Jeremiah wasn’t as confident in this girl’s company as he’d like to be. Unconsciously, but nervously, he bit his bottom lip until the tender skin broke. A small slit, horizontal and deep, but producing no blood. “But … but he’s expecting me to pick him up.”
Leaves crunched underneath Brania’s shoes as she took a step toward Jeremiah. He wasn’t worth making the full trip to walk right up to him; however, one step should create the illusion she was after. “And whom, may I ask, do you work for? Vaughan or my father?” It worked. Jeremiah didn’t hesitate but turned off his cell phone and returned it to the inside pocket of his jacket. Then, following the tilt of Brania’s head, he continued on to the trunk and opened it. The trunk light shone on a plain cardboard box that had some symbols written on it in black marker.
Nakano peered into the trunk and read the symbols on the box, which were written in his native language. “Contacts. Are they new?”
“New and improved,” Brania corrected. “Straight from the factory.”
Brania reached in and, with one hand, ripped open the box without breaking a nail. She pulled out two smaller boxes and gave them to Nakano. “Wear these. And please, for all our sakes, do try to fit in.”
His usual sarcasm was replaced with sincerity. “I will. Thank you.”
She touched his face; his skin was as smooth as a girl’s. “Long ago, my father made it so we would all be protected. You shouldn’t act so surprised when an act of kindness befalls you.”
If Brania was acting like the caring mother, Nakano took on the role of the petulant child. “Is that why you stopped me from going after them? I could’ve taken Michael right in front of Ronan! Now it might be too late.”
Brania’s soft touch turned into a firm grip and for the second time that day, someone stronger, someone much more powerful, grabbed him by the throat. She held him tightly and brought his bewildered face close to hers. Nakano held the two small boxes between them in a desperate attempt to create some distance between himself and this odd, odd creature. “Ronan will not take Michael tonight. He’s not thoughtless and impulsive like you. He will need time to gain Michael’s trust.” Brania yanked Nakano and brought him closer to her so when she spoke, her lips touched his ear. Shaking, Nakano dropped the boxes and could do nothing but listen. “So what you will do, what your only job will be, is to watch them, and just before Ronan is about to transform Michael, you will sweep him away from Ronan and forever change their destiny.”
“Oh” was all Nakano could say.
“Yes. Oh,” Brania scoffed. “And when we own Michael, we’ll have the leverage we need to make Ronan turn his back on his heritage and become one of us.” She released Nakano’s throat from her grip. He stumbled back and coughed, then bent down to pick up the boxes he had dropped. Brania looked down at him with what could only be described as a mother’s disgust. “And don’t you ever tell me to shut up again.”
In between coughs, Nakano was loath to concede that the plan Brania spelled out was perfect. He wasn’t happy being reprimanded, but he couldn’t think about that right now; all he could think about was the hunger growing within him. He looked up at Brania like a poor, homeless child. “But, Brania, I’m so hungry.”
This was the part Brania loved to play the most. Yes, the bitchy schemer was fun; yes, the woman in charge had its kicks; but being the one who could grant gifts and miracles, that’s the role she loved the most. She extended her hand to Nakano and he took it, rising up to stand and face her. Once again she caressed his face; he was after all just a child. “And that’s why I brought you a feast.”
Next to the box in the trunk was a blanket. Brania lifted the blanket with the flair of a magician and tossed it to the side. She watched approvingly as it floated and undulated to the ground. Presentation was so important. Then she stepped out of the way to reveal what lay underneath the blanket. It was a body. The body of Alistair Hawksbry, naked and unconscious, and full of precious, warm blood.
Nakano ripped off his sunglasses and the two black holes that were his eyes couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was the headmaster. This was being inconspicuous?! Nakano didn’t care about the consequences right now; he was overwhelmed. The headmaster smelled so ripe and pungent and Nakano could hear his blood pumping through his veins, still strong and compelling. Jeremiah scooped up the body and tossed it at Nakano’s feet.
Brania smiled at her minion. “What are you waiting for? Dig in.”
chapter 11
The first bite into flesh still held a thrill for Nakano. And when Alistair’s blood, thick and flavorful, filled his mouth, he felt dizzy.
As the headmaster groaned, awakened slightly by the intrusion, Nakano dug his fangs deeper into his neck, making the connection between the two even more solid. With his right hand he cradled Alistair’s skull and with his left he pressed into his shoulder, one hand gentle, the other firm, creating a balance. Tender and rough. He was giving Alistair incredible pleasure even as he was taking life from him.
Underneath Nakano, Alistair’s muscular body rose and fell into a slow rhythm. His eyes quivered but remained closed, and escaping from his mouth were a series of sighs, soft and involuntary, making it clear that although he was being violated, it was not at all an unpleasant experience. And that made Nakano’s head spin even more. He was a mere student, only a sophomore, and yet here he was, bringing such joy to the headmaster. God, how he loved being a vampire. He had such force, such liberty to do as he chose, take what he wanted, and, when he was so inclined, give unparalleled ecstasy to those inferior humans around him. But what he had yet to grasp was that even vampires need to understand limitation.
“Enough, Nakano,” Brania said.
Nakano didn’t hear her. He was trying to figure out what spice he tasted in Alistair’s blood. Was it curry? No, it wasn’t that sharp. It might be coriander, but no, he couldn’t place it. Well, whatever it was, Alistair’s blood definitely had zest.
“I said enough.” This time Brania grabbed Nakano by the shoulder and yanked him back, his fangs letting go of the headmaster’s flesh reluctantly. He looked at Brania, his lips still smeared with warm blood. “Why did you do that?”
Looking at him, Brania tried to remember what it was like for a young vampire, when every sensation was new and overwhelming and almost unable to resist. When every feeding felt not only like the first, but as if it would be the last as well. She tried to remember so she could find patience. “Because others are hungry too.” Nakano’s eyes followed Brania’s as she looked over at Jeremiah.
“Oh,” Nakano said, “sorry.” Then he extended his tongue, longer and more flexible now than when he was mortal, and licked from one end of his lip to the other. First the top lip, then the bottom, until no blood was left. Cumin! Yes, that was the spice. Satisfied, he stepped back so Jeremiah could take his turn, but before the driver could plunge his own fangs into the headmaster, Brania placed a hand on his shoulder. “Remember, we don’t want to drain him.” Jeremiah nodded and understood. He wasn’t the brightest vampire on the face of the earth, but he took orders relatively well. And Brania liked to reward those who behaved, so just as his fangs were about to enter the still-gaping holes that Nakano had created, she added, “Just yet.”
A cold wind passed by and Alistair’s body trembled. Jeremiah ignored the movement and continued feeding, but Brania placed a hand on Alistair’s thigh to soothe him. After a moment, his body was calm and warm, and when Jeremiah released him from his grip, Alistair looked like he was merely taking a nap in the woods. Brania smiled and marveled to herself: Looks could be so deceiving.
She was sure that when people, men especially, looked at her, they had no idea what they were truly looking at. They thought she was just a girl, mature for her age, curvy, but still a girl. She was also certain that when Michael looked at Ronan, he thought he was looking at another sixteen-year-old boy, nothing more. How she wished she could see the expression on his face when he learned the truth.
A cold wind flew through her, taking with it all thoughts of Michael and Ronan. It was a reminder that she still had work to do. “Put him back in the trunk, Jeremiah,” she ordered. “My father wishes to speak with him.”
“Your father?” Once again he unconsciously bit his lip, but this time he was full, so blood oozed from the pierced flesh, Alistair’s still-warm blood, which Jeremiah immediately flicked with his tongue. Mustn’t waste a drop of the red ambrosia.
