The Hotel Clarice felt colder than usual. Layla’s heart shuddered at the empty atmosphere and frigid glances she got from her clan members as she walked into the massive foyer.
A semicircle formed around the center of the room where Valeriya sat waiting. “Join us, Layla,” Valeriya said. She quickly glanced in front of her. On the table sat a crystal glass still full of blood and a notebook. Her eyes found Layla’s. “Have you decided where your loyalties lie? With us, or with the Saints?” Valeriya asked.
Reapers started murmuring around her.
Layla gaped. “Of course I’m loyal to this clan. This is my home. You—” Her voice broke and she swallowed, willing herself to sound strong. “You are the closest I’ve ever had to a family since I lost mine.” Layla sniffed. “People say reapers are heartless, but this clan has stuck together through the hardest times, and that proves just how much we care for each other. I think we have more hearts than the entire Saint empire.”
Valeriya lifted the cup to her lips and passed Layla a cold look. It pierced through Layla, her body tensing. Valeriya nodded. “I know that. But your loyalty remains unknown.” She gestured to the clan members around them, who all murmured agreements under their breath. “Sit.”
Layla listened. She sat in one of the free seats, somewhat farther away from everyone else. Valeriya continued the meeting as if there had been no interruption. “We’ve recently lost two of our own. Both times, Layla, you have been at the center of the crime. And now you are running around with a Saint—”
“I’m bound by an agreement with the Saints. We reasonably believe Theo Smith killed those Saint members that night as a reaper. The problem is that he was not just a reaper. He became something worse. Close to demonic. And in death, he was human once more. So were Giana and Shirley,” Layla said.
Valeriya sucked her teeth as the entire room burst into commotion. Mei shot Layla a bewildered look from across the room. “I have lived for hundreds of years and never seen such a thing,” Valeriya drawled.
“I was at the scene of both crimes and I saw such a thing,” Layla seethed.
Mei spoke over the shocked murmuring around them. “How does this involve the Saints?” she asked.
Layla swallowed as she remembered the sallow skin and empty eyes that stared up at her under the harsh morgue lights. “They are partnered with the mayoral candidate, Stephen Wayne, and are supporting his clinic.”
Someone’s voice rang up from the back of the room. “They are working on a cure for reaperhood?”
“If it’s only a cure in death, I’m not sure it can be called a cure,” someone else muttered.
Layla almost shouted her next words. “Nothing is positive yet. Only that the murder was not just a reaper attack. Knowing that there is a potential cure out there… It’s what we’ve all wanted. I aim to find out more about it. This could be the beginning of something new, where violence is not the answer and peace is promised,” she said softly as the clamor settled down.
Valeriya cleared her throat. “There is no cure for reaperhood. Whatever you’ve found, it’s not to be trusted. Especially not if it comes from the Saints. They want to get rid of us. Not fix us. You will not ruin the order I have created for us in Harlem.” She stood, her skirts billowing around her in a graceful wave of black and purple silks. “Meeting adjourned.”
Layla’s heart dropped. She pushed her way through her clan members to catch up with Valeriya, who was already halfway up the grand staircase. “Valeriya—”
“Save it, Quinn. You will not get my vote of confidence for inciting chaos,” Valeriya said coldly.
Not thinking, Layla grabbed her mentor’s elbow. Valeriya stopped on the landing and turned to face Layla. Her eyes flared with fury, the dark green replaced by a luminescent neon green. Layla did not shy away. Valeriya might have been older than her by centuries, and she might have been taller than her and bigger than her, but Layla had all of those same abilities that she had. Increased speed, increased senses, faster reflexes. She never thought she would need to face off with Valeriya, but should things ever come down to it, Layla trusted her instincts to be a fair match against hers.
“I know you don’t trust the Saints, but you can trust me,” Layla said.
“Oh, please. They practically raised you. They know how to manipulate you and use you against us.” Valeriya’s voice came out in a cold hiss.
“They did not raise me. My mother and father raised me as a human. Then you raised me as a reaper. Not the Saints. With them I associate nothing but bitter, painful memories and blood that won’t stop spilling. There is nothing any Saint could do to make me leave your side,” Layla said strongly. “I want this cure. I truly believe one exists and I will find it. Even if I have to suffer through a bit of Saint torture. I won’t force this cure onto anyone, but let me at least make it an option.”
