Chapter 3

Later, once I stopped leaking the black crap and the two of us had cleaned up—without the fun and games I’d been planning on, unfortunately—Royce gave me some clothing that he must have sent someone out to get for me. The sweater and designer jeans still had tags on them. I wasn’t about to ask how he knew my bra or underwear size, but the underthings that came with the new clothes were far more silky and revealing than I was used to, and a shade of green that was a bit more daring than I would have chosen on my own. It looked better than I was expecting, but neither Royce nor I were interested in doing anything about that after the scene in the shower.

He brought me downstairs with him. Some of the other inhabitants of the building were waiting for us, watching with eyes that glittered like red gemstones in the dark as we passed. The atmosphere was a hell of a lot more sinister in here sans the night vision and superhuman strength granted by the belt. Royce looked back at me as a shiver crept down my spine when Wes fell into step behind us.

After that, Royce took my hand. It was creepy how he’d known something was wrong without even looking at me. The cool press of his fingers curled around mine was comforting, but didn’t make me any less afraid of the crimson embers burning in the depths of Wes’s eyes when I glanced at him over my shoulder.

No doubt the dread pirate vampire was still pissed at me for the cheap shots I got in during our fight last night.

Royce led me to Mouse’s apartment. The door was open, and I did my best not to stare at all of the swords and daggers and other sharp, pointy objects the house guard kept in her living room.

“Analie. You remember Ms. Waynest, do you not?”

There was a young girl with mousy brown hair in the kitchen, furiously stirring something in a bowl. She used a flour-covered arm to move some stray strands of hair out of her eyes and gave us a sunny grin. “Sure. Hi, Shia.”

I lifted a hand and gave her a halfhearted wave, wondering what all this was about. Analie was one of the three werewolves who were currently “guests” in Royce’s home. I didn’t know the specifics of how Analie had come to be the vampire’s ward, but I knew it wasn’t something she’d been happy about. The other two—Ashi and Christoph—had done something stupid and tried attacking the vampire to save her from his clutches. Since their actions hadn’t been sanctioned by their alpha, they had been magically neutered by some collars that suppressed their ability to shift and gifted to Royce’s household. When I was stuck recovering from the blood bond to Royce, I had met the three of them in passing, but I wasn’t supposed to spend much time around any of them.

Royce ushered me before him, settling his hands lightly at my waist. It struck me as a strangely possessive move, but I wasn’t about to complain. “I have some errands to attend to. Give her a sample of your new skills. Perhaps you two can keep each other entertained until I return.”

That made me stiffen. “You’re leaving?”

He leaned in to kiss my cheek. Analie, blushing, nodded and turned away from us.

“You’re staying here,” he said, cool lips lingering against my cheek. “I won’t be long.”

With that, his grip tightened in what I assume was supposed to be a reassuring squeeze, and then he pulled away.

Dismissed so easily. It served as a reminder of what I was now. Something I wouldn’t ever be able to forget. Feeling a little sick, I sat in the chair Wes pulled out for me, not surprised when he settled down across from me. Royce nodded to Wes and left without another word.

Analie put the bowl down and shook her spoon at Wes. “Stop glaring at her.” It wasn’t until she said anything that I realized Wes had been giving me the evil eye. Which, when it’s coming from a very old vampire, is pretty disconcerting. “If you’re going to hang out in my kitchen, behave yourself.”

Wes continued glaring at me a moment longer, then eased back in his seat, blinking the crimson glow out of his eyes. The crystalline blue that took its place as his pupils contracted and darkened was as chill as the red was hot, the sleek lines of his carefully trimmed goatee bristling as the muscles in his jaw tightened.

“I’ll behave if she does.”

“I don’t have the belt,” I said, suddenly tired beyond measure. “I’m no threat anymore. Not to you.”

“No? You still stink of desperation and sickness under the sex. Did you think no one would notice?”

