The Blood is Love by Karina Halle

2

Lenore

I wake up at dawn,covered in sweat, sticking to the black silk sheets. Though I don’t sweat as much since I turned vampire, it still seems to happen when I’m having a nightmare, and the effect is totally jarring.

As is the fact that I’m totally alone. I slowly sit up, the hairs all over my body standing on end, goosebumps prickling every inch of skin, my hand sliding over the empty space on the bed next to me where Solon should be. I know he gets up early sometimes, especially when he can’t sleep, or if his dog Odin whines at the bedroom door to go out, but usually I hear him get up. And anyway, it’s not that he’s gone that has my heart thundering in my chest, but that I still feel a presence in the room, even though I know he’s not here.

The light is dim as always, the black-out curtains drawn against the gray morning, the ebony wallpaper sucking away all light like a collapsing star. A vampire’s bedroom through and through. My eyes only need a moment to adjust, the room gradually brightening as my night vision comes into effect.

There’s someone standing in the corner of the room.

I gasp, my breath catching in my throat, terror seizing my limbs.

At least…I think it’s someone. It’s a long, tall shadow that seems solid enough, and my imagination is running wild, thinking of the Dark Order and their cloaks. But when I manage to move my eyes, just a bit, it looks less solid. Like it’s dissolving into the air and is becoming nothing more than the wallpaper.

It’s gone.

“Holy fuck,” I breathe out, my voice shaking. I don’t know what that was but that had to be something, right? Even if it disappeared? Though I couldn’t see anything of substance I felt it look at me, eying me, like it wanted to devour me whole. It seemed all black but at the same time there was a white space, like a skull, but too elongated to be human. There was a strong sense of…I don’t know, evil, or hatred or something disturbing, and even now the feelings are settling on me like ash.

Closing my eyes for a second, I take in a deep breath.

Then I open them. Look around the room. Exhale.

It seems as before. All scary, fucked-up vibes gone.

What the hell?

I throw back the covers, and slowly get out of bed. Is that why I was sweating in the first place? Because I thought someone, or something, was in the room? Or was it a bad dream? Am I still dreaming?

I go over to the curtains and pull them open, wincing at the harsh light, hoping it will make sure I’m awake. When I finally pry open my overly sensitive eyes, I notice something moving on the windowpane.

A moth.

A death’s-head hawkmoth, to be more specific. You know, the one with the shape of a skull on its back, made famous by The Silence of the Lambs?

It doesn’t creep me out though, even though it’s totally odd to have a moth inside the house. This isn’t the kind of place where you leave the windows open, much to Yvonne’s frustration when she’s trying to air it out.

“How did you get in here?” I ask the moth softly. Against my better instincts, I put my hand out toward the moth and it flutters up in the air, landing on my finger. I bring it up to my face and peer at it. I’ve never been a fan of moths, especially when some kid at camp told me they like to crawl into your ear while you’re sleeping, but I don’t fear them anymore. And this one apparently doesn’t fear me.

I remember what Solon told me ages ago (at least, it feels like ages ago), that the creatures of the night would seek me out. Well, I guess I’d rather have it be moths than bats.

“You want to go outside?” I ask, and the moth raises its antennae toward me, as if it’s actually listening. Whoa. I’m one step closer to being a gothic Disney Princess. Maybe a flock of moths could help me get dressed in the morning.

I open the window with some effort, the old metal latch having not been opened for some time, pressing the panes wide, the smell of exhaust and the ocean wafting in, wiping away all the terror of earlier.

The moth hesitates and then flies away, up into the misty morning sky.

* * *

“Odin, leave her alone,”Amethyst says, as the black pit bull shoves his nose at my hand. It might seem like he wants me to give him some much-deserved scritches, but every time I do so, he just snuffs and snorts and moves his head away. What he really wants are treats. Lots of treats. And I don’t have any at the moment.

“I’ll give you something later,” I tell him, and I swear the dog glares at me. He’s extremely well-trained for a dog—most of the time—and so hyper intelligent that sometimes I think he might actually understand English. He at least seems to talk to Solon in his head. I called him out on it once but Solon looked at me like I was ridiculous for even thinking such a thing.

Still, I wouldn’t be surprised. Solon isn’t your average vampire, plus he’s got a boatload of magic that he’s bartered for, more than I have in my humble witchy beginnings. So I wouldn’t put anything past him, including figuring out how to have a conversation with his dog.

Odin snuffs again and then gives up, leaving the room with that head hung low, disappointed walk that only a dog can do.

