Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side

  “Lucius . . . maybe we should go inside.”

  But he only edged nearer, spoke more softly, yet still with that hint of barely suppressed frustration. “I could show you things that would make you forget everything you know here, in your safe little life . . .”

  I swallowed hard. What can he show me? What kind of not-nice things? Do I want to know?

  Yes. No. Maybe.

  “Lucius . . .”

  “Antanasia.” He leaned even closer to me, and I found that he was breathing hard, and so was I. Inhaling the power he always exuded, sharing his rarified air. “Don’t you ever wonder about that part of you? The part that is Antanasia?”

  “Antanasia is just a name . . .”

  “No. Antanasia is a person. A part of you.” Then Lucius caressed my cheek, tracing it with his thumb, and I found myself closing my eyes, sort of swaying, like I was a cobra under the spell of a snake charmer. I knew I should stop whatever was happening, but I just sat there, swaying.

  “That other half of you. That half would not settle for ‘nice,’” Lucius said softly. He cupped my chin, and I could feel his breath on my mouth now. Cool and close. “I finally saw it, that part of your being, your spirit, when you put on that dress . . . You look so beautiful in that dress. It transforms you . . .”

  My dress . . . I’d started to enjoy a sense of power when guys had watched me at the carnival. But with Lucius, I felt that power slip out of my control and into his hands. He took the reins as surely as he did with his half-wild horse. And that was terrifying. I licked my lips, stomach taut with that queer mix of hunger and loathing and fear that I’d felt that first time he’d bared those teeth up in his room.

  Will he do that again? Will he? Should he?

  “Antanasia.” His lips barely touched mine, and a craving ripped through me, like the craving in my dream for that decadent, irresistible, forbidden chocolate. No . . . I just kissed Jake. . . . I don’t want to want Lucius. . . . He was everything I didn’t want. He thought he was a goddamn vampire. And yet I felt myself pressing against him, felt my hand reaching up of its own accord to stroke his jaw, where the scar was, a jagged path of smooth skin tracing through the rough stubble. The violence in his childhood . . . it had made him hard. Dangerous, even? Maybe?

  Lucius’s arm slipped around my back, and he brushed my lips again, less gently this time. Even his mouth was hard. But I wanted to taste more. “Like this, Antanasia,” he murmured. “This is how it should be . . . not nice . . .”

  He was tempting me to want more. The image of him zipping up my dress, assured, knowing, flashed through my brain. Experienced . . . Mom had warned me. Don’t get in over your head, Jess. . . .

  Lucius slid his hand up to my neck, circling the nape with his fingers, his thumb stroking the hollow of my throat. “Let me kiss you, Antanasia . . . really kiss you . . . as you should be kissed.”

  “Please, Lucius . . .” Was I begging or protesting?

  “You belong with me,” he said softly. “With our kind . . . You know you do . . . Stop fighting it . . . Stop fighting me . . .”

  No!

  I must have cried out loud, because Lucius pulled back abruptly. “No?” His voice was incredulous, his eyes filled with shock and uncertainty.

  My mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out. Yes? No? “I just . . . I just kissed Jake,” I finally stuttered. “A few minutes ago.” Wasn’t it wrong to mess around with two guys on one night? Wasn’t that sort of . . . slutty? What the hell was this dress making me do? And that thing he’d said about “our kind . . .”

  No.

  Lucius yanked his hand from my throat and leaned forward on the steps, doubling himself over, digging his hands into his long, black hair with a sound that was half groan, half growl.

  “Lucius, I’m sorry . . .”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “But I am sorry . . .” Yet I didn’t quite know what I was sorry for. For kissing Jake? For almost kissing Lucius? For making us stop?

  “Go inside, Jessica.” Lucius was still bent over his knees, fingers laced in his hair. “Now. Please.”

  And then the front door opened. “I thought I heard voices out here,” Dad said, pretending to be oblivious to the obvious tension.

  “Dad,” I squeaked, popping up. “I just got home. Lucius and I were talking.”

  “It’s getting late,” Dad said, pulling me to his side. “And Lucius, I think it’s safe to say trick or treat is over. You should probably head up to bed.”

