“You look tired,” Elise’s mother told her. “How are you sleeping?”
She and her mother were the first two at the breakfast table. After last night’s conversation with her father, Elise couldn’t stomach more than fruit. But now she looked over at Analia Saint. In another life, Elise might have admired her mother’s strength, but now she could see in her eyes the hollow darkness came from being the wife of a man like her father, from having to suppress her own emotions. Young girls were supposed to look up to their mothers and want to be just like them. But Elise had always been scared to see any part of herself in her mother.
“There are some nightmares, but I’m okay,” Elise said quietly.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to baby you, I just… I miss when you were smaller. When things were easier. I miss your sisters so much.”
“I don’t feel babied,” Elise whispered. If her mother needed to see her as little again to keep herself together, then Elise would allow it.
“You’re calm just like Charlotte,” she breathed. Elise stiffened, but she softened again as her mother smiled. “Even when times are tough, you hold yourself together. And I believe that calmness will get you through this darkness, Elise.” The tenderness in her mother’s tone made Elise want to cry. After everything she had been through in the past few days, having a moment where someone just loved her felt like everything.
Elise blinked back tears. “Mama, I—”
“Not now,” her mother said quickly. “Your father’s coming.”
“Good morning to my beautiful family.” Mr. Saint wore a beaming smile, which Elise at first thought was for her and her mother. But her father had brought Mr. Wayne to join them. Her mother straightened up in her seat as Mr. Wayne took the chair across from her father. “Why, it’s a pleasure for you to join us today, Stephen.”
The philanthropist shared an exuberant smile with Analia Saint as he fixed his tie. Elise understood why her parents had been so charmed by him all those years ago. She supposed the combination of friendliness and money made a man especially captivating. It was strange being around him now; as a child, she had always been excused to go play with Sterling and Layla whenever he arrived for a meeting with her father.
“Elise.” Mr. Wayne nodded to her.
“Mr. Wayne—” Elise’s fork hit her plate as she picked it up and everyone looked at her. “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed.
“Relax,” Mr. Saint said firmly.
But her father’s austerity only increased her anxiety. Elise shut her mouth and went still.
Mr. Wayne clasped his hands together over his plate, smiling. “You do have a lovely family. It makes me miss mine back in Oklahoma. I’m afraid with all the ruin—it’s practically just ashes now—it will never be home again.”
He meant the race riots in Tulsa. They had happened not long before Elise had left for France, and the stories haunted her. She shivered, knowing much destruction could happen all because a white man assumed something vile of a Black man. None of it had involved the violence of reapers, but she’d heard they now lurked in the ruins of the neighborhood that had been burned to the ground.
“Those damned riots,” Mr. Wayne said. “It’s maddening to think that humans are capable of such destruction.” He paused, his voice going sharp, “This is why I’ve been interested in politics from a young age. If I ever become mayor, you can be assured nothing like that will happen here,” Mr. Wayne said. Elise noticed he hadn’t touched his food. He raised his glass for the servant hovering nearby. “Whiskey, please.”
“Thank God for you,” Mr. Saint said. A moment of silence passed while they ate.
Mrs. Saint swallowed hard and looked at Mr. Wayne. “I’m not sure if Tobias ever told you, but we had originally planned to move to Tulsa from Texas after the war instead of Harlem. To think that could have happened to us. Such uncivilized behavior.” She shook her head, eyes shining with anguish. “So many innocent people lost their lives and I fear our community will never fully heal from such a huge devastation. Those riots wiped a thriving part of Tulsa off the map. I worry about it happening here, what with this family’s success being in the limelight. They turned one of the most successful Black neighborhoods into a place of carnage. A massacre.”
Mr. Wayne sipped his drink. “I wouldn’t call Tulsa a massacre, Analia.”
Elise’s mother put her fork down.
“It wasn’t a slaughter,” Mr. Wayne went on. “Some say three hundred died, but it was closer to thirty. The more lies we build on that day, the more likely history is to repeat itself.”
Analia Saint’s eyes narrowed. “Thirty casualties is far from what I heard and it was an atrocity regardless—”
“You know the newspaper loves to sensationalize these things,” Mr. Wayne said quickly. He set his glass down. “Your people have been through enough. With the lab and the upcoming election, I’ve put my dollar in places that will change things. No more ruthless violence in these streets. But to be frank, Tobias, there is so much tension in this empire, I fear it snapping while I align myself with it.”
