Page 16 of A Steeping of Blood (Blood and Tea #2)

ARTHIE

As Matteo took the others to the Athereum—a grumpy Jin included—Arthie headed in the opposite direction.

She had always walked the streets of White Roaring with the knowledge that people didn’t like her.

They stared as if she were an insect under a glass.

As if it was acceptable to gobble countries like hers whole, but how dare she deign to walk and live and breathe upon theirs.

She had always marched with a sense of caution, but now she was surprised by the unease that accompanied it.

For she was a vampire too.

Matteo spoke of unrest, the papers spoke of anger, but really, the people were afraid.

When vampires were being kidnapped, the threat was nonexistent, the act almost deserved.

With scores of press dead, and humans disappearing off the street without a trace, the fear had become a real, almost tangible thing.

Protesters were hoisting crude weapons and baring their teeth, and Arthie kept her distance, for there was no telling what a cornered animal might do.

She tucked her mauve hair beneath her cap, aware she had three foes: the Horned Guard, the crowds, and the Ram’s black-clad forces.

One was for the law, one was in pain, and the third had crushed their moral compass beneath their boots in order to carry out the monarch’s dark bidding.

There was every likelihood the Horned Guard was given instructions to apprehend her after that night, and there was every likelihood someone in the crowds marching the streets might recognize her as the once owner of Spindrift with its open secret of a bloodhouse.

Arthie drifted to the shadows, away from the crowds, away from the Horned Guard, and tightened her hold on Calibore.

If the Ram’s black-clad men came, she would be ready.

She passed old textile mills and piles of stinking rubbish, edging out of the thick of the city with each step.

She stayed vigilant, even if her emotions at the sight of Jin and their ridiculous argument were quickly overtaken by Flick’s discovery and now she could think of nothing else.

Home. Ceylan. That place she’d left, bloody and chaotic.

And the ship she would soon be on. In truth, Arthie wanted as few people on that vessel as possible.

As few humans as possible, for she did not want a repetition of the first time she was on a boat.

She was different now, in tune with her emotions, aware of what she was, but that did little against the overwhelming memories of what she’d done to those people, trapped on a tiny boat, a cage in every way.

She did not want to be on a boat, even if, deep down, she’d always known fate would take her back to Ceylan.

She cleared the cluttered alleys and neared the residential streets, where the breeze was crisp and the crowds were thinner.

She was about to brave the open air when a hand gripped her arm and pulled her deeper into the shadows.

Arthie had Calibore cocked and aimed in heartbeats, ready to blow out the brains of whichever of the Ram’s men dared to touch her.

“I would die for you, darling, but not like that.”

Arthie blinked as Matteo emerged from the darkness, out of place in a setting so dilapidated. “You were supposed to take the others to the Athereum.”

“We met Sidharth on the way. He’s taking them.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you following me?”

“Can we have this conversation without a pistol in my face?”

She didn’t move. “You brought it upon yourself.”

Matteo sighed. “I save her life once, and this is what I’m rewarded with.”

“Poor vampire. Were you expecting a kiss?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” he said, and he swept closer, straight into the barrel of her gun. Goodness, he was tall. The evening air slipped between them, and she smelled that alluring blend of chocolate and nuttiness, that warmth that reminded her of Spindrift. Of her parents.

This wasn’t the first time his lips had parted so closely to hers. This wasn’t the first time she’d wanted him to close that distance between them, with a growing impatience thrumming through her veins.

“Well?” she asked. She could manage nothing more than a tight whisper. “Have it, then.”

“Arthie Casimir, giving something freely?” he replied, and he leaned in until his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers.

And stopped.

“I think not,” he whispered.

She smelled blood on his breath, heady and intoxicating. He had just fed. She wanted to lick it off his lips, devour every last drop along with his kiss. It took all of her power to peel her gaze from his mouth.

“Does this bother you, Arthie?” he asked in a voice of deep, dark indulgence. Amusement sparked in his eyes. “I am a vampire, if you recall. I have an eternity, and I do like a good tease.”

Before she could piece together a reply, he tilted his head and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, teeth grazing her skin, making the entirety of her body go weak.

