Revenge and the Wild (12 page)

Costin’s room was nothing like Westie had imagined. There was no coffin, no dirt floor, no blood on the walls, no horrible smells. Instead the walls were covered in white gauzy fabric and the room smelled like citrus. There was a circular bed in the center of the room, with mounds of feather pillows covered in silk. Everything was neat and in its place. Costin was a tidy creature.

Westie’s neck arched as she took it all in. She was growing even more nervous, she realized when her stomach began to flutter.

Costin fussed with pillows to carve out a space for her on the bed.

She took off her duster and shoes, tossing them onto a chair across the room so she wouldn’t get blood on them. He watched her with brows raised and a curious smile. “Eager, are we?” he said.

She plopped down on the bed, wriggling to get comfortable. “I
want to get this over with. How do we start?”

“Lie down,” he said.

Leaning against a stack of pillows, she watched Costin pull a box from a dresser drawer beside the bed. Inside was a red glass dagger.

Westie sat up, her muscles tensed for a brawl.

“Relax,” he said. “It’s for me. Lie back down.”

Alley was right,
she thought.
This is a terrible idea.

But she didn’t leave. She needed Costin’s help. Vampire blood was the only way to achieve sobriety, even if it upset the Wintu spirits. She took a deep breath and melted back onto the pillows.

Westie felt something stir deep within her belly when Costin removed his shirt, revealing a smooth white chest. He was lean and solid-looking, with cords of muscle beneath his skin.

The mattress dipped when he climbed onto the bed and settled beside her, propped on an elbow. Her heart pulsed in her ears, and the stirring in her belly became more insistent.

He’s a creature,
she had to remind herself. But what she told herself and what her body was feeling were two very different things.

Costin held the blade in his hand. When he moved, she noticed three perfectly spaced scars on his upper arm that looked almost like brands.

“What are those from?” she asked. Vampires healed so quickly, she didn’t think they were capable of having scars.

“General marks from the war.”

She felt him shiver as she traced her finger over the bumps. “You were a general in the creature war? For how long?”

“Five years.”

“I was just a child back then,” she said. The war had ended while she was staying with the Wintu.

Costin put a finger to her lips. “No more talk of the war. Shall we get on with this?”

Westie gathered her wits and nodded.

He smiled, slicing the skin of his wrist open. She’d never seen anyone so happy to bleed. Red satin beads bubbled slowly out of the wound. His blood didn’t have a metallic, tangy scent like the human blood she’d smelled while assisting in Nigel’s surgical rooms. Vampire blood was different. It smelled sweet and buttery.

Westie pulled long, slow breaths into her lungs. “I’m going to do this,” she said, “but I don’t want any funny business. You keep your hands to yourself.” If things got carried away, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able—or willing—to stop.

“I promise. Now drink.” His voice was like a soft kiss.

Costin held his wrist out to her. Cold, velvet orbs dripped onto the bare skin of her collarbone.

All it took was five drops for a cure.
One drink,
she told herself.

She took one last breath, held it, and braced herself as she put her lips around his wound.

A cold drop trickled down her throat. His blood was thick and sweet like honey, just the way it smelled. As soon as it hit her stomach she felt serene. Not exactly like the tranquil daze that overcame her when drinking whiskey, but something deeper. It was the same kind of lovely ache one felt in one’s soul when hearing a beautiful song.

Soon Westie’s tentative licks became greedy slurps. She knew she’d consumed more than the five drops necessary for a cure, but it was difficult to care about that when feeling the rush it gave her. She wrapped her legs around Costin’s waist to keep him from pulling away.

Costin let out a moan as she sucked at his vein. The taste was pleasant enough, but it was the feelings being dealt to her body that kept her mouth clamped to Costin’s skin like a deer tick. It was like waking up, like seeing everything beautiful in the world for the first time, and all at once. The blood was cold going down her throat, but it warmed every part of her until she was a puddle in his arms.

She felt her bodice give and his cool lips touch her chest. When Costin started to kiss her neck, she reluctantly pulled away from his wrist and grabbed him by the throat with her machine. The amount of pressure she used would’ve killed a human but only made Costin wince.

