I shake my head, licking my lips, tasting the nude lipstick I’m wearing. “Does the lamb feel beautiful before it’s led to slaughter?”
That brings a crooked smile out of him as he takes one of the earrings and comes at my ear with it.
I inhale sharply, my skin going tight. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone else put earrings in my ears for me, but here he is, eyeing me calmly, doing this like he’s done it a million times.
“Regardless of how you feel,” he says, his voice low as he holds the post against my earlobe. “These rubies are worth millions. So don’t lose them, whatever you do.”
I open my mouth in shock seconds before he adds, “This might hurt.”
Then he stabs the post in through my earlobe and I’m crying out in pain.
“There,” he says, quickly fastening the back of the post in. I feel wetness, smell my own blood as it drips from my ear onto my shoulder.
“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.