He pulled back, tossing hair from his brow, and Arthie wished it was her fingers that had mussed the dark strands.

She swayed, oddly bereft. You have a job to do , she reprimanded herself.

Normally, that was enough to keep her focused, her attention razor-sharp.

Now she could think of nothing but grabbing a fistful of his shirt and kissing him.

Something was truly wrong with her.

Perhaps it was her death and the reminder of how fragile life was.

Knowing she was an immortal vampire did little to change the fact that she remembered, vividly, the scrape of each breath as she desperately held on to life.

Her skin burned now, where he had kissed her.

Her lips hummed with the promise he’d snatched away.

“I’m leaving,” she snapped.

His grin widened. “May I join you? I can help.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“You wound me, darling.”

She whirled away with one last glare in his direction.

Ceylan. Jin’s parents. The Ram. With each one, Arthie sobered a little more. She had a job. She couldn’t keep thinking of Matteo’s mouth and his long fingers and the way his lips crooked.

She needed a ship. Yes. And for that, she needed the cargo inspector.

She wasn’t fond of how she felt Matteo’s absence, but she needed to step out of the shadows and couldn’t dwell on her feelings just now.

They could wait. Houses spread out down the street.

They were empty of crowds, shooed away by the Horned Guard patrolling the tree-lined walkways.

She squinted at the nearest house across the street, trying to read the number. 519 . She pressed her lips thin. The house she needed was farther down at 529 .

Arthie knew she could have waited until the cargo inspector was back at his office before making her demands, but people were different in the comfort of their own homes.

More malleable. Arthie popped her collar and lowered her chin, waiting until the guards marching in her direction turned before she crossed the street to the cover of a lone carriage.

She counted an entire minute before the trio of patrolling guards would make their rounds and see her.

One minute before they’d see her standing at the door to the inspector’s house.

With her back to them, would they recognize her?

She didn’t want to find out. The moment they turned, she hurried past the houses to 529, rushed up the stairs, and knocked on the inspector’s door.

Down on the sidewalk, one of the guards burst out laughing at something another said.

Arthie looked at the door, willing it to open.

If Jin were here, he would have already deciphered the maker of the lock and asked if he should pick it, if only to irk her.

But Arthie wasn’t here to meddle, only dangle what she needed to get her own work done, and her task for Willard Otis was quite simple: Present the dockworkers with an impending inspection.

They’d argue otherwise, but his document would be freshly signed and dated by the crown—which was, of course, Flick.

Once he moved the ship to an inspection berth, Arthie and the others would be free to sail away.

That was the downside to having an operation as large as the EJC: The bigger the distance between the lowly workers and their couldn’t-be-bothered superiors, the more they relied on documents and letters.

Arthie glanced back at the guards and then at her watch. Fifteen seconds before they turned. Fourteen . Arthie stared at the door, willing it open. She tried to make herself small, to blend into the shadows cast by the awning above her. The guards were bantering now. Distracted, hopefully.

At last, the door opened to a young man in a tailcoat, and she was momentarily flung back to Spindrift as Reni welcomed patrons through its frosted doors.

Her anger burned a bright and vibrant red, as bold as fresh blood.

And to think, just a day ago, she hadn’t been able to figure out how she felt.

“Can I help you?” the butler asked, his dark features framed by the glowing parlor behind him. It almost hid the bewildered look in his eyes. He kept running his hands down his tailcoat, straightening invisible wrinkles.

He’s green . That could be a point in her favor.

The guards were turning back up the street.

Arthie made a show of patting at her suit jacket, then her trousers. “Can I come in?”

The butler narrowed his eyes at her. “Who are you?”

Can I come in? wasn’t precisely a trustworthy opening, she admitted. “I appear to have forgotten my calling card. Forgive me, sir. I’m here to see Willard.”

The butler blinked. “ Sir Otis can be met at his office by appointment. He doesn’t conduct business at home.”

The level of snobbery coming out of this bloke’s mouth wasn’t befitting how clearly new he was to the position.

So Arthie smiled and pulled out her pocket watch. “I do have an appointment, in fact. It was moved to the house, and it’s—oh, it’s in exactly two minutes.”