Page 76 of Inked & Bloodbound

Fine.

It’s not much, but I’ll take it.

“Nocturne is different from the Jackalope. More upscale but more depraved. It will be packed full of rich, older vampires, more powerful ones. I doubt they’ll know you’re a medium, but they’ll be able to sense something is off if you’re not careful.” I take a sharp left turn, and her body shifts toward me, but she pulls back and holds it rigid. “You need to listen for any mention of Megan or Lexi. I need you to tell me if you hear anything. Stuff like where she’s being kept, who’s with her, anything that might give us a location.”

“Got it.”

Two words. That’s progress.

“I’ll be keeping an eye out for threats, and I’ll search the place when I get the chance. If I have to, I’ll ask to see her, and from there I’ll extract her.” I risk a glance at Lily’s profile—the stubborn set of her jaw, the way her hands are fisted in her lap—and I want to reach out and curl my fingers in hers. Pull her hand to my lips and kiss her palm. But I don’t. I stare straight ahead and focus on the task at hand. “If I tell you we need to leave, we leave immediately. No arguments.”

“Fine.”

The word comes out clipped, sharp enough to cut. I can feel her anger radiating off her in waves, mixing with the raw, bleeding hurt that I’m responsible for.

“Lily—”

“Don’t.” She finally turns to look at me, and the ice in her blue eyes makes my throat tight. “Just…don’t. It’s fine. I’m fine. I just want to get this over with.”

Get this over with.Maybe that’s better. Maybe it’s safer for both of us if she hates me.

We drive the rest of the way in uneasy silence, past the trendy bars of downtown and into the gritty warehouse district where Nocturne skulks between the maze of industrial buildings. Unlike Sixth Street, there’s no neon, no grand fanfare. The club doesn’t advertise its presence. You’re either on the list, or you don’t belong there.

I pull up outside a windowless black building. No signs, no markers, just two battle-scarred vampires in expensive suits flanking a steel door. They nod respectfully when they see me.

Good. Julian has come through on his promise.

A vampire approaches to greet us, and I don’t want him to overhear my final warning before we’re trapped inside, so I pulse a thought toward her and pray she’s open to listening.

Lily, I know you hate me right now, but please stay close to me, and if your abilities start to overwhelm you?—

“I’ll handle it.” She’s already out of the car, smoothing down the sides of her dress and marching toward the entrance. Drawn like a moth toward the sluggish sound of heavy metal. All hopped up on rage and false bravado, but despite the performance, I can tell she’s scared.

In a couple of strides, I catch up to her, and I snake my hand around her waist. She stiffens initially, then relaxes and leans against me. I run my hand down her arm and notice she’s trembling.

I’m right here.I pulse.Nothing is going to happen to you.

She’s quiet as we approach the door, but I sense her anxious heartbeating through her chest and the shallowness of each breath she takes.

Thank you Cassini.

Blood.All I see is blood.

It’s omnipresent and intoxicating. Soaked in every inch of velvet, covering every surface and hanging heavy in the air. The oily richness and copper tang is so overwhelming that my fangs have descended and refuse to retract.

It hit us the moment we walked through the impenetrable metal doors and intensified when they shut behind us. Lily had flinched at the sound of metal grinding against metal, gasped at the locks clicking into place, and shuddered as a huge bar lowered across it. Sealing us in and sealing our fates.

The dirty sound of distorted guitars pulses through the walls, and a swell of hunger throbs through me. An indescribable primal need for fresh, warm blood, enjoyed straight from the vein.

We filter into a narrow hallway where red neon light snakes across the ceiling, casting everything in the color of rust. What I first mistake for grotesque art installations line the walls—ceramic hands twisted in agony, fingers splayed and grasping. But as we pass closer, the horrible truth becomes clear.

They’re not ceramic. They’re human.

Living arms thrust through glory holes, wrists bound in place by metal cuffs, fingers twitching weakly. Some hands are pale and drained, others still flush with life. Dark puncture wounds dot the exposed skin like obscene jewelry. A few of the hands move desperately, clawing at nothing, while others hang limp and lifeless.

Lily moves closer to me, and her body pushes against mine as if she’s afraid to be even an inch away from me. Her whole body is shaking, despite the warmth and heat of the place. I pull her closer and give her hip a reassuring squeeze.

I’m right here with you.