Mr. Wayne’s tone unsettled Elise. Your people—as if the Black community was a herd of slow-moving beings, easily swayed.
Her father’s easy smile faltered. “This empire is far from collapsing, Stephen. I assure you, we have this murder investigation under control. With your contributions, we can get reaperhood contained and expand the empire.”
“I feel that I must be transparent with you and say that I have received other offers from competing organizations.” Mr. Wayne let out a rough sigh.
This time Mr. Saint frowned. “What do you mean? Who is our competition in the business of eliminating reapers?”
“It’s quite the opposite of elimination, actually. There are some individuals who believe reapers will never be completely eradicated and that they should be used to benefit our military. They have expressed interest in Dr. Harding’s research at the lab to develop reapers into weapons,” Mr. Wayne said. He leaned toward Mr. Saint and continued, his voice lower. “I refused them, of course, but you have to know there are others who want to take your business right from beneath you. There are people who want to capitalize on the man-made monsters that are destroying this world.”
Elise blinked, her mind spinning. Reapers had existed for centuries, but she had only ever known the universal desire to destroy them.
Analia Saint sucked in a sharp breath. “Do you mean…wars?”
Mr. Wayne nodded. “Potentially, yes. That’s why I refused them. We are still recovering from the last war. I can only imagine this making other countries more wary of us. Though I understand the need for self-defense, turning reapers into weapons could be devastating.”
Mr. Saint ran a finger around the rim of his glass. His frown had deepened. “The longer I live, the more people I see become death incarnate.” He lifted his glass and swallowed the last of the liquor.
“We will not let that happen anymore,” Mr. Wayne said.
“There is no hope with reapers,” Mr. Saint said. “They’ve been slipping through the cracks, as they get harder to identify and people get greedier for money. Calhoun is letting reapers work at the Cotton Club. I’ll have to cover the revenue they bring in if I want him to stop.”
Mr. Wayne shook his head. “Dr. Harding is developing a purity testing system to prevent that. His first goal with the lab is to provide resources and accessibility to the underprivileged. People who come in and offer up their blood to be tested for reaperhood will receive free meals, free medical exams, and burial insurance. That way we ensure that people are safe from reaper infection while lessening any financial burdens. All-around good.”
Elise’s mind went right to Shirley. Young Shirley, who had nothing now but the club. Elise would need to warn her about returning. Her fingers picked at the edge of her napkin. “What about Thalia’s antidote research?” she asked.
Mr. Saint shot her a fierce glare.
Mr. Wayne’s smile wilted a bit. “We’ve paused on that venture since Miss Gray’s untimely passing.”
For a moment, Elise considered bringing up Theo Smith. But her father spoke first, “I recognize that look, my pearl. It is the exact look you gave me before you told me about the Quinns’ plans to work with the Harlem reapers all those years ago.”
The pain his words stirred in her was so intense, she had to look away.
Mr. Wayne looked thoughtful for a moment. He regarded Elise with a gentle pity that only made her more nervous. “Reapers corrupt everything they touch. I’m funding Dr. Harding’s research on how their proximity affects humans. He believes they are spreading a poison we have yet to fully understand. But if we can find out what it is, maybe we can put a stop to it before things get worse around here.”
Elise’s lips parted with surprise. America had been drowning in the damnation of reapers for generations. Perhaps someone like Stephen Wayne, with his money and genuine promises, was not so bad. Maybe he could create new light in this darkened world.
“Darling,” Mr. Saint addressed his wife in a soft tone. “I think today is a lovely day for you and Elise to explore the new shops. You haven’t spent enough time together lately.”
Elise cleared her throat. “I have to meet with Layla to continue our investigation. I’m sorry, Mother.”
But Analia Saint nodded her understanding. “Next time, my love.”
Elise turned back to her father, who gave her a smug, tight smile. “Good job,” he said.
The gun at Elise’s hip made her feel like an impostor. All Saint members carried guns, and while Elise knew she would need to do the same as her father’s successor, the weight of such a deadly weapon never felt normal.
She was waiting in the alley across the street from the Hotel Clarice. Not quite on reaper territory, but not in Saint provinces either. She pulled her gun out, finger poised on the trigger just like Sterling had taught her. Always be prepared.
