The Bloodlust (6 page)
Authors: L. J. Smith
O
utside, I let the girl lead me away from the drunken crowd and toward a side alley beyond a bar called Calhoun’s.
“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m usually not so fresh, it’s just that—”
“I’m thankful for it,” I said, interrupting her. She shivered, and I put my arms around her thin frame. Instantly, she pulled away.
“You’re so cold!” she said in an accusatory tone.
“Am I?” I asked, feigning nonchalance.
You want to kiss me
,
I thought.
She shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s just that I’m sensitive to temperature. But I know a way we could both warm up.” She smiled shyly, then raised up to her tiptoes. Her lips pressed against mine, and for a moment, I allowed myself to enjoy their warmth and feel the girl’s blood race through her veins as she gave herself over to me.
Then I lunged for her neck.
“Ow!” She protested, trying to push me off. “Stop!”
You will succumb, because if you do that, I’ll let you live
,
I thought, using every fiber of my being to compel her at this crucial moment. She gazed up at me, confusion in her eyes, before she fell back over my arms, her face a mask of sleepy satisfaction.
I took a few more sips of the blood, all too conscious of Lexi and the others back inside. Then I dragged the woman up to her feet. I’d been careful. The holes I’d made in her neck were tiny, almost impossible to see with human vision. Still, I adjusted her scarf around her neck to cover them up.
“Wake up,” I whispered softly.
Her eyes opened, the gaze unfocused. “What . . . where am I?” I could sense her heart beating faster, sense her ready to let loose a scream.
“You were helping a drunk customer,” I told her. “You are free to go. I was simply making sure you were okay.”
She snapped to attention, her body relaxing. “I apologize, sir. Usually, the patrons don’t get so rowdy at Miladies. Thank you for assisting me. I’ll give you a whiskey, on the house,” she said, winking at me.
I walked into Miladies beside her, and was rewarded with Lexi’s slow smile from the corner table.
Good job, boy.
I followed the girl until she safely resumed her position behind the polished wood counter of the bar.
“What’s your poison?” she asked, whiskey bottle in hand. She looked pale, as if she were coming down with a slight cold. Meanwhile, her blood was warm in my stomach.
“I’ve drunk quite enough, thank you, miss,” I said, as I took her hand and brought it up to my lips, kissing it as tenderly as I’d marked her neck.
T
he following evening Lexi knocked on my bedroom door. She wore a black coat and matching trousers. A cap hid most of her hair, save for a few blond tendrils that fell loose and framed her face.
“I was proud of you last night,” she said. I smiled, despite myself. It was surprising how quickly I took to seeking Lexi’s approval. “How much did you take from the barmaid?”
“Not too much. But I wanted more,” I admitted.
A look I couldn’t quite decipher passed over her face. “I used to be like you, you know. But the more you feed from humans, the hungrier you get. It’s a curse. But there are other ways. Have you hunted for animals’ blood?”
I shook my head no.
“Well, luckily for you, I’m going hunting now,” she said, “and you’re coming with me. Put on dark clothes and meet me downstairs in five minutes.”
I shrugged on a dark, military-looking jacket I’d found hanging in the closet and raced downstairs, loath to put off hunting with Lexi for even five minutes. While I bristled at Buxton’s comments about how inexperienced I was, when I heard it from Lexi, I was only eager for a lesson on how our kind survived.
We walked out the door, no trace of sunlight in the inky black sky. I sniffed the air, searching out the scent of the nearest human, then stopped when I saw Lexi staring at me with a knowing look.
Instead of turning left, toward the bustle of Bourbon Street, she turned right, snaking through side streets until we reached a forest. Above us the trees were bare and ghostly against the dark night sky, the moon our only light.
“There are deer here,” Lexi said, “and squirrels, bears, rabbits. I think there’s a den of foxes that way,” she added, walking into the thick, mossy woods. “Their blood smells earthier than human blood, and their hearts beat much more rapidly.”