“I said no funny business.” While her mechanical hand squeezed his neck, her flesh hand caressed his cheek. Though she still had some of her wits, it was a losing battle. There was no telling how long she could keep resisting him. If she were to take a guess, she was at the end of the countdown.

He choked out a laugh, barely able to get words through her stranglehold. “You said to keep my hands to myself. You didn’t say anything about my lips.”

Her body quivered, knees shaking. When he offered his wrist to her once more, her breaths became urgent. “Just . . . behave.”

By the sound of his laughter, he knew the effect he was having on her. She let go of his neck and grabbed his wrist again, latching on.

She was enveloped, too submerged in bliss to notice his dark eyes drinking in her curves, her ripe, warm skin. His mouth parted, and a carnal growl escaped from deep in his chest.

He pulled his wrist away and she was finally able to fill her lungs. She sat up just in time to watch his mouth open and his fangs bury themselves deep into her inner thigh. She gasped in surprise at first, and then in pleasure.

The luxury of his bite was more than she could have imagined. Somewhere, deep within, she knew she should stop him. Not that she had the greatest reputation to begin with, but if anyone found out a vampire had drunk from her, she’d be ruined. In that same deep pit of thought, she knew she would regret giving herself to Costin, but right then none of that mattered.

Bursts of color popped in front of her eyes. Greed was royal blue with sparks of gold. Her machine clawed at the bed, shredding the sheets. She saw her desire in shades of rich, dark purple.

Forget whiskey, forget everything. She wanted to live beneath Costin’s teeth forever. She finally understood why the living dead girls gave their lives to the blood brothels.

The blood swirling in Westie’s stomach turned from cold to warm to blazing hot. Her pleasure was diluted with tendrils of pain. That was new. She’d liked it at first, before her pleasure thinned and only the pain showed through. Splashes of black smothered all other colors.

Westie’s stomach cramped. Pain raced through her, hooked its claws onto every nerve as it passed, and pulled her from her pleasure stupor. She wrapped her machine around her waist and groaned as the cramps dug deeper.

Costin sat up. Her blood dripped from his fangs onto his chin. “What is it?” he asked. His face showed more concern than she’d thought a vampire was capable of. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t know. She couldn’t speak. It felt like a serrated blade had sliced through her abdomen. When she opened her mouth to speak, a scream came out instead. Her body slammed against the pillows, back arched off the bed as a new barb of pain cut through her consciousness, causing her muscles to stiffen. She could hear Costin’s voice and other voices around her, but the pain was too agonizing to care about her modesty.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” she heard Costin’s desperate voice say. “Find Alistair, tell him to fetch Nigel—and tell him it’s urgent.”

When everyone was gone, Costin appeared above her. His face went in and out of view, the lights flashing as she blinked.

His hands clutched the sides of her face. “Westie, my love, stay with me,” he begged her. His voice was a high tremor.

He was frightened.
A frightened vampire—now there’s a first,
she thought just before she blacked out.

Westie woke up in her own bed. Her cramps became straight razors cutting into her intestines. Each stab of pain was worse than the
last, like fingers had reached inside to braid her guts. Her tongue felt stretched and heavy in her mouth. She went back and forth between blanket and cold rag as fever and chill battled for supremacy. If she’d known the pain vampire blood would inflict, she might have thought about the idea more thoroughly before seeking Costin’s help.

Her insides felt like they had liquefied and were coming out at all ends. Any hangover she’d ever had paled in comparison. Embarrassed by her lack of control over her body, she begged Alistair to leave her. He wouldn’t. Luckily, Bena insisted Alistair leave when it came time to change Westie’s bedpan and clean her. Still, the humiliation was complete.

Nigel gave her sugar-grass milk—which was anything but sweet—to help her body absorb the healing qualities of the vampire blood and flush out any toxins. She got devil’s claw root to ease her pain and fluids to keep her from dehydrating.

When the sun was high in the sky, her fever finally broke and the pain had turned from a savage flogging to a mere stab in the belly. Every muscle in her body was wound tighter than a banjo string, but she no longer wished for death, and the thought of whiskey sat worse than a bad smell. By nightfall she felt better than she had in years, and she was famished. Bena sent up a bloody steak the way she liked it and a fire-cooked potato with fresh-churned butter.

