They’re good guys, and I don’t like to see them upset.”
“And what has that got to do with me?”
Meeting my eyes again, he replies, “Because you running away is going to upset them.”
I can’t help but scoff at that. “Of course it won’t. They don’t care what happens to me. Why should they?”
“Because you’re married?” Obviously doesn’t understand rhetorical questions.
“Look, I’m assuming you already know what happened, so don’t try that. I don’t matter to them, and they don’t matter to me.” I cross my arms, scowling at him. How does he know about my papers, anyway? Why would he have them?
“I think you’re wrong,” Leigh says, mirroring my pose. “So why are you running?”
My mouth thins, and I glance at my arm, the discoloured skin exposed by the T-shirt. The constant ache has become background noise, but I need to put more of that cream on it.
Suddenly, I freeze. Where’s my bag?
“Kit?”
“Where’s my bag?”
“What?”
“My bag!” I spin around and charge out of the room, running toward the stairs. Jules is no longer by the front door, but I flare my nostrils to catch his scent and follow it into the kitchen. He’s sitting at the table and reading the paper—and then he’s on the floor beneath me.
“What did you do with my bag?!” I snarl, pinning his shoulders.
“What the fuck?” he yelps, and I press harder.
“Give me back my bag!”
“Fuck! I didn’t take your bag!” He futilely tries to shove me off. “Tai has it!”
Before I can say anything else, someone’s grabbed me around the waist and hauled me back. I growl and struggle, but can’t get a good grip on the arms around me.
“Knock it off, Kit,” Leigh snaps in my ear, before pushing me down into Jules’ empty chair.
“What’s with all the yelling?” a woman’s voice demands, and I look over my shoulder to see Tai from the club walk into the kitchen in her pyjamas. At this point, I’m not even surprised to see her.
She, however, looks surprised to see me. “Kit? What are you doing here?”
“Why does everyone keep calling him Kit?” asks Jules, getting back to his feet with a wince. “He told me his name was Devon.”
“I lied,” I mutter, returning my attention to Tai. She raises an eyebrow at me, and then looks at Jules.
“What happened to you?”
Jules jerks a thumb at me and takes a seat across the table. Leigh keeps a hand on my shoulder, in case I try to run again, I guess.
“Where’s my bag?” I ask again, this time looking at Tai.
“I put it in my room for safekeeping.” Seeing the look on my face, she rolls her eye. “I didn’t go through it, idiot. You’re not that interesting.”
Flushing, I hold out my hand. “Give it back.”
She rolls her eye again, drawling, “Yes, Your Highness,” and saunters out of the room.
“We’re only trying to help you,” Leigh remarks mildly, but his hand doesn’t leave my shoulder.
“I don’t want your help,” I mutter, shooting a glare at Jules for good measure.
“We noticed,” he says, reaching for the crumpled paper with a scowl. “Should I have just left you unconscious at the club?”
I open my mouth, and then shut it again when I can’t think of a good retort.
I look away.
Leigh squeezes my shoulder. “Why don’t we go to the other room and finish our conversation?”
Reluctantly, I nod, and he lets me stand up. Avoiding Jules’ curious look, I follow Leigh out of the kitchen and down the hall. More pictures of strangers on the wall, maybe friends since none of them look like Leigh or Jules. I’m still not sure whose house this is.
We end up in a small, tidy office, and Leigh shuts the door behind me and gestures toward the small leather couch next to the desk. I perch on the couch and watch him comfortably take the desk chair. He rests one ankle on his knee and tilts his head.
“Where were we?”
I keep my mouth shut.
“Right, the paperwork.” He spins his chair to retrieve a briefcase from beside the desk, quickly punching in a code to open it. He pulls out a sheaf of papers and idly flips through it. “I was planning to give these to Jordana tomorrow, but it’s easier to hand them to you now, hm?”
My heart beats faster, eyes fixed on those papers. “How do you know they’re mine?”
He smirks and pulls a passport from the briefcase, holding it out. “I recognised your photo.”
I try to hide the shaking as I accept the passport, glancing at the embossed cover and flipping to the first page. My face stares sullenly back at me.
“Why do you have this?” I finally ask, voice tight.
“I’m one of Jordana’s contacts for forgeries,” he replies easily, not seeming to care in the least that he just admitted to breaking the law. Not that I’m one to talk. “She said it was a rush job. So. What happened?”
