Page 18 of Blood & Bedlam

Juliette glides closer, so graceful in her movements, like a dancer. I wonder if that’s a vampire thing—they all seem to move so quickly. She nods politely as she comes to take a seat next to me, her weight barely registering against the soft bed.

“Yes, this is our morning time, though some of us were up later than usual keeping an eye on things. Did you have time to adjust today?” She speaks as though we’re old friends, catching up over a drink before heading home for the night, and not like she’s an immortal who drinks blood and controls my moods. Annoyance lances through me as I realize they probably sent her in to manage me, before this dinner tonight.

The thought of a vampire dinner has me squirming, because though they’ve shown me no harm, it’s common knowledge what they eat … and I don’t know that I could stomach watching them go to town on another human.

“Did they send you in here to placate me because this dinner is about to be a bloodbath?” I ask, doing all I can to keep the tremble from my voice. But I can still feel the fear and panic bolting through me, not tempered like it was last night.

Juliette shakes her head. “No, I’m just the one available to help you get ready. Cami is out on orders, Fleur is at a meeting, and Claire was up most of the morning keeping an eye on things. So it falls to me, but don’t worry. We aren’t barbarians, Reine. We don’t kill people unless they are very, very bad.”

Her words are meant to put me at ease, but the distinction that they only kill terrible people is important.

“Bad people by whose standards?” I shoot an eyebrow up in question, but rather than getting defensive, Juliette looks me squarely in the eye and shows a little fang as she answers.

“Rapists, murderers, child molesters. Men who beat their partners and children.” Juliette ticks them off matter-of-factly, as though the list is ingrained into the very wiring of her brain.

“Damn. That’s a pretty good answer.” I shrug, struggling to find fault in that logic. She laughs, the sound melodic and beautiful as the smells of something delicious waft up to us. My stomach growls, and she cocks her head abruptly, eyes full of concern.

“Did you eat today? Surely Chef saw to you?”

“I ate a few bites of breakfast earlier, but I didn’t have much of an appetite when they offered me lunch. There was a lot to take in this morning, with Vladimir and all …”

My voice trails off and Juliette’s eyes bounce back to mine, nearly honey in the light of the sconces that have decided to turn themselves on.

“You saw my father today?”

I’ve piqued her interest, and while I’m bursting with questions, something feels wrong about speaking with her about it before I get answers from him, answers he swore to me I’d get at dinner. I give a noncommittal shake of my head.

“Briefly. I, uh, I may or may not have tried to climb out of the window and fallen to what probably should have been my death, and he carried me back inside.” A harsh breath sucks into Juliette, and a flicker of worry I can’t quite place passes over her face.

“He saw you fall? Merde,” she curses, standing over to crack the door and reach for something just beyond it. When she returns, she’s pulling swaths of beautiful black fabric from the bag in her hands. “I brought you something to wear to dinner tonight. There’s going to be a lot of life-changing things—a girl should have her armor on.” The fabric falls gracefully as she unfurls it, and I ogle the sweep of the neckline and form-fitting shape dangling in front of me. Before I can get ahead of myself, my eyes bounce between her tiny body and the dress, before a nervous laugh bubbles up my lips.

“Uh, that’s a really sweet gesture, but I’m not going to fit into that or probably any of your clothes.” I gesture down my body, to curves that I love but that are definitely too wild for something in Juliette’s size.

“I think this will fit you just fine, Reine. It’s not mine. I’m too short for you to borrow anything I own. Camille is going to stop by your place and grab some things for you, so you will have some comforts while you’re here.” Juliette nudges the dress toward me, expectantly. I warily take it, feeling the buttery soft fabric between my fingers. Makenna would have loved this …

“I’ll give you some time to dress. Dinner service starts in an hour and I wouldn’t be late. Kendra gets very cranky about punctuality at her parties.”

I frown at the unfamiliar name. I learned today there are four “daughters” of the Dracul, but they are Claire, Juliette, Camille, and Fleur. No Kendra, as far as I recall.

“Is Kendra another daughter?” I ask, causing Juliette to chuckle as she makes her way to the door.

“Of sorts. She’s Fleur’s wife, turned by Fleur. It’s a big deal, adding to our bloodline, so there aren’t many Third of the Bloods. You’ll meet everyone tonight, and we will answer any of your questions together, but you can’t miss her. She commands a room.” With a wink, she’s gone, leaving me alone again to reel through all that she’s told me.

It feels like they’re spoon-feeding me morsels of information to consume in bite-sized pieces, and while part of me hates that I’m being handled, another part, one more practical, is grateful for the breaks in between the fucking lunacy of all this shit. I feel like I’m sleepwalking as I get changed and do my level best to tame my hair. The mirror in the bathroom is a cold reflection, and though I look better than I did when I showered this morning, there’s no missing the dark circles under my eyes, or the two slightly raised bite marks that sit on the side of my neck. The healer I saw earlier said they look to be fading, but I can see them clear as day.

The bruising from this morning is gone, but the skin feels cool to the touch, and the memory of the pain is sharp and stabbing, causing my chest to heave. I grip the edges of the counter, count down from five, employ any self-soothing tricks I’ve ever even heard of, but I can’t make myself calm down as flashes of memory beat against my skull. I’m hot and flushed everywhere else as my knuckles turn white, my grip on the opulent antique sink punishing.

The stretched car is dark, and the sound of Makenna’s whimpers echo over the terrible techno music blasting through the speakers. She’s sprawled out like a rag doll, straddling his lap with her back to his chest, but the fear in her eyes as the shadow of him tears into her flesh is harrowing. It’s loud, obscene, the rock of his hand on her hip, moving her over his cock as he hurts her. Acid rises up in my throat.

“Quit playing with your food,” one of the others calls, his accent not like the others. It sounds different, almost similar in cadence to the way Vladimir’s sounds, somehow … familiar. The monster tearing out pieces of Makenna’s throat lets out a muffled chuckle, and when he pulls his head up to give his companion an eye roll, her blood coats his lips, drips a mess down his chin. There are pieces of her skin in his teeth as he grins, a macabre tapestry that the bastard is painting with her blood.

“That is half the fun,” the monster patronizes. He turns back to Makenna, his long, taloned nail trailing next to a tear that’s managed to slip down her cheek. I’m stuck here, without a voice, without movement, unable to cry out in relief when the punishing grip of the monster behind me relents his hold and bite to come up for air. My blood seeps down the column of my throat, the ironlike violation on my mind exhausting. The one holding Makenna swipes his hand over his mouth, then smears her own blood across her lips. I want to look away as he forces his fingers over her tongue, the sick perversion too much to endure, but he keeps my eyes straight ahead, unable to move.

“We know how to do our parts—you just assure that you do yours. Witness and enjoy the show.” Bile is acrid in my throat, clawing up, but I can’t open my mouth to scream or let vomit escape, to cry out or tell him to go fuck himself. Rage builds inside of me, and it’s the slightest tremor but my body starts to shake.

“Shh, it’s all right, bella. It will only hurt for a while more.” His words fall against me, the stench of blood and death mixing with the cognac from his drinks. I tremble harder.

“Make sure there is something to see. There will be a reaction, but we will have ours standing by. Make sure he sees her …”