Minutes passed, and still there was no sign of Layla. Elise was beginning to wonder whether she should walk into the hotel when a shadow passed over her. She looked up, free hand blocking the sunlight from her eyes. She could have sworn someone was in the alley with her.
The silence became a deafening roar as she peered around. Finally she lowered her gun. She closed her eyes and slumped against the wall, exhaling. She traced a cross over the gun’s handle once, twice, then again and again until it felt right.
Then she felt the air move beside her.
“Miss me?”
Elise scrambled away from the wall, gun raised. Layla stood facing the barrel. She had her hands on her hips and grinned despite the gun staring her down. Elise lowered her weapon and glared. “I almost shot you.”
Layla said nothing, but slinked closer to Elise, who glared and stepped back until she hit the alley wall. Still, Layla closed in, moving into Elise’s space, their faces now inches apart.
Elise used the last bit of space she had to shove the gun into Layla’s chin, but the reaper didn’t flinch. She kept smiling. Elise was aware of how close they were, how Layla bracketed her arms on either side of her, forming a cage.
The reaper’s warm breath feathered against Elise’s collarbone, and her heartbeat quickened. But not from fear. She stared Layla in the eye, her stare only dipping when Layla’s lips parted. The contrast of the sharp fang peeking from behind her pillow-soft lips made Elise’s breath stall in her chest. And she continued to watch her lips as they moved to form words.
“I don’t think you did, actually,” Layla said. She eyed the revolver, then dragged her gaze up Elise’s face slowly, as if studying her design.
Elise finally met her eyes again and almost immediately, Layla backed off.
The instant relief of pressure nearly made her drop the gun. Elise followed Layla out of the alley, her hands a shaky mess on the handle, now slippery from her sweat. “Next time,” Elise muttered.
Layla shot her a sideways glance. “Would it be so bad if you did shoot me? You could leave me to bleed out on the cold ground. You did seem to enjoy doing that the first time.” Layla’s tone was surprisingly light.
“I wasn’t the one…” Elise’s jaw tightened. She stared ahead, already counting down the minutes until she could be alone again. “I would never leave you to die on your own. In fact…” The words came to her in a heated rush. “I’ve been dreaming of what it would be like to squeeze your heart in my hands. I want to feel your last beat of life seep between my fingers.”
Layla stopped walking then. Her dark eyes roamed over Elise’s stony expression and the corner of her mouth twitched. “You might be more reaper than me.”
Elise chose to ignore that insult. They continued down the street, Layla following closely behind her long strides with shorter strides of her own. Her mind raced as she tried to remember what she’d meant to tell Layla, back before that little game in the alley took place.
Finally it came to her. “Stephen Wayne joined my family at breakfast this morning—”
“I’m bored, Saint—”
“Listen,” Elise snapped. “Wayne’s philanthropy is about eradicating reapers and he’s working with my father to clear reaperhood through the Cotton Club. He plans to fund the study of reapers in the lab too.”
Layla crossed her arms, frowning. “What does that mean for our investigation?”
Elise swallowed. “I just thought you should know. For Shirley and Giana. It won’t be safe for them there.”
Layla shook her head. “They’re already there.”
Jamie Kelly sat in his usual spot at the Cotton Club entrance, holding a pen in his teeth and a stack of papers in his hands. He looked up and grinned when Layla called his name. Something about the curl of his blond hair against his forehead and the way his eyes brightened relaxed Layla. She knew she was letting her guard down around him these days. Maybe too much. Still, she smiled back. Better to play the role of a friend and get what she needed than cause trouble.
“Morning. Didn’t get everything you needed last time you were here, Quinn?” Jamie stood and made his way toward her and Elise, pulling the pen from his mouth.
Layla sighed, a little too tired to engage in the tease. With Jamie staring her down and Elise staring pretentiously at anything that moved, Layla needed to get to the point. “I need to see Giana and Shirley.”
“And Calhoun. The manager,” Elise inputted sharply.
Layla exhaled, closing her eyes. “And Calhoun.”
Jamie lifted a brow. “You think I have control over who sees him? I’m just here because he needs liquor. If you want to talk to him, you’ll owe me something.”
Frustration seeped into Layla. “The last time I did a favor for you, I ended up as the most wanted person in the city.”
Elise scoffed at the same time Jamie laughed. “Please,” Elise muttered.
Layla glared at Jamie. “Don’t say it.”
