The Wicked Within

Page 14

His entire demeanor changed. He walked back into his room. He hadn’t shut the door in my face, so I followed him inside, closing the door behind me as he leaned his hip against the dresser.
I’d intended to ask him about the meeting with the council, but instead “Another vampire? Were you?” came out of my mouth.
Damn Gabriel! Damn me for my weakness, and damn Sebastian, because he wasn’t even denying it.
“Is that where you were all last night and today?” I asked.
His eyes sparked and his mouth drew into a tight line, the agitation in him filling the room. He gave a short, disbelieving laugh, disappointment written all over his face. “You’re really asking me that?”
“I am, and you know what? It pisses me off that I am. How would I know? You won’t tell me anything. I have no idea when you feed, how you feed. . . . I’m in the dark, Sebastian. So, yeah, I’m asking.”
“It is what I am now. I feed. I have to. And trust me, I like it a hell of a lot less than you do.”
“Yeah, I hear it’s terrible.” I hated the sarcasm that leaped out, but I was unable to stop it. “Look,” I said in a calmer voice, “I’ve learned enough to know feeding is some kind of high, a really good one. When you bit me . . . ” Heat filled my face, and my pulse sped up. I know what I felt, and it was far from terrible. “You can’t tell me you didn’t . . . ” Enjoy it? Love it? But maybe I was wrong, maybe he’d had an entirely different reaction from me. And if that was the case, I was digging myself into one hell of an embarrassing hole.
Quiet filled the room; the memories of his bite were still so vivid. The way he’d held me pinned against the wall. His hot mouth on my neck. His tongue flicking out to lick, teeth piercing skin . . . I swallowed.
“Never mind. Just forget it.” Why did I even go there? I should have kept walking right out of Violet’s room and back to mine. I stepped to the door, but his hand slapped it shut. His body hovered behind mine, his hand staying braced on the door in front of me. Seconds passed. Then his other hand lifted a strand of my hair. A shiver went down my back. I let my forehead fall against the door and closed my eyes, as a whirlwind of emotions swirled through me.
Sebastian moved closer and gathered my hair, draping all of it over one shoulder and baring the other. I went to turn toward him. “Don’t,” he commanded in a low voice.
My breath went shallow as he dipped his head and brushed a light kiss on my exposed shoulder, then my neck. His breath was so warm. My fingernails dug into the door as his lips trailed up my neck and to my ear. “I did like it,” he murmured. “I loved it.” His words sent tingles dancing along my nerves. “But it’s a dark thing.” His hand closed around my hip. “I wanted to use you, take everything you had to give until I was satisfied. I almost killed you.”
He turned me to face him. “I almost killed you,” he repeated.
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. My heart pounded like one of his drums. “It was the first time,” I said. “And look at the situation we were in. You were tortured and starved. That you were able to stop . . . with me . . . that says a lot. Aren’t you getting better at control?”
He didn’t answer.
“You wouldn’t hurt me.”
His forehead touched mine, and he shook his head. “I would. I’m only a couple of weeks old. I would.”
“Do you feed from others?”
“I have. I am what I am. Accept it or not,” he said defensively, “this part of me is not going to change.
“I want to accept you, but it’s kind of hard when you haven’t told me how you feel, what you need. How can I accept anything if you won’t let me in, Sebastian? I don’t know anything about it, when you need to feed, who you do it with, if you have feelings for that person when you do. . . . None of it.”
He moved closer again, pressing his hips to mine, wrapping his arms around me. I couldn’t hold in my feelings. “I don’t like it. I feel like we were damned before we even began.” I hated picturing him holding someone else, putting his mouth on their skin.
Granted, I got that he was afraid he’d lose control with me because I meant something to him. And yes, he was only a couple weeks old and playing it safe. He was a good guy, to worry about hurting me. But taking what he needed from others—I didn’t have to like it. And I didn’t understand why he couldn’t open up and let me in.
Sebastian was the first guy I wanted to be in a relationship with. I hadn’t known him all that long in the scheme of things, but we sort of made up for time in that we’d been through things most people would never go through in a thousand lifetimes. The horrors and triumphs we’d faced linked us. We had a strong bond. But our relationship was just beginning. We’d connected, and I’d wanted to see what would come of that connection. But where I was once hopeful, now I was not.
