K. R. Treadway
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Blood and Lace: Chapter 7
🕑 Added 2024-01-07 22:32:57 +0000 UTC
“Wake up, Nicholas.”
She was speaking from a long way off. Nicholas estimated it was the other side of the world. No way could he be expected to hear that. Not at the bottom of the ocean. The water was above him, pressing down.
“Nicholas.”
Closer now. Maybe she was on a boat somewhere above. Did she not understand he couldn't move? His limbs had filled up with water. He thought it would be cold at the bottom of the sea, but it wasn’t. It was warm and cozy and safe.
“Nicholas...” Her voice was a whisper right next to his ear, a sensation that sent a thrill arcing across his limbs. Was she a mermaid as well as a vampire? “…if you don't open your eyes, I’m going to make you slap yourself awake.” The icy authority of her words brought a shock of cold to the depths. Suddenly the ocean was draining, and he could see the sky through the water, blue and remote. Then the dream broke apart and Nicholas realized he was lying in his bed.
He forced one eye open with a groan. “Need to sleep,” he mumbled at the blurry gray shape leaning against the wall.
“You can sleep after we’ve talked.”
Something about her was familiar. He managed to open his other eye. The room was dimly lit from the hallway, but he could make out a slim, feminine form whose curves were masked by baggy clothes and crossed arms. Her hair was a dark corona with glossy accents. With her head angled toward him, her face was hidden in shadow. But he realized he didn’t need it. He could picture it perfectly, from her dark, delicately arched eyebrows to her pale eyes and kissable lips...to the fangs concealed behind them.
He sucked in a breath as it all came rushing back.
The raid, the rescue, the horror of his body being hijacked by a vampire. The mercy she’d offered and the life he’d offered in return. The bite. The soft feel of her lips on his wrist and the live-wire of illicit pleasure.
Nicholas tried to raise his head, but it slumped back against the pillow. He groaned again. “Can’t move.”
“You lost—I took—a lot of blood.” She shifted against the wall, suddenly uneasy, and turned to look towards the doorway, putting her perfect profile into the light. “Thank you,” she murmured without looking at him.
“Couldn’t let you starve…not after…” He made a helpless little gesture under the blanket. Then he paused. “Wait…you carried me to the bed?”
“Yes.”
“And covered me with a blanket.”
“It wasn't a gesture of affection. You needed warmth.”
Nicholas couldn’t help indulging in a small satisfied smile. At least it felt affectionate. Then the smile dropped with a new realization.
“Am I naked?”
The vampire turned back to him. “Yes.” He heard amusement in her reply, but it was laced with a dangerous undercurrent of menace. “You don't like being undressed while you’re unconscious?”
“Not really,” he admitted.
“Good. Because that’s one of the things we’re going to talk about.” There was no trace of amusement now. The ice from before was back in her voice. She took a step closer and stared down at him. Her body language was so cold he instinctively burrowed deeper into the blanket. “You undressed me, Nicholas. While I was asleep.”
Nicholas swallowed, wondering if the burning he was starting to feel in his face was visible with the amount of blood left in his body. “There’s a—“
She blurred. It didn’t seem real. One instant she was standing five feet away, then there was an unnatural shimmer and she was beside the bed. He gasped in shock, followed by pain. Her hand was around his throat and squeezing like an industrial press. He struggled to breathe.
“What did you do? Tell me.” The words were guttural, spoken through clenched teeth. Her fingers twitched even tighter, as if she was imagining Nicholas’s hands roaming all over her unconscious form.
“Can’t…” A wave of black was beginning to close across his vision. “Please…” let me explain, he tried to say, but the air wasn’t available. At the last excruciating moment her grip loosened just enough for him to breathe.
He took in ragged gasps, trying to push back the encroaching dark. If he passed out now she might kill him. There may be more to vampires than he’d been taught, more to this woman, but the stories—and case accounts—of their innate aggression were well documented. Nicholas turned his gaze on her, eyes watering and heart hammering, and beheld the extent of her rage, all the more frightening for the swiftness it had emerged from seeming calm. They were monsters, weren’t they? All of them—
No. The voice came from a tiny oasis of calm in his rising panic, a stillness like the eye of a storm. You know what you saw yesterday. Tonight. You trusted her once. Don’t abandon it now. Don’t abandon her.
