The Blood is Love by Karina Halle
1
Lenore
Present Day
“Excuse me, miss. Are you okay?”
Sure. I’ve just forgotten how to breathe, that’s all.
I lift my head and look over my shoulder to see a man in a heavy coat and unkept beard, a face marked by an unkind life. He’s staring at me in concern, which I’m not taking too lightly. For this stranger to be concerned about me means that I must look really rough.
I give him a quick smile, even though I’m shaking on the outside, screaming on the inside. “I’m okay. Thank you.”
Lies. All lies.
He watches me for a moment, still staying in the shadows of the alley. I don’t know how I ended up so close to the Tenderloin district, I guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking. The moment I left the house, I was in a dream state, not caring where I was going, as long as I got to the water. For some reason I thought seeing San Francisco Bay would put my heart at ease and clear my mind and remind me that I’m still the Lenore Warwick I’ve known my whole life. That I’m still me, no matter what I am now, no matter what I’ve done.
But my walk has brought me closer to areas in the city most people know to avoid, especially at night, and now I’m in the grips of a full-blown panic attack, frozen on the spot, leaning against a dirty building and trying to breathe. It doesn’t matter that I could technically go without air for an inhuman amount of time, thanks to my vampire blood. It doesn’t matter that I’m sure there’s some kind of spell that would ward off such attacks, thanks to my witch blood.
Nope, all that matters is that right now it feels like I’m going to die. All rational thought has left my head, all I feel is fear, that choking, pressing horror that I’ll never take a deep breath again, that my heart is going to punch right through my skin, that I’m going to collapse to the needle-strewn ground. I don’t care that some homeless guy is watching me have a freak-out right here on the street.
Okay, I care a little bit. It’s enough to distract my brain, to make me focus on him instead. Not that I’m scared of him, per se, but I am a twenty-one-year-old girl in the wrong neighborhood, conversing with a transient, and I’m clearly not at my best.
I try to straighten up and push myself off the wall, feeling immense vertigo as I do so. I want to bring out my phone, jam my thumb on the digital button on the panic attack app I have and have it talk me through this, remind me that it’s all in my head, but I don’t feel like flashing an iPhone around.
“You sure you’re okay?” the man says, shuffling forward.
I nod quickly, pressing my lips together. I feel like I’ve troubled him and I need to make it okay. I reach into my crossbody purse and quickly rifle along the bottom, collecting the loose coins and some bills. I’m not sure how much I have but I take a step toward the man and hold out my hand.
“Here, maybe you could use this,” I say.
The man looks surprised and holds out his palms and I drop the money in it, mostly quarters and a five-dollar bill.
Before he can thank me, I turn on my heel and walk swiftly down the street, letting the adrenaline carry me along.
You see, you’re breathing,I remind myself, going over what the panic attack app mantras normally tell me. Trust your body to do the breathing for you.Your body is keeping you alive. Also, you’re really hard to kill.
Okay, so it doesn’t say that last one. But it’s because I’m so hard to kill that I’m having these panic attacks in the first place.
I make it to Market Street and block out the lights and sounds and crowds until I find myself beside the ferry building, leaning over the railing and watching the dark waves lap the wharf, the night sky stretching above. Even though it’s chilly out and the water is choppy, there’s something soothing about it, like the water is taking my bad energy and mixing it up, leveling me out a little.
The adrenaline starts to leave my body, like a balloon slowly deflating. Soon, I’ll be hit with so much exhaustion that I’ll need to take an Uber home. Except the idea of being alone in a car with a stranger also feels panic-inducing.
A month ago I was abducted by a vampire. Believe it or not, that was the second time I’ve been abducted by a vampire this year. His name was Yanik and he attacked me in broad daylight, as my father was driving me through Hayes Valley. We were only a few blocks from my parent’s house, stuck in traffic when it happened, and I can’t stop seeing his face. Can’t stop seeing the way that Yanik walked over to the car, and my father, my good-natured father, asked him what all the traffic was for, and then Yanik lowered his head so I could see him and…
His eyes…his black, fathomless eyes, eyes that held only evil behind them.
It’s all I keep seeing in my head, then my father being attacked, then Yanik coming for me and I’m trying to escape and I can’t and I lose all consciousness. The world slips and spins and goes black, goes to that place of pure evil.
Later, I would kill Yanik by setting him on fire with a power that I still don’t understand (and haven’t been able to conjure up since), but it’s that early moment when I was afraid that my father was dead, when I felt so hopeless and powerless and lost, that’s one reason I keep having panic attacks over.
I was doing fine, too. I spent two weeks with Solon at Shelter Cove, his remote and very private beachside estate north of the city, bringing myself back to life, letting the slow life and the ocean waves and Solon’s arms heal me. Then we came back here and I officially moved into Solon’s room and…
The panic attacks started. At first I was having nightmares, the kind where you wake up soaked in sweat, and then they started to morph into day terrors, like I was experiencing it all again, while awake.