  “Of course, sir.” Lucius slowly unfolded himself and rose to his feet, too. He seemed weary as he handed the bowl to my dad. “Happy All Hallows’ Eve.”

  “Yeah, good night,” I said. Then I tore inside, ran upstairs, and yanked off my dress, tossing it to the back of my closet. I tugged at my hair until it tumbled back down around my shoulders. All back in place and normal. After pulling on a T-shirt and sweats to sleep in, I crept to the window and looked out at the garage. But Lucius’s light was off. He’d gone to bed. Or perhaps he’d gone out into the night.

  Mom knocked on my door. “Jessica? Are you all right?”

  “Fine, Mom,” I lied.

  “Do you want to talk?”

  “No.” I just kept watching Lucius’s window, not sure what I was looking for. “I just want to sleep.”

  “Well, then . . . good night, honey.”

  Mom’s footsteps receded down the hall and I climbed into bed, shutting my eyes tight. I would not—would not—wonder what would draw Lucius into the darkness. Given the mood I’d left him in, I honestly feared it might be something “not nice.”

  Chapter 21

  DEAR VASILE,

  What a mess here. What a mess. This would be so much easier to express if you’d just try e-mail. It’s available everywhere these days. Do consider it, please, for the duration.

  Until then, I have the difficult task of informing you via post that the entire pact seems to stagger, endlessly and irrevocably, toward oblivion.

  This evening . . . where to begin? What to say ?

  If that was not the moment, then I don’t know what more I can do. If Antanasia did not feel as I felt at that instant in time, if she had the presence of mind to pull back, actually to cry out “No!” to me when I will admit I was too far lost to her . . . I honestly don’t know what more I can do.

  I am sure you can infer, from the lines above, what passed between us, in a general sense. I will not disgrace myself—or dishonor Antanasia—by elaborating with details. To do so would be not only humiliating but ungentlemanly. And surely you understand.

  Have I really been bested by a peasant? A squatty, obtuse, parasitical peasant?

  Perhaps in the morning, the situation will appear less grim. One can only hope.

  In the meantime, I don’t suppose you might offer me some insights into the punishment I will face in the event of failure on my part? I should like to begin preparing myself mentally. Especially if I face the worst. I have always preferred to confront fate with shoulders back and head high, as you taught me. And one can best do that if one has the opportunity to steel oneself.

  Yours in doubt and with no small measure of confusion and concern,

  Lucius

  Chapter 22

  “YOU’RE GOING TO do fine, dear,” Mom promised, pinning my number on the back of my riding jacket.

  “I’m going to throw up,” I said. “Why did I sign up for this?”

  “Because we grow by challenging ourselves,” my mom replied.

  “If you say so.” In a few minutes, my turn would come. I would ride Belle into the 4-H ring, and we would jump a series of obstacles.

  The whole thing would last about three minutes, tops.

  So why was I so terrified?

  Because you might fall. Belle might balk. You’re not an athlete; you’re a mathlete. . . .

  “I should have just raised a calf, like last summer,” I said, groaning. “All you have to do is walk into the ring and wait
to see if you won a ribbon.”

  “Jessica, you are a fine horsewoman,” Mom insisted, spinning me around by the shoulders to look into my eyes. “And it’s not as though you’ve never competed in front of people before . . .”

  “But that’s math,” I protested. “I’m good at math.”

  “You’re a good rider, too.”

  I thought of Faith and Lucius. “But not the best.”

  “Then today is an excellent time to push your boundaries. Risk a second or even third place.”

  I glanced across the field, where Lucius was cantering on his horse, which he’d named “Hell’s Belle.” Ha-ha.

  “Risks aren’t always so great,” I said, watching Lucius work to control the still half-wild animal. Lucius was the only one who could touch her. He insisted that she was misunderstood, but I thought the mare was just plain evil.

  “That’s a little too risky,” Mom conceded, following my gaze. She sighed. “I hope he’s going to be all right.”

  The way she said it, I got the weird feeling that she wasn’t just talking about the jumper class competition.

  “He needs his number, too,” Mom added. She shaded her eyes, waving to Lucius.

