Page 13 of Blood & Bedlam

My teeth clench so tightly together my jaw locks, and it’s all I can do to give her a terse nod. The pen falls from my hand to the desk as a tiny movement registers at the door, and the sweet scent of the warm blood pumping through human veins permeates the room. Mina stands, wrapped in the dark blanket from my bed, shuffling uncomfortably from foot to foot as she takes us in. Her cheeks are stained red from tear tracks, hair a wild mess of deflated curls, and still, she takes the air from my lungs.

“Turn me into what?”

Shock keeps us all from answering her. Fleur crosses to Mina at breakneck speed, alarm bulging her wide, green eyes.

“Sleep,” she commands, the lace of her power a thrum on her vocal chords, and I watch as for the second time tonight, Mina’s eyes close as she fades from consciousness. Before her body even starts to fall, Claire has her scooped up in her arms. “How did she break my compulsion?” Fleur’s eyebrows scrunch as she pushes back a lock of dark hair from Mina’s face. I swallow, my grip on the desk crushing as the beast inside me demands I go to her.

That no one else should even be touching her.

“Get her up to bed. She’s had an ordeal and tomorrow will be jarring. Juliette, stay with her the next few hours. Claire, take over in your beast form during the morning. We’ll sort this out, but for now, we need to gather as much information as we can,” Cami orders. There’s a flurry of movement, but all I can hear is the slow, steady retreating sound of Mina’s heart beating as she’s carried back upstairs. Fleur and Camille exchange a few more words, and then I’m left alone with my thoughts, adrenaline waning. I have to get my head screwed on straight, because in all the chaos, one thing rings true, loud and clear.

They’re coming for my family.

I pull out my phone and dial the number of the only Otherworlder I know I can trust. Tully answers on the second ring.

“Dracul?” His voice comes through exhausted, muffled by the din of a crowd somewhere on his side, and it dawns on me he’s most likely been up all night responding to calls throughout the city.

“I need you at the Manor as soon as possible.”

“Give me fifteen.” With a grunt, I hang up and wait for the young shifter to arrive. There’s a target on Camille’s back, and though she’s going to hate me for even suggesting it, it’s time she took an Immortal Guard.

Reine

CHAPTER 6

I crack my eyes and take in the room, now flooded with sunlight. Everything hurts. I’ve blown past panic attacks and sailed straight into full mental breakdown territory. My throat is ragged and raw from swallowing tears and choking on air, muscles screaming in protest at me for having the audacity to exist. Twice, they somehow made me sleep—my head is too fuzzy to grab onto any tangible memories, making recalling anything difficult. My temple throbs as I glance around, afraid one of them is going to somehow force me back to sleep.

But I’m mercifully alone now.

I sit up and take stock of my body. An expensive-feeling silk pajama set has replaced my torn dress, my hair loose and free of the bobby pins that held it up elegantly just hours ago. My gown lies discarded on a chaise at the foot of this massive four-poster bed, the jewels stained with my blood—the hem stained with Makenna’s.

Oh god, Makenna.

What happened to her body? I need to go to the police, but what would I even tell them? Excuse me, my friend and I were mind-roofied by some Eurotrash vampires, and one of them killed her and she was so fucking gone that she smiled as he did it. And then another vampire who I’ve been seeing in my dreams my entire life rescued me and ripped out that fucker’s fang.

NOPD would have me locked up in Brookhaven in a heartbeat—or worse, they’d say I’d done something to hurt Makenna in some sort of fucked-up psychosis. The tears come, hot and heavy, and try as I might to gulp them down, they won’t relent. Salt burns my raw skin and I grab a pillow, pressing it to my face to muffle the sobs that just won’t stop coming. I inhale deeply, and the smell of cologne, all masculine and pleasant, sticks to my lungs. It shouldn’t calm me, but a sense of ease breaks through the haze of pain just as a soft meow bellows out from the foot of the bed.

I glance over and see a large ginger tabby cat stretch out, flexing her little paws as her big, hazel eyes study me in that intelligent way cats do.

“Hey there,” I choke, laying my hand flat on the sheets, palm up. She eyes it. Takes a tentative step forward. “It’s all right,” I encourage. A tiny spark of something just adjacent to joy ignites when she pads over, her body moving in languid steps over the silk sheets. A ghost of a smile passes my lips as she dips her head, twisting so her crown rubs against the skin of my palm. She stands again and moves right onto the expanse of my lap.

My fingers stroke her ears and she starts to purr, the sound a true comfort. I hold on to that feeling, pull her close to my chest. She meows softly in what may be considered protest but settles easily on a perch in my arms.

“Can you show me how to get out of here?” I ask. She huffs, then pushes her paws back, breaking my hold. I let her go and she lands gracefully on the floor beside us, encircling the foot I have dangling over the side. Looking around, it strikes me that this room belongs to someone.

To him.

I don’t know how I know, but I do. Chalk that up to the rest of the absolute clown shoes the last twenty-four hours has been. Pushing off the oversized bed, my bare feet meet the hard wood of the oak flooring. I make my way to the armoire and crack it open to find a hidden closet recessed in the walls. Row after row of shirts and suits are neatly hung, ties and socks with designer names all in perfect order. Stepping inside, I run my hands over the high-thread-count clothing. It’s soothing, the fabrics soft under my fingers. As I move, I take my time exploring, cataloging. The closet is massive, nearly half the size of the bedroom, every piece meticulously arranged.

I can’t stay here.

If these people are monsters, too, now may be my only chance to get out of here. Vampires can’t be out while the sun shines, right? It’s in pretty much every bit of lore I’ve ever heard. The decision is made quickly—I grab a plain button-down off a hanger and shove my arms through hastily, then swipe a pair of too-big brown boots. My fingers tremble slightly over the laces, but I tie them as tightly as I can before creeping quietly across the floor and pushing open the large window. It’s heavy, most likely never opened, and if it’s anything like the one in my walk-up, it’ll be loud as shit. I bite my lip, gritting my teeth together, and push with all my might, praying for just a little bit of overdue luck that it’ll open quietly.

I nearly cry out with relief when it comes open with nothing more than a small squeak. Stifling hot air smacks into my chest, the humidity of a Louisiana fall morning just north of hell as I climb gingerly onto the balcony. My breath catches—I’m two floors up. My eyes search around the frame, assessing the creeping ivy, calculating if the latticework will hold my weight. I decide it’s going to have to because, if it doesn’t, I’m likely to be dead anyway, and if it comes down to falling to my death or having a fucker drain me dry with a smile on my face, I know which way I want to go. Swinging my legs over the edge, I finagle my foot in the cumbersome boots until I find a toehold, and when I lower myself down, I look up to see the tabby staring at me with intensely familiar eyes just inside the shade of the room, her tail flicking lazily around as she watches me make my escape.

“I’m sorry I cried on you,” I whisper apologetically. She tilts her head to the side, watching intently as I begin the treacherous descent down the side of this mansion. I don’t let myself look at the ground behind me as I go. Instead, I keep my eyes on the vines in front of me, putting entirely too much faith in someone’s landscaping and my own feet as I scale this wall.

That gamble collapses on me like a house of cards halfway down. A scream rips from my lips, the air folding around me, pressing in on my lungs while the balcony grows smaller and smaller against the hazy blue sky. The irony that I’ve had thousands of dreams about falling to my death in my life isn’t lost on me—and here I am, reenacting it in real time.