There was a knock on the door, and Alistair and Nigel walked in. Nigel sat on the chair beside her bed while Alistair, still wearing a red kerchief, stood by the door.

“What happened?” Westie asked. She knew vampire blood was a
cure for alcoholism, but she’d never heard of it causing the pain she’d felt.

“Your immune system was compromised because of your alcohol abuse over the years. When you drank Costin’s blood, it became toxic in your system.”

“It worked, though, didn’t it?” Westie said. “I’m cured.”

“One more drink and you would’ve turned into the Undying, but yes, it worked. You are as healthy as a girl your age should be, and with magic in your veins, will probably outlive us all by a hundred years,” Nigel said.

Alistair’s eyes burned with anger. He paced around the room, his hands moving in a flurry.
I should’ve been there in the room with them to make sure she was all right. I can’t believe I left her with the vamps,
he signed.

Westie felt her cheeks warm when she remembered the lusty sounds she’d made, and Costin’s hands and teeth all over her. She felt guilty, which made her cross. She had nothing to feel guilty about. It wasn’t like Alistair loved her. Loyalty was not something she owed him. She could tell herself those things until her tongue fell out, but it wouldn’t matter. The guilt had set up camp and was there to stay.

“Neither of you should’ve been there,” Nigel replied. With a sigh he turned to Westie. “You should eat hot oats, something that will be gentle on your stomach.”

She put a protective arm around her plate so Nigel wouldn’t take it from her. “I want steak. Don’t you see I have my appetite back? I feel good, Nigel. Better than I have in a long time.”

She ate her food and drank her glass of apple juice.

“Normally you would ask for a glass of wine with your steak,” Nigel said.

Even the mention of wine made her stomach clench. “I’d rather drink hot piss.”

“Lovely.” Nigel shook his head and dropped his shoulders in resignation. “You’re definitely back to normal.” He looked at Alistair, who continued to pace the room. “Alley, would you be so kind as to fetch more devil’s claw root from my office? And bring clean sleeping clothes for Westie from the washroom.”

Once Westie and Nigel were alone, he turned to her, a serious look in his eyes. Westie knew she was about to get an earful of something.

“I can’t believe you would break the law and go to the vampires for help when you know how I feel about Costin. Not only did you put your own life in danger, but you put Alley’s life on the line as well.” He folded his arms over his chest. Westie grumbled and sat back, waiting for the rest of the tongue-lashing to go by so she could finish her meal. Nigel was no slouch when it came to sermons against brothel vampires. Only what she thought would be a lengthy speech fell short, and his chin began to quiver.

“After Alistair being shot and now you nearly being poisoned to death, I don’t know how much more I can take. The two of you are all I have left in this world.”

Westie’s throat balled up with emotion. It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. She struggled to swallow her mouthful of food.
As often as she’d disappointed him over the years, it was hard for her to believe he truly cared for her. She’d often wondered if he wished he’d never brought her back from the Wintu village.

“You are my child,” Nigel said. “Parents should never outlive their children. Don’t frighten me like that again.”

Westie shook her head. “I won’t. I promise.”

Three days passed before the effects of vampire blood poisoning finally wore off. Westie crawled out of bed and stretched, spine popping, making a sound like dragging a stick across a picket fence. It was the first time she’d been out of bed since being home.

After a bath, she stepped out of her room and was met by the dim chatter of conversation. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she nearly ran into a rotund man in a white baker’s cap wheeling out a cart of flour and sugar.

“Whoa,” she said, dancing away just in time to avoid the collision. “What’s that stuff for?”

He had streaks of flour across his face and dots of sugar absorbing his sweat. When he noticed her mechanical arm, his eyes widened and he took a step back. “Ingredients for a cake, miss,” he said with a wobble of fear in his voice.

“Where are you going with them?”

“I’m taking them back to the bakery, since the party has been canceled.”

Canceled?
No.
The panic of missing out on a perfect opportunity made her heart speed up. How else was she to learn more about the Fairfields without it being obvious she was snooping? The party had to happen, even if she had to drag people by the scruff of the neck and lock them inside.