But Jamie, of course, did. “You’re not a person, you’re a reaper. But if you want something from me, then I’m going to ask for something from you. We all have responsibilities. I have a son to feed,” he said.
Layla blinked. “You have a child?”
Jamie looked away for a moment, then back at her. “I do. Why are you surprised?”
Several questions filled her mind, but before she could ask anything, Elise smacked her arm.
Layla shot her a glare, then turned back to Jamie. “Right, fine. What do you need from me?”
Jamie’s eyes shifted for a moment before leaning in close. “I don’t need anything from you. I need you.”
This unsettled Layla. But she had no other choice. Right as she was opening her mouth to agree to his conditions, Elise spoke up, “That’s not how business transactions work.”
Jamie gave Elise a side-eyed look. “Sweetheart, respectfully, unless you’re part of a gang, stay out of our business.”
“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart,’ you criminal,” Elise snarled.
“Shut up, both of you,” Layla snapped.
Elise glared at Jamie. “I would mind how you speak to me, or I’ll have the Saint—”
Quick as a whip, Jamie aimed his gun at Elise. Layla darted forward between him and Elise. “Watch yourself,” she seethed. Her fangs had sprung free and they dug into her lips hard enough to draw blood.
Jamie’s eyes widened a bit to see her reaperhood on full display. But he kept his gun raised, gaze sharp on Elise. “You brought a damn Saint here? It’s almost like you’re looking for bad attention,” Jamie said in a low voice. “The Saints are the ones who rat us out to police; they’ve sacked as many of my men as they’ve killed your clanmates. You’re on their side now?”
“I don’t pick sides. Everything I do is for myself.” A cold satisfaction filled her chest when he flinched at those words. “You didn’t think we were friends, did you?”
“I certainly thought you hated the Saints,” Jamie muttered.
He finally lowered his gun, but Layla’s eyes continued to glow and she kept her fangs on display for him. “If anyone kills her, it will be me. Don’t even try it,” she hissed.
Jamie lifted his hands in deference. “Fine.” He nodded to the back room and sighed. “Calhoun won’t be in for a few minutes, but you should probably wait out the time in there so no one sees you. Especially don’t let anyone see her,” he spat while pointing to Elise. “We’ve got enough tension in the club without a Saint spawn lurking around.”
Elise gave him a nasty look.
“What about Giana and Shirley—” Layla started.
“Not here. Not my problem either,” Jamie huffed. “Go look for them if you want, but I already did you a favor.” He walked off.
Layla could only glare after him. Her nerves began to cool once she and Elise were alone in one of the backstage rooms of the club, where they’d hoped to find the two dancers. Being around humans was never easy. Their blood seemed to tease her at every chance it got, its scent haunting her, the sound of it rushing through veins amplified with every conversation.
As a reaper, getting upset was an easy thing to do, but a tough situation to come back from. Layla couldn’t remember the number of times she had failed her impulse training. Valeriya had gotten her rats to start out with for feeding because there were so many in the city and “if you kill one, no one will know; if you kill one hundred, the city will probably start to thank you.” Layla ended up killing close to one hundred rats while Valeriya tested her. It was bad for every new reaper—nearly impossible most times. Every time Layla trained under voluntary starvation, she imagined the rat’s tangy blood seeping between her teeth and their tiny bones cracking with the slightest pressure from her jaw. Her whole life, Layla had been warned against crime and taught that murder was the worst thing a person could do. She believed killing was an act of defiance so great, there was no coming back from it.
But since becoming a reaper, that idea had dissipated almost immediately.
Killing was easy. It was resisting the temptation that felt impossible.
Layla pricked the tip of her thumb with her fang and swallowed a few drops of her own blood. It was nowhere near as effective as drinking from another reaper would have been, but it helped to ground her. And that was all she could ask for right now.
“Layla—” Elise’s hand on her shoulder felt like an electric current.
Layla snatched herself away from Elise and scowled at her. “Don’t you know not to touch a reaper when they’re on the edge?” It came out as more of a hostile demand than a question. Layla was glad when Elise shrank back and lowered her hand. Her hunger was so palpable at this point, she could imagine the urges forcing her hand. A swift grab of the Saint’s wrist and Layla could tug her down and have her mouth at her throat. The blood would be sweet, just as the Saint heiress smelled, but it would be wrong—beyond that. Layla’s fangs poked into her gums and she groaned slightly. She touched a Saint and she would be dead. But the thrill… Her fangs pierced her gums, spilling her own blood into her mouth.
