Лиза Смит - Bloodlust

“He and his brother have been wreaking havoc all over town,” the large vampire said, his makeshift stake pointed at me like a rifle.

“Just me,” I said quickly. “My brother had no part in it.” Damon would never survive the wrath of these demons. Not in his weakened state.

The blond vampire wrinkled her nose as she leaned even closer toward me.

“You’re what, a week old?” she asked, leaning back on her heels.

“Almost two weeks,” I said defiantly, lifting my chin.

She nodded, a hint of a smile on her lips, and stood, surveying the shop. The plaster wall was partially caved in, and blood smeared the floor and speckled the walls, as though a child had stood in the center of the room and twirled around with a wet paintbrush. She tsked, and the three male vampires simultaneously took a step back. I shivered.

“Percy, come here, and bring that knife,” she said.

With a sigh, the youngest vampire produced a long carving knife from behind his back.

“He wasn’t following the rules,” he said petulantly, reminding me of the Giffin boys back home. They were both bullies, always ready to kick a kid in the schoolyard and then turn around and tell a teacher they had nothing to do with it.

She took the knife and stared at it, running the pad of her index finger over the gleaming blade. Then she held it back out to Percy. He hesitated a moment, but finally stepped forward to take it. Just then the girl’s canines elongated and her eyes flushed bloodred. With a growl, she stabbed Percy right in the chest. He fell to his knees, doubled over in silent agony.

“You hunt this vampire for making a scene in town,” she seethed, stabbing the knife in farther, “and yet you attempt to destroy him in this public space, in this shop? You’re just as foolish as he is.”

The young vampire staggered to his feet. Blood streamed down the front of his shirt, as though he’d spilled coffee on himself. He grimaced as he pulled the knife out with a sucking sound. “I’m sorry,” he gasped.

“Thank you.” The woman held her wrist toward Percy’s mouth. Despite her youthful look and apparently violent temper, she also had a mothering quality that the other vampires seemed to accept, as if her stabbings were as normal to them as a light swat would be to a high-spirited child.

She turned toward me. “I’m sorry for your troubles, Stefan. Now, can I help you be on your way?” she asked.

I looked around wildly. I’d thought no further ahead than escaping this room. “I . . .”

“. . . don’t have anywhere to go,” she said with a sigh, finishing my thought. She glanced toward the other vampires, who were now huddled in the corner of the room, heads bent in conversation.

“I’ll just be going,” I said, struggling to my feet. My leg was fine, but my arms shook, and my breath came erratically. With local vampires watching my every move, where would I go? How would I feed?

“Nonsense, you’re coming with us,” she said, turning on her heel and walking out the door. She pointed to the young vampire and the one who wore glasses. “Percy and Hugo, stay and clean this place up.”

I had to practically run to keep up with her and the tall, scarred vampire who’d watched my torture. “You’ll need someone to show you around,” she explained, pausing only slightly. “This is Buxton,” she said, grabbing the elbow of the vampire with the long scar.

We walked down street after street until we neared a church with a tall spire.

“We’re here,” she said, turning sharply to enter a wrought-iron gate. Her boots echoed against a slate path that led to the rear of a house. She opened the door, and a musty scent greeted me. Buxton immediately walked through the parlor and up a set of stairs, leaving me and the young female vampire alone in the darkness.

“Welcome home,” she said, spreading her hands wide. “There are plenty of spare rooms upstairs. Find one that suits you.”

“Thank you.” As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I took in my surroundings. Black velvet curtains fastened with golden rope blocked every window. Dust motes floated in the air, and gilt-framed paintings covered the walls. The furniture was threadbare, and I could just make out two sweeping staircases with what looked like oriental runners and, in the next room, a piano. Though at one point this must have been a grand house, now the soiled walls were cracked and peeling, and cobwebs draped over the gold-and-crystal chandelier above us.

“Always enter through the back. Never draw back the curtains. Don’t ever bring anyone here. Do you understand, Stefan?” She looked at me pointedly.

“Yes,” I said, running a finger along the marble fireplace, cutting a path in the inch-thick dust.

“Then I think you will like it here,” she said.

I turned to face her, nodding in agreement. My panic had subsided, and my arms no longer trembled.

“I’m Lexi,” she said, holding out her hand, allowing me to raise it to my lips and kiss it. “I have a feeling that you and I will be friends for a long time.”

I awoke next as dusk was settling over the city. From my window, I could see the goldfish-orange sun sinking low behind a white steeple. The entire house was silent, and for a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was. Then everything came back: the butcher shop, the vampires, me being flung against the wall.

Lexi.

As if on cue, she glided into the room, barely making a sound as she pushed open the door. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders, and she was wearing a simple black dress. If looked at quickly, she could be mistaken for a child. But I could tell from the slight creases around her eyes and the fullness of her lips that she’d been a full-grown woman, probably around nineteen or twenty. I had no idea how many years she’d seen since then.

She perched on the edge of my bed, smoothing back my hair.

“Good evening, Stefan,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. She clutched a tumbler of dark liquid between her fingers. “You slept,” she noted.

I nodded. Until I’d sunk into the featherbed on the third floor of the house, I hadn’t realized that I’d barely slept in the past week. Even on the train, I’d always been twitching, aware of the sighs and snores of my fellow passengers and always, always the steady thrum of blood coursing through their veins. But here no heartbeats had kept me from slumber.

“I brought this for you,” she said, proffering the glass. I pushed it away. The blood in it smelled stale, sour.

“You need to drink,” she said, sounding so much like me speaking to Damon that I couldn’t help but feel a tiny pang of irritation—and sorrow. I brought the tumbler to my lips and took a tiny sip, fighting the urge to spit it out. As I expected, the drink tasted like dank water and the scent made me feel vaguely ill.

Lexi smiled to herself, as if enjoying a private joke. “It’s goat’s blood. It’s good for you. You’ll make yourself sick, the way you were feeding. A diet made exclusively of human blood isn’t good for the digestion. Or the soul.”

“We don’t have souls,” I scoffed. But I brought the cup to my lips once more.

Lexi sighed and took the tumbler, placing it on the nightstand next to me. “So much to learn,” she whispered, almost to herself.

“Well, we have nothing but time, right?” I pointed out. I was rewarded with a rich laugh, which was surprisingly loud and throaty coming from her waif-like body.

“You catch on quickly. Come. Get up. It’s time to show you our city,” she said, handing me a plain white shirt and trousers.

After changing, I followed her down the creaking wooden stairs to where the other vampires milled about in the ballroom. They were dressed up, but all looked faintly old-fashioned, as if they’d stepped out of one of the many portraits on the wall. Hugo sat at the piano, playing an out-of-tune rendition of Mozart while wearing a blue velvet cape. Buxton, the hulking, violent vampire, was wearing a loose, ruffled, white shirt. and Percy had on faded britches and suspenders that made him look as though he were running late to play a game of ball with his schoolmates.