Elise had almost let her. She froze as Layla dropped her bloody arm to her side and closed the distance between them. Then the scent of blood was rushing Elise’s senses and she wrapped a gloved hand around Layla’s wrist, directing her to the dripping flesh still clutched in her fist. She watched as Layla drank the gangster’s heart dry. Layla crouched, spine curved, while she sank her teeth into the heart over and over. Watching Layla pull the thing from the dead gangster’s chest had been chilling, but that heart had saved Elise’s life. As Elise watched Layla lick the remaining blood from her hands, a part of her wondered if this whole arrangement had been a mistake.
Finally, when the heart was no more than a shriveled-up hunk of muscle, Layla stood. She dropped the scraps of her meal onto the ground and wiped blood from her face. It smudged around her mouth and fangs, making her look wild. A satisfied glint lit her eyes, the brown sparking with life for once.
While Layla watched her intently, Elise still felt the press of her fingers against her neck. A few minutes ago, her fangs had been snapping out, eyes glazed over with the intention of drinking straight from her. And Elise almost let it happen. The split second she had between shoving the heart into her mouth and watching Layla’s frenzy, Elise considered letting Layla sink her teeth into her. Layla had always had this captivating energy about her. It was what drew Elise to her in the first place. That vibrant, burning passion she held for life. Elise saw it when they played together, when Layla danced to Elise’s music; she even saw it when they fought as little girls. It seemed that no matter how much reaperhood had changed her, the essence of Layla remained.
She looked down at Layla now, mouth twisted with scorn. “You almost bit me.”
Layla crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at Elise. “You almost let me bite you. I would have loved to taste you. If your blood smells that good, it must taste heavenly.”
The words sent a chill up Elise’s spine. Suddenly, making eye contact with Layla became very hard, and she had to look away. “You’re obscene.”
“You can’t even look me in the eye when you accuse me,” Layla spat. Her voice spiraled around Elise, her tone weighted with possibility. Elise couldn’t help but wonder if reaper voices contained special properties, meant to allure listeners. She snapped her gaze to Layla’s and her heart skipped a beat at the tease in her eyes. “Tell me, Saint. There’s no one listening, no one watching. You don’t need to keep this act up.”
Elise’s breath caught. “It’s not an act.”
“Are you sure about that? You came after me despite me being ready to kill,” Layla hissed. She stepped up, her face so close to Elise, her nose almost brushed her throat. Elise went still. To allow someone at her neck like this was risky. But Elise didn’t care. For once, letting go of her responsibilities felt good, no matter the danger. “I remember little you ripping her stockings the second her mother left the room, and swapping her sheet music when the tutor wasn’t looking. You put on an act for everyone including yourself. But I see right through it. I see you,” Layla whispered.
The pounding in her chest intensified at Layla’s words, her proximity only aggravating the tension. Layla’s fingertips pressed into Elise’s sternum. When her palm laid flat against her racing heartbeat, Elise gripped her wrist. “Human blood makes you deranged. You see nothing,” she snapped.
Beneath her fingers, Elise felt Layla’s pulse quicken. Despite the chaos and the urgency of the club, Layla had still managed to distance herself from Elise when she was halfway to succumbing to her monstrous urges. Even now, with carnage following in their wake, Layla held her gaze as if Elise was the only thing in the world. With a gangster’s blood on her tongue, the reaper still drank in Elise’s presence.
The harsh sound of bells clanging pulled Elise’s focus. Police cars ground to a halt in front of the club, officers and Saint members swarming the scene. A few drew close to the alley and even turned their attention toward where Elise and Layla stood.
Layla, with her lips and chin still stained with blood, tried to move away from Elise, but Elise acted quickly, cornering her and shoving her back into the wall.
“Look at me,” Elise demanded.
Layla’s eyes flicked to hers. A crooked smile split her bloodred lips. The light in her eyes told Elise that more than just bloodlust filled her veins. “You want a taste, Saint?” she asked. Bloodstained fangs flashed up at Elise, and she shuddered, her hand trembling on the wall by Layla’s head.
“Police,” Elise breathed. “If they see your feast, we’ll both be in trouble.”
“Me more than you.” Layla’s smile slipped as her eyes moved to something beyond the alley. Then suddenly she lunged forward, one hand grabbing Elise’s waist, while the other seized the back of her neck.
