Blood Moon (15 page)

Solange and I blinked at each other. No one had told me that.

“What?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

“He’s ashes now.”

She looked horrified. “I didn’t do that to him!”

“No one’s accusing, honey,” Dad said. “But when you use your pheromones like that, there are always consequences. It makes a body slower, befuddled.”

“But … how do you even know it was the same one? It could be anyone!”

“His clothes were found, and a stake. All human scented.”

“A Huntsman?”

“Looks like it.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said softly. “You couldn’t have known.” It was instinct to comfort her.

“I’m tired of being ganged up on,” she said finally. She stalked to the trapdoor.

Mom didn’t move. “We’re not done.”

“Yes,” Solange said deliberately. “We are.”

Her pheromones were invisible, but I could almost see them coming off her like heat melting pavement in the summer. It was nearly palpable. She leaned closer to Mom, baring her teeth. I could smell a faint combination of lilies and chocolate. “Mom.
Move
.”

Mom just clenched her jaw, her fists, every muscle she could. She fought the compulsion the way she’d fight a
Hel-Blar
. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re very grounded,” she said through gritted teeth, as if every word was torn from her unwillingly. Her feet twitched, as did the muscles in her calves.

Dad stepped between them. “Stop it.”

“Hey, kid, enough.” Duncan put a hand on her shoulder. She grabbed his wrist and flipped him over before any of us could move. He crashed into Connor, then landed on a painted wooden table. He only narrowly avoided staking himself with a jagged splintered leg. Quinn swore, loudly and creatively. Sebastian didn’t say a word, only went to stand next to Dad.

“Sol.” Logan gaped. “What the hell?” He held Isabeau’s hand back when she reached for her sword.

Solange didn’t back down. “Just proving my point. I’m stronger than you think. Now get the hell out of my way. All of you.”

Mom was still struggling with an invisible enemy, fighting to keep her boots planted on the trapdoor. She lost the battle, which scared us all more than even Madame Veronique striding forward, the air blistering frigidly around her. She spun to confront Solange, wimple fluttering.

“That will do. You will comport yourself with the dignity befitting a Drake.”

Solange folded her arms, her expression mutinous and impertinent. “This is none of your business.”

Madame Veronique just stood there for a long terrible moment.

They didn’t speak again, but it was clear they were testing each other, forcing their wills. Solange exuded pheromones. Madame Veronique was ancient and her direct bloodline matriarch. She had strength we didn’t know about. But Solange wouldn’t back down. She was filled with fresh blood and had something to prove.

Someone was going to get hurt.

Dad shifted to protect Solange.

“Liam, don’t interfere.” Madame Veronique flicked her hand and sent him sprawling, never once looking away from Solange. Dad landed hard. Solange looked uncomfortable, then scared. Madame Veronique didn’t betray any emotion, as usual.

Mom moved away from the open trapdoor, glancing at me as she eased it open with her foot. I was at an angle behind Madame Veronique. I did the only thing I could have, and barreled into Solange, knocking her into the doorway. She tumbled down the stairs, into the darkness.

I crouched, waiting to see how Madame Veronique would retaliate. It took an age for her gaze to drop, to spear me with those strange and severe eyes. Then she just lifted her foot and kicked me. Hard. I flew into one of the lodge poles, and the tent shivered, threatening to collapse.

A bat shot out of the tunnels and winged desperately in a circle over our heads.

“That little girl is trouble,” Madame Veronique said coldly, her voice like an icicle dropping off the roof of a house and impaling you in the head. She grabbed the bat out of the air while we gaped. It squeaked, leather wings frantically beating. Then she released it and stalked away, trailing her silent handmaidens and a disoriented bat smashing its head into the ceiling.

Mom looked bleak but determined.

“Plan B then.”

“You threw me down the stairs.”

I was in the safe house room I shared with Quinn and Connor, lying back on my bed. There were three cots, each with its own cooler of bottled blood and a chest at the foot for our clothes. Candles burned on a narrow table, flickering gold light over the stone walls. Inside the chest were more candles, flashlights, stakes, and other assorted weapons.

I took out my earbuds, which were blaring music as loud as they could. Sometimes vampire hearing isn’t an asset. Connor and Christa were having a Dr. Who marathon above my head. Mom was pacing, furious. When I got tired of sifting through the sounds of mice in the tunnel and dripping water and the rest of my family milling about, I listened to music. Loudly. It worked at home and it worked here. When I first turned, I listened to so much music when Lucy was hanging out with my sister, my ears rang. I was trying to drown out the sound of her heartbeat and her laugh drifting between the walls.

“You threw me down the stairs,” Solange repeated, backlit in the doorway.

“Hell yeah, I did.”

She smiled slightly. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Music still spilled out of the earbuds on my chest, sounding tinny and thin. “I mean that.”

She smiled fully that time; I could hear it in her voice. “I know.”

“What’s up with you and Madame Veronique?”