Suffice to say, things haven’t been all rosy for me. Not only am I trying to deal with what happened to me, but I’m also trying to deal with all the other shit that’s happened in the last few months. Trauma upon trauma. First, being taken by Solon and Ezra and held prisoner in their basement, then discovering I was a vampire, then going through The Becoming. That was all a piece of cake compared to my tussle with vampire slayer Atlas Poe, who then killed my best friend Elle. Then I found out that I’m the daughter of a famous evil warlock called Jeremias. Then there was my ex, Matt, whom I attacked in a fit of bloodlust and Solon had to kill him. Finally, Yanik kidnapped me on the behest of Skarde, the dark King of the Vampires, Solon’s father and sworn enemy, and I made him and the cloaked servants of the Dark Order go up in flames, murdering them all.
So, yeah I’ve been processing a lot of shit, on top of the fact that my entire life has been a lie and everything I knew about my future has been forever altered. You don’t just discover you’re both a vampire and a witch and expect everything to go back to normal.
It’s just…I want things to go back to normal. Badly. I love Solon, I really do, and I like Wolf and Amethyst and Yvonne (still not sold on Ezra). I love the feeling of found family in that house, as spooky as it can be at times. But I miss my parents, the parents that I knew them as, not actual witches, not people who murdered my birth parents. I miss living below them, I miss coming up to use their coffee, miss listening to my dad yammer on about his beard. I miss spending my weeknights studying about the art of ancient Mesopotamia, spending my weekends with Elle at The Cloister and getting shit-faced. I want to wake up with a hangover and head to Salt and Straw around the corner to get some strawberry and balsamic ice cream. I miss my damn tattoos. I miss being a normal human fucking being.
And in a blink of the eye it’s all just…gone. I haven’t had any time to really process it and now, now that I’m back in the house, and my parents are okay, and I’m settling into this new life with Solon, a life as half of many things but never a whole thing, I feel like I’m scrambling to catch up.
Hence, the panic attacks. Tonight I was having dinner with Amethyst (because my human side controls my appetite), while the vamps were in Dark Eyes club drinking with some bloodsucking buddies. Suddenly I felt like the dining room was closing in on me and I was drowning. I told Amethyst I was going for a walk, that I needed fresh air and time to be alone and she dutifully let me leave the house. All I knew was that maybe if I got to the water, if I got to the bay, I’d be able to breathe again.
But even though I just wanted to be alone, I know I’m not alone.
I know it because suddenly, the cold is at my back. Like icy wings brushing over my hair, my shoulders, my spine. The sign of a vampire, but in my case I know exactly who it is because the hair is standing up on my arms, and it isn’t from fear.
Solon.
My vampire.
“I should be offended you keep running away,” his voice rings out, as cool as the ocean air wisping past.
I sigh, staring out across at the lights on the Bay Bridge. “And I should be offended you’re still stalking me, everywhere I go.” I slowly turn around and eye Solon. “You know we’re in a relationship, right? You don’t need to keep tabs on me.”
He doesn’t smile. I didn’t expect him to. But there is a faint twinkle in his blue eyes as he appraises me. I appraise him right back. As usual, I’m struck dumb by how otherworldly beautiful he is. I know that’s what every girl in love thinks when they look at their lover, especially when the relationship is shiny and sparkling new, and it’s also what someone thinks when they’re staring at a vampire, particularly one that looks like him.
From his gray wool overcoat, and expensive dark suit underneath (his standard uniform when he’s entertaining at Dark Eyes), he looks insanely put together, a picture of class and strength, with that carnal hint of elegance in the way he carries himself, like he’d be able to pounce on your jugular before you could open your mouth to scream. His brows are black and arched over his eyes, creating shadows, making the blue of his irises seem sharper, his gaze unforgiving. His hair is black, long-ish, always falling perfectly around his face, showcasing a broad forehead, sublime nose, strong jaw and chin, and full lips that have the ability to make your eyes roll back in your head when he’s putting them to good use.
At the moment though, he’s keeping his distance. In a way it’s hard to believe that this man is in love with me. I don’t mean that in the oh woe is me, how could this ridiculously hot, smart, deadly centuries-old vampire be in love with little ol’ me, I’m just your average college student from the Bay Area, kind of way. I mean in it in that while he’s told me he’s in love with me, he’s not the type to say it all that often. Not that I was expecting to have him shower me with declarations of love over the last few weeks, because that’s really not his style, but even so…there’s a wall that’s up that wasn’t there before.