I’m sitting on the end of Amethyst’s bed while she does my makeup for tonight’s party at Dark Eyes. I’d say it’s become a fun, girly tradition between us, but it’s only happened twice before and neither of those events were “fun.” The first time was because I was about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder (though Solon insists he would have never gone through with it, I’m not sure I believe him), and the second time I was attacked by someone working for Yanik, which resulted in my beloved ripping out the vampire’s heart and setting it on fire.

And, actually, this time will be the first time I’ve been to Dark Eyes since I got back from Shelter Cove, so I’m more nervous than anything else.

“Are you okay?” Amethyst asks, her fluffy blush brush paused at my cheek. “You seem miles away.”

I try to give her my most reassuring smile, but from the way her violet eyes keep locked on mine, I don’t think she buys it. “I’m just…anxious. I guess.”

“I heard what you said to Solon earlier. That you thought you saw someone in your room this morning.”

And here I was thinking the vampires had the best hearing. For a human, Amethyst sure has them beat.

“It was nothing,” I tell her. “Seeing things.”

As soon as I got up this morning, I found Solon with Wolf down in Dark Eyes, talking about something that seemed rather important. As I had guessed, Solon had gotten up early that morning to take Odin out. Of course, I told him exactly what had happened, but he didn’t seem all that concerned, least no more than normal.

“Seeing things?” Amethyst says. “Well, I suppose it could be a ghost. Even I’ve seen them around here. Why do you think I have the brightest bedroom in the house?”

I look around, trying not to squint. She has all the curtains open, letting the evening light reflect off the cream-colored walls. Despite her rather goth style personality—I mean, she willingly lives in an old Victorian house of vampires—her room is a cheerful place (aside from the fact that she collects those American Dolls and she keeps them all in a closet—not in their boxes like a normal collector would, but stacked in there all loose, legs and arms akimbo. I opened it one time looking for a shirt she borrowed and I got the fright of my life, like I stumbled onto the world of Annabelle or something).

Anyway, when it came to what I saw that morning, Solon didn’t mention ghosts, but he did say it could be Shadow Souls. Those are the trapped souls of those lost in the Black Sunshine. I’ve seen them there, but he says it’s not uncommon for them to cross over into this world. Apparently they’re attracted to depression, which I guess might fit the bill when it comes to me. Along those lines, he also said that it might just be my imagination, since I’m having such a hard time processing everything that’s happening. The shadow could represent a guilty conscience.

I sigh as she dusts some blush on the tip of my nose. I hope I don’t look like a clown now. “But I’m mainly anxious about tonight,” I admit.

“Oh. Why?”

I shrug lightly as she puffs her brush into a large compact of bronzer. With my skin alabaster pale now, I will take all the bronzer I can get. “I don’t know. I guess because this is the first party I’ll have been to since everything happened. Everyone knows who I am now. Everyone probably knows I was kidnapped too.”

“And they would know you destroyed Yanik.”

“Exactly,” I tell her. “An evil, powerful vampire who was working for Skarde. They’ll fear me, and if they don’t fear me, they’ll hate me. Or both.”

Amethyst gives me a small smile. “Is it such a bad thing to be feared?”

“Yes,” I tell her adamantly. “I’m supposed to be one of them now, right? I don’t want them all to hate me. I have to be with this crowd, well…forever. That’s like living your worst years of high school for eternity, never fitting in with the cool kids.”

She rolls her eyes. “Look,” she says. “The vampires that hang out at Dark Eyes don’t even like Solon most of the time. They tolerate him, and they only tolerate him because they fear him and because he gives them what they need. A place to feed safely. They know there are consequences for doing so outside of these walls. There may be no vampire police, but there are slayers who are more than willing to take them out, plus there’s the fact that even vampires can be implicated for murder, and the fact that a lot of vampires don’t like to kill people. They aren’t different from humans in that way. Just because I eat beef, doesn’t mean I’m going to walk around slaughtering cows. Same thing goes for them. So they need Solon. And because they need him, they’ll need you too.”

That doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s not like I grew up with this innate need to make people like me. I always knew I was different, and people treated me accordingly. But now, I feel so unsure of myself, unsure of my role in this new life, and who I am and what I can do and what it all means, that the idea of both being a vampire and having other vampires treat me as different, well, it kind of sucks.

“I just want to fit in,” I tell Amethyst, adjusting myself on her lavender bedspread. “I know that sounds lame.”

“It doesn’t sound lame,” she says, giving me a small smile before tilting her head sympathetically. “But you’re not going to fit in, Lenore. Hate to be a Debbie Downer on you, but you’re half-witch and half-vampire and that’s never going to change. You won’t fit in on the witches side any more than you’ll fit in on the vampires, so you might as well not try and just be yourself instead.”

