Chapter 7
Excerpt from Blood Feud
(book one, chapter seven)
by August Lirio
Callum and Octavia Yoo were two of the most vicious—and virulently feared—vampires on the Isle.
But they were nothing compared to their sire.
Born in ancient Greece a thousand years before Jesus Christ walked the Earth, Konstantin Adamos stood well over six feet tall, broadly muscled with olive skin, sleek black hair, and features chiseled more finely than any marble statue. During his millennia on Earth, Konstantin enjoyed enormous influence: Some say Konstantin fed his blood to the Holy Father during the Crusades, controlling him in a perpetual blood thrall; others insist Konstantin spent the last fifty years of his life as an arms dealer in Shanghai. All that is known for sure is that Konstantin died shortly before the Isle was created.
Throughout his expansive life span, Konstantin was never more powerful—or more violent—than during the years he spent in Victorian England. During that time, Konstantin was a titan of industry, the shadowy owner of more than a dozen dirty factories that churned through workers at an alarming pace—especially the orphans whose little fingers stitched lace doilies for the ladies of London. Of course, back then, if a poor factory worker went missing, no one batted an eye. So it was that Konstantin had a constant supply of victims, gorging himself on the fresh blood of children, knowing the pipeline would never run dry. In all that time, Konstantin spared only two children that crossed his path:
Callum and Octavia Yoo.
Callum and Octavia’s father was a Korean ship worker who may or may not have known they ever existed. Their mother, a British seamstress, died when the twins were only a few years old, probably of cholera or typhoid. Like so many other children of that time, Callum and Octavia were sent to various orphanages in appalling disrepair, but since they had each other—and a remarkable aptitude for mischief—they always figured out a way to survive. By the time they were twelve and wound up in one of Konstantin’s factories, they’d started a full-on gambling ring for the adults who worked there.
When an ornery guard found them out and brought them to Konstantin for discipline, no one expected ever to see them again. But something in the twins’ nature must have impressed Konstantin, because instead of killing them, he decided to take them on as wards. Throughout their adolescence, they had only the most luxurious clothes, the most lavish trips around the world, the finest tutors. By the time they reached adulthood, they were known throughout London as two of the most charming, witty, and attractive people in the city—but Konstantin forbade them to marry. This suited them fine; they lived such carefree, extravagant lives that they had no wish to take on the burden of spouses or children of their own. But they did find Konstantin’s mandate curious—after all, why should he care whether the twins ever married?
On their twenty-ninth birthday, they found out. That was the night he turned them both into vampires.
Twin sires are exceedingly rare, because almost no vampire is strong enough to use their own blood to sire two new vampires in the same night—and on top of that, the two new vampires must also be biological twins. This combination of twindoms, human and vampire, creates a bond so magically powerful, it imbues the twin sires with strength that would normally take them centuries to build.
Callum and Octavia were the only vampires Konstantin ever sired, and he valued them above any other vampires in his employ.
And he never let his most loyal servant, Felix Hawthorn, forget it.
Tess woke up groggy and disoriented—she was still in the black silk dress she’d worn to Joni’s party. It was pitch dark in the room where she was sleeping; after the tense events in Nantale’s great room, she’d been so tired she’d gone straight to bed without bothering to take in her surroundings. But now she realized she had no idea where she was. She was stricken with a pang of hunger—when was the last time she ate?
She rolled over in bed, edging a foot over the side. Something about this place felt familiar. She reached out and felt a night table, a little desk lamp with a nubby glass shade, just like the one in her old apartment with Joni on 112th Street. She flipped on the lamp—she was in that bedroom. What the fuck?? But then she heard a sound—footsteps outside her door. She shrank back on the bed.
“Joni?” she whispered. But she knew it wasn’t Joni. The footfalls were too heavy. It wasn’t Rick. It couldn’t be Rick—
The door swung open, and there was Callum, his tall frame cast in shadow. His face was backlit in profile, and she could make out his curved nose and full lips, the stubble that lined his strong jaw. And that look in his eyes…
It was desire. She was sure of it.
