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I was trapped. My limbs grew numb. I was helpless. Held captive.
I was sitting in an audience, pretending to appreciate some early medieval musical stylings, played with almost comical solemnity by an ensemble of effete vampires.
Master Dagursson was kicking off our semester of Medieval Musicianship with the Boringest Concert Ever. It seemed like the entire campus had gathered for the recital, and we were trying to be good students and sit silently, but the music was monotonous, to put it mildly.
“What did Beethoven have as a snack?” Josh whispered in my ear.
I didn’t answer, but that didn’t stop him from delivering his punch line, intoned to the tune of Beethoven’s Fifth. “Ba-na-na-naaaa. ”
I elbowed him hard. “Shhh…”
Boring didn’t begin to cover it.
And uncomfortable.
I’d glimpsed Carden from the corner of my eye as I walked in. My pulse pounded at the sight of him, a dull throbbing along the surface of my skin. It felt like ages since I’d fed from him, and just the thought of it had me shaking like a junkie.
I didn’t need to look to know he was standing near the exit. Probably glowering at the back of my head for talking to Josh.
“You all right? You’re looking pale, D. ” Josh had leaned close to say it, and the back of my neck prickled.
There. My Scottish vampire was definitely glowering at us.
Thoughts tumbled into my head. Snapshots of Carden’s mouth. The touch of his hand. His breath on my neck.
Sweat broke out on my forehead. “There’s a vampire out there who’s mad at me. ”
“Ah. But I’m not mad at you. ” He edged even closer, and our shoulders touched. “No need to be cranky with me. ”
Little did Josh know he was in very dangerous territory. I wouldn’t be surprised if Carden was the jealous type.
The piece ended and the room swelled with applause. I took the opportunity to scoot away. “Yeah, well, I’ll be mad at you if you don’t give me some space. ”
He snickered. “So what’s with these music classes, anyway?”
I tried to take my mind off my abject thirst. Music. We were listening to and discussing music. I’d actually wondered about the music thing before myself. I grabbed onto the topic. “Who knows? Though somehow Emma was spared. ”
“I heard she gets to hack computers this term instead. ”
“So jealous,” I said, and I was.
He shrugged. “But not your roommate. Yas said they have her in a bunch of independents. ” Josh’s Australian accent made Yas sound like Yeahz.
“She’s some kind of musical prodigy. ” I grew quiet. There were lots of music prodigies in the world, so why did the vampires want her so badly? I sensed she was more upset about it than she let on, but the kid was a vault, sealed tight. I couldn’t get much information out of her to begin to piece it together. At fifteen, she was younger than the rest of us, and she didn’t seem to have any extraordinary physical gifts.
Another group of musicians arranged themselves onstage—they were empty-handed, which meant we were about to be serenaded. The chatter in the room slowly died, and we settled back, shutting our mouths, too.
This was a form of torture. I rubbed my belly, which was starting to cramp. It was an empty, needful feeling…beyond mere hunger and thirst.
As the men took their places, I distracted myself with an internal debate over which was worse: surfing with Ronan in the bitter-cold sea, as I had that morning, or sitting here, trapped and uneasy, listening to this god-awful music.
At least now I was sitting down. This morning on my borrowed surfboard, I’d paddled and paddled, and still hadn’t been able to get past the break. I’d panicked, feeling how I’d grown weaker. I’d tried to take my mind off it by eyeing Ronan, looking hot in his wet suit, but not even that had been enough to distract me. My arms ached so badly afterward, I’d barely been able to shampoo my hair.
I needed Carden’s blood. I was growing weaker and clumsier without it. The refrigerated shooters just weren’t enough.
A shrill trilling startled me from my thoughts. A particularly pale vampire was currently rocking his woodwind.
Josh chuckled, and I was grateful to have him there, always a willing cutup. “Who knew the recorder was such an instrument of passion?”
