Oliver offered a half smile and extended his elbow. I looped my arm through his as if he were escorting me to a ball and not through the pits of Hell.
Several smaller passages extended from the tunnel like doors along a hallway. As we approached the first one, several large gulping and slurping noises elicited a shudder from me. Vampires.
Against my better judgment, I peered into the space as we passed it. Half a dozen vampires were crowded around a motionless figure whose skin was white as paper. Blood pooled around them, and the vampires only lifted their heads to gasp for air, their mouths and fangs glowing a deep red.
My fingernails dug into Oliver’s arm, and I froze.
“We can’t save him,” Oliver whispered. “He’s probably already dead.”
He urged me forward. My hand quivered, and he clutched it firmly.
“You said something about Donors,” I muttered. “With the vampires from earlier. What did you mean?”
“Most vampires belong to a coven supported by Blood Donors—willing mortals who offer up their blood in exchange for a blood pact with the vampires.”
“A blood pact?”
“An agreement or truce with the vampires. The vampires agree not to kill the Donors. The Donors receive protection and vampire blood in return, which makes them stronger.”
“Won’t that Turn them?”
“Only after they die. And only if they receive a concentrated dosage. If it’s spread out over time, their own blood will flush out the venom.”
We passed another room filled with feasting vampires, and this time I looked away, my expression fixed firmly ahead. The noises of the vampires gulping blood roared in my ears.
“Why aren’t these vampires in a coven?” I asked.
“That’s what’s so puzzling about it,” Oliver said. “I don’t know. Most vampires don’t have a problem coexisting with us and keeping to themselves as long as their coven is left alone. It’s like an unofficial peace treaty. But these vampires . . . El Diablo . . . there’s a bigger scheme going on here. Vampires would only leave their coven if they were promised something far greater than stability and protection.”
The next tunnel appendage opened up into a small, empty cavern about the size of a janitor’s closet. Oliver escorted me inside. Darkness engulfed us. Light flickered feebly from the tunnel we just left, but inside the cave-room, it was hard to see even my own hand in front of me.
A chill hissed across my body.
“Cozy,” I said.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Being chipper so you’ll feel less afraid.”
I didn’t answer.
We stood there awkwardly for a full minute. I tried to ignore the wailing and gulping that still resonated in the tunnel. Something dark and sinister haunted me when I focused on the sounds of demons feasting. I swallowed, trying not to think of my parents.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness and drifted across the room. Literally nothing was in here. No bed, no chair—nothing.
“Nice accommodations,” I muttered.
Oliver chuckled next to my ear.
More silence. I breathed heavily, trying to drown out the sickening noises of the demons in the other rooms.
“Would you like some privacy?” Oliver asked quietly. “I can—”
“Don’t. You. Dare. Leave. Me,” I said through clenched teeth.
Oliver fell silent. His hand pressed against mine as if reassuring me. “Very well. I’ll stay here.”
Silence again. My body was frozen. I just stood there, my limbs numb from horror.
“Shall we sit?” Oliver asked.
I nodded weakly.
He gently tugged on my arm, leading me to the back corner of the small cavern. Our arms still linked, we slid to the rocky floor and leaned our backs against the wall. The bumpy rock behind me was cold and unyielding. I definitely wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.
“What’s the plan now?” I asked.
“We rest. Our powers are useless if we’re too weak to use them. Then we summon that Teleporter and request an audience with El Diablo’s prisoners.”
Sure. Easy peasy.
Several minutes passed. I shut my eyes against the awful noises until I finally said, “I can’t take it anymore.”
I jumped to my feet and touched my toes. My pulse pounded in my ears and I stretched further, sliding into downward-facing dog. Then I straightened and struggled to lift my leg high in the air, but my stupid skirt wouldn’t budge. Cursing, I dropped my leg and ripped a long slit on either side of my skirt.
“What are you doing?” Oliver hissed.
I ignored him and lifted each leg, grasping the toes of my shoes and closing my eyes. Spinning on my toe, I began my routine. For a moment, I heard nothing but the crunch of gravel under my feet as I moved and twirled. Then the sweeping, soothing music of Tchaikovsky rang in my ears as if I had my CD player on full blast at home. My body twisted and turned. My sore muscles and suffocating clothes made me a little sloppy, but I pressed forward, my arms and legs flowing like a smooth current. The movements washed over me, cleansing me from all fear—all emotion. I was nothing but the dance. A pirouette, a sideways leap, ending with a grande jeté.
I finished in fifth position, my arm raised mid-air. My chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, but they came easily. No trembling. No fear. I swept my curls out of my face and wiped sweat from my brow.
“Wow,” Oliver whispered.
I blinked. I’d forgotten he was in the room. I stepped toward him and sank to the ground, leaning my head against the wall next to him. “Dancing is how I cope,” I panted.
“I could tell,” Oliver said softly. “You just seemed so . . . free. Untethered. Unrestrained. It was beautiful.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“You know, for someone who isn’t a fighter, you certainly are agile.”
My brow furrowed as I looked at him. His eyes glinted. “What?” I said.
“I mean to say, you’re fit. You have finesse.”
I cocked my head and smirked at him. “I didn’t give you the wrong impression earlier, did I? Because I’m not interested.”
Oliver bumped my shoulder with his, and I laughed. “I mean to say,” he said, clearing
