Endless Night (12 page)

At the bottom of the stairs, the room opened to either side leaving a narrow space between the foot of the steps and a wall just in front of me. I stood on the last step and leaned me body forward to look in either direction. Small walls on both sides prevented my snooping.

I took a deep breath and picked a side. Left.

Around the stone partition, was a sight to
see. The light I’d seen from the top of the stairwell came from a dozen brass gaslight sconces. After a quick count, I knew there were exactly seven ornate coffins lined up perfectly in the center of the area. One white, one black, one a beautiful cherry wood; it looked like a funeral home show room. I wondered if they were lined in satin for a second before fear set in.

I knew I’d been sleeping in a house with people who liked to drink a little blood, have a little fun, and pretty much get down tonight, but I didn’t know it was this far down. Like coffins in the fucking basement down. It was one thing to dress up and play make-believe, it was a whole other thing to sleep in a
goddamned coffin.

My chest rose and fell in both directions with each heavy breath. I wondered if Malcolm was in one of these. If Tatum knew it. Before my feet turned and tore ass out of the room of death, I wondered if Cyrus was down there somewhere.

I turned with such adrenaline my eyes weren’t even working yet. I slammed directly into a hard object and it wasn’t a stone wall.

A scream escaped my lungs and in a fit I began slamming fists into the chest of the object I’d run into. My eyes were closed tight,
and my fists hit as hard as I could, but nothing was coming of it. No sound from the thing I’d been hitting. Only my own screams. I shoved my body into the person in my way trying to escape the basement. They didn’t move. They didn’t react. Just a blockade of flesh in my way. It wouldn’t have mattered anyhow. The front door was fucking Fort Knox. I was stuck in this hell I’d walked right into. I forced my eyes to open and saw my captor.

Cyrus stood before in me in all of his beautiful specter. My heart stopped. He smiled a sardonic grin and a set of menacing fangs made their way to the forefront.

“No. No.” I shook my head side to side in an effort to shake away the unbelievable.

My feet took a few shaky steps back and away from my once confidant. His strong arms reached for me. Thick hands enveloped my upper arms and squeezed in a show of dominance. My eyes locked on his deep stare. I remembered the sensation I’d felt the first time I’d gotten lost in those supernatural eyes. I heard a whimper and realized it was coming from my throat. I was terrified, but intensely engrossed in the eyes of Cyrus Atossa,
Secondus, House of Cailleadh. Vampire aficionado. Sexiest man who’d ever laid his hands on me. Death incarnate.

Pointed fangs shone horrifically in the light of a dozen gas lamps as the beautiful vampire boy opened his mouth and threatened a strike. Even with his face in a deathly snarl, he was still the prettiest boy I’d ever had the pleasure of falling victim to. Knowing there was no escape, I accepted my fate. It was quite unlike me to accept anything at face value, but I did. If I was being honest, a part of me hoped it was true. Hoped they were all honest to goodness vampires. Hoped instead of draining my body of its life force, Cyrus would decide to take me over to the undead side. To live forever young and beautiful. Ok, young anyway.

He lowered his head to meet the crook of my neck. I didn’t protest. I didn’t shove him away. Slap his face. Knee him in the nuts. Nothing. I just let him fucking do it. I felt the tips of pointed fangs poke the tender skin at my neck and braced myself for the pain to come. My heart fluttered in anticipation. I was scared to death of the pain, but in a way, excited about the possibilities. I tiny piece of my heart knew he wouldn’t kill me. Believed deep down he had a soul and would never take mine from me. At least not without replacing it with immortal life. I closed my eyes and tried to embrace the danger. Allow myself to feel wanted, if only for my delicious blood. And somewhere inside, want it right back.

The pressure from the tips of his fangs became too great and the skin of my neck finally gave way. I felt his lips touch the soft area of my neck and draw in his first taste of my blood. It took my breath from my lungs to feel my blood escape my body and enter his warm mouth. His hands squeezed my arms with such intensity I felt the heat emanating from the tips of his fingers, like a fire under my skin. His grip pulled me in closer to him and I felt his chest rise and fall with excited breaths. Another whimper undulated from deep in my chest, and his strong arms rocked my body with a jolt. It was an odd motion and didn’t correlate with the situation. Again
, his arms jolted and shook my body with them. A squeal came from high in my throat and I squeezed my eyes tighter in pain. He was hurting me with this new motion. Another jolt of his arms. And another. Another. Until he was shaking me back and forth. His teeth still sunk deep in my neck, I was screaming with every jar of my body as each movement tore at the tender flesh of my neck.