“Why did you wear that dress?” he asked, his smooth British accent at odds with his low, dangerous voice.
“This?” Tess gripped the dress, the silk pooling between her fingers. “There was a party, I didn’t—”
She hurried to stand, and in an instant Callum was beside her.
“Why did you dress like Isobel?” His voice was strained.
“So you would want me,” Tess whispered. “As much as you wanted her.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her close—god, he was strong. Tess looked up at him. His eyes were gray, with flecks of amber and gold.
“You’re so beautiful.” Tess ran her fingers across his cheek. “Are you going to kill me?”
“We’re all dead here,” he breathed. “Is that all right?”
She nodded, and then he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, and his body was cold, but he felt so alive against her. His hands moved down the silk of her dress as he drew her closer to him. She heard a moan escape her as his lips found her neck.
“How did you find me?” she asked, digging her fingers into his shoulders as he kissed down her chest, his mouth moving toward her breasts. “I haven’t lived here for years.”
He stood up straight then, cupping her face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle.
“Don’t lie to yourself, Tess.” His face turned hard, his eyes blank and empty. “You never left this place. You never will.”
And with that, he wrapped his hands around her neck and started to squeeze.
Tess woke gasping for air—she was soaked in sweat, and tears were rolling down her face. She hadn’t had a nightmare like that in months. God, it felt so vivid—just like the dreams after Rick, back when she couldn’t stay asleep for longer than an hour or two, when exhaustion and delirium and constant terror made it almost impossible to discern what was real.
She slid out of bed and pulled open the heavy jacquard curtains—it was dusk, the sky pale and purple as stars began to appear. Dim light spilled into the room, illuminating walls made of enormous slabs of black marble shot through with veins that shimmered gold. The floors were smooth, polished wood, light with an almost pinkish hue, like maple. The furnishings were simple and elegant: black wooden dressers that seemed to melt into the walls, plush patterned rugs in soft grays, and the enormous bed Tess had slept in—a soft, thick mattress on a low platform, covered in silk sheets and woven blankets and scattered furs in various grays and blacks.
It was the most luxurious room Tess had ever slept in by several orders of magnitude, and she had a feeling it was far from the most impressive suite in Nantale’s compound.
“I thought I heard you wake up!” Tess whipped toward the door, immediately on edge, but it was the stout older woman who’d untied her the night before. She looked to be in her sixties, with frizzy silver hair that flowed past her shoulders, crinkly white skin, and an infectious energy. She wore an oversized button-down and soft linen slacks, and big eyeglasses with purple frames that kept sliding down her nose. She reminded Tess of her favorite librarian at Columbia, a woman who’d once literally jumped for joy upon receiving a box of rare science fiction magazines from the 1950s.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked. “Are you hungry? How about some coffee?”
“Good morning—I mean, um…” Tess trailed, not knowing exactly what to say. The woman laughed.
“That’s the Isle for you, hon.” She smiled warmly. “Good luck knowing what time of day it is, let alone the week or month or year. It’s just night for a while, then gray and cloudy like a stormy day, then night again. Who knows for how long!”
“So there aren’t seasons?” Tess asked.
“What you see is what we’ve got! I’m Sylvie, by the way. Are you sure you don’t want coffee? How about something to wear? Did you sleep in that dress you came in? Good lord, vampires make the worst hosts.”
Tess looked down at her dress, which was clinging to her body and sticky with sweat from her nightmare. Sylvie was right—it would be nice to change.
“Maybe a robe?” she asked. “And a shower would be lovely. And then I guess, something to wear afterward, if it’s not too much trouble?”
Tess watched Sylvie’s eyes change—they seemed to glow with a golden intensity as she placed her hand on the wooden dresser. After a moment, Sylvie stepped back and motioned for Tess to open the drawer: It was filled with pajamas, jeans, tees, sweaters, and dresses, all of which looked to be exactly Tess’s size. When Tess looked up from the drawer, Sylvie was holding out a thick terry robe, which Tess gratefully took and wrapped around her body.