Or maybe it was always there and it’s something he actually has to push down, with effort. Maybe being in love doesn’t come naturally to him, maybe it’s something he has to keep working at.
He raises his hand and delicately taps his fingers against his temple, his eyes searing me. “You’re thinking too much,” he says in a low voice, in that mild accent that flits between British and American.
“Why is your accent British?” I ask him, changing my thoughts before he has a chance to read them. He can do that sometimes, and the last thing I want him to know is that I’m analyzing whether he loves me or not. Our relationship is new and I’m sure the last thing he wants is me coming on too strong. God, what a normal thing to worry about.
He tilts his head slightly, like a bird. A bird of prey. “My accent?”
“Yeah. I thought it would be Scandinavian or something.”
“I spent a lot of time in England,” he says after a moment. “I told you as much.”
“How much time is a lot of time? You mean, like how Madonna moved to London and six months later had an accent or…?”
“Two hundred years,” he says simply. “Enough to pick it up.” He pauses, gaze flitting over my features. “Why did you run from me?”
“I didn’t run from you,” I tell him, folding my arms against the night air and leaning back against the railing. “You were downstairs. I just had to get out of the house.”
“You should have told me.”
“I’m not going to tell you every time I go somewhere,” I tell him, though part of that is because I’m stubborn. “You don’t trust me?”
“It’s not a matter of trust, my dear.”
“Just plain old being possessive then?” I ask, my tone more angry than it should be. I just wanted some air, damnit. A chance to be alone. You’re never alone in that house, there’s always someone there, and even when there isn’t, either the paintings on the walls are watching you or you’re surrounded by ghosts. Sure, I can’t see them, but I know they’re there. It’s the crack house for the supernatural.
He gives me a steady look. “A little of that, yes. But surely you can’t expect me not to be worried about you.”
“You shouldn’t be worried,” I say, though it sounds like a lie. For levity I add, “And don’t call me Shirley.”
His forehead furrows. “I beg your pardon? Who is Shirley?”
“Oh, so you’re totally immersed in Sesame Street, but you’ve never seen Airplane?”
He continues to stare at me and I’m this close to explaining how his favorite vampire, apparently, is Count Von Count from Sesame Street when he shrugs. “Just because you have all the time in the world, doesn’t mean you’ve seen every film known to man. Regardless,” he says, taking a step toward me in a rather menacing way that makes butterflies coast up my spine with icy wings, “just because you escaped from Yanik, doesn’t mean you’ll be so fortunate the next time.”
I fold my arms, trying to buffer myself against the chill that his words bring. “Gee, way to instill confidence in me, Solon.”
“Is it my job to bring you confidence?” he asks curiously, searching my face.
I open my mouth and then close it, trying to find the words. “It’s not your job, no, but…you give me confidence anyway. And when it comes to being a vampire, well, it kind of is your job to show me the ropes right? You did kidnap me, after all.”
“You’re going to be bringing up this me kidnapping you thing for the rest of eternity, aren’t you?” His lips twist in soft amusement.
“Absolutely,” I tell him. “We’re not even yet. I don’t recall you saying sorry.”
“I have said I was sorry,” he says wryly. “And that apology means something, just so you know. One thing you’ll learn over the years is how to guard your apology. People these days, especially young people, especially women, especially you, apologize for far too much. You need to conserve them, only for when you really mean it and it’s actually warranted.”
There’s a thing that Solon does which is a little like mansplaining, but it comes less from him being a man and more from his life experience of eight hundred years. I call it vampsplaining. Wolf, his partner in crime back at the vampire frat house, does it a lot too.
“Ever thought about writing a self-help book?” I ask, biting back a smile. “Something like, Vampires Don’t Apologize?”
His eyes dance. “Like the Guidebook for the Recently Deceased?”
“So you’ve seen Beetlejuice, but not Airplane?” I laugh, looking away. I shake my head, all the feelings from earlier flooding back. “I don’t want you to worry about me,” I say solemnly. “But maybe you should. It’s just…I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“You’re still in The Becoming,” he says, with a gentleness that nearly unravels me. “That’s what’s happening to you. You’re still dealing with, how some might say, growing pains.” He takes another step until he’s right in front of me, moving with preternatural fluidity, and places his hand at my cheek. My eyes flutter closed. “You’re grieving, my dear. For the loss of the life you had. For the loss of your friends. This is entirely normal.”
I manage to shake my head, keeping my eyes closed, my heart feeling waterlogged. “None of this is normal, Solon. None of it.”
“Grief is normal,” he says quietly. “For humans, vampires, animals. Grief is a constant in all our lives. You don’t get to escape that. And the longer you live, the more grief you’ll see. Believe me, moonshine, this is only the beginning for you.”
I swallow hard and open my eyes, tears clinging to my lashes. “There you go, trying to make me feel better.”