“I don’t like it either, Ari. Just . . . let me work it out, okay?”
“Damn it.” I pushed him away. “No, it’s not okay. You want to touch me like this and I’m supposed to be okay with it after you’ve been holding someone else? I’m supposed to just agree with whatever you want while you keep me in the dark?” I jerked open the door. “Maybe I need to work out some things too, like whether or not that’s okay with me. Oh, no wait. Don’t need time to figure it out. It’s not okay!”
I slammed the door, but it met his hand again as he followed me out of the room, ready to fight.
A horn blasted from outside.
Someone was laying on the car horn out front like it was nobody’s business. Pretty sure it was Crank outside, I marched into my room to grab my weapons.
By the time I was done and downstairs, Sebastian was already walking out the front door. As I crossed the foyer, Henri and Dub’s arguing carried from the kitchen—something about the proper way to chop potatoes.
Outside, Crank’s truck was parked halfway up on the curb.
“About time!” she called, leaning out of the truck. “Hurry up, will you!”
I finished strapping my blade to my thigh and pushed through the gate.
“Get in. One of your teachers told me to come find you and bring you to the square.”
“Bran?” I took a guess, lifting my hand to model his height. “Big guy . . . ”
She popped a bubble with her gum and leaned her forearms on the huge steering wheel. “Yeah. Big dude. Brown hair. Nice tats.”
I nodded. “Did he say what he wants?”
“Nope, but it sounded pretty urgent. So, he wants you to come. Like pronto.”
I walked around to the open passenger side and got in. Sebastian knelt in the empty space between our seats, holding on to them both for support. I wanted to tell him not to bother. Bran hadn’t asked for him. But one glance told me he was coming whether I liked it or not.
As we sped out of the GD, Gabriel’s words still mocked me, and my fists clenched. Next time I saw him, things were going to get ugly.
TEN
THE BRAKES SCREECHED AS THE truck came to a rocking stop in front of Jackson Brewery. “You want me to wait for you guys?”
“No,” I answered, getting out. “You’d better head back home and stop Henri and Dub from killing each other.”
She rolled her eyes. “They at it again?”
“Yeah. Something about chopping potatoes.”
“Oh, Lord. Knives involved? Yup, I’d better get back. He’s down there at 520-B.”
After Crank left us in a cloud of exhaust, I crossed Decatur and started down St. Peter, the wide street between the Pontalba Apartments and the park of Jackson Square. Sebastian was a few steps in front of me, his shoulders hunched against the cool night air. The gnarled tree limbs stretched from the park over the street, and the late hour added a creepy quality to the night.
Sebastian stopped at one of the tall brown doors sandwiched between the ground-floor shops. He rang the buzzer to apartment B.
Footsteps thudded down the stairs. Heavy ones. The door opened and Bran’s shadow loomed large. “About time.”
“You’re welcome,” I responded in a tired tone. “What’s going on?”
He lifted an eyebrow; I wasn’t my usual snarky self. “The kid who lives upstairs has been sitting in the corner, speaking in tongues for the last two days. And seems your name’s come up.”
“My name,” I repeated, surprised.
“Not your given name. She’s mentioned your other name. God-killer. I think it’s a message or some sort of prophetic warning. Come on, I want you to talk to her, see if you can figure out what she wants.” Turning away, Bran muttered, “God knows, now that the shit has hit the fan, we can use all the help we can get. . . . ”
I frowned, not understanding what he meant.
Bran led us inside the tall, narrow space, then up an equally narrow staircase to the second-floor apartments. He paused at the door marked B, looking a little stressed, which was very unlike him.
The apartment was pretty swanky. Jackson Square was lined on two sides by matching apartment buildings. They were known as some of the oldest apartments in North America, and home to many of the Novem families. High ceilings, heavy crown moldings, and expensive furniture—only the best for the Novem, while the rest of the population outside the French Quarter had to make do with spotty electricity and unsafe drinking water.
The instant we stepped inside, I was hit with a thick aura of tension and power. It raised the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck. In the living room, a couple sat on a couch, huddled together, holding hands, looking the very picture of concerned. Bran took the chair next to the couch and leaned close to them.
“I don’t know about this,” the mother said through tears, and I wasn’t sure if her quick glance at me was one of fear or dislike. Probably both. It wasn’t like I was going to hurt her kid or anything. I didn’t even want to be there.