Page 65 of Inked & Bloodbound
“In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask you for something, brother. I intend to visit Nocturne on the eve of my pledge. I humbly request you add me to the list.” I say this with a sarcastic little bow.
The request hangs in the air between us.
Julian’s eyebrows knot in confusion. “Nocturne? That’s quite the leap from your usual scene. I thought you were too good to drink from live humans.”
I flash my fangs. “I’m tired of living on the periphery. If I’m going to be part of this clan, I want to go all in. Show you the depth of my loyalty.” I meet his gaze steadily. “Besides, isn’t that where the real business happens?”
“Indeed it is.” Julian’s eyes move over me slowly, like he’s trying to unearth a lie. “Nocturne is invitation-only. Very exclusive. Very…intense.”
“Can you arrange it?”
“I could.” He pauses in front of me. “But there are conditions. You’ll need to bring chattel.”
I force myself to nod. “Of course.”
“Fresh blood. Untouched. Something worthy of the venue.” His smile turns cruel. “I trust you can manage that?”
The thought of bringing Lily into that den of monsters makes my skin crawl, but I have no choice. This is the only way to get Megan Fontaine out. The only way I can end the binding. There is no other way. I have to be strong again—strong enough to protect Lily when danger comes.
And no matter how much I try to ignore it, the tingling scar between my shoulder blades warns me that it is coming.
“I have just the creature,” I say with a smile he doesn’t return.
I turn away, but something makes me glance back. Julian stands in my doorway, his lips curved into a cruel smile, watching me with those cold gray eyes.
Maybe I should poison the blood supply.The thought cuts through my mind, words clear as if he was speaking.Lazaro will never know. Teach this pretty boy a lesson.
But Julian’s lips haven’t moved. He’s just standing there, staring at me with that calculating look.
The realization hits me like a slap—I just heard his thoughts. I felt them in the same way as I hear Lily’s voice in my head, the echo of them rattling around in the dark space we usually occupy together. I study Julian’s face, watching for his response, but there’s nothing coming back.
I guess I must be staring, because his eyes narrow. “Something wrong?”
“No,” I say quickly, brushing past him and turning my back to mask my shock. “Nothing. I’m just very much looking forward to tomorrow. I can’t wait to see it…to join you.”
“I’m sure you are,” he murmurs sarcastically behind me, and I can feel his suspicious gaze burning into my back as I walk down the corridor.
There are traces of Lily’s essence still coursing through my veins—could that be what this is? Has she transferred some of her abilities to me through her blood?
There are folk tales about this. Stories that aging vampires tell each other when they’re drunk on bloodwine, spinning yarns of valiant battles and drained virgins. But some speak of darker legends—how feeding from certain creatures can change us, give us abilities we were never meant to possess. How draining a medium can open doorways in the mind that should remain forever closed. An intoxicating power we should never have access to. The unfettered ability to spy on your enemies. The permission to reach across the veil of light and corrupt it with our darkness.
If it’s true, my family is the least of my worries.
Soon every vampire on the planet will come looking for her.
On uneasy legs, I step out into the warm Texas night. Sixth Street pulses around me with predatory energy. Neon cowboy signs flicker like warning beacons while music bleeds from bar after bar, creating a symphony of excess where each fresh cacophony crashes into the next. I grip the leather bag tighter as I move through the crowd of dead-eyed humans—their laughter sharp-edged, their movements loose with substances and desperation. There’s something in the air tonight, a malice that makes even seasoned hunters like me on edge.
My car waits in the shadows, black paint gleaming under the streetlights, fixed and ready for me. I run my hand over the shining hood and feel the still-warm engine underneath. Carmen and Luna have done a hell of a job getting it here so quickly. Years of running have taught me that survival depends on knowing who you can trust—and who owes you favors.
Once safely inside, I unzip the soft leather of the bag in the passenger seat and pull out a pouch of blood. I need to be as strong as I can before we hit the bar, so I grabbed as much as I could carry without raising suspicion.
The first pouch slides down my throat quickly. Without hesitation, I reach for another. This batch belonged to someone who eats a lot of beef—the smoky flavor of rare filet mignon coating my tongue as I suck it down like it’s nothing. Then I grab another.
The buildings blur as I hit the accelerator, moving closer to her. One hand on the wheel, the other fumbling around the bag, lookingfor the next pouch. A vegetarian this time, clean and light with hints of spinach and tofu. I barely pause before tearing open the next one—someone with a sweet tooth, their blood carrying notes of chocolate and vanilla that would have been delicious under different circumstances.
The fourth tastes of cigarettes and cheap wine, probably from someone who spends their nights in bars like the Jackalope. I don’t care. I keep drinking, the Maserati engine humming under me as the glut of blood gurgles in my belly.
Number five carries the umami tang of miso and mushroom. Six tastes of garlic and tomatoes—Italian food, which normally would make me homesick. Tonight it just fuels me and sloshes around in my uncomfortably full stomach.