I give her a withering look. “Did you go to Solon’s School of Confidence Building or what?”

She laughs. “I’m sorry. But if it makes you feel better, you fit in this house and you fit in with me and that might just have to be enough.”

I ponder over that as she finishes up the rest of my makeup. She’s right, of course. That I won’t fit in so I shouldn’t even bother trying. Vampires and witches have always been sworn enemies, so the fact that I’m part witch will always be something that the vampires see when they look at me. Not only that, but that I’m the daughter of Jeremias, a skilled sorcerer in the black arts, powerful enough that vampires seem to cower in fear at the mention of his name. And even though I feel like my powers amount to nothing, I did kill one of their own. I guess they do have every right to fear me.

But maybe that shouldn’t matter. Maybe all that really matters is that Amethyst doesn’t fear me. Neither does Solon or Wolf or Yvonne or Ezra. Maybe everything I ever need will be inside this house. Maybe it’s more than enough.

When she’s done pulling my hair up into an artfully messy updo, I’m ready to go. I’m already wearing my dress for the evening, an Alexander McQueen black leather calf-length number, with a bustier top and belt across the waist, that clings to my every curve. It’s certifiably bad-ass, and when I slip on my black stiletto heels, I feel a lot more confident than I did earlier. It helps that the heels make me super tall, and ever since I turned vamp, the preternatural grace that comes along with the bloodline has made walking in heels effortless now. Not that you still won’t find me stomping around in my combat boots, but it’s nice to wear a pair of “fuck me” heels too.

“Okay,” she says to me. “You’re all set.”

I get to my feet and glance at myself in her full-length mirror. Despite the fact that I haven’t worked out in like two months, my muscles are compact and sleek. If I look fucking strong, it’s because I am.

Amethyst playfully rests her chin on my shoulder and stares at me in the mirror, her black hair a contrast to my highlighted locks. “I have to admit, I’m kind of jealous,” she says wistfully.

“Why? You’re going to be there tonight.”

“Working,” she points out. “Always working. And anyway, no one looks at me like I’m some all-powerful creature. No one even looks at me at all.”

I give her a wry look in the reflection. “You’re a human in a room full of vampires, I’m sure everyone is very aware of you all the time.”

“Are you aware that I’m human right now?” she asks. “Are you smelling my blood? Am I making you hungry?”

“Well, no.”

“Because you’re used to me. So are all the vampires.”

I laugh at how disappointed she sounds. “You mean you want to be on the menu tonight?”

She doesn’t say anything to that, and that’s when I realize she’s not really talking about the other vampires. She wants to be on one vampire’s radar in particular—Wolf. I’m starting to think Amethyst is holding out hope that Wolf is going to randomly bite her one day.

“Here,” Amethyst says, handing me my jewelry box where the Burma ruby earrings that Solon gave me are nestled. I wince as the earring posts punch new holes in my ears (because of the way I heal, they close up the moment I take earrings out). Then, when Amethyst gives me the final seal of approval, I leave the room and go down the hall to the stairs, passing by the roses that Yvonne puts on every level.

As usual, the red roses are dead, so I point my fingers at them and think bloom and then I watch with glee as the flowers start to rise, coming alive and dripping with blood. They aren’t exactly the same as they were before (pretty sure you can’t pick up blood-drenched roses from the Whole Foods floral department) but it makes me feel good that not everything has to die around vampires. Even though I swear one of the vamps in this house is purposefully killing them to annoy me. Every time I make them bloom again, I’m reminded of that Pink! Blue! color-changing dress scene from Sleeping Beauty.

I climb all the way up to the tower, just as Solon is stepping out of our bedroom, dressed in a tux. He looks hella sexy, as usual. No one can pull off a tux quite like he can, in the way that you immediately want to pull it off of him.

His eyes trail over my shoulders, my chest, over my hips, their intensity kicking up a notch, his pupils dilating until his eyes nearly look black. “You look beautiful,” he says in a low voice, smooth like cream, that makes a shiver run down my spine. “Those shoes,” he adds, his heated gaze lingering on them.

Of course I’m grinning because it was just the reaction I wanted. “Glad you like them.”

He squints at me. “You should have come up earlier,” he says, sliding his hand down over his crotch in an overly suggestive manner, bottom lip sucked in through his teeth, a hint of fangs like he’s both horny and hungry. “My cock is going to be preoccupied with the thought of you all night.”

Jeez.