“Speak!” Her fingers tightened again, but only for an instant to reinforce the threat. This time she was careful to let him breathe.
And suddenly he could see past the blazing anger. He noted how far her arm was extended to reach him, how her other hand was circling her waist. Protective body language. She was feeling vulnerable. Reeling from an experience that must have felt like one violation after another. And now that she had control she was determined to keep it and in all likelihood punish those who had taken it.
Tell the truth, said the stillness, and pray that she’s not too angry to hear it.
“I…had to,” he said. His voice was a strained rasp, but remarkably steady. She said nothing, remaining motionless. “The carpet,” he continued, “the dress…too foul…death smell…ghoul blood…”
The woman’s eyes glittered in the dark. Again he found himself thinking of diamonds. Her fingers loosened further, leaving her nails pressing into the skin. He coughed, and risked a few seconds to greedily inhale.
“I’m sorry,” he continued, “but I couldn’t…leave you like that. It was inhuman.” He snapped his mouth shut as soon as he said it. Stupid. He coughed again. “It was degrading,” he amended. “Undignified.”
He heard her take a long breath. To his ears it sounded too slow, but it was probably vampire-normal. Did that mean she was calming down? A few seconds later she released him. His neck immediately began to throb.
The vampire refolded her arms and stared at him. It was different, more intense. Then he understood. Before she had just been looking towards him. Now those ancient blue eyes were gauging his own. He suddenly felt very exposed.
“You took…no liberties?” Her words were more breath than whisper.
Nicholas shook his head violently. “I did…see you…for a moment when I removed the dress, but I covered you with a towel right away. After that I used a cloth and warm water to clean just your arms and face. Oh, and your fingers and feet. Whoever put you…up there…didn’t give you shoes.” He swallowed, and looked away. The burning feeling was returning to his cheeks. “After that I put you in my shirt. It seemed long enough. It, uh, wasn’t actually easy getting your arms in. I did it with my eyes closed.”
At the sound of movement he turned. The woman had backed into the wall and slid down until her knees were close to her chin. She wrapped her arms around her legs. She was wearing a pair of his sweatpants, he realized, in addition to the shirt. She was silent for a long time.
“I’m very old, Nicholas,” she said at last. “My standards of…modesty…were established long ago. Sometimes I forget that it’s different for modern humans. I see now you meant to do me a kindness.”
Nicholas suspected that was the closest thing to an apology she would offer. Under the circumstances he was grateful to get it.
“Well…now we’re even, right?” He’d taken a chance making a joke and relief flooded through him when he saw an honest-to-God smile on her face. It was slight, but he hadn’t imagined it.
The vampire straightened back to her feet with a fluidity that was hard not to envy. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you in a few hours. Before I go.”
She was going to go?
Of course she is, he immediately answered himself, what did you expect? He wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of how to phrase it. So instead he asked the one question that had been bothering him.
“How do you know my name?”
“I read your mind.”
What? Oh shit. How deep could she go? Could she see some of the involuntary images that came to him when he looked at her? “Y-you can do that?” His voice was no longer steady.
“No.” Now there was only amusement in her voice. “I went through your wallet.” She walked towards the hall, silhouetted in the rectangle of light. “Go to sleep, Nicholas.”
“Wait, I—what’s your name? I mean…what should I call you?”
She turned, bracing her arms on either side of the doorway. Her backlit hair was luminous, but her face was featureless shadow. Maybe he imagined it, but for an instant he saw two silver circles—a reflection similar to the eyes of an animal.
“Call me…” she hesitated. “My name is Della. Now sleep.” She—Della—closed the door.
She hadn’t used the yoke on him, but her command had the same effect. Almost immediately Nicholas was sinking, letting the warm waters close back over him, conveying him to a place too deep for dreams.
You shouldn’t have told him your name.
Della stood on the other side of the door and sighed. Well, she had. It was done. It had been a stray impulse to make up for nearly breaking Nicholas’s—the hunter’s—neck. She’d felt bad after hearing him explain. His actions made perfect sense. More, they fit with everything else he’d done on her behalf.
