But to document my surrender, to show the Society that I can’t even control my own urges would be something of social suicide. It’s what pulled Bartholomew under. Granted, I’m not my cousin—I don’t want a harem of devoted bloodbags, and I most certainly don’t feel the urge to murder my little viper.
My brain turns about like a carousel. She’s right. She’s just my lab rat and my source of food. Why would I be concerned about her well-being beyond that determined by a vampire family from long before my rebirth?
Keep bloodbags nourished. It’s one of the easiest guidelines available.Avoid the promise of eternal life for contracts under five years. Even easier.
Those are my only obligations to Amber. Nothing should make me want to surgically remove whatever pain hides in the darkness of that memory.
I reach for her. “You’ll answer my questions because I’m your vampire.”
“Try on this vest.”
She snakes out of my reach, snatching an unfinished product from the nearest sewing form.
She scoots a stepping stool toward me and steps up, still not quite meeting my height with the extra few inches. She drapes the vest over my shoulders. I allow it.
Something tells me I shouldn’t agitate her.
But why not? That’s the whole point of studying her reaction. She’s giving me memories, not just thoughts. My brain does the carousel thing all over again.If that’s the case, then how many other vampires have experienced such trading?
“Don’t think so hard about it,” she says while stepping down from the stool. “Just shrug your shoulders a bit—right—don’t be afraid to wear it, Darius. If you tear the seams, I can repair them. Easy peasy.”
I spare her a critical glance. “Perhaps refrain from such language in front of the court.”
“Sure thing, pop.”
“I’m not your pop.”
Irritation follows me to the left, to the windows where a large mirror sits. I reach for my necklace—and I don’t find it.
A flash of fear races through me. I catch myself before I step into a full beam of sunlight, twisting my shoe over the rug, tumbling forward like some drunken oaf. I stumble right into the light and cower, covering my head to protect it from the invasive rays, waiting for the way it should sting or burn. Preparing for the smell of burnt flesh as I struggle to flip around in time, to race back to Amber.
But nothing happens. No singe. No burn. Just warm light flooding my shoulders and feeling as normal as it typically does whenever I wear my necklace.
I pat my chest repeatedly. “Necklace.”
Amber looks horrified. “Where is it?” She gapes at me. “But you’re standing right in the light.” She darts forward. “Get out of there, you idiot!”
I hold up my hands, allowing sunlight to trickle between my fingers. “Breathe, Amber. Pause.Observe.”
She follows my instructions, standing in front of me with more confusion twisting her features than the time Quinn announced me as her bloodbag match. She touches the vest. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either.”
“How can you be immune without your necklace?”
I rummage through my pocket. It’s not there either. “I haven’t the slightest clue.”
She touches the pair of scar tissue circles on her neck. “Do you think—?”
“That would be absurd.”
She fixes me with a curious glance. “Are you sure, Darius? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be studying? How I affect you?”
She has a point.
One that I’m not too keen on recognizing out loud. This is a rather precarious position. I’m standing in open daylight without any spelled jewelry or items made by—
All of my thoughts roll away like a fog clearing from a meadow. What remains are blades of evergreen grass kissed by dew drops, petals softer than flesh rustled by the wind on healthy stems, and a cloudless sky untouched by pollution. Everything is clear.