Page 32 of Bought for Blood

Her heartbeat comes up loud. The fire comes up loud. The whole room goes too bright, too sharp. Every sense tearing open at once.

The way they open for a hunt.

I stand there with a broken stem in my fist. There’s a word for what I’m feeling, but it’s been so long that I can barely remember it.

Rage. That’s what it is. Blinding rage.

I set the stem on the mantel with exaggerated care. The alternative is throwing it through the wall.

I cross to her.

Her heart spikes in fear. She can’t hide it, though she tries. I stop out of arm’s reach because the fear tells me to. This close, I can smell the wound. I catch a glimpse through the curtain of her hair. Two torn punctures in a bruise gone green at the edges. Two days old. Unclosed. Ragged. Whoever made it ripped at the vein while he drank.

“Who?”

“Does it matter?”

“Who?!”

“I didn’t get a name.” She’s looking at the floor, and I hate that. She’s never done that before. The silent defiance has never left her. Until someone tore a hole in her throat. I narrow my eyes on it.

Under her dried blood, there’s the scent of something else. Stale cologne. Young and undead.

Sterling.

I sat beside that bastard and told him to go sit with the people who fund his existence.

Instead, he did this.

I go to the door and open it. The guard comes off the wall before I’ve spoken. Whatever is in my face makes him snap to attention.

“Bring me Vasile.”

“Sir, the manager’s downstairs with—”

“Now!”

He runs. I close the door. I put my palm on the mantel stone and hold on to it. The stone is solid, or it would probably crumble. My jaw aches from keeping the fangs down. My mouth goes wet the way it does before a kill. I swallow it back and listen to Vasile being found somewhere below: a door, voices, his footsteps starting up quick and light.

She’s watching me now. The first direct look she’s given me tonight.

“Are you all right?” I ask her.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Why does it matter?”

She crosses to the far chair at last and sits on the edge of it, hands on her knees, and gives her eyes to the fire instead of me.

Any other night, with anyone else, I’d let silence be silence. It has never cost me anything. I open my mouth to ask her a thirdtime. Vasile’s footsteps reach the stairs. I let it go, because now my rage has a valid target to aim at.

He comes in talking. “My lord, what an unexpected pleasure, the house had no word you’d be—”

“Look at her.”

He stops. His eyes go where I’ve pointed them and find her throat, and his heart climbs until it’s the loudest thing in the room.