“Now, how about that coffee?” Sylvie grinned, but Tess was dumbfounded. She knew from Blood Feud that vampires could glamour their surroundings on the Isle—it’s how they made places like this compound. But it was one thing to have read about it, and quite another to see Sylvie casually whip up an entire wardrobe.
“You can really?? Did you just glamour—how did you do that??”
Sylvie shrugged. “We’re not sure how it works. On Earth, we can look into the eyes of a human and bend them to our will. Here, we can do the same thing—except instead of humans, it’s objects. See?”
She put her hands on an armoire, and when she opened the doors, it contained a fully stocked kitchenette, including a small silver coffee maker, a platter of buttery pastries and loaves of hearty brown bread, and an ice chest filled with cheeses, cold cuts, fruit, and cream.
“We can make you anything you want, of course.” Sylvie nodded toward the food. “But this way you’ll always have a little nosh on hand if you’re in your room. Speaking of which—how do you like the room?”
“Are you serious?” Tess held in a laugh. “It’s unbelievable.”
“Sure, sure, but is it you? It doesn’t really seem like you.”
“But it’s beautiful! And really, you’ve done too much already, I couldn’t ask you—”
“Oh, pssh,” Sylvie scoffed. “I had seven children back in my human days. I love taking care of people.”
“Wow, seven.” Tess took this in. “And are they—here? I mean, are they…”
“Vampires? No. I met Alberto when I was in college, and we fell madly in love, but I knew I wanted a family—and he couldn’t give that to me. Forty years later, when my kids were grown and their dad had passed, he came back for me. Said he didn’t want to spend eternity without me. So here I am!” She laughed and shrugged a little.
“And Alberto?” Tess asked. “He’s here too?”
Sylvie shook her head. “No, he was killed about a year after we came to the Isle.”
“I’m so sorry,” Tess murmured, but Sylvie just shrugged, the way you do when a wound is old.
“There was a lot of fighting in those days, people scared, confused about how we ended up here, how long we’d be here, blaming each other for what happened,” she explained. “This was before we formed the clans and started living together for protection. I’m pretty young for a vampire—Alberto turned me only a few years before we came to the Isle. Once he was gone, I was vulnerable, to say the least.”
“So how did you survive?” Tess asked, spellbound.
“I spent a long time hiding at the northern end of the Isle,” Sylvie said. “There’s not much population up there, so it was safer—lonelier too. But after a year or so, one of Nantale’s clan members ran into me hunting up there, saw how hungry and afraid I was. They offered me company—and security—if I moved in here. Nantale was good to take me in and look after me. So I try to look after everyone around here in return. Including you. Which means it’ll be just fine for you to tell me how you’d like to decorate your bedroom.”
Tess frowned—Nantale and her hunting party helping a vulnerable old woman? That didn’t track with the vicious murderers August Lirio described them as in Blood Feud. Tess gazed at Sylvie, taking in the meaning behind her story. If she’d only become a vampire a few years before coming to the Isle, that meant her children—and, presumably, grandchildren—were still alive back home. And she was trapped here, without them, without the man who’d loved her so much he’d waited forty years to be with her, taking care of a compound full of vampires instead of her own family. Tess had to suppress a strong urge to rush over and hug her fiercely.
“Maybe this is silly,” Tess started, “but I’ve always wanted a bedroom that was green?”
An hour later, the entire room had transformed under Sylvie’s touch: dark green walls patterned with delicately painted chinoiserie, soaring arched windows with sprawling views of the forest below, a gargantuan mahogany sleigh bed, floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with books, and a squashy leather armchair and a velvet settee beside a stone hearth that housed a crackling fire. Sylvie left Tess to shower and change (though not before upgrading Tess’s bathroom with shiny penny tile, a rough-hewn teak vanity, and an oversized copper soaking tub that Tess was dying to try). Tess stood under a steaming shower, feeling the vestiges of her nightmare rinse away. She pulled on her new robe and enjoyed a delicious cup of coffee and a perfectly crisp croissant that rivaled the best Tess had ever had, the way she dreamed they tasted in Paris. Tess had always wanted to visit Europe, but her family only ever went wherever there was a free place to stay. They never had money for vacations, so books had been Tess’s escape. It made her smile to think that not even her richest, snobbiest classmates had ever been to a place like this.
