Page 34 of Blood & Bedlam

“I’m really fucking this up.” I blow out a breath, scrubbing my hand over the stubble on my chin.

“You do look like shit,” he fires back, but there’s a playfulness to his tone that only Drake can pull off. It’s that cocky swagger that probably won over Claire, her perfect match.

“Yeah … that’s fair,” I admit.

Drake turns on his heel, carefully avoiding the puddles of blood on the floor, and heads toward the door.

“You coming? We need a drink if we’re gonna get into this.” He calls over his shoulder, and I hesitate. We both know I don’t want to go back to the Manor, and we both know why. Maybe it’s the blood loss, maybe it was the death and resurrection in rapid fire today, or maybe I’m just lost—but my feet decide to follow him out before my mind catches up. One thing is for sure; Cami’s la morte dell’alba is days away, and that means the clock is running down for my daughter and Reine.

And I’m a fucking mess.

Vladimir

CHAPTER 17

I settle back against the leather of the booth of La Petite Mort, swirling the blood-spiked aged whiskey in the crystal tumbler. All around us, Otherworlders conversate, vamps starting their days, shifters ending theirs, all mixing and mingling together in a way uncommon in other territories. La Petite Mort is a small jazz club in Uptown, the owners a witch and vamp from the old world who opened up shop in the mid-1800s. Dark wood, opulent gold, and crushed velvet furnishings scream of taste and old money, and the siren crooning away on the stage accompanied by a jazz band sets the mood.

Drake takes a sip of his old-fashioned, eyes raking over the room. From our private booth, we have an unobstructed view, but the enchantments on this table allow us to see everything without being eavesdropped on.

“Claire and I had our first date here,” he drops thoughtfully, the smile on his face gentle as he points with his chin to a booth right near the stage. “We sat right there. I was so nervous.”

“Well, you were in a room full of Otherworlders, mortal as could be,” I say, but he shakes his head and takes another drink of the burning liquid.

“Nah, I had no idea about the Otherworld, but I could have been in the middle of a shark tank and wouldn’t have cared as long as she kept talking to me. She took my breath away.” The way he moons over Claire, even now, blooms warmth in my chest. “You know, I was nothing when she met me. I had nothing to offer her. Just an immigrant dockworker, slinging fish so I could make a life in the new world, running from the war and unrest of Bulgaria.” His eyes grow soft, as does his voice. I can tell we’re coming to his point.

“This is different,” I say, draining the rest of my own drink and watching as it instantly refills of its own volition, the blood a little heavier in this pour.

“I would argue it’s the same. You know, before we Bonded, Claire told me about the Blood. The hunger and fear that she would drain me dry. I took her seriously, because I could feel how scared she was. I was in love with her, but I didn’t understand the depth of a Bond, even one not consecrated, or how it changes the people involved. I thought I was just enraptured with her, but the changes in my body, the mood swings, the … desires. They were hers, leaking into me from her own emotions and needs. But they were also mine.”

“If I kill her, it puts our family at risk. If I turn her, we would never know if it was because it’s what she wants, or if it was just a Band-Aid to save her life.”

Drake huffs a laugh and shakes his head.

“If they kill her now, which is much easier in her mortal form, it would destroy you anyway. They know who she is and saw how you reacted. If the First Bloods haven’t figured it out yet, they will know for sure the moment you refuse to surrender her to them. This path is set, Vladimir. She must be turned, and it doesn’t matter much the why of it all. They will come for her. You do need her blood to keep you strong. Look at today. I know Cami is strong, but even at half power, she wouldn’t have been able to dispatch you so quickly. You’re weak, and it’s putting us all in danger. Turn her, drink from her. Teach Reine to protect herself. This is happening, like it or not.”

I avoid his gaze, the anxiety working me into knots.

“She’s depressed,” he whispers. My head snaps up at that. “Claire says every day she gets more subdued. She’s not eating more than a few bites, tossing and turning in her sleep according to Jules. You don’t want to hear this, but it’s the truth. I’ve been where she is, and the changes happening with her are going to start to get more painful, the more you abstain. You need to at least explain it to her. Give her the option to choose.”

“I know.” I sigh, the defeat clear within me even as my beast preens. He wants his Bonded, needs to be near her. “It’s me that’s holding back.”

“It’s understandable. The other night was the only time I’ve seen you lose control, but Claire’s shown me what it was like on that ship, when you fed from the vein. It’s terrifying. But you brought yourself back because the four of them needed you. And look, I get it with Reine too—you’re scared of the pain you felt when she died the first time. That’s a pain that formed you into who you are. Caused you to take on the Dark Gift.” Drake shrugs causally, picking apart my insecurities with ease. “But I think what’s between you can survive. There’s something about that girl. She’s strong.”

His words hang between us. “I know she is,” I reply.

The smug bastard knows he’s won, and he knows I know it too. “Now that you’re ready to pull your head out of your ass, let’s drink.”

Several more glasses appear on the table. I let the night get away from us, drowning in the spiked alcohol, my mind drifting to Reine with each drop that passes my lips. It’s only 3 A.M. when we stumble into the Manor, and relief washes through me when I realize that it’s too late for Reine to be awake. Drake pats me twice on the back and lumbers off, no doubt to fall into bed with Claire and spend time with her before her shift to watch Reine begins.

“Thank you, Son,” I call, but Drake just lifts a hand up in response and hauls his big ass down the steps to their quarters.

“Dracul.” Minette clears her throat, and I turn to see my maid standing outside of the double doors of the dining room. “If you would follow me—this way, please,” she instructs. Confusion rips through me, but I’m tipsy enough to follow without question. She opens the doors wide and escorts me through the empty formal dining room, out onto the terrace.

I scent her before I even see her, count her heartbeats on the wind—Reine is seated at the small table, dressed in a flowing purple sundress that complements her beautifully. Her hair is slung over her left shoulder, and I wince because I know if I pull it back, I’ll see marks matching the ones hidden just under the collar of my jacket. Marks none of my children have asked me about, but they’ve definitely seen.

The wind catches her scent and carries it to me, causing my damn mouth to water. On the table, there are fresh oysters and a bottle of honeysuckle wine that tugs at me. My body is still a little drunk, but my mind is sobering rapidly as Minette instructs me to sit across from Reine. So far outside of the hustle and bustle of the city, the Manor enjoys more starlight normally, but the moon is full, and Fates alive, Reine looks incredible.

She clears her throat but doesn’t say anything as I sit. I find that makes me sweat, which is ridiculous. I’m an eight-hundred-year-old vampyr, for Fates’ sake.