Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side

  I shifted my weight, trying not to jostle his leg. “I’m sorry they put her down.”

  Lucius looked out the window, mouth drawn down. “You did your best. But some things are just too dangerous to live, I suppose.”

  “You tried to tame her,” I added lamely. “It worked for a while.”

  “It wasn’t in her nature to be tamed. In the end, we are all true to our natures. Our upbringings.”

  We sat in silence for a second, and I wondered what Lucius was thinking about. The horse—or himself?

  “Congratulations on second place,” he finally said.

  I followed his gaze to the corkboard on my wall, where I’d hung my red ribbon next to a bunch of blue ones I’d won for math competitions. Of course, Faith Crosse had won the blue ribbon. My performance had been good, but not good enough. “You deserved the blue,” I told Lucius, meaning it.

  “How odd that I received a ‘lifetime ban’ from 4-H, then,” he noted wryly. “They created a whole new rule, you know. Just for me. ‘Prohibition against knowingly bringing a vicious animal to a public event.’ I was the first violator, retroactively. A pioneer in lawlessness, so to speak.” He laughed, coughed sharply, and clutched his ribs. “Damn.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I just slay myself, at times.” He smiled. “Literally.”

  I fidgeted with my iPod. “Lucius?”

  “Yes, Jessica?”

  I met his black eyes. “I was there. That night.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “You came to me late at night. Took my hand.”

  I resumed my study of my iPod, embarrassed. “Oh . . . I thought you were asleep.”

  “Don’t fidget while conversing.” Lucius plucked the MP3 player from my fingers. “Of course I knew you were there. I’m a light sleeper. Especially when every inch of my body is wracked with pain.”

  “Sorry.” I smiled weakly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “No . . . on the contrary, I was quite touched,” Lucius said. His eyes softened, all of the imperiousness fading away. “You wept for my distress. No one has ever wept to see me suffer before. I shall not forget that kindness, Jessica.”

  “It was just how I felt then. I couldn’t help crying.”

  “No, of course not.” The admission seemed to pain him, somehow. “Still, when I return to my life in Romania, no one will cry to see Lucius Vladescu broken. And when I suffer—as is inevitable—I shall remember your gesture with fondness and appreciation.”

  “I won’t forget that night, either,” I promised. I wiped my palms on my legs. They’d grown sweaty. “Lucius . . . I saw you drink the blood.”

  “Ahh, the blood.” He didn’t seem surprised by my confession. “I hope you were not unduly upset. Not too disgusted. I hadn’t judged you ready to see that. It can be rather off-putting for those not used to it.”

  “I sort of passed out.”

  Lucius smiled sadly and stared out the window. “Even insensate on a table, I manage to sicken you. Quite a talent I have.”

  “No. It wasn’t just seeing the blood. I . . . I smelled it, too.”

  Lucius turned his head slowly to look at me, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. There was a small spark in his eyes. “You did?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what, exactly, did it smell like?”

  “It was strong. Almost overpowering.”

  “Yes. So it is. So it becomes.”

  “That’s what you keep in that Orange Julius cup, isn’t it?”

  Lucius smiled wryly. “Did I really seem like a man who would drink strawberry froth from a kiosk at the mall? Have I not expressed my feelings toward pink things?”

  “Yeah. I guess I should have known.” A question had been burning in my mind. A question I wasn’t sure I wanted answered. But I had to ask. “Lucius, where do you get it?” Visions from old movies, of terrified women in gauzy nightgowns cowering before fanged attackers, loomed in my mind. “Is it . . . violent?”

  “Oh, Jessica . . . vampires have ways. It is not as rapacious now as it was in the past. Much is maintained in collections, like wine. One need not always stomp a grape to drink champagne, you know.”

  Moving carefully to protect his ribs, Lucius laced his fingers behind his head, sinking into the pillow, gazing at the ceiling. His deep voice grew wistful. “Our cellar in Romania . . . it is the best in the world, some say. Vintages dating back to the 1700s. One can just summon a servant with a snap of the fingers, name one’s poison—to use one of my favorite colloquialisms—and indulge.”

  Half disgusted and more than a little bit unsettlingly thrilled, I let him talk on, watching him fall deeper into a reverie.

