My Love Lies Bleeding

  “Do Mom and Dad know about what happened after the party?” I asked, finally getting out of the car and facing the house. The original building had burned down during the Salem witch trials, even though we were nowhere near Salem. The locals had been superstitious and scared of every little thing. The house was rebuilt farther into the sheltering forest. It was simple and a little shabby from the outside, but the pioneer-style log cabin hid a luxurious heart full of velvet couches and stone fireplaces. The rosebushes under the leaded- glass windows were a little scraggly, the oak trees old and stately. I loved every single treated inch of it. Even my mother’s pinched and disapproving face behind the glass.

  “Busted,” Logan murmured.

  Moths flung themselves at the lamps. The screen door creaked when I pushed it open.

  “Solange Rosamund Drake.”

  I winced. Behind me, both my brothers did the same. My mother, Helena, was intimidating at the best of times with her long black hair and her pale eyes, and the fact that she can take down someone twice her size with a sword, a stake, or her petite bare hands.

  “Ouch—middle name.” Logan shot me a sympathetic smile before easing into the living room and out of the crossfire.

  “Snitch.” I pinched Nicholas. He only raised an eyebrow.

  “Nicholas didn’t tell us anything.” My mom pinned him with a pointed glare. He squirmed a little. I’d known grown men to back away physically from that look. “One of your aunts was patrolling the perimeter and saw your escape.”

  “Escape.” I rolled my eyes. “It was barely anything. They didn’t even come out of the cornfields. They were just sniffing me.”

  “You have to be more careful,” my father, Liam, said calmly from his favorite chair. It kind of looked like a medieval throne. No surprise there. He’d only been born in 1901 but he carried himself like a king.

  “I feel fine,” I said, exasperated. He was drinking brandy. I could smell it across the room, just like I could smell Uncle Geoffrey’s cologne, Aunt Hyacinth’s pug, and the thick perfume of roses. Just another one of our little gifts. I rubbed my nose so I wouldn’t sneeze.

  “What’s with all the flowers?” I asked, noticing the roses. There were dozens and dozens of them everywhere, in every shade of red, stuffed in crystal vases, teacups, and jam jars.

  “From your . . . admirers,” my father told me grimly.

  “What?” Admirers, ha! They were only coming around because of my pheromones. It’s not my fault I smell funny. I shower every day, but apparently I still stink of lilies and warm chocolate and something else no one can accurately describe. Even Lucy commented on it once, and she’s nearly immune to us, having practically grown up here. No one else was smelly in such an obvious way; pheromones are usually subtle and mysterious. I really hope it fades once I fully turn.

  The prophecy and my family’s legacy in the vampire world won’t, though.

  Sometimes it sucks having a family that’s so old and powerful.

  “Darling, it’s a great compliment, I’m sure,” my aunt Hyacinth said. She was technically my great-great- great-aunt. She didn’t look much over forty, even though she clung to the fashions of her youth in the privacy of the tribe, like most vampires. Her dress was Victorian in style, with a lace corset and jet beads. “When I was your age I had the best time. There’s nothing like the rush of being a debutante. All those men hungering after you.” She gave a delicate shiver.

  “Hyacinth.” Dad grimaced. “You hadn’t even been turned then, and this is hardly a debutante’s ball. They don’t want to waltz, damn it.” My great-great-great-uncle Edward had married Aunt Hyacinth in 1853 and turned her in 1877, at her insistence. She was inspired by Queen Victoria’s undying love for her own husband and wanted to live for centuries by Edward’s side. I’d never met him, though, because he’d died in World War I, shot one night on a spy mission for the Allies because he was determined to do his part. She’d been alone ever since.

  I glanced at a thick cream-colored paper card pinned to an enormous bouquet of white roses in a red box and froze.

  “Montmartre?” I squeaked. “He sent me flowers?”

  Dad flicked the box a baleful glare. “Yes.”

  “I’m putting them down the incinerator,” I said darkly. The last thing I wanted was Montmartre or his Host to know who I was. I was also hoping to slip out while everyone else was distracted. I should have known better.