“Is that such a bad thing?” I tease, though the same heat that’s making his gaze molten is now flaring up through me.

He comes forward, engulfing me in his natural scent of roses, tobacco, and cedar, my blood pumping hot through my veins, buzzing in response. His hand reaches out and grips me at the back of my neck, holding me possessively. “Thinking of you is never a bad thing,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on my mouth, my lips already tingling at the thought of him kissing me. “But when I can’t get what I want, I tend to become irritable.”

I give him a lazy grin. “You? Irritable?”

He lets out a low rumble in response before kissing me, hot, wet, and deep, his grip on my neck growing tighter and tighter. If he keeps fucking my mouth with his tongue like this, I think we’re going to be very late for the party.

I press my hand against his chest, managing to push him back an inch, enough so that our lips break apart. “I can’t afford you mussing me up. I have to make an impression on your guests.”

“Fuck them,” he growls, brushing his mouth over mine, breathing heavily. “The only impression that counts is the one you leave on me.” And with that he takes my hand and presses my palm against the hot, hard length of his cock.

God, I love having him in the palm of my hand like this—literally, and figuratively.

I grip him until he lets out a low hiss, his eyes pinching shut, and my god I would do anything for him.

And I will. But if we don’t go to the party, I’m going to lose the nerve to go at all.

“Later,” I whisper to him, taking my hand away.

He grumbles at me, eyes flashing. “You deserve to be tied up and tortured with my tongue, with not even a hint of release.”

“Promise?”

I kiss him quickly and then turn around, patting my hands over my hair. We walk down the halls and stairs. Every bleeding flower droops and withers and dies when he walks past them, then blooms again when I silently ask it to. The faces in the paintings watch us as we go, perhaps amused by this little game.

“You know,” I say to Solon as we reach the main level, heading for the final set of stairs that will take us below to Dark Eyes, “I was thinking about what you said earlier, when I told you about the shadow in the room this morning, the feeling of something being there. Something bad. And how you said that it could be a manifestation of my feelings.” He eyes me to go on. “Well, do you guys have a therapist or something?”

He stops on the landing and blinks at me. “You guys?”

“Yeah. Vampires. You vampires. Do you have a vampire therapist? Because if you don’t, I think that’s a thing that’s sorely needed. Not just for those who are just turning into one, but, I mean, you’ve been alive for centuries and you’ve personally spent a lot of that time an actual beast, I think maybe vampires would benefit from talking about their problems.”

He frowns. “Who said I have problems?”

I laugh and smack him on the arm. “Oh, really? Mr. I Keep a Skull For Every Human I’ve Killed to Remind Me Of My Humanity.”

He gives me a steady look, clearly not amused. “Lenore, a therapist is for human beings. For human problems. Humans only have so many years to get their shit together. They need therapy. Medication. Whatever works for them in the short amount of time they have to make their lives bearable. Vampires, on the other hand…” He shrugs with one shoulder. “We have all the time in the world to sort ourselves out. You’ll sort yourself out soon enough. I promise.”

“Yeah, but how soon is soon in vampire time?” I mutter under my breath.

He just gives me a quick smile, leans in and kisses me on the forehead, causing butterflies to brush against my ribcage, then links his arm around mine and leads me down the rest of the way.

“Nervous?” he asks me, as we pause outside the gilded doors with their embossed roses. Once we open the doors, we step through the protection spell that’s cloaking the entire house. We become vulnerable to a degree.

“How could you tell?”

“You wear every single emotion you feel, Moonshine,” he says affectionately. “At any rate, you have nothing to be nervous about. To be honest with you, I was surprised you wanted to come tonight.”

“I figured it was time,” I tell him. “I can’t hide in the house and pretend this part of your world, of my world, doesn’t exist. I want to be among the vampires, even if they don’t want me there, even if they fear me. I need to feel like…I need to get used to this. To what I am.”

“And what you are is mine,” he says.

Then he pushes open the doors and we step into the club. It’s like stepping into a living, breathing set from some forties film noir, all mirrors and glass, polished mahogany and teak, leather, rugs, tapestries and fine art.

My nose is assaulted with a million scents, my brain working quickly to place them all. The scent of cigar from the lounge, even though the door is always closed and the room is airtight. The tang of booze from the bar where Ezra is currently mixing a drink for someone, on bartending duty tonight. The old leather of the chairs, the wood of the floors, the faint hint of freesia, which tells me Amethyst was in here earlier. Occasionally a hint of vanilla perfume wafts past me, and my eyes instinctively scan the crowd wondering who it can be. As a rule, vampires don’t wear perfume because it’s too much for our sense of smell, but sometimes a vampire says fuck it and wears it anyway.