I followed her lead. Quickly and silently, we darted from tree to bush without disturbing the underbrush. In a way, it felt like we were playing a game of hide-and-seek, or just playing at hunting, the way young schoolboys do. After all, as a human, I’d always carried a weapon on the hunt. Now all I had were my fangs.
Lexi held up a hand. I paused, midstep, my eyes darting everywhere. I didn’t see anything but thick trunks and racing ants in jagged stumps. Then, without warning, Lexi lunged. When she stood up, blood was dripping from her fangs, and a self-satisfied smile appeared on her face. A creature lay on the fallen leaves, its legs bent as if it were still mid-run.
She gestured to the lump of orangish-red fur. “Fox isn’t bad. Would you like to try it?”
I knelt down, my lips curling as they made contact with the rough fur. I forced myself to gingerly take a sip of liquid, though, as I knew it was what Lexi wanted. I sucked in, and immediately the blood seared my tongue. I spit it out violently.
“Fox is an acquired taste, I suppose,” Lexi said as she knelt on the ground by my side. “More for me, at least!”
While Lexi fed, I leaned against a tree trunk and listened to the rustling sounds of the forest. The breeze shifted, and suddenly the scent of iron-rich blood was everywhere. It was sweet and spicy, and it wasn’t coming from Lexi’s fox.
Somewhere, nearby, there was a human heart, beating out seventy-two
thu-thuds
a minute.
Cautiously I slipped past Lexi, and ventured out past the perimeter of the forest. Set up on the edge of the lake was a shantytown. Tents were pitched at every angle, and makeshift clotheslines ran between wooden posts. The whole setup looked haphazard, as if the inhabitants knew they’d have to pick up and relocate at any second.
The camp looked deserted save for one woman who was bathing, the moonlight striking her ivory skin. She was humming to herself, washing the caked dirt off her hands and face.
I hid behind a large oak tree, pretending to take the woman by surprise. But then a large painted poster on a neighboring tree caught my eye. I took a step toward it. A branch cracked, the woman whirled around, and I could sense Lexi behind me.
“Stefan,” Lexi murmured, obviously aware of the unfolding scene. But this time, I was the one to hold up my hand to silence her. Mist floated over the portrait on the sign, but the printing was clear:
PATRICK GALLAGHER’S FREAK SHOW: VAMPIRE VERSUS BEAST. BATTLE TO THE DEATH! OCTOBER 8.
I blinked, and the portrait swam into my vision. It was of a dark-haired man with chiseled features and pale-blue eyes. His teeth were bared, his canines elongated, and he was crouched opposite a snarling mountain lion.
I knew the face on the poster better than I knew my own.
It was Damon.
D
amon. Death.
The words swam in my mind as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. Damon was alive. But who knew for how long? If he had been captured, he was undoubtedly weak. How could he face a ravenous beast in a battle and survive?
Anger tore through my body, along with the familiar ache of my fangs elongating. I ripped down the sign with a snarl.
“What is it?” she hissed, her own fangs bared.
I held up the paper.
“My brother,” I said, staring without comprehension at the poster. The picture made him look like a monster. My eye twitched. “The battle is in two days.”
Lexi nodded, taking in the portrait.
“Gallagher found him,” she said, almost to herself.
I shook my head, not understanding what she meant.
She sighed. “Big businessman. He owns a lot of places in town, including a two-bit circus and freak show. Always looking for curiosities to display, and people always seem to find the money to attend. Your brother—”
“Damon,” I said, cutting her off. “His name is Damon.”
“Damon,” Lexi said gently, tracing the image with her fingers.
“He doesn’t deserve this,” I said, almost to myself. “I need to help him. But . . .” I trailed off. But what? How could I possibly save him?
“We’ll need to find him,” Lexi decided. She brushed leaves and dirt from the back of her pants. “Do you trust me?”
Did I have a choice? My hunger forgotten, I followed her through the forest and back to the wide, silent streets of the city.
“Gallagher lives somewhere in the Garden District with all the other nouveaux riches. On Laurel Street, I think,” Lexi murmured as we wove our way to the center of town. “This has happened before, soon after Gallagher arrived in New Orleans five years ago.”
