Blood Ties Bundle: Blood Ties Book One: The Turning / Blood Ties Book Two: Possession / Blood Ties Book Three: Ashes to Ashes / Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls' Night. Jennifer Armintrout
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me as though my blue jeans and freckled face disgusted them.
I couldn’t have cared less. I’d lost sight of my prey. Finding her tragic figure in this writhing mass of self-pity would be impossible.
“She went into the bathroom,” a voice said close to my ear. “But I wouldn’t go after her if I were you. She doesn’t know what you are.”
My heart could have stopped beating. My chest tightened, and the excitement of the chase vanished. I was caught.
I turned slowly, expecting to face a uniformed officer. Instead, I found myself looking down at the smirking face of a very confident young woman. She wasn’t slender by any means, and she swayed to the music with an innate grace that erased any notion she found her body bulky or unwieldy. The standard Robert Smith makeup of heavy eyeliner and deep red lipstick decorated her pale face, and a thick riot of red curls hung to her shoulders.
“You’re surprised?” she asked, putting her hands on her ample hips. “You were being so obvious.”
“Obvious?” My mouth felt dry.
She looked me over with her head cocked to one side. Her curls bobbed as she laughed. “Yeah, obvious. But don’t worry, most of the kids here wouldn’t know a real vampire if one came up and bit them on the ass. They’re here because their parents just don’t understand.”
The pulsating music, combined with the sound of beating hearts all around me, made me feel as if a speed metal drummers’ convention was getting into full swing in my frontal lobe. I squinted against the swirling light and movement of the room. “How did you know what I am?”
“You must be new to this whole vampire thing, huh?” she asked. She smiled a perfectly mischievous smile, as if she’d practiced it in a mirror for years. “That girl over there, she’ll scream like a banshee before you get two drops out of her, and then where will you be? In a whole heap of trouble, that’s where.”
Before I could protest, she grabbed my arm. Under her hand, my skin felt warm and alive, as though I’d absorbed her energy. Over the din of a hundred human pulses I could hear hers loudest of all, but I didn’t feel compelled to feed from her. She was warm and alive, but she didn’t seem wholly human.
Danger was here. Tension seethed beneath her sweet words. She moved like a dancer despite her round shape, her every movement charged with urgency.
The hunger gnawed at me, so I followed her.
As we walked, she told me her name was Dahlia. She led me from the club and down a few alleys, through an abandoned rail yard adrift with snow.
“There.” She pointed to a squat stone building that had been gutted by fire some time ago. A cement barrier separated the area from the expressway. I heard the cars racing past.
“The cops never come here,” she explained. “And if they did, they wouldn’t come back.”
The interior was large and open, as though the space had once been a warehouse or factory. In the very center, the ceiling had caved in. Someone had been industrious enough to cover it with plastic tarps. It was dark and cold. Ominous shapes huddled in every corner.
I heard heartbeats, coughing and quiet moans. The smell of fear in the room was as thick as the unmistakable odor of hopelessness.
“What is this place?” I whispered.
Dahlia shrugged off her coat and spread it on the ground. “A donor house.”
I must have appeared not to understand her, because she rolled her eyes and sighed as though I were incurably stupid.
“A place for vampires to go and get a quick bite,” she said. “A quick bite, get it?”
I nodded dumbly. “I get it…but who are these people?”
“The donors?” She plopped down cross-legged. “Who knows? Maybe they’re homeless and just need some shelter. Maybe they’re freaks that get off on the thrill of it. Or maybe they’re like me.”
“Like you?” I asked.
A skinny girl with a dirt-smudged face and greasy brown hair pushed past me. One of her bony shoulders slipped from her threadbare jacket as she shoved me aside.
“I need the money,” Dahlia said as she motioned for me to sit down. “The point is, these people are desperate enough to give you what you want. Those Goth freaks at the club don’t know shit. You’re better off trolling under bridges for homeless people than going back to that hole.”
I wanted to leave. The place reeked of sweat and smoke and despair. But I needed blood, so I knelt beside her on the crumbling cement. My heart beat faster and I shuddered in anticipation of sinking my teeth into supple pale flesh.
“Fifty dollars, cash.” She produced a wooden stake from the pocket of her coat. “And you stop when I say, understood?”
The stake quenched the animal fury building inside me. I didn’t know specifically what would happen if that thing touched me, but my imagination was fueled by the memory of the gaping wounds in Cyrus’s chest.
My numb fingers fumbled for my purse, and as I tugged on the zipper, the contents spilled onto the floor with a clatter. A compact fell open as it dropped to the ground. Through a miniature mushroom cloud of powder dust, I saw my eyes reflected in the mirror, wide and scared and excited. I thought vampires didn’t have reflections. It struck me as hilarious that I hadn’t thought of that before. I handed Dahlia the money with shaking hands.
She counted it, smirked in satisfaction and tucked the bills into her bra. “Okay, then.” She placed the point of the stake above my heart, swept her hair back and bared her throat.
I traced the line of one blue vein down her neck to her collarbone with my finger. My breath came in gasps. I thought my heart would explode the way it beat so wildly in my chest.
I felt the point of the stake as I leaned down to fasten my aching mouth to her skin. Her neck was warm and soft. I bit down. The flesh yielded crisply like the skin of a ripe peach, and her blood gushed into my mouth so fast I nearly choked.
The reality of my situation suddenly overwhelmed me. A moment ago I had not been a vampire. At least, not as far as I was concerned. Now, as I greedily gulped down the blood of this strange girl, I was truly initiated. She moaned, and the sound vibrated through me like an electrical current. The implications of what I’d done made me nauseous. The possibility that I might not really be a vampire at all flashed through my mind. Maybe I made the whole thing up. Tearing my mouth from her neck, I struggled not to vomit.
“Hey! What’s wrong?” Dahlia shouted.
I didn’t answer her. From the shadows, someone ordered us to keep quiet. I couldn’t control my sobbing. I frantically grabbed the spilled contents of my purse and tried to stuff them back inside with shaking hands.
“Where are you going?” Dahlia asked, one hand on her neck. I expected to see blood flowing from the wound, but when she moved her fingers there was nothing but a faint bruise.
I wiped my nose on the back of my hand and winced in pain. My whole face was sore.
My compact lay innocently on the ground. I picked it up and checked my reflection.
My face, usually pretty by most people’s standards, was twisted into a vision of horror. Cruel eyes peered out under a flattened brow. My cheekbones sloped down, forming a snout with my bizarrely elongated upper jaw. I pulled back my lips. My teeth were unevenly spaced in their roomy new setting, my canines lengthened into sharp points.
I’d seen Nathan transform this way, and my nightmares were filled with visions of John Doe’s monstrous face, but I’d never considered such a thing could happen to me. I screamed and scrambled to my feet.
I fled from the donor house, gulping the fresh air as if it were water and I a lost traveler in the desert. Dahlia followed me. She leaned against the scorched cinder blocks and watched me check and recheck