Then again, the perfume might belong to a human. Even though I know there aren’t any in the club at this exact moment, that doesn’t mean that they aren’t behind the steel doors of the Dark Room, where the feeding happens. Because that’s the other thing I’m picking up, the very faint hint of blood. Human blood. The steel doors do a great job of keeping the smell out of the lounge (otherwise all the vamps would go wild with bloodlust), but sometimes it escapes.

That said, I don’t think anyone has noticed because all eyes are on us. On me, to be more specific. There are about thirty vampires in the club, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but that’s thirty sets of hateful, curious, lethal eyes and it makes my human blood run cold.

Chin up, Solon’s voice sinks into my head. You’re the queen of the night.

His grip around my arm tightens and I raise my chin, faking the confidence that I don’t feel.

We walk into the club, vampires in their suits and tuxes and cocktail dresses part way for us, like they’d catch a disease if we stood too close. Normally even those that aren’t fond of Solon would be approaching him, paying their respects, but this time everyone seems to be staying away. Can’t say that makes a girl feel good, knowing it’s all because of me.

“I feel like a party crasher,” I whisper as Solon leads me toward the bar. It says a lot when Ezra is the only friendly face.

“This is your party, my dear,” he tells me. “You have to think of it that way. Your house, your party. And I’m your vampire. Just tell me what to do.”

I give him a wry look. “You’d let me boss you around?”

That gives him a pause. “Maybe just for a moment. Wouldn’t want you to get used to it.”

That sounds more like it. Solon likes to be in control at all costs, even if it hurts him in some way. We stop by the bar and Solon gives Ezra a nod, which means he’s going to pour us both some expensive scotch.

“So how come I smell blood?” I ask Solon as Ezra takes out a bottle. “Like, human blood.” Normally when there’s a big party, the vampires don’t feed. They don’t like to get their best clothes messed up, and apparently it’s messy fucking business. Dark Eyes operates as a feeding zone three other nights of the week, so usually the vampires go to those, and these parties are just an excuse to socialize with their kind away from the paranoid eye of humans.

He looks impressed. “Your sense of smell is really sharpening,” he says to me. Then he shrugs lightly. “I noticed Wolf by the door to the Dark Room. Perhaps some humans showed up, wanted to donate blood and there were some takers.”

I think that over as Ezra slides us both our drinks. I grasp the glass and raise it to Solon. Even with the vampires still watching us every now and then, it does feel like we’re in our own little world sometimes.

“Cheers, then,” I say to Solon, and he clinks his glass against mine, his eyes turning warm as he takes me in.

“Cheers. To your first real night back,” he says. “To new beginnings.”

We drink the scotch, the dark liquid burning beautifully, making my chest glow with fire, all while our gaze stays locked on each other.

“Absolon,” a deep voice says from behind us.

We both turn away from the bar to see a thin, dark-skinned man with bright hazel eyes, dressed in a burgundy tux, his hair long and black. I don’t recognize him, but he seems amiable enough.

“Onni,” Solon says in surprise, and the two men quickly embrace, Onni at least a foot shorter than Solon but still commanding in his own lithe way. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Just for a couple of days,” Onni says, his accent sing song. Maybe Finnish. Onni then looks to me. “This must be the infamous Lenore,” he says, but he punctuates my name with a bright smile, just a hint of fangs at the corners. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

He holds out his hand and I put mine in his and he places a quick, cold kiss on the back. I’m rather taken aback by how friendly he’s being, considering.

“Onni is an old friend of mine,” Solon explains, and I’m sure he’s selling the old part short. “Normally he’s in Estonia. And normally he would call first.”

“You know I like my surprises,” he says with a laugh. “Listen, there’s a lot of people I have to see, but let’s do dinner in a couple of days. I’ll be starving once the jetlag wears off. Such a bitch that we have to suffer through jetlag along with the rest of the world, isn’t it?”

Solon slaps him on the back affectionately. “I’ll have the Dark Room waiting for you then,” Solon tells him.

“I look forward to it,” Onni says, his pupils briefly turning red, before he nods his goodbye and strides across the club to talk to a couple seated by a teak backgammon table.

That red look of hunger in Onni’s eyes flares up something inside me. Not quite hunger itself, but the feeling of being in the dark about something, of being left behind on the fringes.

I lean in close to Solon. “I want to go into the Dark Room,” I whisper to him. He turns his head toward mine, his nostrils flaring delicately, eyes sharp. “I want to watch the feeding.”