“What happened?” I asked, following closely behind her in the shadows.
“He found a vampire. He’s good at finding us. Or maybe we’re good at finding him. But the other vampire wasn’t part of my family. And . . .” She stopped suddenly.
“What happened to him?”
But Lexi merely shook her head. We’d arrived at the Garden District, where the streets were wide and the lawns hugging the sherbet-colored Victorian houses were lush and expansive.
“Here.” She stopped at a pistachio-hued mansion enclosed by an open wrought-iron fence. Magnolias and calla lilies spilled over the gate, and the air smelled like mint. Just beyond, I could see an enormous herb garden that took up a fifth of the property. I recoiled as we walked closer, as the garden grew a generous amount of vervain.
Lexi wrinkled her nose. “He knows all the tricks,” she said wryly.
We pushed open the gate, our footsteps barely crunching the gravel on the path that circled the house. Cicadas buzzed in the sycamore trees above us, and I could hear horses pacing in the stable.
And then I heard a low moan.
“He’s out back,” I said.
Lexi gazed up at the sky. Orange streaks were starting to peek above the horizon; it was about an hour until day broke. “It’s too close to dawn,” Lexi said. “I didn’t realize how late it is. I have to go.”
I looked at her sharply.
“I’m not protected.” Her fingers fluttered to my ring, and I glanced down self-consciously. The lapus lazuli adornment had become so much a part of me, I’d forgotten that it made me different from other vampires, made me able to walk in the daylight. Katherine had arranged for both Damon and me to have this protection.
“We’ll come back tomorrow. The others can help us then,” Lexi insisted.
I shook my head. “I can’t leave him.”
Birds chirped in the trees above us, and from somewhere nearby came the sound of glass shattering. The orange streaks in the sky grew fatter, brighter. “I understand,” Lexi said finally. “Be safe. Don’t play the hero.”
I nodded, scanning the grounds for any guards or animals lying in wait to attack. When I looked up, Lexi was gone and I was alone.
Stealing quickly to the back of the house, I made my way toward the whitewashed stable. Horses pawed the ground nervously, obviously sensing my presence. The stable doors were padlocked with an iron bolt. I grabbed the chain, testing it. Even though I’d barely fed since the previous evening, it would be easy enough to rend the chains with my bare hands. But something stopped me.
Don’t play the hero.
Lexi’s words echoed in my mind. She had become my guide during the past couple of days, and I knew it was in my best interest to listen to her. Better not to leave any evidence of an intruder, better to get the lay of the land before doing anything rash.
I released the chain, and it fell back against the door with a loud clanking sound. A horse whinnied. I walked to the other side of the stable, where a dusty window was open a crack.
“Brother?” I whispered hoarsely through the window. The cloying scent of vervain was everywhere, making me woozy and nauseated.
In the corner, a filthy figure struggled to sit up. Damon. His hands and feet were bound with chains, and his skin was covered in angry red welts. The chains must have been soaked in vervain. I winced in sympathy.
Damon’s eyes locked on mine.
“You found me,” he said, no emotion in his face. “Are you happy to see that I’m close to death, brother?”
“I’m here to save you,” I said simply. The horses were kicking up the sawdust around their feet in agitation; I didn’t have much time before someone in the house heard the disturbance.
Damon shrugged, an effort that clearly took all his energy. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy. A large cut lined his forehead, slicing into his eyebrow. He looked awful and emaciated; it was clear he hadn’t eaten in days.
I glanced around, hoping I could find something—a squirrel, a rabbit, a chipmunk—to kill and toss to him, but there was nothing.
“So the cold-blooded killer is going to save me.” Damon attempted a wan smile. He leaned back against the wall, his chains rattling.
“Yes, we have to—”
Suddenly, I heard the sound of a door slamming, then a dog barking. I whirled around toward the main house.
“What do you think you’re doing?” a voice yelled out. And I stood, my hands raised to the sky, unsure of who—or what—had found me this time.