  “You can do that later.” Mom pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

  I dropped onto a velvet settee. Nicholas sat as well, joining my other brothers, who were all watching me grimly.

  “Don’t you lot have anything better to do?” I asked.

  “Th an protecting our annoying baby sister?” Quinn drawled. “No.”

  Being the only girl in a family of boys would have been tough enough to navigate, never mind a family with the rare ability to give birth to mostly male vampires. Even among the Drakes, that ability is rare. Most vampires are “made,” not born. My mom, for example, had been human until my dad turned her shortly after I was born and they’d decided they didn’t want any more children. He’d been born human too, like my brothers, until his sixteenth birthday—when he’d sickened, the way we all did— and would have died if my aunt hadn’t given him her blood to drink.

  Family legend has it that the first of our clan was William Drake. No one knows how he was turned. We did know he married Veronique DuBois, a lady-in-waiting to Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. A year after their wedding, she went into labor with their firstborn. After twenty- seven hours of childbirth, the midwife told William that Veronique was not going to survive the birth. In desperation, William turned her, and their twins were born healthy. By their sixteenth birthday, though, the twins weakened and grew unnaturally sensitive to the sunlight. They were hungry but couldn’t eat, thirsty but couldn’t drink. Nothing tempted them.

  Except blood.

  And so the Drake vampire family began.

  Veronique, as the oldest surviving Drake, is our family matriarch. William was staked by a hunter during the reign of Henry VIII. Veronique rarely visited, preferring to have us come to her once we’d survived the change and she could afford to get attached. At least she hadn’t joined us tonight, which meant it wasn’t a formal meeting, just a family ambush. She was scary enough that she probably could have given Lady Natasha a run for her crown if she’d wanted it. Luckily for everyone, she preferred embroidery to court intrigue.

  “Solange, are you listening to me?”

  I jerked my head up.

  “Yes.” I’d heard this particular lecture enough times over the last few months to know it intimately. “Nothing happened. You’re all overreacting.” I did feel guilty; I just knew better than to show it.

  “There were at least three of them in that field tonight, maybe more.” Nicholas scowled. “You know they don’t all send flowers. Most of them just want to grab you and run.”

  I scowled back. “I could have handled it. It wasn’t even full dark yet. Besides, if they were so dangerous, why’d you nearly leave Lucy behind?”

  “You were going to leave Lucy there?” my mom sputtered, and Nicholas narrowed his eyes at me. I crossed my eyes smugly. Growing up with so many brothers taught me the fine art of misdirection, self-preservation, and revenge, if nothing else.

  “She was fine.” I knew Nicholas was trying not to slump in his chair. “They weren’t after her. And she’s not fragile, for God’s sake.”

  “She’s under the protection of this family,” my father said.

  “I know, but she can look after herself. Broke my nose last summer, didn’t she?”

  “Be that as it may.”

  “Okay, okay.” Nicholas backed down.

  “And you, young lady.” Dad turned to me. Every single one of my traitor brothers smirked. They look enough alike that people usually assume they’re all sets of twins. Only Quinn and Connor are actually twins. Quinn keeps his hair long and Connor, like Sebastian, p
refers to fade quietly into the background. Logan is the flamboyant one, and Nicholas spends most of his free time worrying about me. Marcus and Duncan just came home from a road trip. They’re all gorgeous; it’s like living with a bunch of male models. And it makes girls stupid around them.

  “You have to take this seriously.”

  “I do, Dad,” I said quietly. “You know I do.”

  “What I know is that they’re coming for you and soon you’ll be weaker than a blind kitten.”

  “I know.” This totally sucked. I was getting in trouble over a party I hadn’t wanted to go to in the first place. I like being alone and staying on the farm. But I hate being trapped and hovered over.

  “Let the girl be,” Hyacinth said, drinking delicately from a goblet. It looked like cherry cordial. It wasn’t.

  “Thank you.” I swallowed thickly.

  Did I mention?

  I was squeamish about blood.

  CHAPTER 2

  Lucy

  “Lucy, is that you?”

  I kicked the door shut with my heel, still muttering under my breath. Nicholas was so infuriating. What was wrong with him anyway?

