Page 6 of A Steeping of Blood (Blood and Tea #2)

JIN

Sweet Poppy’s Pastries was closed for the third day in a row, which didn’t do wonders for Jin’s already sour mood.

He wanted to step through its doors and walk past the glass boxes filled with flaky, buttery goods, oozing jam and dusted in sugar and drizzled in chocolate.

He knew he couldn’t taste any, but a feast could be had with more than just a tongue.

Or so he told himself because he was hungry and hadn’t had a sip of blood since the evening he’d turned.

Like his life, White Roaring had changed.

Where danger once lingered in the shadows and the shelter of night, it was now bold and loud, dealt by the hands of the angry and afraid.

So many members of the press had died that night, but humans had begun disappearing off the streets too.

Missing, gone, killed , the people were shouting.

No one knew anything for certain, only that it was a vampire that had done it.

Jin could guess whether that was true.

Horned Guard were everywhere, but the Ram was letting it happen, letting anger fester. As if she wanted the people distracted, as if she couldn’t care less about what was happening in Ettenia anymore.

Places like the pastry shop were closed, windows shuttered as people either hid away or marched, fists waving for answers, armed with stakes and whatever makeshift weapons they could scrounge.

It was altogether ridiculous.

The Ettenians’ fear of vampires had amplified because of a falsehood: The Ram’s forces had taken the lives of those reporters, not the vampires of the Athereum where it had happened.

It was the Ram who had waltzed through the Athereum’s doors and looked at Flick and all but said, Oh, and here’s yet another surprise: I’m your mother!

moments before she put a bullet in Jin. And the theatrics didn’t end there.

Miraculously, Arthie turned out to be a vampire and made him one too.

Jin scoffed. It sounded straight out of a novel, really.

Except, despite the winding, twisting, death-filled plot of this novel, the most gut-wrenching part of it was the fact that Arthie had lied to his face for the past ten years.

And he couldn’t stop being so damned angry about it.

Jin rolled the crick out of his neck and flipped a chair around.

The four feet thudded in the quiet of the empty classroom, dust pluming gold in the dim light of the lantern on a desk.

His bullet wound throbbed dully, an ache and reminder.

He sat down, adjusted his legs. Rested his arms on the back of the chair.

He was taking his time.

There was another chair across from him, with a graceless middle-aged man in a uniform that was worn and streaked with more than one patch of dirt.

Jin had lured him here with small talk that had transformed into tiny threats—shiny words that were once almost second nature but seemed to be extra demanding to draw out now that this anger was running rampant in his veins.

The longer Jin took, the louder the rough ricochet of the man’s breathing became and the more he strained against the ropes strapping him down.

And Jin, being a vampire, could hear everything with infuriating clarity.

There was much about being a vampire that Jin had not anticipated.

It was known that vampires had heightened senses, but no one spoke of how overwhelming that could quickly become.

The man whimpered. Poor sod looked much like a puppy in a thunderstorm.

Jin smiled his cheeriest, kindest smile. Outside, the early winter wind slammed fists against the walls, and the unrest across White Roaring roared past.

He glanced down at the near-illegible note he’d gotten from the last bloke he’d met. Admittedly, he’d charmed the words out of that one, but his patience was wearing thin—as though he’d been at it for months and years, and not a handful of days since that night at the Athereum meeting hall.

Strictly speaking, Jin had been in search of his parents for months and years, but this was different.

“Coll, is it?” he asked.

Coll didn’t answer. As expected. Jin had time. He laughed bitterly. He had all the time in the world now—literally.

“I was told you’re one of the few people last in contact with Mister and Missus Siwang, several months ago. Do you remember?”

Coll still had nothing to say. And in the empty silence, Jin heard the blood rushing through the man’s veins, a fountain of sweet nectar waiting for a pair of fangs.

Jin ground his jaw tight and straightened his cuff. He leveled his gaze on Coll again.

Maybe you ought to remove the rope from between his teeth, brother , Arthie suggested in his thoughts. You might get an answer out of him then.

He couldn’t shake her voice no matter how hard he tried. The past seven days were excruciating enough, but having to hear her wry tone at every turn made it worse.

“What ever would I do without you, sister,” Jin seethed. He was frustrated. Betrayed.