“Take the cart back to the kitchen. The party isn’t canceled,” she said.

“But—”

Westie balled her copper hand into a fist. “Put. It. Back.”

His eyes opened wider. “Yes, miss.”

Others were leaving the house as well. She sent them back inside, including a pretty female elf who’d made clever clockwork invitations that opened with a push of a button.

“Make two more, please,” Westie said. “Address them to James Lovett and the Fairfields, and send them to the inn by telegraph bird at once—Nigel will pay extra.”

The house was swarming with workers packing their things and preparing to leave. She found Nigel and Alistair in the dining room, overseeing the exodus.

Alistair pointed wordlessly at the hired staff. Westie watched the serving girls as they stole glances Alistair’s way and whispered. Some giggled. It was obvious that without his mask, he intrigued more than frightened the fairer sex. She found herself staring at him
too and had to admit that the handkerchief made him look mysterious. How anyone could find Alistair frightening was confusing to her. His beautiful eyes gave him away. They were trustworthy eyes.

“Why are you canceling my party?” Westie demanded.

Nigel tugged at his shirt and smiled. “Good to see you up and around. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Why are you canceling my party?” she repeated.

Nigel adjusted his top hat. He wore loose trousers and a gussied-up smoking jacket even though the heat of hell had risen to the earth’s surface that day. “I wasn’t sure you’d feel up to a party, and since you don’t like them to begin with, or people for that matter, I didn’t think you’d mind the cancelation. You weren’t supposed to know about it anyway, but Alley told me Isabelle had informed you. I should’ve known the Johanssons couldn’t keep it under their hats.”

“Well, I do mind. I already told everyone I know about it.”

“You know five people and three of them are in this house.”

Westie frowned. “Isabelle told everyone she knew. I’ll look like a fool if I have to tell folks there won’t be a party.”

“You’ve never cared about looking like a fool before.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and lifted his chin, looking down at her. “You’re up to something.”

“Am not.”

“Yes, you are.” His voice rose. “No doubt it has something to do with the Fairfields.”

Westie shook her head, focusing on the cleft in his chin to keep her eyes from shifting so he wouldn’t see through her deceit.

“Do I look stupid to you?” he asked.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

He growled at her.

“All right,” she said. “I just want to observe the Fairfields, is all.”

His back straightened. “Absolutely not. Besides, they wouldn’t have shown anyway; they were never invited.”

“Well, they are now. The invitations have already been sent.”

“What?” Nigel’s voice echoed in the room. Workers stopped what they were doing to stare.

She shrugged.

He twisted the tips of his mustache. “Dammit, Westie.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior, promise.”

His shoulders wilted. “I’ve heard that before.”

“I mean it this time.”

Alistair cut in, hands moving to sign,
Everything has already been paid for. Might as well.
Westie held back a smile when he glanced at her.
And we’ll all be there to make sure things don’t get out of hand.

“Oh, fine,” Nigel said. “We’ll have the party, but you must promise that you won’t drink. Not even a single sip of wine.”

Westie cupped her hand over her mouth. The mention of alcohol stirred her stomach. “You have my word.”

He started to walk away, then paused. He was as tall as he was brilliant and had to bend so their eyes were level. “You stay out of trouble.”

Alistair watched Nigel leave, then turned his curious gaze on her. His hands started to move in familiar motions.

I vouched for you. If you’re planning on doing something stupid, it’s my ass too,
he signed.

Westie’s signing was rusty, but she understood well enough.

“Relax,” she said. “I just want to watch them.”

So you do remember hand language after all.

She signed back,
No, I don’t,
and walked away.

Westie went to her room for a nap. When she got there, she found her oak wardrobe open and her dress for the ball hanging inside. Nigel must have put it in there while she was talking to Alistair.

She lifted the dress carefully, peeled back the protective shroud it was encased in. It was white silk with black velvet trimming and pearl buttons, and was covered in lace wherever it had a chance to be plain. She imagined the smile on Nigel’s face—no, the smirk—when he’d had the dress made and hung in her closet.

“Ick,” she said when she hung it back up. It was a dress for a Southern belle. Her cannibal friends might mistake her for a sweet cake and eat her alive, wearing a dress like that.