  “Lucy?”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” I called out.

  “Where have you been? We nearly started without you, kiddo.” Dad came out of the kitchen with a bowl of hot popcorn, made from the corn he’d grown in the backyard. It was as close to junk food as my parents came. His long hair was in its usual ponytail, his sleeves rolled up to display his wolf and turtle tattoos. The wolf was his personal totem, and the turtle was our family totem.

  “Pick out a movie, honey.” Mom looked up from the beads spread out on the coffee table. She was sitting cross- legged in old jeans and a peasant blouse, stringing a hundred and eight rose quartz beads together to make prayer malas. She makes them to give away as gifts at the ashram. My parents went every year, and they were leaving tomorrow morning before dawn. “What’s wrong? Is Solange all right?”

  “She’s fine.” Mostly.

  “Tell her we’ve asked the swami to pray for her. Why do you look so grumpy?”

  “It’s Nicholas. He just makes me so mad sometimes.”

  “Honey, you know anger poisons your body. You’ve always been too quick to get mad. Why do you think you have allergies? Your body’s always on hyper defense.”

  “Mom.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said. Dad winked at me and passed the popcorn. “Are you going to be all right here on your own while we’re away? I stocked the fridge.”

  “With tofu?” I grimaced.

  “I don’t want you gorging on junk food while we’re away, young lady.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, I’m not eating weird tofu casseroles for two weeks.” My parents had passed on their sense of social justice, even if they chose to fight with sit-ins and I preferred to swing a punch. Call it family rebellion. I felt the same way about tofu as I did about sit- ins. I’m sure they’re both good for the soul, but I’d once breathed in a lungful of tear gas when my parents took me to a global warming protest and I swore I’d never lay limp in the road again. One time, Dad was hit by a rubber bullet, and the bruises on his chest had scared me more than any polluting global corporation or vicious dictator could have. Even scarier was the fact that he hadn’t gotten angry, had actually lain down for it. When I turned fifteen, I was finally able to convince them to leave me behind when they went on their annual retreat.

  “Maybe we should call your aunt to come stay with you,” Mom said.

  Not that they didn’t worry.

  “I was fine last year and I’ll be fine this year, Mom. Besides, Lucinda’s in Vegas with her new girlfriend, remember?” I crunched some popcorn. “Stop fretting, it’s bad for your chi.”

  “She’s got you there.” Dad grinned.

  “I’ll probably stay at the Drakes’ most nights anyway, just like last year,” I assured her. “So, can we just watch the movie now?” I turned up the volume before she could find something else to worry about.

  When the movie was over, my parents went to bed and I went back to Solange’s. I’d only had my license for a few months, but the car already practically drove itself there. Although I didn’t see a single person, I knew I was spotted by various guards and family members before I’d even made it onto the outskirts of the Drake compound. I didn’t know why Mom was so worried; she’d already asked Bruno, the Drakes’ head bodyguard, to check up on me.

  The dogs didn’t bother to bark when I got out. There were three of them, big, shaggy gray-black Bouviers, which looked more like bears than dogs. They might have been intimidating if they weren’t currently shoving their damp noses in my pockets and whimpering for treats. I had more to fear from the windstorm they might cause with the ferocious wagging of their stubby tails.

  The lamps were lit—soft yellow light gleamed through the windows. The light was always soft in the Drake house. I went around to the side, hoping Solange’s bedroom window was open. I could have knocked. I usually did. It wasn’t as if anyone would be asleep, and they could usually smell my presence anyway. But I didn’t know if I was in trouble. I’d apologize if I was, but I hated going in unprepared. Regular parents were bad enough, but vampire parents were in a class all their own. Solange’s window was closed, so I texted her. Nothing.

  “Lucky.”

  I yelped like a scalded cat, whirling so fast I made myself dizzy. My phone landed in the bushes. Nicholas smirked at me, easing languidly out of the shadows. His pale eyes gleamed. I gasped for breath, thumping my chest. That was the second time in one night I’d practically choked on my own heart. Nicholas licked his lips. I remembered Solange’s warning and tried to calm my pulse.