  He raised a hand, acknowledging, and trotted over, dropping from his mount and looping the reins around a fence post. Hell’s Belle would never be the kind of horse that could wait without a tether.

  Lucius bowed slightly. “Dr. Packwood. Jessica.”

  I gave a small, uncomfortable wave. “Hey, Lucius.”

  He turned around, and my mom pinned on his number. To my surprise, Mom then spun Lucius around, just like she’d done with me—and hugged him. Surprise blew up to shock when Lucius actually hugged back. When did those two bond? Sometime since Halloween, I guessed. Lucius and I had given each other a wide berth since our weird moment on the porch.

  “Good luck,” my mother said, brushing imaginary lint off Lucius’s impeccable, perfectly fitted show coat. “And wear your helmet,” she added. “It’s mandatory.”

  “Yes, yes, safety first,” Lucius said, voice dripping sarcasm. “I’ll go find it.” He looked at me, eyes neutral. “Good luck.”

  “You, too.”

  Lucius untied his horse and led her off. Mom watched him, face tense.

  “He’ll be fine,” I promised her.

  “I hope.”

  “I’m second, right?” I asked.

  “Yes. After Faith.”

  Great. The toughest act I could possibly follow. Faith didn’t just compete in the annual 4-H show. She did bigger horse shows on her expensive gelding. My stomach clenched again.

  “You’ll do great,” Mom promised. She hugged me, too.

  The intercom blared, and it was time.

  Lets go.

  Of course, Faith completed a flawless run on her thoroughbred, Moon Dance. She dominated the course, her horse’s fleet, fine-boned legs launching them both over every fence, even the fifth, which loomed like a tower, impossibly high from where I was waiting on the sidelines.

  I really needed to pee, a nervous pee, but there was no time. I mounted up as Moon Dance’s hooves pounded by, run completed.

  “Next up, Jessica Packwood, Woodrow Wilson High School, riding Belle, a five-year-old Appaloosa.”

  They’d said my name.

  I took a deep breath, catching sight of Jake, who watched from the bleachers. He grinned, giving me an okay sign. I forced myself to smile back.

  Lucius was also in the arena, watching, leaning against the fence. Dammit. Like I needed his hypercritical eyes on me, judging me.

  I glanced over my shoulder, wondering what would happen if my horse and I just sort of backed out. . . . But it was too late. There was no turning back.

  Taking a deep breath, I dug in my heels. Belle’s hooves thudded quietly in the thick dirt of the nearly silent arena. Feeling my horse’s power, her familiar steps beneath me, I began to focus. The first obstacle approached. A hedge. We cantered, jumped, and cleared it. You’re just jumping with Belle. Just like at home. We cleared the next low rails, and the nerves faded, replaced by exultation. All of those people were watching us, and we were doing it.

  Belle cleared the next two fences, hooves not even nipping at the rails.

  The fifth, highest fence loomed, and my heart thudded. But Belle lifted, soared, and we were past.

  A perfect round. No faults. In the end, we’d completed a perfect round. A huge, victorious smile broke across my face. Take that, Romanian all-star.

  As I cantered toward the exit, I waved to my parents, who were cheering, and to Jake, who had both fingers jammed in his mouth, whistling. Seeking out Lucius, I saw that he was clapping heartily, hands raised, and he mouthed “Good show.” Whatever had broken between us, it had just been fixed a little.

  I returned from cooling down Belle just in time to see Lucius’s round.

  He sat easily, regally, on Hell’s Belle, as if he’d been born there. The midnight black horse seemed strangely calm, too. Nudging her flanks, Lucius urged her to a canter, rising close to a full gallop. The pace was insane for the small course, but Lucius didn’t seem to notice. There was a small smile on his lips as he approached the first fence. Hell’s Belle flew over, landing smoothly, and I realized this was a horse born to jump. They seemed fused together, horse and rider, tearing up the course, Hell’s Belle reaching twice as high as she needed to clear, and all at once the spectators were cheering. Gasping and cheering.

  It was reckless. Too reckless. I glanced at my parents in the stands. They looked terrified, and suddenly I was, too.