Screams came with tears and my fists again came up and began punching at his shoulders and arms. I wanted him to stop. I didn’t want this anymore. The pain was so great, I thought I’d pass out, but I forced myself to fight him off. To live through this horrific encounter and kill the bastard the second I got the chance. I hit as hard as I could and felt his grip tighten as he shook me harder.

“Dylan? Dylan?” I heard him say as if through a can and string. It sounded so far away.

His mouth was pressed to the flesh of my throat
. Why is he calling my name? I thought, wildly trying to make sense of the situation. Frantically, I flung my fists in his direction hoping one would hit home.

“Dammit, Dylan.” A slap hit me across my face and I opened my eyes.

My clenched fist swung with all my might. With a sound of meat slapping meat, it hit its target. Blood spurted from the mouth of Cyrus Atossa, Secondus, House of Cailleadh, bastard.

My hands flew to meet my mouth as I covered it in shock. My wide eyes took in their surroundings with utter remorse.

Where’d all those goddamned coffins go?

Chapter
Twelve

Cyrus was sitting on the edge of my bed holding his jaw. Blood drizzled down his chin from the split in his lip I’d given him. Lying in my bed, in my borrowed room, in the dress I’d partied in all night, I watched Cyrus Atossa,
Secondus, House of Cailleadh, bleeding from his perfect face.

Fuck.

“Oh
, my God. Oh, my God. Are you okay?” I asked frantically.

“Are
you
okay? You were screaming so loudly I could hear you from my room,” he rubbed his jaw in small circles.

“I guess…I guess I was dreaming,” my brow furrowed and I shook my head in disbelief. A dream within a dream? Where the fuck was Leo to save the day?

“I guess,” he said sarcastically, still theatrically rubbing his jaw to prove his point.

“I said I was sorry.” After
the dream I’d just come out of, he was lucky I was still sitting there watching him bleed.

My hand lifted on its own and rubbed along my neckline. Everything was still intact.

“What were you dreaming about that had you so frightened?” He looked at me with such sorrowful eyes I wondered if he knew it was about him.

“Something scary apparently,” I said simply.

He smiled through the damage to his perfect mouth, “Thanks for the wakeup call.” A thick red slit peered at me from his bottom lip and I winced. Only a little.

“What time is it?” I asked. Feeling a bit embarrassed as the events from the night before flooded into my memory.
I knew I’d been pretty damned drunk. At least, unlike my dream, I was still wearing my clothes. No one stripped me naked.

Damn
.

“Just after six.”

I stared at him. No light in my room wasn’t only a dream, it was a piece of reality seeping in. “P.M.”

I continued to stare at him astonished, “You’ve got to be kidding me. How long was I sleeping?”

He chuckled lightly and I swore I saw a blush flush into his cheeks. “A while. It was after five in the morning last I glanced at you. You were sleeping soundly then.” The look on his face told me he was trying very hard not to laugh. I thought quickly about what had happened, if there had been anything I should be aware of before I finished this conversation. I couldn’t remember much passed the after party. All I knew was he’d slept in the bed next to me for the better part of my comatose state.

No coffins. No horrific g
nawing at the neck region. And likely lots of snoring and drooling. Fuck.

“All fucking day? Shit,” I laughed a little. “I dreamt I woke up and it was so dark I didn’t know what time it was. It was very disorienting. Still is.” I smiled and looked down at my hands. It was hard enough looking at him on a good day. Let alone on the day I dreamt he was trying to kill me, then subsequently, cold cocking him in the face.

“Yes. The light is…frowned upon in this house. A bit of extremists at the House of Porte. Marienne, the Primus, prefers her home sun-free,” he smiled and looked more normal that I’d ever noticed before.

“Really?” I replayed my dream in my head. No sun. All the windows were shut up downstairs and the front door was locked tight. So as to not allow in any undo light. “Pretty extreme, huh?” I nodded soaking it in. Extreme enough to keep a stock pile of coffins in the basement perhaps?

“Yes. More so than Malcolm I’d say. More traditional. Malcolm sees our…situation as more of an opportunity for profit than revering in the culture.”