I press the passport into my lap. “What do you mean?” I ask, trying for casual.
“What made you suddenly decide to run?” His eyes fall to my arm. “Is that related?”
I clench my jaw, nails digging into my palms. “Neve did it. Frostbite, apparently.”
Leigh looks at me levelly. “What happened?”
I shrug, carefully touching the purplish skin. “He gave me frostbite. What else is there to say?”
“Did he attack you?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re not giving me much to work with.”
I tighten my hold on my new passport. “It seemed like an attack, yeah. And I didn’t leave one abusive relationship just to end up in another one.”
“What did Neve say?”
“He said it was an accident.”
“Maybe it was.”
My lip curls, and I snort. “Not when it’s someone who hates me that much.”
Leigh is quiet, and I finally look up to see him frowning. He straightens the papers in his hands, before holding them out. “So why the identity change?”
Eyeing the paperwork warily, I hold out my hand and let out a sigh of relief when he hands it over easily. The anxiety over my absent bag eases a bit now that I have some method of escape. Twisting the truth, I reply, “Because it makes it harder for my ex to find me.”
“I see.” Leigh leans back in his chair and studies me.
Shifting uncomfortably, I glance through the papers, a weird thrill going through me at the sight of my new name: Ezra Robles. I don’t know who came up with the last name, but I like it.
“How much do you owe Jordana?”
I look back up at him, biting my lip. I got 1,800 from my first night…did I get paid for my second? I don’t remember. “I don’t know. A lot.”
“I’m impressed you managed to get her to agree to a split payment,” he remarks, looking amused. “She’s usually very strict about getting paid up front.”
I shrug awkwardly. “I’m surprised she let me.” I’m grateful, though.
“So that’s why you were at the bloodhouse.”
My hands clench on top of the papers as I reluctantly nod. And I haven’t even made enough to pay Jordana.
“And is that why you had sex with Jules?”
I jerk at that, eyes wide. “I didn’t have sex with him!” At Leigh’s doubtful look, I amend, “Not really.” From what I remember, nothing but fingers went in me, and I wouldn’t count a blowjob as sex.
“Are you going to tell your husbands?”
Frowning, I ask, “Why would I? I’m never going to see them again.” I ignore the slight pang that causes. It’s not like I’ve gotten attached to a bunch of guys I just met. That would be stupid. “As soon as I get the rest of Jordana’s money, I’m gone.”
“And then what?” Leigh leans back in his chair. “Once you get to…Ferland, was it?” At my nod, he continues, “Will you return to seducing men and robbing them?”
I forgot he knew about that… Swallowing hard, I try to keep my face blank. “Maybe.” It’s not something I want to go back to, but what other choice do I have? Even with the papers, I’ll be broke. “Maybe once I’ve made enough, I’ll be able to find something legitimate.” I can’t keep the wistful tone out of my voice
Leigh sounds surprisingly gentle when he asks, “Why not do it here? If you don’t feel safe with your husbands, you can get a divorce.”
I’m already shaking my head before he finishes. “If I get a divorce, I won’t be able to stay.”
“Why not?”
I struggle for a reply. “Because…”
“Isn’t it better to be somewhere you aren’t alone? You’ll be safer in a country with allies if your ex shows up, rather than alone.”
The thought of him finding me makes my stomach turn. I hug myself, mumbling, “I don’t have allies.” I’ve never been able to afford the risk.
“Maybe you should change that.”
Easy for him to say.
I stand up, avoiding his eyes. “I need to get my bag back.” I quickly walk to the door and open it, stepping into the hall before Leigh can answer. Tai is nowhere in sight, but I can hear voices in the kitchen, so that’s where I head. I still need something to drink, even if she’s not there.
But there she is, sitting on the counter with a mug and chatting with Jules. She breaks off when she spots me. “Oh, hey, Kit. Done talking?”
“Where’s my bag?”
Tai rolls her eye. “Or be rude, whatever.” She reaches behind her and drags my bag out, tossing it to me one-handed. I catch it against my chest, crumpling the papers in the process, but I’m so relieved that I don’t care. I drop my bag on the table and unzip it, digging through the jumble of contents to grab the wad of cash near the bottom. Keeping it hidden, I quickly count the bills. Three thousand.