  As Lucius soared over the fifth fence, a hand clamped down on my wrist, causing me to jump. “Look at him go,” Faith Crosse whispered to no one in particular. I was pretty sure she hadn’t even realized who she touched, she was watching Lucius that intently. Faith tapped her riding crop absently against her calf, in time to the hoofbeats. I tugged my arm away.

  “Sorry,” Faith murmured, without removing her gaze from Lucius.

  Hell’s Belle cleared the last fence, and the announcer called a new 4-H record for time.

  Lucius and the horse pulled up in front of the gate, and Lucius slipped down, coolly peeling off his riding gloves like he’d just been on a trail ride through a park, seemingly oblivious to the applause.

  Always the show-off.

  “I’m going to congratulate him,” Faith said.

  I caught a peculiar look in the future prom queen’s eyes.

  Faith disappeared into the crowd, headed for the exit, following Lucius out behind the ring. That’s when I thought about the riding crop. Hell’s Belle would not like the crop. Lucius had even posted a warning sign in the barn—a sign I saw almost every day. “Faith, wait,” I called, following.

  But I was too slow. By the time I caught up with her behind the barn, Faith had reached Lucius and Hell’s Belle, and was waving the crop, calling for Lucius’s attention. The crop nipped the horse’s flank, and Hell’s Belle spun around in a fury, backing away, nearly ripping the reins from Lucius’s hands before he realized what was happening.

  I heard him order Faith to drop the crop, but it was too late.

  The mare reared, pawing the air, too close to Faith. I screamed, seeing what was about to happen, as Lucius pushed Faith away, putting himself in front of the flailing hooves, falling under them.

  There was a sickening, audible crack as the force of Hell’s Belle’s hooves, driven by a full ton of sinew and muscle, collided with Lucius’s legs and ribs. It was all over in seconds, before I could even scream again, and Lucius was lying, his tall body folded, broken, on the grass. There was blood on his white shirt, blood seeping from his high leather boot and staining his fawn-colored riding breeches.

  “Lucius!” I finally found my voice, crying out, running over, dropping beside him. I was so scared for him that I completely forgot about the dangerous beast looming over my shoulder, still loose.

  “Catch her,” Lucius insisted through clenched teeth, trying
to roll over, gesturing toward the horse, which stood, flanks heaving, scared but still wary. “You can do it. Before she—”

  Faith began crying, abruptly and loudly as reality sank in, but no one heard us out behind the barn. Everyone was inside now, watching the competition. Hell’s Belle stood, head low, snorting like a furious sentinel over Lucius. I could feel her hot breath on my own neck, and then I got scared for me, too. No sudden moves . . .

  “She needs to be tied up, Jess,” Lucius begged, wincing with the effort of the words.

  I nodded mutely, knowing he was right. Standing very slowly, as slowly as possible, I turned.

  “Easy, girl,” I whispered, extending my hands, palms up.

  The horse flinched, and so did I. Just stay calm, Jess. . . .

  I edged closer. Hell’s Belle’s eyes spun more wildly, but she didn’t run. Didn’t lash out.

  She seemed to understand that something had gone horribly wrong. With shaking hands, I reached for her loose reins, dangling from her bridle. “Easy, girl.” Keeping my eyes on the horse’s, I located the reins with my fingertips. Her breath kept coming heavy and fast, but still she didn’t move. Lucius groaned. I had to work more quickly. Moving with more assurance, but trembling fingers, I fumbled to tie the reins to a post.

  Thank god. She was secure.

  I hurried back to Lucius, who was clutching his ribs through his bloody shirt. Kneeling, I grabbed his free hand. “It’s okay,” I promised. But I couldn’t help glancing at his leg. The break had happened at midcalf, the leather boot actually bent. “Get help,” I called to Faith, who seemed paralyzed, wailing over and over, “It was an accident.”

  “Get someone!” I yelled at her again. “Now!”

  This woke her up, and Faith turned to run.

  “No,” Lucius barked, louder than I would have thought possible, given the twisted state of his body. But something in his tone caught Faith up short, and she spun around. “Get Jessica’s parents. No one else.”

  Faith hesitated, panicked, puzzled, unsure. She looked to me.

  “Get the paramedics,” I begged Faith. What was Lucius doing? He needed an ambulance.