The Turning-Blood Ties 1 (18 page)

Nathan cleared his throat. “I don’t normally talk about it.”

“Well, make an exception,” I snapped, and instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry. I’m just really tired, and all of this still freaks me out. Does it ever get any less weird?”

He smiled. “It hasn’t for me, so far. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” He must have realized he’d made the wrong word choice at the same time I did because an awkward silence lingered between us as we both tried not to look at the bed. He stretched his arm behind his head and yawned to avoid eye contact. “Hey, about earlier tonight, when we—”

“Forget it,” I said quickly. I knew I would. There was no reason to hang on to the memory when we’d be enemies this time tomorrow.

I thought I saw disappointment in his eyes, but he shook it off with a contrived laugh.

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best. We were just caught up in the moment and things got out of hand.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “It’s a total nonissue.”

“Well, then, I guess I’m going to go look over my insurance papers for the shop. Did you

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want to watch TV or something?”

“No, I’m actually pretty tired.” I looked at the bed. “Do you want me to take the couch tonight?”

He pointed a finger at me. “Today, Carrie. Get on vampire time. But no, I’ll be up for a while and I don’t want to disturb you. We can work out better sleeping arrangements tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I said, suddenly numb.

With a look of concern on his face, he reached out and gave my arm a squeeze. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just tired.” It wasn’t a lie. But when we said our good-nights and he left me alone in his bedroom, I couldn’t fall asleep. Instead, I looked around the room for a pen and paper. On the floor, between the bed and the wall, I found a sketchbook with a drawing pencil tucked into the coiled binding. It would do. I flipped open the cover and paused. An incredibly beautiful, almost photographic-looking drawing of a sleeping child took up the first page. In the margin, in distinctly masculine handwriting that sharply contrasted the skilled lines of the drawing, was written, Ziggy, age eleven.

Turning the pages, I found a succession of similar drawings. They were mostly of Ziggy at various stages of his teen years, sleeping. From what little I knew of Ziggy, I realized the only time he’d hold still long enough to be sketched would be while he was unconscious. The few portraits of Ziggy awake were accompanied by photos paper-clipped to them. I flipped to the last pages, hoping to find some blank sheets. The final drawing froze my blood in my veins.

It was like looking at a photograph of the night we’d first met. He’d obviously drawn it from memory, as the coat I’d worn ended at the hips, not the knees, and my hair had been up, not curling softly around my shoulders. But it was unmistakably me. I was flattered, but I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of freak spent time in moony daydreams about someone they’d known for less than two weeks. But then again, what kind of freak trades their freedom for the life of someone they’ve known for less than two weeks?

Trembling, I pulled the page free from the binding and folded it small enough to fit into the back pocket of my jeans. Something to remember him by, I supposed. Then I tore out a blank piece and started writing.

The first letter I wrote was easier than I expected. My resignation from the hospital was simple, professional and, as it was handwritten in pencil on notebook paper, probably the last nail in the coffin of my medical career.

But it really wouldn’t matter. Nathan was right. Eventually, people would notice I didn’t age. Unlike Nathan, there was no way I’d ever pass for forty. Judging from how often I’ve been carded buying beer, I could barely pass for twenty-one. I’d have to redo college and medical school every ten years just to keep being a doctor. It would be like hell, only worse.

I’d slip that letter under the door of Dr. Fuller’s office before I arrived at Cyrus’s house tomorrow night.

I took out another sheet and began the more difficult farewell. Nathan,

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I’m not going to pretend we’ll ever see each other again, at least not on friendly terms. I’ve decided that the best place for me is with my sire. Please know that while I wish you only the best, I understand you have a job to do for the Movement. I won’t take it personally if you try to follow that assignment through, but be aware that I will fight you with my last breath. No one has the power to decide whether I live or die. If you ever felt the slightest friendship toward me, you’ll forget I ever existed. Carrie

