Лиза Смит - Bloodlust

I blinked, and the portrait swam into my vision. It was of a dark-haired man with chiseled features and pale-blue eyes. His teeth were bared, his canines elongated, and he was crouched opposite a snarling mountain lion.

I knew the face on the poster better than I knew my own.

It was Damon.

Damon. Death.

The words swam in my mind as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. Damon was alive. But who knew for how long? If he had been captured, he was undoubtedly weak. How could he face a ravenous beast in a battle and survive?

Anger tore through my body, along with the familiar ache of my fangs elongating. I ripped down the sign with a snarl.

“What is it?” she hissed, her own fangs bared.

I held up the paper.

“My brother,” I said, staring without comprehension at the poster. The picture made him look like a monster. My eye twitched. “The battle is in two days.”

Lexi nodded, taking in the portrait.

“Gallagher found him,” she said, almost to herself.

I shook my head, not understanding what she meant.

She sighed. “Big businessman. He owns a lot of places in town, including a two-bit circus and freak show. Always looking for curiosities to display, and people always seem to find the money to attend. Your brother—”

“Damon,” I said, cutting her off. “His name is Damon.”

“Damon,” Lexi said gently, tracing the image with her fingers.

“He doesn’t deserve this,” I said, almost to myself. “I need to help him. But . . .” I trailed off. But what? How could I possibly save him?

“We’ll need to find him,” Lexi decided. She brushed leaves and dirt from the back of her pants. “Do you trust me?”

Did I have a choice? My hunger forgotten, I followed her through the forest and back to the wide, silent streets of the city.

“Gallagher lives somewhere in the Garden District with all the other nouveaux riches. On Laurel Street, I think,” Lexi murmured as we wove our way to the center of town. “This has happened before, soon after Gallagher arrived in New Orleans five years ago.”

“What happened?” I asked, following closely behind her in the shadows.

“He found a vampire. He’s good at finding us. Or maybe we’re good at finding him. But the other vampire wasn’t part of my family. And . . .” She stopped suddenly.

“What happened to him?”

But Lexi merely shook her head. We’d arrived at the Garden District, where the streets were wide and the lawns hugging the sherbet-colored Victorian houses were lush and expansive.

“Here.” She stopped at a pistachio-hued mansion enclosed by an open wrought-iron fence. Magnolias and calla lilies spilled over the gate, and the air smelled like mint. Just beyond, I could see an enormous herb garden that took up a fifth of the property. I recoiled as we walked closer, as the garden grew a generous amount of vervain.

Lexi wrinkled her nose. “He knows all the tricks,” she said wryly.

We pushed open the gate, our footsteps barely crunching the gravel on the path that circled the house. Cicadas buzzed in the sycamore trees above us, and I could hear horses pacing in the stable.

And then I heard a low moan.

“He’s out back,” I said.

Lexi gazed up at the sky. Orange streaks were starting to peek above the horizon; it was about an hour until day broke. “It’s too close to dawn,” Lexi said. “I didn’t realize how late it is. I have to go.”

I looked at her sharply.

“I’m not protected.” Her fingers fluttered to my ring, and I glanced down self-consciously. The lapus lazuli adornment had become so much a part of me, I’d forgotten that it made me different from other vampires, made me able to walk in the daylight. Katherine had arranged for both Damon and me to have this protection.

“We’ll come back tomorrow. The others can help us then,” Lexi insisted.

I shook my head. “I can’t leave him.”

Birds chirped in the trees above us, and from somewhere nearby came the sound of glass shattering. The orange streaks in the sky grew fatter, brighter. “I understand,” Lexi said finally. “Be safe. Don’t play the hero.”

I nodded, scanning the grounds for any guards or animals lying in wait to attack. When I looked up, Lexi was gone and I was alone.

Stealing quickly to the back of the house, I made my way toward the whitewashed stable. Horses pawed the ground nervously, obviously sensing my presence. The stable doors were padlocked with an iron bolt. I grabbed the chain, testing it. Even though I’d barely fed since the previous evening, it would be easy enough to rend the chains with my bare hands. But something stopped me. Don’t play the hero. Lexi’s words echoed in my mind. She had become my guide during the past couple of days, and I knew it was in my best interest to listen to her. Better not to leave any evidence of an intruder, better to get the lay of the land before doing anything rash.

I released the chain, and it fell back against the door with a loud clanking sound. A horse whinnied. I walked to the other side of the stable, where a dusty window was open a crack.

“Brother?” I whispered hoarsely through the window. The cloying scent of vervain was everywhere, making me woozy and nauseated.

In the corner, a filthy figure struggled to sit up. Damon. His hands and feet were bound with chains, and his skin was covered in angry red welts. The chains must have been soaked in vervain. I winced in sympathy.

Damon’s eyes locked on mine.

“You found me,” he said, no emotion in his face. “Are you happy to see that I’m close to death, brother?”

“I’m here to save you,” I said simply. The horses were kicking up the sawdust around their feet in agitation; I didn’t have much time before someone in the house heard the disturbance.

Damon shrugged, an effort that clearly took all his energy. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy. A large cut lined his forehead, slicing into his eyebrow. He looked awful and emaciated; it was clear he hadn’t eaten in days.

I glanced around, hoping I could find something—a squirrel, a rabbit, a chipmunk—to kill and toss to him, but there was nothing.

“So the cold-blooded killer is going to save me.” Damon attempted a wan smile. He leaned back against the wall, his chains rattling.

“Yes, we have to—”

Suddenly, I heard the sound of a door slamming, then a dog barking. I whirled around toward the main house.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a voice yelled out. And I stood, my hands raised to the sky, unsure of who—or what—had found me this time.

My hands still in the air, I pressed my lips together. I’d already learned that any sign of stress caused my fangs to bulge and my pupils to grow larger; I didn’t want to prepare to attack until I knew what I was dealing with.

“Jake? Charley?” a female voice called as two burly men ran toward me from the main house. Although twice my bulk, they were definitely human. Each man grabbed one of my arms, though I noted with cold calculation that it would take only one quick twist to shake both off before I lunged for my attack.

But I fought with every core of my being to stay still, my hands high in the air, hoping I’d just look like a common vagrant. There was no guarantee that a fight would lead to Damon’s rescue.

A girl walked toward me from the porch and stopped a foot away.

“I apologize,” I said to her. I tried to make my voice sound like I was nervously gasping for breath. “I didn’t realize this was private property. I’m new to town, and I was in the tavern, and, well . . .” I trailed off, unsure of whether my lies would get me into even deeper trouble.