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He isn't Julien the vampire anymore – he's Julien the sweet man who smiles a lot and wants to nuzzle my neck – wants to replace his brother in my arms, between my thighs. When he turns back to me after closing up the baggie, I lean in and kiss him, my hand cupping his cheek, my fingers tracing his jaw.
“Sir Julien,” I say, pulling him down to me. He kisses me.
Chapter 17
"Revenge is a dish best served cold."
Pierre Choderlos de Laclos
I WAKE IN BED, MY HEAD POUNDING. Julien must have put me here when I fell asleep. I get up and go to the bathroom and wash my face, brush my teeth for my mouth feels like garbage. Julien opens the door and peeks his head around.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I was stoned last night and have a hangover."
He smiles. "You were. I didn't even get anything out of you because you fell asleep before I could get you into bed and all my plans were ruined."
"You and your brother have so many plans," I say.
"We do. Get dressed," he says, his expression suddenly serious. "We're going somewhere."
"Where?"
"Just get dressed."
I bite back a protest and finish cleaning myself up, dressing in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. When I return to the main area, he's sitting at a counter in the small kitchen, drinking blood. He glances over at me, his expression unreadable under the hunter's face. When he's finished, he comes to me.
"Come." He reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me with him,
"Where are we going?"
"We've got work to do."
We get our coats and leave the warehouse. Down on the street, Vasily's waiting with the car. I don't know what to expect as we drive along the streets. A cold front blew in and the skies are overcast, thick dark clouds blotting out the moonlight. I shiver, burnt out from the events of the previous night.
The car slows as we approach one of the oldest parts of the waterfront, the buildings falling down, ramshackle, rusting into pieces, this section not yet having been reclaimed. I want to ask what's happening, but am reluctant. Julien hasn't said a word to either Vasily or me, nor does he look at me. He just stares out the car window at the passing scenery, his fingers tapping on the door.
The car stops at one huge building made of corrugated metal. Inside, the building is empty and dark except for a floodlight which shines down on a figure sitting in the middle of the space with his back to us, his hands tied, a mound of small objects littered on the floor around him. To the side is a can of gas.
Once we're closer, Julien stops in the shadows, pressing his finger over my lips, motioning for me to stay where I am. He goes to the seated figure – a man dressed in a white shirt and dark pants, greying hair, his head forward.
Julien pulls out a knife and starts to circle the man, waving the knife around so that its blade catches the light and glints like a diamond. I tense, wondering what he's doing.
"Who are you?" the man says, fear in his voice once he sees Julien.
"No, the question is, who are you, or should I say,whatare you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your name," Julien says, edging closer to the man, his knife flashing. "Tell me your name."
"Bob," the man says, his voice breaking. "Bob Thompson."
I gasp and cover my mouth.
"Bob." A deadly serious voice. "Do you know why you're here?"
"No," he says, "I don't."
