Page 2 of Blood Legacy (Eternal Descent (MistHallow Academy) #1)

2

GAIDA

Fury doesn’t begin to cover what I’m feeling as I storm down the corridor, my heels striking the stone floor with enough force to chip it. The absolute nerve of him. Grounded? A curfew?

The winter air hits me like a slap as I burst through the heavy doors into the courtyard. Snow crunches beneath my stilettos as I march towards the residence building. Rage burns through my veins like the finest blood wine.

Twenty-eight minutes until my curfew begins. Twenty-eight minutes until I’m expected to be locked away in my room like a child.

Not fucking likely.

As a bad idea takes root, I pause beneath an ancient oak tree, its branches heavy with snow, and consider my options. Returning to my room would be admitting defeat. Following Blackthorn’s rules would mean he’s won this round, and I refuse to give him that satisfaction.

A rebellious smile curls my lips as I make my decision.

The Blood Bar sits on the north side of campus.

Perfect.

I cut across the frozen courtyard, brazenly, openly, waiting for him to come for me. The snow starts falling again, soft flakes catching in my hair and melting against my skin.

The Blood Bar occupies what was once a groundskeeper’s cottage, transformed over centuries into a place where the vampires can drink blood without being judged by the other supes. On occasion, it sells contraband human blood, but the staff are wise to it and conduct searches regularly. You have to be in at the exact right time to get it.

It is a simple stone structure with no windows and a double front door, which is currently closed against the elements.

I open one door and slip inside to the thump of a deep bass.

It’s fairly understated. Mostly cliques of vampires huddled around tables, sipping their blood of choice. There is a bar that runs along the back, which I head straight to.

The bartender, a creature called Grim, stares at me. “What’ll it be?”

“A Blood Beer,” I reply, already feeling some of my anger dissipating in the pulsing atmosphere. “Actually, make it two.”

He leans down and opens up the mini fridge. He places the two bottles down. “Add it to the tab,” I mutter, being clean of currency, seeing as I wasn’t planning on coming here.

He nods and marks it off in his notebook.

I down the first bottle in three long gulps, relishing the burn as it slides down my throat. Blood Beer is a simple mix that gives the delicious taste of blood and a slight buzz from the alcohol.

I’m halfway through my second when I feel someone’s gaze on me. Steady. Confident.

I scan the bar slowly, my eyes eventually landing on the vampire in question.

He sits alone at the far end, partially hidden in shadow. He is tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular chest, but not bulky. His raven-black hair is cut short, and his blue eyes are so clear that they are almost translucent and fixed unwaveringly on me.

Dante DuLoc

He’s new here, but everyone knows the DuLocs. They are one of the oldest vampire families in existence. They sort of rival mine in terms of power and influence. Pure-blooded for generations, they’re practically vampire royalty. And Dante is their crown prince. He is like me. Born from two vampires. We are rare. There are only a handful in existence. Most are turned. This gives us an edge over most vampires, but not all. Age matters.

Our paths have crossed occasionally in classes, but he’s never approached me. Few do. My father’s reputation casts a long shadow, and most male students prefer to admire from a safe distance rather than face Aurelius Aragon if they want to date his daughter. It’s a thorn in my side and one that I loathe. This is why I need a real man. One who won’t be afraid to face my dad and tell him straight.

But the way Dante watches me now, with an intensity that borders on insolence, suggests he might not share their caution after all.

I finish my second Blood Beer and order a third, letting the warmth spread through my limbs. My anger at Blackthorn transforms into something else. A reckless need to defy all expectations.

The music changes again, this time with a tribal beat that seems to match my pulse. I move my hips, swaying as I remain in place, letting the music wash over me. The Blood Beer is working its magick, dulling my inhibitions just enough to make dancing alone at the bar seem like a brilliant idea.

After my third drink, I let the music take me. My red dress swirls around me with each movement. I’m aware of the attention I’m drawing but care only about one pair of eyes.

His gaze hasn’t wavered.

With too much alcohol flowing through my veins, I saunter over. He doesn’t flinch or look away; he merely raises his glass and takes a long sip, his eyes never leaving mine.

Up close, he’s even more striking. His black tee shows off his rippling muscles, and I’m suddenly horny as fuck.

I stop directly in front of him, placing my stiletto-clad foot boldly between his legs on the edge of his stool. The move is provocative, challenging. His eyes flicker briefly between my legs, then back to my face, giving absolutely nothing away.

But at least he fucking looked.

“Dante DuLoc,” I say, my voice husky, seductive. “The vampure.” The word slurs a bit, the Blood Beer making my tongue less precise than usual.

“Vampure?” he repeats, his voice a deep velvet rumble that I feel more than hear over the music. “That’s a new one.”

“Vampire. Pure blood. Vampure,” I explain with the exaggerated precision of the slightly drunk. “Your family hasn’t diluted its bloodline in what, six centuries?”

“Seven,” he corrects, still watching me with that infuriating half-smile. “But who’s counting?”

“Everyone,” I laugh, tossing my hair back. “That’s all vampires do, isn’t it? Count bloodlines, count ages, count who’s more powerful than whom.”

His gaze bores into me. “And you would know more than most, Gaida Aragon.”

“Touché.” I maintain my position, foot still planted between his legs, enjoying the subtle power play. “Why haven’t you ever spoken to me before tonight?”

“You never looked like you wanted to be spoken to,” he replies simply.

“And tonight I do?”

“Tonight, you look like you want to burn this place to the ground.” His voice drops lower. “I find that interesting.”

The music changes again, something slower but more intense. Without asking permission, I use his shoulder as leverage. With my vampire strength and reflexes, I hoist myself up onto the bar. Grim lets out a low growl, but I turn sharply, giving him a don’t-fuck-with-me-glare.

The music switches beat, trance music that takes over your heart and makes you feel invincible. Someone in this place did that by magick, but I don’t know who. I do know they did it for me. To watch me dance. Fury still simmers beneath my skin as I dance to the sexy beat, holding my hand out for another bottle. Grim obliges, probably too stunned to protest.

From my elevated position, I can see Dante’s face clearly. His composed expression has slipped, revealing a hunger that has nothing to do with blood.

His hand wraps around my ankle. His touch is cold, and possessive. His fingers slide on the inside to rest against my skin. A shiver races up my leg and spreads through my entire body, both from the unexpected contact and from the possessiveness of the gesture.

It’s a claim. A statement. Not to the others watching, but to me.

I continue dancing, allowing his hand to remain. Our eyes lock in silent communication. This isn’t just about tonight. This is about bloodlines and rivalries and the peculiar politics of vampire society.

His thumb strokes small circles against my skin, sending another wave of shivers through me. The touch is innocent enough, but the intent behind it is anything but. I find myself wondering what those hands would feel like elsewhere, what it would be like to have someone who isn’t afraid of who I am or where I come from.