“I just had a thought,” Elise began slowly. Her dark eyes clouded over with something unrecognizable. “Maybe we should keep an eye on the club from both sides, human and reaper. It will be easy since my father is involved here. And Mr. Wayne is getting involved so there could be an opportunity to ask him about the lab.”
“Are you going to tell your father about the reapers that work here?” Layla breathed weakly. Her limbs felt heavy, muscles exhausted from working without being sufficiently fed. She swallowed hard, hot breath sticking in her throat.
Elise’s lips twitched. “No, I…I wouldn’t do that to Shirley.”
Layla held her stare, but Elise looked away. “If your father works with the club, why does Jamie not trust the Saints?”
“I don’t think my father has made his investment in the club public knowledge. It doesn’t exactly look good to work for a place like this. But it makes a lot of money for the community. Though he does hate gangsters,” Elise said.
“But he uses them for buying liquor, too, I’m guessing. The dichotomy of wanting to live and wanting to be respected. It never ends here.” A sour taste filled Layla’s mouth. Money. Power. Notability. Why did anyone do anything these days if not to gain something, even if it meant isolating yourself and damning your morals? Layla could almost see herself in their mirror of sins. She ground her teeth in frustration.
Layla leaned against the wall and carefully slid down into a sitting position. Her heart was still racing, each beat sending a jolt through her body. The thought of blood consumed her. When she closed her eyes, it was all she saw; when she inhaled, it was all she smelled. And when Elise opened her mouth, it was all Layla could do to not—
Her eyes flew open. Elise stood over her, watching her with curious eyes, her hands on her hips. “You look feral.”
Layla’s fangs had emerged again and they dug into her lips. “I’m hungry,” Layla muttered. All she could smell was Elise and the blood rushing through her veins. Today she had come too close. And when Layla could smell blood through flesh, she knew she had gone too long without feeding.
Elise didn’t back away. A flash of fear lit her eyes for an instant, but then she was kneeling in front of Layla, her brown irises warm in the soft light. “You should probably go home, right? I should worry about you tearing my throat out. What really happens when a reaper does not feed on enough human blood? Do they truly turn into a demon with no recollection of their human past?”
Layla groaned. Now her focus was on Elise’s throat, her pulse humming against her delicate skin. Should Layla sink her fangs into Elise’s jugular, blood would explode into her mouth like water from a fountain. The thought made saliva pool in her mouth. Layla looked away, urging herself to concentrate on something else. “Stop.”
“I know you’re bound by a Saint agreement to leave humans alone. But surely you slip up occasionally. Animal blood cannot be that satisfactory,” Elise said. She cocked her head to one side, a tiny smile forming on her lips.
“Sure it can,” Layla muttered.
Elise lifted a brow. “Perhaps you are already transitioning from reaper to demon,” she said. Feigned fascination coated her words, and it took a considerable effort for Layla to not lunge forward and rip out her vocal cords just to shut her up. “Oh my God, you’re so upset.” Elise almost laughed.
A sharp breath left Layla’s chest. “I’m so close to tearing into your throat,” she muttered. Her eyes dipped to the soft curve of Elise’s throat leading to her collarbones. The dress she wore had a scooped neckline and in this moment, Layla both damned it and thanked it. Being close to the Saint was torture, having a sensory overload of every part of her, the suppleness of her skin, the sweetness of her blood, and not being able to indulge in any of it. What she would give to run her tongue along her throat just to feel her pulse quicken—to know if she felt that same thrill.
Elise’s lips parted. Her eyes traveled over Layla’s face, hesitating on the blood smeared across her lips. “I don’t like how you look at me,” she murmured.
Elise finally moved back. But she kept poking at Layla with her words while she paced the room, eyes roaming over the rehearsal piano, the dusty furniture, and the cloudy mirrors. “What’s it like when you hunt? Is there a certain body part you like best? An organ that contains the most nutrients? The easiest way to get the most blood?”
Layla shifted uncomfortably. “I thought this made you squeamish.”
“It does.” Elise turned an icy look on to Layla, her eyes lighting up when she saw Layla’s discomfort. “But it’s worth it if I get to make you squirm for once.”
