“Off you go,” Costin said to the others. The girls grabbed their drinks and rushed off without prodding, up the stairs and into their individual partitions. The guards were more hesitant. They knew Westie’s reputation for losing her head whenever she was angry. It was hard to kill a vampire, but Westie’s mechanics made a fair foe. “The rest of you too,” Costin said to the guards in the room.
They looked ready to protest but eventually left Westie and Costin alone.
Costin stood, grabbed a chair from a stack against the wall, and placed it next to his. He lit the candles in their sconces for her benefit and motioned her to sit. She did.
“It’s quite an honor having you here. There is only one reason a human girl comes to a blood brothel,” Costin said with a mischievous grin.
Westie screwed up her face. If he thought she was going to let him drink her blood, he had another think coming.
“I need vampire blood,” she said.
Even with blown pupils black as pots of coal dust, she could see the disappointment in his eyes.
“All right, two reasons, but what you’re asking is against the law, as is barging into my establishment and threatening my guards. You could be hanged for your offenses if I were to go to the sheriff.”
Westie knew the sheriff didn’t like her, but his hatred for creatures went deeper than any petty dislike. A fact she didn’t mention.
“If I were the guest of honor at a string party every time I offended, I would’ve died as a child,” she said.
The sultriness crept back into his voice. “Yes, you’re quite contrary, aren’t you?”
She smiled sweetly, then let her lips fall back into a serious line. “Now about that blood.”
“For your long-standing illness?” he asked.
She remembered her kicking and flailing at the airdocks, and Nigel’s quick lie about seizures. “Yes.”
He lifted his head so that he could gaze incredulously down at her. “You come in here wanting vampire blood, which could get us both killed were anyone to know I gave it to you, and yet you lie to me.”
Their eyes dueled for a long moment before Costin turned his gaze away from her. “I know a seizure when I see one, and that display at the airdocks was no seizure. That, my love, was a fit of rage, though I have yet to figure out why.” Westie opened her mouth to speak, but Costin stopped her. “No. Don’t tell me. I like a good puzzle.”
“I wasn’t going to. I need that blood, and I need it before Nigel wakes up and sees I’m gone.”
Costin peeked at her through the corners of his eyes. “What will I get in return?”
“I have money.”
“I have more money than you can imagine. Why would I want your little bag of coins?”
“I don’t have time for games, Costin. What do you want?”
“I want you to drink from my vein.”
She nearly choked when she heard those words. Drinking from a vampire’s vein was erotic for creatures, like sex was for humans.
“No,” she said. “No way, nope.”
He smiled, looking smug. “Then no blood. Do have a good evening, Westie, and be careful on your way home. The werewolves are out tonight; wouldn’t want to get fleas.”
Westie stood from her chair and fought the urge to break it to splinters. “I need that blood, Costin—you don’t understand.” Her hand shook. “I need to cure my addiction. If I don’t get sober for good, Nigel won’t believe a word I say, and he won’t let the—” She started to mention the Fairfields but stopped herself. The fewer people who knew about her vendetta, the better. “I just . . . I need it.”
“What is it you need Nigel to believe?” he said.
She bit her lip to keep from screaming at him. “I can’t tell you.”
“Then no blood for you.” He stood up to walk away.
“Wait!” She put her hands on top of her head, cringing at the stupid choice she knew she was about to make. Costin stopped in midstride and turned to face her. “All right,” she said. “I’ll drink blood from your vein, but I can’t tell you why I need Nigel to believe me.”
He put his hand to his chin in thought, though Westie could tell by his smirk that his mind had already been made up.
“Very well. We will go to my room, where it will be more private. This could get messy,” he said with a wink.
Nineteen
Costin’s room was nothing like Westie had imagined. There was no coffin, no dirt floor, no blood on the walls, no horrible smells. Instead the walls were covered in white gauzy fabric and the room smelled like citrus. There was a circular bed in the center of the room, with mounds of feather pillows covered in silk. Everything was neat and in its place. Costin was a tidy creature.
Westie’s neck arched as she took it all in. She was growing even more nervous, she realized when her stomach began to flutter.
Costin fussed with pillows to carve out a space for her on the bed.
She took off her duster and shoes, tossing them onto a chair across the room so she wouldn’t get blood on them. He watched her with brows raised and a curious smile. “Eager, are we?” he said.
She plopped down on the bed, wriggling to get comfortable. “I want to get this over with. How do we start?”
“Lie down,” he said.
Leaning against a stack of pillows, she watched Costin pull a box from a dresser drawer beside the bed. Inside was a red glass dagger.
Westie sat up, her muscles tensed for a brawl.