“You’re welcome,” Tai says loudly, before slurping her drink.
I zip the bag shut and sling it over my shoulder, reminded just how thirsty I am. “Thanks. Um…mind if I get some water?”
“Sure.” Leaning to the side, she gets a glass from the cupboard behind her and holds it out. I carefully accept it, avoiding contact with her hand, and go to the sink to fill it up.
I drain the cold water in a couple hard swallows, then fill up the glass again and drink a bit slower.
“So what were you and Leigh talking about?” Tai asks, picking up her mug again.
“Nothing interesting.” I sip my water and glance at Jules. He’s picked up the paper again, but he looks like he’s about to fall asleep. My eyes shift back to Tai. “Why are you still awake?”
She shrugs, leaning back against the cupboards. “With all the excitement?”
I guess that’s one way to put it. “Sure.” I look over my shoulder at the sound of footsteps, and Leigh comes around the corner.
“Tai, have you seen my phone?”
Mug at her lips, she silently points at the table, and Leigh walks over to pick up the phone next to Jules’ elbow. He taps the screen for a bit, then asks, “Neve called?”
Swallowing, Tai nods. “He was looking for Kit.”
I freeze, staring at Tai. “He what?”
Tai raises an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, he said you haven’t been home for awhile, so I told him you were here.”
“You what?”
“You know Neve?” Jules asks.
“Yeah, they got married,” Tai replies, before sipping more of her drink.
“Wait, you’re married?” Jules demands incredulously.
Still distracted by what Tai just said, I quickly say, “Only on paper. Why did you tell him where I am?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” Jules throws down the paper. “Sei’s going to kill me.”
Tai looks confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because he attacked me!”
“Wait, Neve attacked you?”
I hold up my right arm, the exposed skin mottled and ugly. “He did this! What did he tell you?”
“Well, he’s coming here—”
“He’s coming here?!”
Leigh takes a step forward. “Kit, calm d—”
“No!” I slam my glass down on the counter and tighten my grip on my bag. “Do you know how hard I’ve been working to get away from them?! Fuck!” I hurry out across the kitchen, shoving past Leigh, and race for the front door. I don’t know what part of the city we’re in, but I need to get away from here, fast.
“Kit, wait!”
Not bothering to find my shoes, I yank the door open and run out onto the porch, leaping over the steps to the driveway. But before I can get any farther, a car pulls in, blocking my way. I slide to a stop, blinded by the headlights. A door opens, and I turn to run, but Neve’s voice yells, “Don’t you fucking run again!”
I keep going, leaping over the hedge into the front yard, but seconds later, my feet are sliding out from under me, and I slam into the ground. Groaning, I roll onto my side. There’s a patch of ice on the ground, despite it being way above freezing.
“Fucker,” I groan, slowly getting to my knees. When I look up, Neve is standing above me with a scowl on his face.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he demands, arms crossed. “Have you been hiding here the whole time?”
I stand up with a wince, returning his scowl. “None of your business. Why are you even here?”
“Tai told me you were here.”
“So?”
Suddenly, he looks uncomfortable. Feeling our positions shift, I take a step closer and repeat, “So?”
He looks away, jaw clenched. “Did you run away because of me?”
I snort, lip curling. “What do you think?”
“I told you it was an accident.”
“And why should I believe you?”
Leigh crosses the lawn and stops beside Neve. “Guys, why don’t you come inside? It’s late, and I don’t want the neighbours complaining.”
Without replying, Neve turns and walks to the porch, pausing to look back at me. After a moment, I shrug and follow. I don’t think he’ll try anything with witnesses.
We end up back in the kitchen. Tai turns the kettle on, and Jules neatly folds his newspaper with a grimace. Neve pauses in the doorway, looking confused.
“What are you doing here?”
Jules sighs, rubbing his face. “I was really hoping there was another Neve Tai knew.”
I still don’t know what Jules’ problem is, but with Neve’s arrival, I don’t really care. Instead of sitting at the table, I lean against the counter. Leigh sits next to Jules, and Neve sits across from him. Tai pulls mugs out of the cupboard next to me. I stare at Neve until he looks away.
“Let’s see if we can get this sorted out,” Leigh says, leaning back in his chair.
