Page 18 of A Steeping of Blood (Blood and Tea #2)

JIN

Jin had thought sneaking into the Athereum when they needed to steal the ledger was difficult, but it wasn’t much easier even with the newly minted head of the society escorting them.

He was thankful for the shadows as they steered clear of the crowds stomping their feet and shouting at the top of their lungs.

He had to stop himself, more than once, from reaching for Flick’s hand to pull her close and out of harm’s way.

They snuck through the buildings behind the Athereum, navigating the narrow backstreets guarded by Athereum vampires until they reached a tunnel.

It was still dropping clods of dirt as protesters stomped their feet aboveground, but it took Jin and the others within the gates without being seen.

Chester was having fun. Flick nearly lost control of Opal more than once.

“Should have thought of this when we were breaking in during the Festival of Night,” Jin remarked, ducking beneath the low opening.

“Yes,” Sidharth said just as lightheartedly. “Not a single vampire would have heard you digging away.”

“You’re no good at sarcasm, by the way,” Chester said.

“Not one bit,” Reni added.

“They’re right,” Jin said.

Sidharth gave Jin a look with a quick raise of his brows. “I make up for it in other ways.”

That was not the direction Jin wanted their conversation to go. Between them, Flick cleared her throat. Reni shook his head in disappointment. Even Opal looked at Sidharth with scorn.

“Forgive me, my lady,” Sidharth said, leading them through the doors and immediately into the locked corridor Arthie had gone through great lengths to infiltrate many nights ago.

A couple of vampires turned their heads at their arrival, and Jin saluted them as if they were old friends.

He only assumed they could be trusted because Sidharth nodded at them as they passed.

“The Athereum! Can you believe it, boys?” Chester said, nudging Felix and pointing to everything Jin and the others had spent days figuring out how to manipulate for the Festival of Night, when the crew was stressed and tense, but had yet to be defeated.

Arthie had yet to be defeated.

As angry as he was, when Flick had announced that his parents were on Ceylan and Arthie’s gaze had shattered, it was a blow to his stomach. Arthie had relegated the island to her past, and now she was being forced to confront it again. Acknowledge its existence beyond importing tea and coconut.

Wicked knives, he was still growing accustomed to the fact that his parents were alive—truly alive, and not just a hopeful notion—but on an island far from the shores of Ettenia? On Arthie’s island, no less. It was hard to believe how much of their lives were intertwined so deeply.

Sidharth took them to a wing of the Athereum with a spacious hall leading to various rooms. “You’re safe from the mobs here, but I suggest making yourselves known as little as possible. We haven’t weeded out every traitor within our own walls just yet.”

The dark way in which he spoke made Jin think he had found some of them, and they hadn’t met very good fates.

“Any word on the missing humans?” Jin asked.

Sidharth shook his head. “We’ve scoured a good portion of the city, but as far as we can tell, Arthie’s right.

Vampires aren’t responsible, and the Ram may well have taken them herself.

We’ll keep looking. You’ve got enough to handle.

” He unlocked a door and gave them each a key.

“I’ll let you know if and when the others return.

” Then he gestured for Chester, Reni, and Felix to follow. “Right this way, lads.”

With a wave at the boys, Jin closed the door behind them, and when he turned around, it was to find Flick standing stock-still in the center of the wide room as Opal leaped from her arms and ran for cover.

Jin came alert in an instant, grip tightening around his umbrella. “What is it?”

She sounded small. “It’s a bedroom.”

Oh. Jin immediately felt his guard relax. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed, or felt joy, for that matter. “A lavish one at that.”

Flick looked about but said nothing. The room served as both parlor and bedroom, with a canopied bed to the right and a seating area to the left, and a desk against the curtained wall. It was dark and sultry, the kitten’s fur bright as she explored the space.

“Is that a problem, love?”

She swallowed, glancing into the attached bathroom. “N—no. Of course not.”

Clearly anxious for something to do, she pulled the ledger out of her satchel, but not before Jin saw the tremor in her hands.

“We need to see what else we can find. Before you—before you leave for Ceylan. It’s hard enough on Arthie as it is.” Then she paused and narrowed her eyes at something on the bed. “Are those our things?”

“You know, if you want me in your bed, there are better ways to go about it,” Jin teased.

Flick ducked her head. “I’m serious!”