For a moment, Valeriya was quiet. But her eyes went back to their normal dark green shade the longer she thought and began to soften her stance. Finally, she exhaled. “You have already spread this nonsense throughout my clan; at this point, they will be expecting something. But you don’t have my blessing. Because if anything happens to this clan, it will not be on me, it will be on you. Think of it like this.” Valeriya closed her fingers around Layla’s wrist. Her nails dug in so hard that Layla felt her skin break beneath the pressure, blood already dripping out while Valeriya spoke. “This is your new family. It’s up to you whether you can save them a second time around or not.”
By the time the weight of her words sunk in, Valeriya was gone. Layla was left standing on the landing, wrist stinging and heart aching.
Wear a mask that covers your whole face. Bring a date. The goal is to blend in.
Layla ran Elise’s message in her head over and over. Despite Layla not being excited for a night of loud music, drunken people yelling, and being forced into close proximity with Elise, she welcomed the upcoming gala as a much-needed distraction from the tension surrounding her in the clan.
She flung a simple black dress onto her bed and glared at it. The nicest piece of clothing she owned, and it was so plain. Not a single sparkle, or an ounce of fringe adorned the poor thing. Elise would probably have a heart attack if Layla wore it to the gala. She could almost picture the aghast look on the Saint’s face.
“What is that? I told you to wear a dress, not a rag!”
Layla laughed to herself. She pulled the dress from its hanger and stepped into it anyway. It still fit nicely after all these years. Valeriya had gifted her the dress just a few days after her fifteenth birthday. She claimed she was tired of seeing Layla in the same sad clothes every day, but the dress was plainer than the beautifully stitched coat she had taken from Elise’s room the night after she turned. And upon closer inspection, Layla realized this dress was quite vintage. For someone who prided herself on being well off and had a wonderfully indulgent closet, a used dress was an odd gift from Valeriya. If she wasn’t wearing a new silk gown with a fancy coat and some glimmering jewelry, she was not herself.
Layla wondered if the dress she gifted her had belonged to someone Valeriya once knew. But she couldn’t recall Valeriya being close to anyone in the few years she had known her. It was strange; for a woman of so many centuries, she didn’t seem to know that many individuals other than her Harlem reapers.
Or maybe she just kept her acquaintances secret.
Sighing, Layla moved to pull off the dress. But fraying threads tangled in the fabric, catching when she tried to yank it past her shoulders. Layla groaned and stuck her leg on her bed, reaching back to try and peel the dress off. But to no avail. She knew she probably looked deranged, her body twisting to get the dress off—
“Do you need help?” A gentle voice tinged with amusement wafted over from her bedroom doorway.
Layla’s foot slipped from her bed and she righted herself immediately. Of course, the fabric picked this moment to slide down just enough to make the front part of her dress slouch in the most unflattering way. Layla pressed the material against her chest, her cheeks burning as Mei stepped into the room. “I don’t need help,” she muttered fiercely.
Mei ignored the obvious lie. She moved in front of Layla and looked down at her with curious eyes. “You never wear this dress.” Mei brushed a gentle finger over the sloping fabric on Layla’s chest. “May I?” she asked.
“Fine.” Layla nodded. The heat in Layla’s cheeks flared at the tenderness in Mei’s tone. She remembered then how it had felt to be with Mei in the darkest points of the night, her legs fitted around Mei’s hips, Mei’s lips moving softly over her throat. Layla wasn’t sure why it started in the first place. A mutual attraction was the only thing she could come up with. But neither of them loved each other. Once upon a time, years ago, she thought she might have felt it burn in her heart for someone, but those flames had long since died. Perhaps they were never to return.
Now, Layla stared straight ahead at the wall while Mei went behind her and gently began working the zipper from its trap in the fabric. Soft fingers slid on the nape of Layla’s neck. The strokes were so gentle and light, Layla felt herself leaning into Mei the slightest bit just to deepen the contact. Such tenderness had not always existed between them.
The first time the attraction between them spiraled into something more, both of their lips had been coated in blood from a recent feed. Mei had done the job of luring a stupid gangster into an empty alley, then Layla had struck. She looked up at Mei over the gangster’s gaping chest, blood seeping from her mouth and down her chin. Human blood always made Layla feel glorious. But this kill… The adrenaline that came with the blood had unlocked all of Layla’s inhibitions. So when Mei settled beside her and began to drink her fill, Layla leaned closer to her.