Foolhardy or not, Nicholas—no, the human—had trusted her with his life, and she had responded by assuming he was guilty. Certainly she had good reasons, but in this instance she had…overreacted. Or even worse, lashed out on purpose to foster distance. Was that it? Was it because she found herself wanting to…return his trust? Was she that desperate for allies?
He’s human. And he thinks himself a hunter. He’s dangerous.
Della couldn't afford to let her guard slip, not around this strange sheep. But she also couldn’t help feeling he’d deserved something for his kindness.
So she had told him her name. It meant nothing.
Your real name.
"Enough,” she muttered to herself, “There are more important things to consider.”
That was the problem, really. Her mind kept shying away from those things. It seemed everything was slipping from her grasp lately, including her own thoughts. Della gave a short growl of frustration and begin pacing the length of the apartment with her hands fisted in the pockets of the human’s ridiculous sweatpants.
She couldn't bring herself to face it yet, everything that had happened before Drus’s childish coda. The memories were a compressed ball in her psyche, a shuddering mass quivering with the power of an explosion, and she feared it would take her mind when it finally erupted. So she wouldn't look there, not now, not when her escape was such a new and fragile thing. But still she found herself seeing isolated flashes, images of the events at Lord Layne’s estate like wisps of steam escaping under high pressure.
The crimson wallpaper of the dining room dully reflecting the garish electric candelabras, shining like the hazed eyes of the ferals…Suong’s face partially occluded by her long black hair as she threw herself away from black talons…Lionel upending the massive table, face constricted with exertion, but his eyes bright with battle, unaware of the pack closing in behind—
When Della came back to herself she was staring at linoleum tile. She shuddered and blinked. She was standing in Nicholas’s kitchen, her entire frame rigid. A foggy, heavy-bodied sensation made it clear she hadn’t been breathing for at least a few minutes. She made herself take a long slow breath, then instructed her hands to loosen. Her eyes moved from the floor to her legs, clad in cheap and voluminous gray fabric.
There. Something tangible she could actually fix. Her current attire was a disgrace. She blinked a few times to clear her head, already feeling better now that a goal had presented itself. Della leaned against the kitchen counter, idly noting that the sink was clear and dishes set aside to dry.
At least the human keeps his hovel tidy. A sour note of amusement at the thought. She had not set foot in such poor lodgings in decades.
Immediately Della was filled with longing for her sanctuary. She pictured her beloved Lynnwood, with its welcoming portico and wraparound porch ringed with stout columns like soldiers on guard. She walked through its tasteful rooms in her memory. The sitting room (running her fingers along the mahogany-backed settee), the library (inhaling the intertwined scents of leather and old paper), and her bedroom (stretching out languorously on the silk sheets), before arriving at the walk-in closet that was the size of Nicholas’s living room.
Della sat on the human’s scratchy couch and plucked at the shirt that fell across her shoulders like a shawl, remembering her wardrobe’s sumptuous selection. All the dresses and gowns and shoes carefully arranged in the elegant palette she preferred, with the built-in vanity and its delicate drawers holding her most-used jewelry. The reverie ended, accompanied by a mingled sound of anger and sadness deep in her throat.
Lynnwood would be lost to her now. No doubt Drus and his Libertines would have seized her primary home for themselves. She had sent her staff away and cancelled her security contract before setting events in motion, so there was little danger her human servants would fall victim to the Libertines—so long as they stayed away, gods willing.
What of her other home and the high-rise apartment? Did Drus know of them? Lord Layne did, so that probably answered that question. She curled her lip into a sneer. No…she couldn’t take the risk. Which left Della with nothing. No identification, no cards, no phone, and no money.
Money.
Della rose off the couch and walked to the kitchen counter where she had tossed Nicholas’s wallet after finding his license. It was still upended there like a sad little tent. She picked it up and pulled out a twenty and a few singles. Not enough. She methodically emptied it, and felt a smile tug the corners of her mouth when she plucked a folded one-hundred dollar bill from the bottom of a card sleeve.
“An emergency fund and a lady with an emergency. Such is kismet.” She grabbed his keys and left.