Her mouth tightened. “Nothing.”

I snorted, propping my head on my folded arms. “You suck at lying.”

“She just creeps me out.”

“Yeah. Kinda her job.”

Solange shifted from one foot to the other. I could smell the blood on her, the lilies and the chocolate of her strange pheromones. “Aren’t you ever tempted?”

“To creep you out?”

She rolled her eyes like the old Solange. “Tempted to drink live blood.”

I thought of the hundreds of horrible ways I could hurt Lucy.

“No. I’m not tempted.”

“It really is different. It’s more than a craving. It’s what our bodies need, what they were designed for.” She sounded earnest and very nearly evangelical.

I shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sick. I don’t need live blood. Not until I have a grip on the hunger.”

“But this makes the hunger go away.” She shook her head. “I just can’t believe you’re not tempted.”

My jaw clenched around a single word. “Lucy.”

Solange’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

I couldn’t tell if she was remembering Kieran. “Have you called her? She’s freaking out.”

“I can’t talk to her right now.”

“But she’s your best friend.”

“That’s why. And she did Taser me, you know.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, about that. I can’t tell you how great
it is that my baby sister and my girlfriend are beating each other up.” Truth be told, it was starting to piss me off.

She winced. “Forget I mentioned it. It was a misunderstanding.”

“Fifteen hundred volts of electricity was a misunderstanding?” I repeated incredulously.

“Yes.”

“At least text her, Sol. You owe her that much.”

“She
Tasered
me.”

“Lame.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“That’s a lame excuse and you know it.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Maybe. But it’s not that simple.”

“Look, her cousin just got kidnapped and turned, she’s at a new school, and her best friend’s ignoring her. Think about it from her perspective.”

“Yeah, but Lucy can handle it. She can handle anything.”

“She can’t handle you shutting her out,” I said quietly. “Just think about it.”

“Okay.” She turned to go, then paused. “Nicholas.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think I’m …” She bit her lip. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“Just … thanks, Nicholas. I know I can trust you.”

She wandered off and I lay there feeling like crap.

I understood a little of what Solange was feeling. Being responsible to such a big family who would gladly sacrifice itself for you
was more pressure than it might seem. And finding a quiet moment to think was nearly impossible. And right now, I needed to think.

And plan.

Because it was starting to look as if I was going to have to choose between my little sister and the rest of my family.

Chapter 13
Lucy

Monday afternoon

Despite the fact that my best friend, the vampire princess, was going insane, I still had homework to do.

That just didn’t seem fair somehow.

Still, my first day of classes went well enough, all things considered. History class, though obviously deeply flawed and biased, was kind of interesting. Training nearly kicked my ass, which made me even more determined to kick it right back. All of the other students were way better than me at kickboxing and martial arts since they’d been training for years. But I’d learned to fight from Helena Drake, so I was confident that off the mat, I could take them.

The other eleventh-grade students were okay, ranging from curious to downright openly nosy, but mostly nice enough. Jody and her bunch weren’t the only bullies, but word had already spread that I’d pepper-egged a Huntsman, so most of the comments were whispered with sidelong glances. I could ignore them if I wanted to.

I suddenly had a glimpse of what it must feel like to be Solange right now.

I wasn’t exactly a celebrity of her status, but it was still weird to be gawked at or outwardly despised. And Solange needed her solitude more than I did; plus, the vampires who hated her didn’t sneer or push her around, they just tried to stake her. Or her family. Or me. So I could feel a little empathy.

Which didn’t mean I wasn’t still pissed off.

Because I totally was.

I mean, a text message would have been nice, is all I’m saying. I’d only sent her eleven. Granted, the last one was flat-out bitchy, but the first ten were polite if you considered what we’d tried to do to each other.

In the hall, while I was trying to feel empathetic and forgiving, Jody tried to trip me.

I just stepped over her foot, snickering. “Please. I grew up with seven Drake boys. You’ll have to do way better than that.”

She glared at me.

“That glare could use some work too.” I smiled as sweetly and as obnoxiously as I could. I knew better than to display even an ounce of weakness around them.

I walked away, down the locker-lined hall. They were oldfashioned half lockers in army green. A girl in long pigtails nearly closed the door on her thumb as I approached. Her friend nudged her. She nudged back. They whispered furiously to each other. I overheard a lot of “you ask her” and “no, you ask her.” And then the second girl shoved her friend right into my path, solving the argument.

“Is it true that you make out with vampires?” She was bright red.

I blinked. “Just the one, actually.”

“Does he … you know … bite you?”

“Dude,” I said. “Personal much? And no.” I added a mental
Om Namah Shivaya
.

“She’s a blood puppet.” Jody sneered, coming up behind us. “Don’t talk to her, Margaret.”

“It’s Meg, actually,” she shot back. “And I’ll talk to whoever I want.”

“Then watch your back,” Jody advised coldly. “And your neck.”