Indeed, she was. Jin picked up his bag, riffling through his extra clothes and belongings, what little he owned now that Spindrift was gone.

Something small and brass glinted at the bottom of his bag, and Jin felt a flutter at the reminder.

He’d picked it up what felt like forever ago, after he’d noticed that Flick had stopped carrying around that infernal lighter.

He glanced at her buoyant curls falling over her face as she looked through her own bag, still wishing they weren’t leaving her behind.

Why? he asked himself. What was it about Felicity Linden that made her different from the long line of girls he’d kissed and left in the past?

What wasn’t it was the real question—to him, she was everything every other girl was not.

What did every other girl in the world need to do to hold a candle to Felicity Linden, was what he should have asked.

She turned to him and, finding him watching, shied away from whatever she’d been about to say. He saw it in her sweet smile.

“You can still join us,” Jin said. “Come now, Felicity. A holiday courtesy of Arthie Casimir herself.”

She laughed at that, and his ears rejoiced at the sound, a rush of warmth coursing through him that was not unlike when he drank blood for the first time, nourishing every part of him.

“I have a little something for you,” he said. “Because I noticed you’re not carrying your lighter anymore.”

She stiffened. “I gave it back to the person who gave it to me.”

Ah . Her mother, then.

“That could not have been easy,” Jin said softly.

Flick gave him a little shrug, clearing out a decorative dish and pouring water into it for Opal. Out in the hall, he heard Chester scolding Felix, and Reni placating them both.

Jin held out his hand with the small gift nestled in his palm. “Brass knuckles. Not nearly the same as a lighter, but it’s small and brass and may potentially save your life.”

“Oh? How would it do that?” she asked, and he realized she’d never seen them before. She was still new to the streets. To crime and grime, and the tools they used on the other side of White Roaring.

Before he could think anything of it, he took her hand in his, and every nerve ending in his body stood on end at her reaction. Not because she gasped or froze, but because of her pulse, pitter-pattering like the rain outside.

She met his eyes in a flare of uncertainty. He started to pull away, but her fingers tightened ever so slightly, gripping him in place.

There was that boldness Felicity Linden only rarely portrayed.

And it made Jin bold in turn. With a swallow, he lifted her hand higher, higher, holding her gaze until her hand was in line with his mouth.

Ever so slowly, he brushed his lips against her skin, pressing a kiss between her thumb and forefinger.

And then he made the mistake of inhaling. He didn’t smell the sweet sunshine of her skin anymore; he smelled her blood. It danced beneath her skin, a scent as earthy as tea, as delectable as the drizzle of icing on every pastry he could no longer eat.

A strangled sound escaped her throat and Jin realized his eyes had fallen closed. When his eyelids fluttered open, it was to see her own fighting to stay open.

“Jin,” she whispered, both a whine and a plea in her voice.

“Yes, love?” he whispered back, before a single question rose louder than his thoughts: What would her blood taste like?

He lowered her hand with a clench of his jaw. Confusion flashed over Flick’s features, but she said nothing. If he’d pulled her close and lowered his fangs to her neck, would she let him? Would she turn him away with the same disgust high society gave vampires?

He was too cowardly to find out.

“H-how does it work, then?” she asked, a little too loudly and with very little subtlety. “This weapon you mentioned.”

Jin almost laughed.

“You take it like this,” he said, and carefully splayed her fingers by sliding his between them. How did such a thing feel so indecent? Her breath hitched before he carefully dragged the weapon snug over her knuckles. “Fits well, doesn’t it?”

Flick swallowed. Her gaze darkened, and Jin knew she was not thinking of the fit of the brass dusters.

“What are you thinking?”

“That—that they’re not exactly comfortable,” Flick said, flexing her fingers against the brass.

Liar . Jin gave her a pointed look but couldn’t torture the poor girl any longer.

“Nor will a fight be,” he said, closing her fingers around them and resisting the urge to kiss her soft skin.

“These are unassuming and easier to hurt someone without hurting yourself, because no one really talks about how much a punch hurts both parties. Leave them in your pocket, and you’ll always have a weapon handy. ”

He paused then, wanting to ask her if he could show her how to use it. Did she want that? Did she want to stand this close to him? Since when was Jin so unsure of himself?

“Once we go through the ledger, can you show me how?” she asked hesitantly.

“I was hoping you’d ask,” he said with as carefree a grin as he could muster.