Ten

Sunset

A s much as I tried to ignore what I was about to do, I couldn’t quiet my mind enough to sleep. Instead, I consolidated my clothes into a shopping bag and waited, staring at Nathan’s alarm clock like a death row inmate. Soon, my time would be up. For a while, I listened to Nathan puttering around in the living room. Though he’d claimed to be set on an evening of reviewing insurance forms and serious concentration, all I heard was the popping of microwave popcorn and Led Zeppelin. He listened to Houses of the Holy twice before I heard the springs of the couch creak as he settled in to sleep. Ziggy left at about eight o’clock. When I heard him return at noon, I opened the bedroom door and waited for him to notice that I was awake. It didn’t take him long. His stocky frame filled the doorway, and he toyed with the huge skull ring on his index finger to avoid looking at me. “So, my guess is you’re leaving.”

“Yes.” I sat on the edge of the bed, which was currently experiencing the foreign pleasure of clean sheets. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You made a deal with Cyrus.” He didn’t pose it as a question. The kid wasn’t a fool.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Nathan about it. He doesn’t need to know.”

“And I’m going to lie to Nate because you’ve done what for me lately?” Ziggy demanded.

“I’m asking you not to tell him as a friend. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“Why? Are you going to hurt him?” he asked as he turned to look into the living room, pulling a wooden stake from his back pocket. “Nate’s my dad. He’s taken care of me since I was nine years old. There’s no reason not to kill you if you’re threatening him.”

“I’m not threatening him. I just don’t want him coming after me. Cyrus would kill him.”

Ziggy laughed. “Yeah, like you’re not trying to save your ass the only way you know how. What the fuck do you want?”

I wanted to forget all this had ever happened and get some sleep. I wanted to wake up and help them salvage smoke-damaged dream catchers from the shop. I wanted anything but to go back to Cyrus’s house. I’d spend an eternity in that house. But I just handed him my letter. “Give this to him after I’ve gotten a head start.”

He didn’t read it immediately, like I thought he would. “Fine. Anything else?”

I watched him slip the note into his pocket, and I closed my eyes. My throat suddenly went dry. “No.”

“He likes you. This is really going to tear him up.”

The softly spoken declaration should have surprised me. But since I’d found Nathan’s drawing, I’d come to that conclusion on my own. “I know.”

“But you’re still going?” There was cold judgment in his tone. “Look, it’s not like he’s going to be heartbroken or anything. But for what it’s worth, the whole time I’ve lived

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with him, he’s never shown this much interest in anyone.”

“That’s very sweet.” I wished I knew how to make him understand. I’d never idealized romantic love as an adolescent, but maybe Ziggy had. From his standpoint, just the possibility of a relationship should have been enough to make me stay.

“Nathan has been a big help, but I don’t think of him that way. I’ve given this a lot of thought. It’s the right choice.”

“He worked for fifteen years getting this place going. He knows you for a week and he’s right back to the beginning. And you run straight to the bad guy. It’s not fair.”

“It was a trade, Ziggy. To get the antidote, to save Nathan, I had to make a trade.”

The implication of my words sunk in and Ziggy looked like I’d slapped him. “Why would you do something like that?”

I shrugged. “I’m a doctor. I’m supposed to save lives and help people. And Cyrus needs me.” I wished I could take the words back. Not because Ziggy had heard them, but because by saying them, I’d acknowledged the truth. “Nathan can’t know about this.”

“Are you nuts?” His young face lit up with relief. “All you gotta do is tell him what’s going on. He’ll take care of everything.”

“No!” I said a little too loudly, and I heard Nathan roll restlessly on the couch. I explained more quietly, “If Cyrus kills him, what good was the deal I made? I’ll still be stuck with him, and Nathan will be dead. It will all have been for nothing.”

“Then why are you telling me?”

I chewed my lip. “I guess because…I don’t want you both to hate me.”

“If you’re going to be with him—” he stopped and shook his head in disbelief “—if you’re going to be like him, Nate is going to hate you. But I won’t let him bad-mouth you too much.”

“That’s all I can ask,” I said with a smile. The expression on Ziggy’s face was nothing if not heartbreaking. I felt my heart fly apart like a body hitting the sidewalk from forty stories above.

