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“What the fuck,” I cry out harshly, my ear throbbing, and he concentrates on the other ear now, brows knitting together in determination. His eyes meet mine for a moment and his pupils have now gone completely red.
Oh, that can’t be good.
“Your piercings disappeared when you turned,” he says to me, nose flaring for a moment before he looks at my other ear. “Have to start anew.”
He quickly stabs the second post through my other earlobe, though this time the pain has dulled considerably. The blood still flows, dripping onto the top of my dress.
He brings out a black pocket square from his suit jacket and wipes it over my leather dress, cleaning up the blood with ease. “Leather was a smart choice for tonight.”
Then he brings the fabric up to my ears, wiping away the rest of the blood with surprisingly gentle fingers, considering he just punched holes into my skin, and I watch as the red in his pupils fades back to black.
“How do you do it?” I whisper to him.
He pauses, looking at me. “Do what?”
“The blood,” I tell him. “Doesn’t that make you…don’t you want that?” I mean, the sight and smell of his blood, and I’m the one who turned into the ravenous beast. And I’m only half of what he is.
He observes me closely for a moment before he says, “Patience and restraint. I’ve had a long time to work on those attributes.” He clears his throat, taking a step back. “Besides, it would do me no good tonight. I need to stay sharp. I’ve only sampled but a bit of your blood, and it intoxicated me. Had a hard time staying sober after that.”
Could have fooled me. He’s never been anything but one hundred percent in control.
“Are you ready?” he asks me, holding out his hand.
But I’m not fooled by how this all looks.
I know what this all is.
“I’ll never be ready,” I tell him, forgetting to fake bravery.
I put my hand in his.
“You’re braver than you think,” he says to me, gripping my hand, close to crushing it. Then he leads me out of the room.
We walk down the hall past the roses, which are dead again.
Bloom, I think in my head, staring at them with so much intensity that my vision starts to thin. Bloom alive with blood.
Nothing happens.
It isn’t until we turn to go down the stairs that I catch the roses moving. We’re out of sight before I can see the rest, but something hot and golden swims inside me, and I suppress a smile. Maybe I can do some things.
We walk down the flights of stairs, the house quiet and faintly lit, creepy shadows dancing on the walls, but as we get closer to the ballroom, the noise gets louder. There’s thumping bass and music and laughter and all the things that a good party promises.
And I’m scared as hell.
I stop just outside the doors, noticing for the first time the symbols on them, flowers that remind me of eyes. “Solon,” I say quietly.
He stops beside me, his grip moving from my hand to my wrist, growing tighter. “Solon? I have a nickname already?” he muses.
I stare at him. I don’t need to tell him I’m this scared, he wants me to be this scared. But I also know this might be the last time I get to say anything to him in private.
My jaw hurts from clenching it. I wiggle it first before I tell him, “I know you’re not a man who makes promises. Or vampire, for that matter. But no matter what happens to me, just…please don’t hurt my parents. I think they were only trying to help me.”
He stares at me, a twitch near his eye. “Do you know why your parents wanted to take you away for your birthday?”
There’s no use asking him how he knows about that. “So I wouldn’t change in the city, so I wouldn’t harm other people.”
“So they could kill you if things got out of hand,” he says. “These are the people you want me to abstain from hurting?”
I don’t want to believe that. But I nod. “Please.”
He seems to consider that for a moment, sighing softly. “Fine. You have my word. Believe it or not, it is worth something.” He adds under his breath, “Sometimes.”
Then his hand lets go of my wrist and slides up to my elbow as he pulls open the door with the other.
We step into a party.
There are about thirty people here, all dressed in tuxedos and gowns, men, women, and nonbinary individuals. If you’ve never had thirty vampires all looking at you at once with their fixed, unblinking stare, be grateful. I’m so scared, I think I might piss myself.
“Breathe,” Absolon whispers to me as we glide through the crowd, his hand firm on my elbow. “Let them get used to you.”