They fed until they were full, physically. But on the walk back to the lair, Layla took one look at Mei and noted the sudden brightness of her dark eyes that teemed with hunger. It called to the heated desire that blazed in Layla’s chest. Moonlight slanted over Mei’s pale cheekbones, and Layla thought the blood in the curve of her full lips looked so sublime, she would die to taste any part of her. They both stopped mid path. And as Mei reached for her, Layla met her in the middle.
Blood slipped between their lips while they kissed, devouring each other as if they were the last meal they would have. Night swallowed them. For the first time in years, Layla felt something other than emptiness and pain. Mei pushed Layla against a nearby wall and together they spiraled into a frenzied ecstasy.
By the time they emerged from their heated tryst, Layla couldn’t tell if it was the blood that was making her deliciously dizzy, or if it was the taste of Mei. She never forgot the intoxicating sweetness that lingered on her lips, coupled with the way her body had found euphoria just with Mei.
Whatever it was, Layla didn’t question it. She merely licked the last of her sinner’s meal from her lips and followed Mei back to the Hotel Clarice.
They didn’t talk about what they had done in the alley for a few days. But it happened again. And again. And again. Mostly in Layla’s bed, sometimes after a successful hunt in the middle of an empty park at night.
Layla didn’t realize how much she missed another’s touch until she felt Mei at her throat now, her fingers gently working the threads out of their tangled mess on her dress. “Mei,” Layla whispered.
Mei’s fingers fluttered, as if surprised to hear Layla speaking. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” Layla said.
“For what?” Mei asked.
Layla hadn’t prepared to answer that question. She had assumed Mei would just accept the apology and they would move on and continue tolerating each other just like they had after each kiss, no matter how violently it began. She sighed and turned to face Mei.
“I’m sorry for being selfish. I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you. You don’t deserve that. You’ve had a rough couple of weeks—”
“We all have,” Mei said strongly. “We have had a rough couple of years. I’ve wasted so much money on phone calls and trips across the state. And for what? Any family would have taken one look at me and rejected me anyway.”
Layla didn’t have to ask to know Mei was talking about their reaperhood and how it had negatively affected them both in ways they couldn’t always be open about. She thought about the phone books in Mei’s room and how when they had first become friends a couple years ago, Mei had an entire portion of her day blocked out just to pore over residents with her last name, wondering if any of her family members had finally come from China. It had been years since Mei left them as a teenager to find a life in New York, but that loneliness continued to chase her. Layla lowered her eyes and swallowed past the painful lump in her throat.
Mei sighed. “I don’t hate you for working with the Saint girl. It’s hard to let go of your past, especially when it’s so violently ripped away from you. But I hope you know that whatever she says, it’s not sincere. You’ve been through enough with her. Work with her now, but promise me you will always come back home.”
The tightness in her chest increased when Layla looked up and saw the conflicting emotions in Mei’s eyes. “I already know I cannot trust her, Mei,” Layla said.
Mei shrugged. A tiny smile played at her lips. “I know you know that. But the Saints are master manipulators. It’s made worse since they’ve got pretty faces to match their pretty lies.”
Layla’s stomach flipped. She scoffed. She wasn’t sure if it was because of Mei’s comment, or if it was the sudden intrusion of Elise in her thoughts. But her body loosened up, the weight of today’s damage already lifting off her bit by bit. “Saint girl isn’t that pretty.” Layla rolled her eyes.
“No?” Mei asked. Her tone went up a notch as she took on a mocking voice. “I’ve seen her. Though I suppose if she wasn’t so evil, she would be much prettier.”
Layla snorted. “I think evilness gives reapers an edge. Not people.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Mei asked, her smile widening.
“What do you think I’m saying?” Layla lifted a brow.
Mei trailed her fingers down Layla’s arms and Layla swore her blood swirled with her bare touch. “You think I’m pretty.”
“Hmmm…” Layla didn’t look away, but her face went hot as she nodded. “The first time I kissed you was right after we killed a man.”
Mei tapped a finger against Layla’s lips. “You’re wrong.”
“No, I’m not—”
She silenced Layla with a soft kiss that made all of Layla’s previously protesting thoughts melt away. When she pulled away, Layla’s body moved toward her, wanting more of that intoxicating warmth. “I kissed you,” Mei whispered.
Layla’s fangs snapped out and she hissed an irreverent sigh. “Shut up.” Then she pushed Mei, sending them both tumbling into her bed.