“I won’t give him the letter until sunup. That way, even if he wanted to do something rash, he’ll have some time to cool off.”

“Good thinking.” I reached for Ziggy’s hand and he didn’t pull away. “Thank you.”

He seemed embarrassed by my gesture and quickly withdrew his hand. “Yeah, well, if we ever meet up in a dark alley, do me a favor and don’t eat me, okay?”

“Deal.”

I lay down then and finally slept. When I woke, the apartment was dark and empty. It was time to go.

I picked up my shopping bag full of clothes, cushioning my diploma and the photo of my parents between sweaters, and made sure I had my letter to Dr. Fuller. Then I started down the stairs to the street.

On the sidewalk, I stopped at the railing of the basement stairs as I heard Nathan groan in disgust. “How many candles would you estimate have melted into this rose-scented mess?”

“Twenty?” Ziggy answered him.

There was a long pause before Nathan replied. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

I took a deep breath to ease the ache in my chest as I walked away. They would be fine without me. I’d only just come into their lives. There’d hardly been enough time to form

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an attachment. But I’d never had such a longing for family, warmth, comfort. Being raised by emotionally distant parents had almost entirely eradicated any notions of familial love I might have had. But with Nathan and Ziggy, just for a moment, I’d felt like I belonged. It hurt more to give it up than I would have expected.

After delivering my letter at the hospital, I soon found myself standing before the gate of Cyrus’s mansion. In a few hours, my former boss would think I’d headed back to the East Coast. At least I wouldn’t end up on any missing-persons lists. Two armed guards approached me, muttering into their headsets. When they reached the gate, I took a step back.

“Dr. Carrie Ames?” one of them asked.

I nodded. They didn’t offer to take my bag. The one that had spoken hitched his thumb toward the house. “Cyrus is waiting.”

The other guard stepped forward and pulled the gate open. I noticed that his hands trembled.

When I reached the front door, it opened. But instead of Cyrus, a leather-clad couple emerged. They pushed past me as they descended the steps, and I caught the sound of loud music coming from somewhere in the house.

More tough-looking vampires loitered in the foyer. Some lounged on a sofa in the center of the room, their vampire faces on full display. A few played with dice in a corner. All of them were dressed to ride in a motorcycle gang, and all appeared to be very intoxicated. A bodyguard stood in front of the doorway to Cyrus’s study. Compared to the bikers, the black-clad guard looked like a Boy Scout, so I made a beeline for him.

“Is Cyrus in there?” I asked, juggling my bag to the other shoulder.

“I’ll take you to him.”

At the sound of the voice behind me, I spun and came face-to-face with Dahlia. My features began to shift and loosen. I bared my fangs.

“You’d be dead before you laid a finger on me.” She snapped her fingers, and the guard at the door retreated.

A low growl formed in my throat, the sound animalistic and satisfying. “I’m a lot faster than you think.”

She smiled sweetly. “You weren’t so fast when I was killing your boyfriend last night.”

I lunged at her. She raised her hands to form a spell, and I slashed them with my suddenly clawed hands. Droplets of her blood sprayed the marble floor. The biker vampires stopped their carousing. I assumed the blood had drawn their attention, but they weren’t staring at us. They were staring beyond us. Cyrus stood in the study doorway, clad in a lush floor-length fur dressing gown. His hair hung in two long platinum braids that fell behind his shoulders. He smiled at the bikers.

“Gentlemen,” he called over the sound of Dahlia’s swearing, “I trust you are enjoying yourselves?”

A few of the vampires raised their beers and gave a raucous cry. When they turned back to their amusements, Cyrus gripped Dahlia by the hair and pulled her into the study. He motioned to the bodyguard, who grabbed my arm and pushed me in, as well.

When the door closed, Cyrus threw Dahlia to the ground. “What to do with a disobedient

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pet? Especially one that has had so many warnings.”

Dahlia wiped her nose on her bloodied wrist. “Cyrus, it wasn’t my fault, she—”