Analie’s spoon jangled as she dropped it on the counter, her gasp lost in the sound of my indignant sputtering. I rose, the chair clattering to the floor. Before I could do anything more, Wes was in front of me—I hadn’t seen him move—and his hand had closed around my wrist, preventing me from running off or falling as I jerked away from him. It wasn’t until I felt warmth trickle down my arm that I realized he’d cut me, too.

“Look at it. You’re filled with corruption. Tell me that isn’t a threat.”

It didn’t exactly hurt—the cut he must have made with a fang or a nail when he grabbed me wasn’t deep—but he was right. I didn’t bleed red—I bled black.

“What’s wrong?”

Wes and I both tore our gazes off of the dark trickle at my wrist to look at Analie. She didn’t look afraid or upset, as I had expected. Just curious.

When Wes didn’t answer the question, I realized he was waiting for me to tell her. Like I had any answers to give.

“I wish I knew,” I said, pulling experimentally to see if Wes would let me go. His fingers tightened reflexively, then released me. “Royce didn’t know. He said it has something to do with being bound by . . . by having vampire blood in me and the infection from a werewolf at the same time.”

Now didn’t seem like the right time to discuss how Royce had bitten me while we were doing the horizontal tango. I didn’t doubt now that he must have known something was wrong, though I wondered as to his motivation behind remaining quiet about the illness he must have tasted.

As for Analie, the look she gave me was hard to decipher. She put the bowl down, absently licked some batter off of her thumb, and came closer. I didn’t resist when she took my wrist, sniffing gingerly at the blood. Her nose wrinkled, and she quickly backed away.

“I doubt it will kill you, but yeah, he’s right. That blood stinks of infection something fierce.”

Bowing my head and pressing my fingertips to my temples, I did my very best not to growl something uncomplimentary at them both.

“Just stay there, keep quiet, and I’m sure we’ll all get through this evening unscathed.”

I put my hands down and gave Wes the most baleful look I could muster. He stared back, clearly unimpressed.

“Well,” Analie said, her voice full of false gaiety, “you two can stay and keep me company. I don’t mind. It’s better talking to you guys than listening to Christoph and Ashi complaining about their collars again.”

So Wes and I stayed at the table, listening with half an ear as Analie chattered about her cooking lessons with someone named Jacques. She occasionally pulled out a dish, utensil, or a spice and held it up for us to see as she made a point, and we nodded along, making obliging sounds at the right times, though I honestly have no recollection of most of the stuff she told us. My mind was too busy considering what might be wrong with me (aside from an obvious and complete inability to make good decisions) and what the rest of the night might hold in store for me once Royce returned.

After a while, I came out of my introspection long enough to notice that Wes kept glancing at his phone, and was occasionally typing something on it. E-mailing or texting.

He shrugged at my questioning look and put the phone on the table. “Alec says he’s had a change of plans and will take a little longer than expected. He’ll be back as soon as he can.” At my dispirited nod, he continued. “Don’t look so glum. He’s bringing your friend back with him.”

That got my attention.

“Sara? He’s picking her up?”

“Yes. So no running off while the master is out, eh?”

That wasn’t a moniker I wanted to associate with Royce anywhere other than in my head, but the thought of seeing Sara again had me too happy to be upset about it. I grinned and leaned across the table. Wes jerked back from my touch, but I yanked him into an awkward, sideways hug anyway.

Analie, smiling, gave my shoulder a pat. “How about we make some cookies for them while we wait? Christoph and Ashi wanted more of these things Jacques showed me how to make. They’re these cinnamon cream-filled pastries. . . .”

I nodded and rose to join her at the counter, hoping the mundane activities would keep my mind off of all the craziness going on and busy enough until Sara arrived that the passing minutes wouldn’t feel like hours. Doing something so normal might also help distract me from little details. Things like my fellow chef’s being a werewolf, our babysitter’s being a vampire, that we were using a vampire’s kitchen to make goodies for other werewolves who occasionally doubled as walking Slurpees for the vamps, and—say, what did a vampire need a kitchen for, anyway?