She put on a ribbed black turtleneck and tucked it into a pair of faded, high-waisted blue jeans that hugged her hips and legs. She opened a drawer of her bathroom vanity to discover Sylvie had thought to stock it with all manner of creams, serums, and makeup; it made her feel more human to put on a coat of mascara and some cheery red lipstick.
She heard her bedroom door creak open—Sylvie must be back.
“I’ll be right there!” she called.
“By all means, take your time,” a smug voice replied. “Your life will end eventually. Who cares how much of it you waste?”
Callum. The moment he spoke, Tess’s dream came rushing back and her heart started pounding; she could feel his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut to force out the image—no. She had to stay grounded, stay present. No matter what protections Nantale had ordered, if Tess made one wrong move, she was certain Callum would kill her without a second thought. If she wanted to live through this adventure, she had to keep her wits about her. She couldn’t show him even a modicum of fear.
“I’m sorry,” Tess said crisply as she walked into the bedroom. “I didn’t realize you were waiting.”
He was sitting on the velvet settee, thumbing through one of the books from Tess’s lovely new shelves. He was even more handsome than he’d been in Nantale’s great room—he looked less rumpled, more alert. He wore gray jeans, brown leather ankle boots, a navy crew-neck sweater, and a buttery chocolate suede jacket; every item fit his body perfectly, because of course everything anyone wore on the Isle was essentially bespoke. His posture was easy but not slack; it was as if his muscles were forever holding tension, ready to lash out and strike.
“I’m an immortal creature trapped on an island.” He smiled wryly. “Time is rather a relative concept, wouldn’t you say?”
“Must pass slower when you’re sober,” Tess quipped before she could stop herself, but Callum laughed, then stood and walked toward her.
“Too right.” He grinned.
He laid his hands on her armoire, his eyes glowing briefly just as Sylvie’s had—but there was something different about how he looked when he performed the glamour. If Sylvie’s eyes had been soft and golden, Callum’s were hard and fiery, like his glamours were forged in steel. He opened the door of the armoire, where a tray of glass bottles filled with clear and amber liquids had appeared next to Sylvie’s little coffee station. He popped the cork out of something brown and took a long draught, then wiped his lips on his sleeve. He held out the bottle and offered it to Tess.
“What do you say, human? Want to pass the day a little faster, or would you rather we take it nice and slow?”
Was he flirting? Or just toying with her like a cat teasing a mouse before the fatal claw?
“I think we’d better get going,” Tess muttered.
“Oh?” Callum took another drink and gave Tess an amused look. “What’s on our itinerary?”
“I thought we could visit the graveyard where Octavia disappeared.”
“You want to take me into the deep dark forest, just the two of us?” Callum pursed his lips, mocking her. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Tess tamped down her rising fear. “You know, for someone who was convinced his sister was dead until I showed up, you don’t seem that invested in getting out of here and actually finding her.”
Callum opened his mouth to respond but then seemed to think better of it.
“Fine then,” he said smoothly. “Did you want to put on shoes before we trek into the forest, or are you one of those dirty little hippies who prefers to go without?”
“Oh!” Tess flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t think Sylvie made any. I have my sandals from yesterday—”
“No need.” Callum crouched before Tess, wrapping his hands around her calves; his grip was just as strong as she’d imagined. He moved his fingers firmly against her muscles, slow and rhythmic—she let out a soft, involuntary exhale.
“Everything all right?” He looked up at her, his gray eyes glinting—and in that moment, kneeling in front of her, he was so unbelievably attractive that she forgot to be afraid of him.
“Fine.” She breathed.
A slouchy pair of black leather boots formed around Tess’s feet, and Callum stood straight up again, towering over her, looking down with a smug smile. Tess refused to give him the satisfaction of showing how much he—and all of this—unmoored her.
“Thanks, that was super helpful.” She stepped away from him and turned toward the door. “Shall we go?”
He made a small, displeased humph sound and stalked out of the room. Tess felt her stress ease the tiniest bit: She’d survived five minutes alone with Callum Yoo.