It wasn’t difficult for Della to find Nicholas’s car. She wandered through the lot until her nose picked up the unmistakeable scent of rotting carpet and followed it to a small single-cab truck. Its once-vibrant paint job had faded to a chalky red, and a vinyl sticker on the door advertised Bowers Landscaping. Her nose scrunched in dismay, but she needed transport. Her usual method of travel tended to rip shopping bags.
She only had to take two turns out of the apartment complex to realize she was on the south side of the city, closer to the suburbs than the center. When Della spotted the brightly lit sign for a Stuf-Town megastore, she clenched her teeth but turned in. One-hundred and twenty dollars wasn’t much for clothing, and she was going to have to stretch it.
Della parked far from the entrance. She got out, tugging the bottom of Nicholas’s sweat pants over her bare feet; this place was far from the boutiques she was used to, but she was certain they would require shoes.
Everything about the store was too much. It was too big, too bright, and the displays were garish. They had stationed an elderly woman just past the too many doors. Despite the happy green button inviting Della to “Please ask me about STUF!”, the woman’s mouth set in a disapproving line as she entered.
“Ma’am…excuse me, ma’am. You have to wear shoes to come in here.”
Damn. The old bird was observant. Della turned to her, putting on the Mask in the same motion. She suddenly giggled.
“Oh gawd, busted.” She covered her forehead and shuffled closer, her body language radiating embarrassment. She felt her body becoming slightly more awkward in its motion, pulling years off of her appearance.
“I’m so sorry,” she loud-whispered. “I’m not very good at things like this. I’m pledging a sorority, and this is, like, one of the pranks? We have to wear these awful boy clothes and go buy new ones and…ugh, I’m so humiliated.” She lowered her hand, and felt tears welling in her eyes—the Mask made almost anything possible, including regular human tears. “I swear the first place I’m going is the shoe aisle.”
The older woman’s suspicion evaporated. Most people stopped questioning the moment their assumptions were gratified. She shook her head and made a tsk noise. “I swear, you college kids. Go on, young lady. Aisle eleven and don't stop. These floors are filthy.” She waved Della on, muttering about the foolishness of youth.
Della nodded at her with the wide-eyed gratitude of foolish youth and quickly vanished into the racks of clothing near the front of the store. Once out of sight she dropped the Mask. Immediately her body resumed its natural grace. A tiny shiver, like shaking off an ill-fitting garment, ran along her limbs.
The performance was always half-instinctual, like relying on muscle memory to perform a dance. She knew of vampires who could wear the Mask and direct encounters with complete mastery, but Della had never needed that level of control. The result was that sometimes she didn’t know what she was going to say until the words came out, only that she could trust they would work.
Stuf-Town had a bewildering variety of clothing, but the only appealing things about the garments were the prices. Della moved quickly, selecting a three-pack of panties, a bra, and socks from the delicates area and then dutifully heading to the shoe section. She only required shoes for appearances—a vampire could run for miles on bare feet—so she settled on a cheap pair of canvas sneakers.
She longingly eyed the dresses, but knew she had to be practical. After a moment of deep reluctance she picked out a pair of black yoga pants and added a pair of faded green capris. For tops she limited herself to a few simple tanks and a long white sweater.
Della dressed in the changing room, taking care to save the price tags. She went with the yoga pants for their versatility, but only after taking extra care to make sure the sweater reached mid-thigh. Habits instilled centuries ago gave her a flutter of unease over the lack of layers, but she’d had decades of practice ignoring it. She looked in the mirror with a frown. Not her usual refined look, but a vast improvement over the “awful boy clothes.”
Her last stop was the health and beauty section. She grabbed some hair ties, clips, and bobby pins. Arriving at the checkout, she hesitated next to a glass-fronted case. After a moment she chose a chilled sports drink.
The cashier wasn’t thrilled with the handful of price tags, but Della smiled at him apologetically. She didn’t even have to use the Mask—he was young and male.
She parked in the same spot upon returning, and headed up the stairs to Nicholas’s apartment. It was only then that she realized she’d long ceased thinking of him as “the hunter.” This irksome thought proved a dangerous distraction, because she didn’t notice anything was amiss until she was halfway inside Nicholas's living room.
“Hold up, ma’am. Don’t close the door.”
She turned to see a police officer emerging from the apartment across the way, his eyes narrowed with professional suspicion.
“I need to ask you some questions.”