Elise yelped. But Layla breathed into her throat. “Shhh…”
Elise went still. The rush of armed officers passed behind them, but all Elise could focus on was the sharp scent of blood and piercing apprehension that seeped between them. Layla’s face pressed against her throat, the blood on her cheek and chin smearing on Elise’s skin. It felt raw—nearly animalistic. She did not despise it. Instead, Elise’s fingers gathered in the fabric of Layla’s shirt and she clenched it into her fist. Her own blood felt electric, her skin burning with a vicious craving. But Elise’s devotion was to an opposing fate. And for this touch, she would burn.
As soon as the passing officers were gone, their commotion faded to the scene across the street, Elise tore herself away from Layla. The world spun and her legs trembled. The current between them fell quiet, nothing more than a cold tension replacing it.
“I’m going home,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “We’ll meet up again tomorrow.”
Layla’s pupils were dilated and her breath shook while her hands clenched by her sides. “Sure, Saint.”
Elise walked all the way home and did not let go of the fact that she had survived touching Layla Quinn again.
At the Saint estate, guards and associates gathered outside Mr. Saint’s office, discussing the news of the Cotton Club attack. Elise knew that her father’s office would be full of policemen and associates, so she slipped upstairs to her room. She needed to talk to her father but wanted to wait until they were alone. She hadn’t bargained on Sterling waiting in the upstairs hallway for her.
“Thank God you’re back.” He enveloped her in a tight hug, then pulled back just enough to get a good look at her. “Are you hurt?”
“No, Sterling, I’m fine.” But she wasn’t sure.
“You don’t look it.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket then wiped it over her cheek. It came away bloody. Elise’s eyes widened and pins prickled all over her body at the sight. Never mind the bloodbath she had just witnessed; a layer of grime covered her and she suddenly felt like she was suffocating.
Elise swallowed a breath. “Sterling, it’s bad. It’s so bad.”
“Let me help you.” Sterling touched her hand, but Elise shrugged away from him.
Nothing made sense to Elise now. An hour ago, she had been stuck between debauchery and peace, almost ready for Layla to sink her teeth into her. She wanted to feel something other than responsibility, she wanted to act without the worry of whether she was being perfect.
“Something happened at the Cotton Club,” Elise muttered.
“I know—”
“It was my fault. I need to apologize to Father—”
“Elise, relax for a moment.”
But she couldn’t.
The itchy feeling all over her body intensified while she looked down at her ruined clothes, caked with debris and blood. “No. I need to fix this—” Elise choked on her own words as she backed away into her bedroom, where she began to pull off her filthy clothes.
“Elise—” Sterling tried to follow her in, but she ran into the bathroom and closed the door on him. Elise took out Sterling’s gun and removed the remaining bullets. She laid out the five bullets on the counter, her breathing going shaky when she realized one was slightly farther away from the others. Her finger pushed it closer in line, then traced a cross over the handle of the gun seven times, exhaling when she finished. But still, the tension remained. Threats surrounded Harlem, and Elise’s skin itched—her chest twisted at the thought of not being able to control them. One wrong move, one misstep, and chaos would unfold.
She paced the bathroom, opening and snapping the revolver closed seven times. Even on the seventh movement, her body didn’t feel settled. Her scalp buzzed, and her chest felt so tight, breathing became difficult. Elise turned, preparing to count her steps in sevens and restart the ritual with the gun, but the moment she opened the chamber, the bullets slipped out, scattering across the floor. A new wave of panic crashed over her, and Elise’s breath stopped altogether while she watched the rounds roll to a halt around her.
Sterling banged on the door again. “Elise, I will break this door down. Please, just let me help you.”
Elise paused. She could handle this on her own. Her father expected her to anyway. But any error would be her fault and the city would be in ruins soon if she was not careful. She needed more than just security in her numbers and rituals.
Elise draped her robe over her body and opened the door.
Sterling stood in the doorway, his brow creased with worry. He noticed the bullets on the floor and the incessant twitching of Elise’s hands. “Sit,” he said firmly, pushing her into her vanity seat.
Her reflection in the mirror was a haunting image she refused to face. Instead, she watched Sterling sit before her and take her hands into his. It had been ages since she had had a compulsive episode this bad. And Elise hated the frenzied state they left her in almost as much as she hated people seeing her in it.
“I’m okay,” Elise whimpered.
“Is your number still seven?” he asked.
Just the mention of it had Elise counting in her head again. But Sterling’s hand tightened on her and he shook his head, cursing under his breath. The longer Elise forced her attention to him, the quieter the numbers became in her own mind.
“Just talk me through what you’re feeling. What else happened at the club?” Sterling asked.
Elise didn’t want to tell him about the close brush she had had with Layla. She certainly didn’t want to tell him about how she had considered letting Layla bite her. Sterling had more anger toward Layla than Elise might have herself. He had been the one to pull Layla off Elise five years ago, and he was the first one to tend to Elise’s wounds. The fear that shook his hands and darkened his eyes that night never quite left him. Elise still saw echoes of it when she looked at him now, especially with Layla back in their lives.