“How cruel. You should just put me out of my misery now,” Layla sneered. She sucked on her finger again, drawing more blood into her mouth. A cool sensation settled over her body, and she sighed, tipping her head back against the wall. “By the way, it takes years for reapers to reach their final form of damnation. But the first stage is forgetting human memories.”
Elise paused for a moment, watching Layla with careful eyes. “Have you started to forget yet?”
Layla remained quiet. She hated thinking about this. What she was destined to become. Even if it took years, or centuries, she did not want it. To forget all the things that made her happy, forget her family, her friends, her history, everything that made her human—there would be no joy, no purpose in such a life. Her hands tightened into fists, and she grumbled.
Elise took the hint and continued to move around the room. “It’s been a while since we came back here, no? You don’t think this is some sort of ambush, do you?”
Layla closed her eyes. “I’m not currently thinking at all, actually.”
The room fell silent for a few minutes. For once, impatient thoughts didn’t immediately rush to crowd Layla’s mind. She sat in the quiet, breath steady against the ebb and flow of hunger still coursing through her body. Then, the notes of a faintly familiar song found their way into her head. Layla opened her eyes.
Elise sat at the piano, fingers poised gracefully over the keys in front of her. She paid Layla no mind while she played a song from memory, each note hit flawlessly and without hesitation.
Realization struck Layla. She waited until Elise finished playing before asking, “Is that ‘Josi’s Melody’?”
Elise looked down at the piano keys, stretching her fingers. “Yes.”
“Is that what you played for your school audition?” Layla asked.
Elise finally looked at Layla. “No. It just happens to be my favorite original piece.” There was no rancor in her tone, but her words were guarded. “I know this piece by heart because Josi is my heart. It’s easy to do anything when you love someone. Even if it’s the hardest choice you’ve ever made.”
An entire minute had passed and the thought of feeding didn’t cross Layla’s mind once. The side of Elise she was seeing now captured her attention as easily as freshly drawn blood. She sat up. “Is that why you stepped up as the heir? You’re doing this for Josi?”
Elise would have answered but for the sudden commotion that rumbled through the empty club. They were both on their feet in a moment, Elise with her gun in hand, and sprinted down the hall to the door.
Out in the lounge, two club bouncers gripped Shirley’s wrists and were trying to drag her out. She dug her heels in, tears streaming down her face while she cried out. “I’ll do it! I’m sorry, I’ll do it!” Shirley cried.
Giana stood between two other men, her face drawn. She mouthed a single word to Layla: help.
As Layla moved toward Shirley, two more men, who Layla came to realize were not Cotton Club employees but gangsters, pointed their guns at her.
“What is going on?”
“None of you should be in here unless you’ve got a contract. This one here owes us lab tests to prove her humanity,” one of the men holding Shirley snarled.
“Since when has that been required?” Layla demanded.
“Since we’ve had dancers dropping like flies because of reaperhood,” the man snapped.
Shirley whimpered, looking impossibly small between the two gangsters holding her with tight grasps.
Layla glared at the gangsters. “Let her go. She’s not yours,” Layla snapped. She didn’t stop the hunger that surged through her this time. Feral desire glowed in her eyes and she knew the gangsters saw it when they hesitated. It was enough for Shirley to break free, sprinting right to Layla’s side.
“We’re going,” Layla said strongly. She tried to turn away and leave with Elise and Shirley, but more gangsters swarmed the room. Jamie was among them, eyes wild. Layla turned her him. “Jamie. Please—”
“You need to listen to them,” he warned.
“Layla.” Shirley let out a hurried whisper.
Layla didn’t have time to reassure the younger girl now. Elise was already posted beside her with her gun raised and Giana was still trapped by the two gangsters. “Whatever Giana taught you about control, forget it now. I want you to kill these men.”
“What?” Shirley hissed, eyes wide.
“You heard me.” Layla turned to Elise. “Shoot. Now.”
Elise hesitated. Layla should have known a human would falter under such circumstances. She grabbed the gun and fired it at the closest man. The bullet ripped through his thigh and Shirley launched herself onto the bleeding man. Her fangs tore at his throat, sending a spray of blood across the room.
Layla had been hoping to get out in the midst of the chaos. But the gangsters raised their guns again and trained them on her and Elise. When several more dancers emerged from a backstage door, Layla braced for their screams. But their faces showed no panic.