“How many other Houses feel the same way?” I asked trying to sound interested but not chopping at the bloody bit. Which I was, but he didn’t need to know that.

“As Malcolm?”

I nodded.

“Not many. Malcolm is a special breed.” He laughed at his own joke and I smiled to be nice. It really wasn’t funny. “Most Houses are traditional, with traditional beliefs. A few don’t even take part in these annual events because they feel it’s not smart to include the public in our culture.”

“Really? How many houses are there?”

“Quite a many. You can bet nearly every state has one, New York has three,” he said this as if it was a big deal. “With the exception of Utah, you should be able to find a Primus residing in every state.”

“Why not Utah?”

“Could you imagine a place like Macabre Saturnine popping up in Utah?” he laughed and so did I. That was actually a humorous notion.

“So, each house has a Primus and a
Secondus. Why?”

“It’s always been.” His hand moved to his lip and wiped away the last of the blood from his mouth. The red slit remained blood free for the time being.

“Since…the seventies?” I laughed too loudly. “I mean, how long have there really been Sanguinarians? Since Anne Rice?” I was still chuckling when he looked at me and stole my breath. “I’m sorry. It just all seems a little over-the-top. It’s all make-believe. Obviously someone went to a lot of trouble coming up with all of this. Houses, Primus,
Secondus, rules of house, ceremonies, all of it, just seems a bit much.”

“Perhaps to you, a mundane.” He actually turned his nose up at me just a bit.

“What did you call me? Look, Cyrus, I’ve noticed the last few days you’re kinda shit on around here. Well, mostly by Malcolm. I just don’t understand why you deal with it. It’s like sticking around a D&D game when someone is kicking you in the nuts all night.” Pointless and a bit silly if you asked me.

Regardless of nightmares of coffin
-filled rooms and yearnings to be bit by the lovely Cyrus Atossa, I knew this was all pretend. A fun little game made up by those who wanted to truly be immortal. Far be it for me to stop them, hey let your freak flag fly, but in the end if you couldn’t admit it was fake didn’t that make you a little nutty?

Maybe just as nutty as the girl who dreams of dead dadd
ies and vampires?

“It’s best you don’t allow anyone in this house hear you refer to them and their life as a game of D&D.” His tone was of the serious variety, as was his expression.

“But you have to understand where I’m coming from here, right? You have to know this isn’t real.”

Unless of course it is in which case we have an entirely new can of graveyard worms on our hands.

“I’m not the one in question here. It’s the House of Porte that concerns you?” he said as if he already knew, with utmost certainty, I was prying into the lives of the inhabitants of the home I was sleeping in. As much as he knew, somehow, in the back of my head, I was afraid of this house. Of New Orleans, and the things I’d learned. The things I would learn.

“Yes. I guess in a way you’re right. Tell me more about the Houses. How does this work? Who is the founder of all this
nonsen…er…rich culture?” I raise my brows and changed my tone to a lighter more sarcastic attitude.

“The founder of the House of Cailleadh was a man named Nicolas Sandorus.”

“Sandorus? Like Sandora?” Malcolm’s magazine and a pretty vampire girl I’d met in Fresno.

He chuckled a bit. “Yes, you remember. I told you once before,
Sandora is a popular nightside name for our ladies. Nicolas, Nico, Sandorus was the first Primus of the House of Sandora, now called the House of Cailleadh. I was his Secondus before Malcolm came. House of Sandora was not located in southern California, but still was the representing House for the state of California. Sandorus represented the Western Cabal from his seat as Primus. As Marienne represents the Southern Cabal. As Malcolm does now in the West.”

Nice history lesson. Wonder if
Huell Howser has an episode on this rich history of California? California’s Golden Vampire Dens. This is California’s Gold!

“I’ll warn you, I have no clue what you’re talking about. But I do know two things; It’s all very interesting and I want to know everything you can tell me, and you look darn pretty saying it,” I smiled and he blushed. Inside I cheered. I had successfully made that man turn a lovely shade of red. “So, if you were
Secondus, shouldn’t you have taken over instead of Malcolm? Isn’t that how it usually works?” Made sense to my ‘mundane’ sensibility.

“You’d assume, but no. Vampire politics can get a bit dicey and very confusing if you’re not involved directly.” He was speaking a little too openly with me about it all. A man of mystery turned informant. Not likely. There was a lot more he was leaving out.