“I underestimated the responsibility involved in being the heir,” Elise said quietly. “When I was in France, my biggest worry was whether my music was good enough. Now, I come home and there are reapers coming for my throat—none of them quite as aggressively as my father…” she trailed off when Sterling’s expression hardened. Already, Elise was regretting having shared so much. Sterling’s tentative suspicion created a sinking feeling in her chest.
Elise tried to steady her voice, but her nerves remained evident in her trembling hands. “How do you deal with him?”
Sterling pressed his palms over her knuckles, willing them to still. “I’m used to it. Besides, the pressure of Mr. Saint demanding perfection cannot be worse than having no one at all. Being a part of a family involves making sacrifices. I’m willing to do whatever if it means I get to stay here.”
Guilt began to set in. She was foolish to take her family’s presence for granted. Especially in front of Sterling. The Saints were all he had. Elise took a deep breath. “I don’t feel like I’m doing anything right. Ever. My father picks up on that. Sometimes… I feel like he doesn’t even like me.”
The room seemed to still as those words spilled out of her. Elise broke their eye contact and looked down at her lap. Then Sterling’s hands were cupping her face and he was tilting her gaze back up to his. The heat from his palms spread through her cheeks, soothing the cold tracks the tears had left and warming the emptiness in her chest. “That is not possible, Elise. You are the loveliest person I know. Your father would be a fool to not love you. Your father is not a fool, is he?” Sterling asked.
A tender smile appeared on Elise’s lips. “No. He isn’t.”
“It’s difficult to not love you. Impossible, actually.” Sterling pulled her into his chest.
Warmth spread through Elise. “Are you working tonight?” she asked.
Sterling shook his head. “No. I’m all yours.”
Later, Elise sat in her favorite spot in the library balcony, Sterling beside her. They shared a box of chocolate-covered strawberries while half-listening to her father and Stephen Wayne talking below.
The library loft had been a kind of hideout over the years. Elise remembered climbing the ladder with Layla, where they would pick random books for each other and take turns trying to pronounce the longest words they could find. It never lasted too long because the dust between the pages would irritate Layla’s allergies, and before they even made it through a full chapter, she would be sneezing and rubbing her eyes until they were red.
Elise bit back a smile as she sucked a spot of chocolate off her finger. “How much do you know about Stephen Wayne?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
Sterling shrugged. “Nothing besides the glorified opinions Thalia had of him. I think there’s more to him than he lets on. Most politicians these days put on a show they know people will love, but it’s never truly real,” Sterling said. The corner of his lips twitched. “Also, he’s so cocky.”
Laughing softly, Elise nudged him with her shoulder. “You don’t like him, do you?”
“I mean, what does he want with us so badly? Everything we have he could get himself. He reminds me of my mother’s brother.” Sterling grimaced. “Of course I can never say that around your father, but the fact still stands.”
Elise covered his hand with hers. “You never mention your uncle. Do you want to talk about it now?”
Sterling’s shoulders tensed. His hand curled into a fist beneath hers and he looked away. “That bastard is not my uncle,” he muttered. And with that, the conversation ended. Elise understood. He had become an orphan in the most horrific way possible and still lived with a lineage that went back to the violently intolerant South, where he had watched his father die.
Elise leaned back on her hands, letting the muffled conversation from below wash over her. While she watched her father and Mr. Wayne clink their glasses together and talk over some whiskey, the unsettling sensation piqued in her.
“I’m terribly sorry about the mess at the club,” she heard her father say. “I will be sure to get to the bottom of it.”
Elise’s shoulders tensed, but she reached for another strawberry.
“I miss helping Josi write letters to you up here,” Sterling said. “You know we made a goal to get through all the books on this shelf by the end of the year.” He ran his finger over the lowest shelf behind him.
The thought of Josi and her best friend spending time together in their favorite spot made Elise’s heart warm. She sat back, her lips lifting at the corners. “So you’re the reason she was including Voltaire quotes in her letters to me while I was in France. I was wondering how her handwriting improved so quickly.” Elise laughed.
“The quotes were her idea. I simply helped her write them,” Sterling said, smiling.
She pulled a book from the shelf and cracked it open. “Let’s continue the tradition, then. I haven’t gotten a letter from her yet.”
“She’s probably busy having fun. Not everyone can be a dullard like you, spending all their free time perfecting their craft,” Sterling said.
Elise smacked him with the book.