Solon isn’t big on sarcasm, even though he’s fluent in it himself. “I only tell you the truth because the truth is all I know.”
“Says the guy with a secret room full of skulls.”
“Not so secret anymore, is it? I’m an open book with you, Lenore.”
I laugh softly and his hand drops from my face. “Is that so? Then tell me what’s going on between us. Why the distance? We’ve been back from Shelter Cove for a couple of weeks and yet…yet it feels like everything is already changing.”
“It is changing,” he says adamantly. “You’re changing. We’re changing. What we are to each other is changing with every second of the day. That bond we have, it’s only growing stronger.”
“Then why does it feel like you’re staying away?”
“You’re in my bed every night, aren’t you?”
“Sex isn’t the answer for everything.”
He raises a brow. “Says the woman fucking me every day.”
The vulgarity catches me off-guard. I love it when his façade slips a little and a hint of that beast comes out.
“Look,” I tell him, feeling more emotions bubbling to the surface. I’m just a walking time bomb now. “I just…I don’t want to come on too strong. But I do need some reassurance, especially when my world feels upside down half the time.”
“Reassurance about what?”
I stare at him dumbly for a moment. My god, he can be so dense sometimes. Guess living for centuries doesn’t make you any wiser when it comes to women.
I gather up the courage, hating that he’s making me say this. “I don’t know. Us. The fact that I’m in love with you and even though you told me the same, I just don’t know it anymore. I’m…I’m afraid you’ve changed your mind.”
He blinks at me, slowly.
I sigh, looking down at my boots, feeling my cheeks flush.
“Changed my mind?” he repeats.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him quickly. “Just forget it.”
“I do love you,” he says in a heated rush, his voice cracking, eyes turning wild as they take me in. Those precious words cause fireworks to explode down my spine. “But this is new for me too. Loving someone, loving you. I’m not made for it, you must believe me on that. My heart isn’t built for it. I don’t think any vampire hearts are, especially those born from such a dark place.”
He reaches out, his fingers press up against my chin, lifting it so I meet his eyes. “You are mine for the ages, Lenore, and that will never change. Please forgive me if I don’t seem to show it, if I don’t say it as much as I should. Just know that I feel it. I feel it. This black heart belongs only to you, my dear.”
He takes my hand and presses it against his chest. “It’s doing the best it can.”
Well fuck. From the weight in his words, to the way he’s staring at me so deeply it’s like he’s taking laps in my soul, I kind of feel like a jerk now to even doubt him.
“Sorry,” I say. “I—”
“Shhhh,” he interrupts, brushing his mouth against mine. “What did I say about apologizing?”
Then he kisses me, his lips and tongue telling me more than his words ever could. Immediately my body relaxes against his, all the panic and tension and fear I’ve been carrying inside me dissipating. Lust makes the perfect kindling, coaxing the flame until my veins run hot and the world is forgotten and I’m lost in the slow, sensual slide of his tongue, the hard way he grips my hair.
I have his blood inside me, he has my blood inside him. I never feel quite whole until our bodies are joined in some way. I said that sex isn’t the answer for everything, and I still stand by that, but there’s no denying the magnetic way that we connect. Sometimes it feels like too much for this world.
I don’t know how long we stand there on the wharf, kissing each other. I feel like a teenager again, like I could just kiss this man for hours on end, succumbing to the soft, languid tease of his mouth.
Then I feel a wet splash in my hair and break away to look up, just in time to have a fat raindrop land on my forehead. We had two days of hot weather earlier in the week, but I guess it was just a false summer start, as usual.
“Come on,” Solon says, grasping my hand as he peers up at the dark clouds. “We should head back. I left my guests waiting.”
I stare at him. “You ditched them to come after me?”
“Of course. You are what’s most important to me. Not them.” While those words sink in, he turns and waves his hand in the air, creating flames. I quickly look around to see if anyone is watching – it’s impossible to know. Surely some vampire-looking dude creating flames out of mid-air will catch the eye of even the most jaded San Franciscan. “No one can see,” he adds, noting my wary expression. “The door doesn’t appear to the average person.”
“I’m sure us disappearing into thin air might though.”
“I’ll only let people see what they need to see,” he says, vague enough to make me guess that it’s some borrowed magic.
“That aside,” I tell him, “I don’t want to go through there.”
“Why not?”
“Because the last couple of times I’ve tried to go into the Black Sunshine, I felt like someone was watching me. Following me. In there. Creeped me out too much, I had to leave.”
“Well yes, that was probably me,” he says. Then he gives me a fleeting smile. “We’ll do it the boring way then. An Uber.”
I scoff. “Boring? You forget you had Ezra kidnap me in an Uber?”
“Bringing that up again?” he asks, but he grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze as we walk through the rain.