“So, what you’re saying is, you aren’t allowed to talk about it?” I may be just a dumb girl, but all in all, I was still a snoop. It was my job to dig for the truth. Well, it was before all this pretty vampy boy nonsense crept in and stole my rationality.

“Basically, yes. Since Malcolm invited you personally, you were allowed to attend the summit and of course the masque, but those are all surface events. Nothing of importance happens at those. Nothing the community wouldn’t want to be, I don’t know, published for the world to see,” an accusatory tone overtook his voice.

A reporter joke. Nice indirect jab directed right at me. As if I’d run off and set their stories out to print tomorrow. Shit, it’d take at least a few days before I could get it to go to print.

“It’s all a face? I see. Now, you’ve intrigued me more than you should have.” Idiot.

“I hope no more than I did last night.” His smile reminded me of the night before and my vomiting. I dropped my head into my hands and groaned.

“I’m so sorry. If I can make it up…” my voice gave away just how humiliated I truly felt.

He spoke and brought my eyes back to attention. “I can think of so many ways,” he said. The smile hadn’t left his face; he just talked through it.

A knock at the door tore me away from those gleaming white teeth. “Yes?”

“Hey drunktard! How you feeling?” Tatum strutted into my humble room on bare feet carrying a large glass of orange juice. “Here, drink it.”

My eyes turned to slits as I glared at the beautiful blonde who I’d once trusted with my life. The girl who was slowly but sure slipping into the abyss of vampires and red headed freaks. The girl who was dragging me right along with her.

I snatched the glass from her grip and took a big swig. “Gaw! Is this a screw driver?” I asked loudly.

“Yes. Drink it. We need to get ready,” she said with a nod.

“For what?” The last thing I wanted to do was get up and go out again. Let alone spend any more time than necessary with the likes of Tatum.

“A party, duh.” Her facial expression was extreme and pure Tatum. For a split second, I felt like everything was right with the world.

“Didn’t we just go to a party?”

“We went to the Masque. Semi-formal. Tonight, Cinderella, you go to a ball! But you must finish your chores before you can go anywhere. And your first chore is kissing this fine boy here,” she leaned over and slung her slender arm around Cyrus’s shoulder. “He has been dying to get a hold of that sweet ass for months now. Don’t leave him hanging….” she giggled and shifted her eyes to his lower extremities, “or whatever.” She moved quickly from the boy and kissed me on the forehead. “Now, get your chores done and get your ass ready. Your chariot arrives in an hour.” Tatum’s long legs carried her quickly out the door leaving me alone and awkward with Cyrus.

That miniscule Tatum experience was so reminiscent of the good old days, pre-vampire clubs, that it made me hopeful for the future. Maybe Tatum had one last ace up her sleeve to redeem our ever-failing relationship.

“So, do you guys ever stop partying?” I asked with my eyes trained on the fancy bedspread.

“Not usually. For the most part, they see no need.” I caught a shrug from the corner of my eye. “Who? Malcolm?” I asked, sniffing at the glass of orange death Tatum had handed me.

“And the others. Most of the guests at the Masque are fledglings,
followers, that sort. But, as far as the elders go,-Malcolm, Marienne, and the others,-they all have business ventures that allow then to live quite…freely. What else do you do with your time when all that’s required of you is to sustain your own life? Eat, drink, be merry.”

“Fuckin’,
fightin’, all that,” I replied in my best cockney accent.

“Yeah, all that
.” He caught the reference and laughed.

I blushed at the thought and stood from the bed. Sure, drunk Dylan was all about
getting some
, but sober Dylan was awkward and self-conscious. Not to mention the fact that I now felt so damned on edge in this house of Dracula and all I really wanted to do was look under the stairs for that door.

“I should probably get ready. I doubt there’s any way I’ll be getting out of going out tonight. Scary witch bitches or no, Tatum will take me by force. Besides, I really would rather not stay in this house all night by myself. Jeez, there isn’t even a TV in here,” I said trying to cover for the thoughts that danced in my head.

“Malcolm would not allow me to stay here with you, or that would be our Saturday evening.”

A stupid look spread across my face and butterflies shot up into my chest. Without thinking about it, a nervous, and kind of creepy, laugh fluttered from my lips.

“Well,” I started with a tone that was a bit too high pitched, “what the hell am I supposed to wear?”