Confused, Layla watched until she saw the glazed-over look in the dancers’ eyes and her body tensed with realization. The scent of spoiled blood overwhelmed her senses. Rogue reapers. They were under what seemed to be a blood high, but their movements were more controlled. She threw herself between Shirley and the new dancers swarming the room. Shirley hissed at her, bloody spittle flying from her mouth.
Layla’s fangs sprung out on impulse, but she ignored the hunger gnawing at her and shoved Shirley toward the door. “Get out. Now.”
“Layla.” Elise’s voice rang out over the commotion.
In her rush to get Shirley out of the door, Layla couldn’t place Elise. She finally spotted her backed against a wall, eyes wide on the scene around her. Two of the gangsters had been attacked by Shirley, and more were being taken down by Giana and the rogue dancers who by far now outnumbered the gang members.
The remaining gangsters still in the fray trained their guns at Giana and the rogues. They hadn’t fired yet; without Saint bullets, they had to choose their shots more carefully. It was then that Layla realized Elise had no weapon. Her silver revolver was still clutched in Layla’s hand. Blood slicked over the handle, but Layla tightened her grip on it, then slid it across the floor to Elise.
Elise picked it up and aimed at the gangster in front of her. Before she could shoot, a dancer pounced on him. More dancers rushed right past her toward some other prey, but Layla was too focused on Elise to notice who it was. Until she heard Shirley scream.
Two dancers had gotten to Shirley, and their hands were digging into her chest. Nails tore through fabric and flesh, separating ribs until they cracked beneath the force of their voracity. Layla’s breath stopped. She could only watch, too far away to reach, as Shirley collapsed. Her mouth fell open in a horrified shriek, blood erupting from her chest and throat. Layla scrambled to stand, but she slipped on the gangsters’ blood and was forced to crawl. But Shirley was already gone. By the time the dancers broke away from her, her eyes were lifeless and trained on nothing.
Giana was the last to back away from Shirley. Layla’s heart skipped at the sight of her friend. She sat up, blood sliding between her fingers as she gasped. Not an ounce of recognition flashed through Giana’s unfocused eyes while she looked at Layla. A memory tore through Layla’s mind of the night Theo had attacked her. Only pure, undiluted rage crossed her expression, like it controlled her from the inside out.
“Giana,” Layla called. “This isn’t you.”
But Giana didn’t hear her. She lunged for Layla, arms outstretched and fangs bared. Layla braced herself to meet her with the same intensity, but they never collided.
The sound of a gun going off snapped them apart. Layla stared down in horror at the blood blooming across Giana’s chest. The older girl’s eyes finally seemed to focus, as if the pain brought her back to her senses. She looked at Layla, her face reflecting a hollow recognition that twisted Layla’s heart. “I’m sorry,” Giana whispered. Then she crashed to the floor.
One of the afflicted dancers tore her fangs from an unlucky gangster’s throat and dropped him to approach Giana’s body. Layla shoved the gangster’s corpse toward her, successfully tripping her and stalling her on the blood-slick floor. As she looked around, she noticed Jamie standing by, smoking gun in his hand. He glared. “You owe me.” Then he rushed out of the club.
Layla was so lost in her shock, she failed to realize that the rest of the room had gone silent. Bodies littered the floor, leaving only Elise and Layla standing. She crawled over to Giana’s fallen form. Her hands were reaching for her, shaking, when Elise’s voice turned her around. “Layla…”
She touched her back and Layla flinched. “Don’t touch me,” Layla seethed. Red covered her vision, her hunger-induced rage turning her blind to Elise’s reaction and everything around her. Layla pried a piece of bloody flesh from the chest of a nearby dead gangster and stumbled out of the club and into the alley.
Her chest was wound so tight, she worried it would snap at the slightest nudge. The blood in her fists grew less appetizing the farther it strayed from its original body. Layla craved something fresh and warm. Something living. Nothing besides blood would calm the heat that ravaged her. And the longer she stood there, trying to breathe, the more dangerous it became for herself and those around her.
Or the only one around her.
Elise stood, her figure dark against the pale light at the end of the alley.
On instinct, Layla ran at her and slammed her into the alley wall. Elise’s breath left her body. The sweet scent of her blood was so close to Layla now, thriving and pulsing beneath her paper-thin skin. Layla traced a finger down her throat, feeling the beat of her pulse. Her fangs snapped out once again, ready to sink them into the weeping flesh in front of her.