Tess knew from Blood Feud that Nantale’s compound was laid out in a giant triangle, and everything about the building was designed to intimidate and confuse potential intruders: Stairwells jutted off at odd angles, hallways stopped in dead ends, and secret rooms abounded. As Tess followed Callum, she noted intricate gray marble-tiled floors that looked almost braided, high arched ceilings, and an assortment of spectacular paintings hanging from the walls, which were upholstered in dark velvet.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “can you walk a little slower? I’m trying to remember some landmarks so I can navigate this place.”
“Oh.” He paused. “You just have to look at the paintings, see?”
He pointed out the paintings in this hall—a series of wryly surrealist works by Magritte—his hand brushing briefly against Tess’s arm.
“What, um”—she cleared her throat—“what about the paintings?”
“They’re chronological. If they’re getting older, you’re moving clockwise. Newer, you’re going counterclockwise. So if the paintings are getting more modern, you’re heading toward the entry, older, back toward your room. You follow?”
“Oh!” Tess remembered a Botticelli outside her room—so in the space of a few minutes, they’d moved from the Italian Renaissance to the 1920s. Sure enough, she saw some Dalí up ahead. “That’s really cool.”
“Cool,” Callum mocked, and Tess felt annoyed and embarrassed in equal measure.
“Um, who thought of that?” she asked. “It’s a really clever system.”
Callum didn’t answer—great, was he just flat-out ignoring her now? But as they walked into the compound’s entry, a grand room with a rotunda-like ceiling, he responded gruffly, “My sister.”
“Good, you’re here.” Nantale stood in the center of the room, looking at them expectantly. She was dressed in a vibrant purple kaftan and holding a perfume atomizer made of carved iridescent glass. “I have something for you, girl.”
“What is it?” Tess asked.
“Egyptian musk oil, several thousand years old,” Nantale explained. “To mask your human scent. You will wear this anytime you leave your rooms, even inside the compound. Understood?”
“Do you think I need—” Tess swallowed hard. “I mean, am I not safe here?”
“I believe the vampires within these walls will follow my orders,” Nantale reassured her. “But I also think temptation is best avoided, do you agree?”
“Absolutely.” Tess nodded vigorously. Nantale handed her the bottle, and Tess applied a generous spritz—she noticed Callum’s eyes flick to her neck as she did so, and applied two extra sprays for good measure. The scent was deliciously warm and earthy, and Tess was grateful that if she had to smell like this all the time, at least she’d enjoy it.
“I think that’s plenty.” Nantale smiled. “Give me the bottle, I’ll have it sent to your rooms. Callum, may I speak to you for a moment before you go?”
“Of course.” He turned and eyed Tess. “Don’t move.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tess clipped.
Callum and Nantale sped down another hall and out of sight. It unnerved Tess, being among creatures that could move so fast—knowing that if she was ever in danger, she had no hope of running away.
And Tess’s safety was top of mind in this particular moment—because the second Callum and Nantale disappeared, Tristan strolled into the room, moving slowly, never taking his eyes off Tess. Everything about him was icy, from his pale blond hair to his bone-chilling smile.
“Alone at last,” he said quietly.
“Callum will be back any second.” Tess’s voice came out high and choked.
“You may be right.” Tristan approached her, his motions like liquid, footsteps so light she couldn’t hear them. “Perhaps I should wait to drink you until we have more time. Can’t be sloppy about it.”
His voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper—but he was close enough now that Tess could hear every syllable. He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent.
“Musk oil?” He smiled. “Clever. But it won’t change the way you taste.”
“If you harm me, Nantale will know it.” Tess clenched her teeth.
“Do you think?” Tristan cocked his head. “Suppose there’s only one way to find out.”
His eyes were dark with hunger, and as he smiled, his fangs grew longer, just as Octavia’s had back in The Georgia—oh god, should she scream?
But before she had to decide, Callum reappeared in the room, and Tristan was gone so fast it was like he had never been there at all.
“Are you ready?” Callum asked. “Let’s go visit a bloody statue.”