  “What the hell, Nicky!” I muttered. He hated being called that as much as I hated being called Lucky. He stepped closer, totally invading my personal space. I hated that he was so handsome, with his tousled dark hair and his serious expression, like some ancient scholar. There was something else in his expression suddenly, something slightly wicked. I took a step back, wondering why my stomach felt funny. He advanced and I backed away some more, suspicious, until I bumped into the log wall of the house. I remembered, too late, Solange’s simplest warning about vampires: if you ran, they chased. It was just in their nature.

  I stopped abruptly and lifted my chin, trying to pretend my shoulder blades weren’t pressing into the log wall and I had nowhere to go.

  “What?”

  He was close enough that his legs practically brushed mine.

  He was close enough, in point of fact, to kiss.

  I was instantly horrified the thought had even crossed my mind. I tried to comfort myself with the idea that it was probably just those legendary pheromones. I was used to them, but I wasn’t completely immune. And the fact was, he was looking at me the way I looked at chocolate fudge.

  I bit my lower lip. He blinked, and then his face went impassive again, nearly cold; but I noticed the flare of heat in his eerie eyes.

  “That was a stupid thing you did,” he said.

  And there was the Nicholas I knew. Of course he hadn’t been flirting with me. What had I been thinking?

  “It was just a party.”

  “It was reckless.” He jerked a hand through his hair, messing it further. “We’re trying to protect her. You’re not making it any easier.”

  “You’re smothering her.” I scowled. “And I was protecting her, too.”

  “By putting her in needless danger just to flirt with some drunk kid? This isn’t a game.”

  “I know that,” I snapped. “But you don’t know her like I do. And she’s been so stressed out by you and your overbearing baboon brothers, I just wanted to cheer her up.”

  He paused, and when he spoke again it was quietly. “She can’t protect herself if she’s worried about protecting you.”

  Ouch. Direct hit. The indignation whooshed out of me, leaving me feeling deflated and foolish.

  “Oh.” I really hated it when
he was right. “All right. Fine.”

  I was spared his self-satisfied reply when his cell phone rang discreetly from inside the pocket of his black cargo pants. He barely glanced at me.

  “Go home. Now.”

  He walked away, leaving me staring at his back. I retrieved my phone to text Solange: I do not like your brother. I stomped all the way back to the car. The dogs had abandoned me to follow Nicholas, growling low in their throats. I kind of hoped they’d bite him. Right on the ass.

  Just as I was reaching for the car door handle, a hand clamped over my shoulder and spun me around. Before I could make a single sound, Nicholas’s mouth covered mine completely. He yanked me closer. His eyes were the misty gray of rain. His lips moved, briefly. It wasn’t even a whisper but even that sound was hidden under the almost- but-not- quite kiss.

  “We’re not alone.”

  I stiffened.

  “Shhh.” He bent his head. Anyone watching would have assumed he was kissing me and enjoying it. I admit, I was enjoying it too.

  A shadow moved near the hedges, too quickly to be natural. The crickets went silent. Knowing the sharpness of vampire hearing, I darted a glance pointedly over Nicholas’s left shoulder. He didn’t speak, didn’t even nod, but I knew he understood. He kept kissing me, his tongue darting out to touch mine. It was totally distracting. He was edging me away from the car, guiding me backward, toward the house.

  “Don’t run.” He nipped my lower lip.

  “I know.” Afraid I was the only one experiencing all these interesting feelings, I nipped back. His hands tightened. His mouth was on my ear when we reached the porch. By the lower step his palms moved over my waist, my hips. His lips were clever, wicked.

  Perfect.

  At the front door he stopped and shoved me abruptly into the foyer. I stumbled, knocking over a vase of roses. Glass shards, red petals, and water scattered over the stone floor. My lips felt swollen, tingly. Focus, Lucy. The hallway was already full of grim-mouthed Drake boys before I’d even caught my breath. Solange’s mom pushed past me, leading them out. Nicholas was a blur between the oak trees. There were the unmistakable sounds of fighting: grunts, hissing, bones snapping.