chapter Thirty-Nine
Sig, Brigit and I stood side by side in front of the small door that kept Peyton at a safe distance from the rest of the world. The hall was so cramped we barely had enough room for three of us to stand.
“So what now?” Brigit asked, rocking on her heels. She was making a valiant effort to appear nonchalant, but I knew her well enough by now to recognize the unease creeping into her voice.
“Now we must open the door.”
My eyes widened. “Why?” I was in no mood to chat with Peyton again, not after our last tête-à-tête. If I went the remainder of my years, however many they might be, without seeing Peyton’s gaunt, creepy face ever again, I’d be all too happy.
“We need his blood,” Sig said matter-of-factly, ignoring my dismay.
There was no way we were getting out of this without opening the door. Fine. But that didn’t mean I had to set foot anywhere near—
“Secret,” Sig continued, “would you be so kind?”
“I…” I struggled to come up with a viable excuse, but he and I both knew I was perfectly aware of how to open the stupid door, and my blood would do the trick as easily as his would. “F*ck it. Fine.”
This time Sig didn’t need to draw blood for me. My fangs slid out with little coaxing, and I bit my own thumb. Pressing the blood against the door, I followed the steps as Sig had shown me before, and the swimming blue light slipped away as if afraid of my blood. The lock vanished and the door swung open as it had for Sig the first time we’d come down here.
Not that knowing what was coming made it any less fascinating to watch. Somehow it felt more magical now that it was my blood unlocking the seal.
I turned to Sig and held my hand out to the open door. “I’ve seen this show before.”
He didn’t budge. Instead, he held out a thin, sharp blade to me, handle first. “She is your responsibility. And so is he. Traditionally, it would be expected that you would draw his blood in a more…standard way. But I understand you might be too squeamish for that.”
Did Sig just imply I was too chickenshit to bite Peyton?
The knife was now more of a mockery than a tool I’d find good use for. How long was I going to have to fight for the council to take me seriously?
Gently, I pushed his hand away from me.
“I think I can handle one little vampire.” But the hard swallow that nearly caught in my throat made my unease apparent.
Before Sig could offer me the knife again, I ducked under the low doorframe, leaving the Tribunal leader and my ward out in the hall. Once again, I was alone with Peyton. My head was spinning with the scary reality of what I was expected to do.
“Couldn’t…get…enough.” His rasping voice brought me back to my senses.
I moved as close to the husk of Peyton as I dared. “I’m not planning to make a habit of it.”
“You look…delicious.” His withered lips, still oozing a clear liquid, made a crackling noise as he tried to grin at me. The result was a menacing grimace, his lips sticking to his gums, showing me his one good fang and the too-long roots of his other teeth.
“Red is a good color on me,” I replied.
“I…once…painted you… So. Very. Red.” His last three words were spoken with perfectly clarity, no drawn-out wheeze in between like the previous ones. He said them with eerie precision, each vowel short, the consonants clipped and thick with his accent. I looked over my shoulder, hoping to see an easy escape. Instead, Sig was leaning against the wall near the door, watching me with a guarded expression.
I couldn’t be a scared teenager anymore, which was how Peyton always made me feel. Now I had to be a Tribunal leader, ruthless and cunning. My blood had to run cold if I was going to survive in the vampire world.
If they wanted me to be like them, I was going to show them just how much of a vampire I could be.
“Do you remember how my blood tasted?” I asked, crawling closer. My glare bored into his rapt gaze, those eyes black with hunger and edged with madness. In spite of his crazed appearance, the methodical killer I once knew was still in there. “When you swallow the nothing you are given, do you remember the last drink you had?” My head angled to one side, and I narrowed my eyes. “Is it sweet, Peyton?” Another inch closer. “Or do I taste f*cking bitter on your tongue?”
He tried and failed to lick his lips.
My fangs were still extended, and it was my turn to give him my best, most demented smile. It wasn’t something I had to fake. Being near him brought something ugly out in me. “I wonder how you taste.”
The blackness receded from his irises for the barest fraction of a second, and I saw what I was desperately hoping for. Fear. Since I was sixteen he had been the monster I’d been most scared of. The bastard who had taught me the limits of my own mortality.
And now he was scared of me.
I edged closer still, and he tried to recoil.
“Come on, Peyton, you like a little pain, don’t you?” Rocking back on my heels, I raised my face to his chained arm and breathed out warmly on his bound hand. “But you like to dish it out… Let’s see how you like to take it.” Our gazes locked, the blackness back in his eyes, but the fear and uncertainty remained.
When I bit into his wrist, he jerked away. He fought against me, and I watched him as I tore open the skin without a care in the world for how badly it would hurt. There was no meaty flesh or thick muscle to resist me, just sinew over bone.
Almost no blood came out of the wound. It was a wonder he had any left at all. My gaze never left his as I wiped a smear of blood from the open bite mark onto my palm and licked my lips to clean the remainder off. He tasted bitter, a little too much like copper without any of the sweetness one should find in fresh blood.
I pursed my lips. I was disgusted with myself, but I couldn’t let him see it.
“I’ve had you…” He made as if to laugh, but just wheezed. “And you…have had…me.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I rose to a crouch and loomed over him. If blood was shared between vampires, it forged a powerful connection, making it easier for them to find one another. It hadn’t been my intention to forge such a bond between Peyton and myself, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. “You’ll never get a chance to abuse it.”
“Never…say never.”
I didn’t respond. I had already let him use my time too much, and every second I stayed near him was an opportunity for him to get the upper hand again.
Back outside I held my bloody palm out for Sig’s approval. He nodded and shut the door.
“Your blood, as the choice was yours.” Without waiting for me to do it myself, Sig took my clean hand and drew a fang across my palm. His breath was shockingly hot, and I gasped before withdrawing my hand.
I wiped my fresh blood on the wooden door, which served the dual purpose of re-locking it and taking the first step of our ceremony.
Sig continued, pausing to lick a trace of my blood from his lips. “His blood, as he is the prisoner.”
I smeared the blood I’d taken from Peyton over my own on the door. The wood responded with a faint hiss.
“And her blood…” he angled his chin to Brigit, “…as her life is now the key to his freedom.”
Brigit, who had watched the steps in wide-eyed wonderment, now followed suit and bit her own thumb open, adding her blood to the mess on the door. The hissing grew louder, and a silvery-gray smoke curled out from under the layers of blood until all the red had vanished and the door was as smooth as ever.
“That’s it?” I asked.
“Did you say the magic words?” Sig asked.
“The…magic words?” I turned from the door and saw him smirking. “Oh you’re f*cking hilarious.” I gave the door one last look, and for the hell of it added, “Abracadabra.” As far as magic words went, it was as good as it got.