Лиза Смит - Bloodlust

He was right. Because while I truly didn’t know whether I wanted to kiss or bite Callie, I knew I wanted her .

October 9, 1864

I am not supposed to have a heart. A bullet went through it nearly three weeks ago, and no blood of my own will ever pump through it again. The only blood that now courses through my veins is that of whomever I happen to attack. And yet something about Callie causes my dead heart to flutter and the stolen blood to quicken in my body. Is it real? Or is it a mere memory of something that used to be? Damon once told me that on the battlefield, boys who’d undergone amputations still woke up to agonizing pain in their legs or cried for the hand that ached, though those limbs were no longer part of them. But while those boys had phantom limbs, it seems I have a phantom heart. In my short time in New Orleans, I’ve learned about my Power. It’s what has driven me, what I’ve thrived on, what makes me a vampire. But that’s not the only power I possess. The other kind isn’t exciting, or thrilling, or dangerous. It’s mundane and tedious—the exercising of control over my Power. I’ve had to learn to suppress my urges to fit in and to remain with Lexi. Yet when I was with Callie at the show, it was as though my two powers were at cross-purposes, each threatening to destroy the other in a private battle in my brain. Now she enters my thoughts constantly. The constellation of freckles on her skin. Her long eyelashes. Her vibrant smile. I can’t help but admire the way she wields her own power. How she commands the attention and respect of her father’s employees, but also how she grows soft around me, cuddling close when she thinks no one is looking. I think of my hand interlaced with hers. And every time an image of Callie floats to my consciousness, I curse myself. I should be stronger than this. I shouldn’t think of her. I should put her out of my mind, write her off as a silly little girl who is lucky I’m letting her live. But deep down, despite my Power, I know Callie has control over me—and my phantom heart.

The next morning, I returned to the freak show, with only one thing on my mind: freeing Damon.

“Hello, friend!” the strong man, Arnold, greeted me as I walked through the gateway to the fairgrounds.

“Hello,” I muttered.

The tattooed woman came up behind him and gazed at me quizzically. Without her India-inked designs, she was actually quite pretty, with high cheekbones and wide, inquisitive eyes. “What are you doing here?”

I grunted in response.

“You’ll want to apologize to Callie.” She pointed at the side of the tent.

So Callie had already told her friends about our disastrous evening. Just as I had feared. I walked around the grounds until I saw Callie kneeling over a piece of birch wood at her feet. Paint splattered her overalls, and her red hair was twisted on top of her head and held in place by a single, slender, long-handled paintbrush. The sign said:

A PENNY A PEEK: A REAL, LIVE, HUNGRY VAMPIRE. ENTER IF YOU DARE!

Underneath was a crude drawing of a vampire: fangs elongated, eyes squinting, blood trickling down both sides of his mouth. The features were Damon’s, but it was clear Callie had drawn significant artistic inspiration from the burlesque show last night.

Callie looked up, catching me staring. Her mouth made a round O, and she dropped her brush onto the canvas. A large black spot suddenly appeared on Damon’s face.

“Look what you made me do,” she said angrily.

I stuck my hands in my pockets, subtly sniffing the air for traces of Damon. “I’m sorry.”

Callie sighed in annoyance. “I don’t need your apologies. I just need you to stop distracting me so I can get some work done.”

“Do you want me to help you fix the painting?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. They hung between us for a long moment, both of us seemingly surprised by my offer.

“Fix the painting?” Callie echoed, putting her hands on her hips. “Am I hearing you correctly? Fix the painting ?”

“Yes?” I fumbled.

“Are you aware that you left me last night to get home alone, with no explanation?” Her chin was jutted out, and her stance was aggressive, but her lower lip wobbled, and I could tell she was hurt.

“Callie,” I began. Excuses flew through my head. I work for your father. We should not sneak around. You’re just a girl, and I’m a vampire . . . Even though part of me was furious at her for allowing her father to parade Damon around like livestock, to let him fight perhaps until death, the other part knew that she had as little sway over her father as I’d had with mine. And now all I could think about was making her lip stop wobbling.

“It’s better this way,” I said, twisting my ring around my finger.

She shook her head and stabbed the sharp wooden end of the paintbrush into the dirt. It remained there, as if it were a tiny surrender flag after a battle. “No explanation necessary. We’ve known each other a week. You don’t owe me an explanation. That’s the best thing about strangers: You don’t owe them anything,” she said crisply.

I rocked back on my heels. A silence hung between us. The image of Damon glared up at me, seemingly mocking my ineffectiveness.

“Well, aren’t you going to get to work?” she asked. “Or are we just paying you to stand around?”

Before I could turn to leave, Jasper burst out of a small black tent at the edge of the property. “We need some extra hands!”

A lanky man trailed behind him, cradling his forearm close to his chest.

Callie leaped to her feet. “What happened?”

As the man held out his hand, blood flowed down his arm onto the ground. I averted my eyes. Even so, pain rippled along my jaw as I felt my fangs grow.

“The vampire’s fighting today. We need more men.” Jasper gasped breathlessly, his eyes falling on me.

“Stefan,” Callie said in a tone that wasn’t a question.

Jasper and the stocky man stared at me.

“Well then, come on, new guy. Show us you’re Gallagher material,” Jasper said, jerking his chin in the direction of the tent.

“Of course,” I said slowly, a plan forming in my mind. I could pick out four separate heartbeats in the tent. There would be copious amounts of vervain, of course, but I’d been feeding regularly enough that I might be able to overcome the men. Four I could handle, but five . . . I turned to Jasper. “Why don’t you and Callie take care of your man here and I’ll join the others in the tent?”

“ I’m coming, brother ,” I added under my breath.

Callie squinted at me. “Did you say something?”

“No,” I said quickly.

Jasper shifted from foot to foot, sizing me up with his eyes. “Callie will take care of Charley here, and I’ll take care of you. Teach you the tricks of monster wrangling,” he said, clapping me on the back, pushing me toward the tent.

With each step the scent of vervain grew stronger, curdling the blood in my veins.

Together, we entered the tent. The interior was hot and dark, the stench of vervain nearly suffocating me. It took every ounce of my strength not to bend at the waist and scream in agony. I forced my eyes open and looked at my brother, who was chained in the corner. Four men yanked on his restraints, trying desperately to keep him in place.

The second Damon’s eyes landed on me, his face lit up.

“ Welcome to hell, brother ,” Damon whispered, his lips barely moving as he locked eyes with me. Then he turned to Jasper. “So, Jasp,” he said, in a conversational tone, as if they were just two men engaged in a friendly talk at a tavern, “you found a new sap to do your dirty work. Well, come on, brother. Let’s see if you can stake me.”