“There’s nothing to sort out,” I retort tightly. “I’m not going back if that’s why he’s here.”
Neve rolls his eyes. “Who says I want you to come back?”
“Neve…” There’s a warning in Leigh’s tone. Neve’s scowl deepens. “Just tell Kit what you came for and why.”
Shoulders hunched, Neve sighs. “Felix wants you to come back. Sage, too.”
“I have no reason to go back.”
“Like you have anywhere else to go.”
My smile is humourless. “Actually, I do.”
“Liar.”
I just shrug, comforted by the papers in my bag—even if I still owe money on them.
Tai slides off the counter when the kettle pops, and I watch from the corner of my eye as she mixes hot chocolate in four mugs. No one says anything until she’s handed them all out, and then she’s the one to break the silence.
“How about we leave the two of them to sort things out themselves?”
Jules is already standing up. “Sounds good to me.” He leaves the kitchen, Tai trailing after him. Leigh hesitates, glancing between us, before getting up and grabbing his mug.
“Don’t break anything.”
Then he’s gone, leaving Neve and me staring at each other. I blow on my hot chocolate and take a sip, eyes never leaving his face. Neve ignores his drink.
After awhile, I lower my mug. “If Felix and Sage are the ones that want me back, then why are you here?”
He looks uncomfortable again, shifting in his seat. When he doesn’t say anything, I think he isn’t going to reply, but then he says, “Because it’s my fault you ran.”
My eyebrows shoot up at his honesty. But I don’t say anything, drinking more of my hot chocolate instead.
Neve’s obviously waiting for a reply, because he sighs in frustration and rubs his eyes. “Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you, okay? I was half-asleep, and I thought you were someone else.”
Curiosity piqued, I ask, “Who?”
At first, I don’t think he’s going to tell me, but then he quietly replies, “My ex.”
I silently nod and relax slightly. I can understand that.
He meets my eyes, looking pained. “I really wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t surprised me.”
My mouth twists. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have surprised you if you hadn’t been crying.”
And just like that, Neve’s scowl is back. “I don’t cry.”
I roll my eyes, not even bothering to argue with him. He finally picks up his mug and takes a long drink. When he lowers it, I ask, “How do I know you’re not going to attack me again?”
“You don’t,” he says easily, hands wrapped around his mug. “But how do I know you’re not going to attack me?” He gestures at the scratch marks still faintly visible on his cheek with a pointed look.
“I only did that because you froze my arm.”
Pale eyes meet mine. “Then I guess we’ll just have to stay out of each other’s way.”
“You make it sound like I’ve agreed to go back with you.”
Neve shrugs. “I know you don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Except another country, but I don’t tell him that. Because even if I go to Ferland, it’s not like I know anyone there or have somewhere to live. The thought makes me slump. I’ll have to go back to how I was living before Felix. And as much as I hate to admit it, life has been better since marrying Felix. It’s…nice having somewhere to belong.
I swallow a sigh and finish my hot chocolate, the sweetness lingering on my tongue.
“If I go back with you…” I can’t believe I’m considering this. “…then what? You’re just willing to let your marriage get ruined?”
Tracing the rim of his mug, he says, “It doesn’t have to be ruined, I guess. We can figure out something.”
“Why the sudden change of heart?” I can’t help but be suspicious, especially when I know he doesn’t like me.
He runs a pale hand back through his equally pale hair, and I finally notice just how tired he looks. When he speaks, he sounds just as exhausted as he looks. “I just want things to go back to normal, and since you ran away, no one’s been normal. I guess, even if I don’t like it, you’re married to us, and I just have to accept that.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s the closest thing to acceptance that I’ve heard from Neve, and I’m almost scared to ruin it. Biting my lip, I look down at my feet. If I refuse to go back with him, I’ll have to keep going back to the bloodhouse until I get the final four thousand for Jordana. But then I can leave and start a new life in Ferland.
And if I stay…
If I stay, I have a home.
I take a deep breath and let it out.
“If you promise not to attack me again,” I say slowly, “then I’ll go back with you.” I look up and meet his eyes. “But if any of you hurt me, then I’m gone.”
Neve nods, grip on his mug relaxing. “I promise.”
I nod back and push away from the counter, forcing down my reservations. “Fine. Then let’s go home.”