Still, he’d gone after her that night, when Penn had fallen and she’d disappeared after Laith.

He was still finding his footing, his mouth too full of teeth, his body yearning for blood in a way he’d never thirsted for anything before.

He had watched her die by Laith’s hand, watched as Matteo took her away.

Jin hadn’t known she was a half vampire who could be turned into a full one.

He hadn’t known she was any percentage of a vampire to begin with.

She’d lied to him, time and time again—or omitted the truth, or whatever excuse she would use. It didn’t matter what she had to say because, in the end, the fact remained: She hadn’t trusted him.

He shoved her out of his mind. He had other tasks to attend to: such as finding his parents.

Penn had told him they were a resource to the Ram, which meant they were likely alive, and Jin had spent the past week hunting every lead he could.

He would find them, free them from the Ram’s shackles and be done with it.

The Ram had taken his parents, Spindrift, his life , but he had been given a second chance, and he wasn’t going to let her interfere in his life anymore.

Her. He still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that the Ram wasn’t a faceless creature.

She was Flick’s mother. And Flick was her daughter, the daughter of a woman who loathed vampires, which meant—Jin wouldn’t dwell on those thoughts.

He reached over and ripped the rope out of Coll’s mouth, leaving it hanging around his neck.

“I don’t know, a’right?” Coll sputtered, spittle flying everywhere.

The lantern flickered, sparks flying. There was a time when Jin would close his eyes and see the orange of a fire—now he saw red.

Crimson that had been spilled and stolen, crimson that he craved.

And to think he’d once craved pastries with that same passion, sweet treats he could still chew and swallow, if he enjoyed the taste of ash.

Jin flinched and wiped the back of his hand on his thigh. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“I dunno where the Siwangs are,” Coll shouted. “I don’t even know who they are.”

“Saying it louder doesn’t make your lie any more true,” Jin said calmly. Coll started bellowing something else, but Jin held up a hand. “Please, Coll, stop contributing to my loss of hearing.”

Coll slumped back as much as the ropes would allow.

“Let’s try this again,” Jin started. Normally, he would entice his marks, goad them, or finagle the response he wanted to hear. He couldn’t muster any such thing now, but he would try. “You’re a courier, yes?”

Coll nodded.

“And you make deliveries?”

Coll nodded again.

“Right. Then where, dear sir, did you deliver a ten-kilo parcel of liquid silver?”

His parents were scientists, ingenious and well-known throughout Ettenia.

Enough that the Ram burned down their house, leaving Jin for dead.

He’d spent the past ten years uncertain if they were alive until Penn told him they had fashioned a silver inoculation currently being used to weaponize vampires.

Which meant that much liquid silver could only have gone to one place: their laboratory. Wherever that was.

Coll whimpered and strained against the ropes again. The man was clearly in a rush to be somewhere.

Jin brandished a pistol from the holster at his side. He had never liked guns. He loathed them even more now that shooting someone meant he flirted with the possibility of flying into a blood-hungry frenzy.

Still, they made for a good threat, especially when a silver-tongue was in short supply.

“I—I swear,” Coll belted out. The room was beginning to stink of piss, further souring Jin’s mood. The man was about as useful as a chocolate teapot, and threatening him wasn’t going well.

He slipped the pistol back into his holster with exaggerated movements. Coll noticed, and his whimpering slowed.

“I’m sorry, Coll,” Jin said with a sigh, leaning close as if they were about to share a secret.

Coll hiccupped, confusion flashing over his features at Jin’s sudden change.

“Neither of us wants to be here, eh? I know I’d much rather be at home sipping a good cup of tea or—” Jin cut himself off, looking to Coll expectantly.

“Cocoa,” he contributed. “Mum makes a good cup.”

He would have laughed at the portrait of the old man running home to his mother, but Jin didn’t even have a home. He still spoke of Spindrift as if it stood strong, as if it weren’t a pile of rubble at the top of the street.

“Mum’s cocoa,” Jin continued with a nod. “But I’m not allowed to leave until you tell me what I need, and you’re not allowed to leave until you tell me what I need. It appears we’re both in the same predicament. Help a bloke out, will you?”

Coll processed his words, searching for a lie before he nodded. “I—I was told to hand the package off to a woman at White Roaring Square. She never arrived.”

Jin waited.