  “And then, of course, when two vampires marry—unite for eternity—they have each other. That is said to be the finest vintage. The purest source.” Lucius grew even more introspective, more distant. “Male to female. Woman to man. Blood comingled. Could there be a stronger bond between two beings?”

  A smile flitted across his lips. “Intercourse is a fleeting pleasure, indeed. Undeniably an intimate act. Not to be dismissed—or missed, for that matter. Indeed, crucial for procreation, beyond its other obvious virtues.”

  The smile faded. “But sharing one’s blood with another: exposing one’s most vulnerable place, where the pulse beats just below the skin, and trusting your partner to satisfy without subduing . . . It makes sex seem almost insignificant by comparison. An unequal act—male to female. But blood . . . blood can be shared as true equals.”

  He seemed to have forgotten me perched by his side. I listened to him, mesmerized. Mesmerized and . . . more.

  Or maybe Lucius hadn’t forgotten my presence. His gaze flicked to me. “But of course you think I am delusional, that I ramble about impossibilities, irrational acts. And you are right: The existence of a vampire is irrational. We are a study in impossibilities.”

  Vintage blood. Fangs piercing pulse points. It did still sound crazy. But not impossible anymore. Or even undesirable, the way Lucius described it. No, not in the least. “Lucius, I saw you drink the blood. It’s not impossible.”

  “Ahh, Jessica.” He unlaced his hands from behind his head. “Why now? Why so damnably late in the goddamn game—as the perennially profane Coach Ferrin would say on the basketball court?”

  “What do you mean? Late in the game?” It seemed early in the game to me. I was just starting to understand. Just starting to believe. As difficult as it was for me to wrap my brain around, I couldn’t deny it any longer. I believed Lucius Vladescu was a vampire. And that I could, at the very least, smell the blood, too. Respond to it. There was so much more to understand . . . to figure out. “Why is it late?”

  Lucius leaned wearily into his hands, rubbing his eyes. “Why did I just tell you all that romantic claptrap? I allowed myself to get carried away. Damn, I am irresponsible sometimes. I had so wanted you to understand, and now the timing is so wrong. I had longed to tell you all that before. To share it with you. Thus, when you finally showed interest, I just couldn’t shut the hell up.”

  “It didn’t sound like ‘claptrap,’” I assured him. On the contrary, everything he’d said had been intriguing, in an admittedly disconcerting way. “And why not now?”

  But before Lucius could respond, my dad knocked on the half-open bedroom door. “Lucius, you have a visitor.”

  Propping himself up straighter again, Lucius arched his brows. “Me? A guest?”

  I was surprised, too. To my knowledge, Lucius hadn’t cultivated many friends in America.

  Before I could hazard a guess, though, Dad stepped away, the door swung wider, and a pert little nose—attached to a stunning face topped by a curtain of hair so fair it practically glowed—poked tentatively into the room. “Hey, Lucius.”

  Lucius stared toward the door. Stared very hard, almost as though he’d never seen Faith Crosse before.

  I assumed he was furious with her for
nearly killing him. But suddenly his face broke into a smile. A strange smile. Kind of like he’d had a revelation. “Welcome, Faith,” he said. “Do come in. This is a pleasant surprise. I’m sorry I can’t rise to greet you.”

  “No, I’m the one who has to apologize,” Faith said, entering my room with an exaggerated pout. “It seems like my fault you’re stuck here.” She surveyed the room. “I mean, it’s just awful.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. Does she mean Lucius’s injuries? Or my decor?

  “My mare and I were on a collision course from the outset,” Lucius reassured her. “I courted inevitability; you merely performed the marriage ceremony.”

  Faith cocked her head, as if she wasn’t sure if he was blaming her or not. “Well, I hope you’re feeling better.” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out an iPod. “And I brought you a get-well gift.”

  She handed the MP3 player to Lucius, who smiled up at her. “Why, thank you, Faith. That was very thoughtful.” He shot me a look. “I guess I won’t need yours after all, Jessica.”

  “I thought you might be bored, stuck in bed,” added Faith, who still hadn’t acknowledged my existence. “It’s the latest, and you can load it up with whatever you want.”

  “He likes Croatian folk,” I noted. Not that anyone had asked for my input.

  Lucius raised a finger. “And the Black Eyed Peas. And don’t forget Hoobastank. Can any of us forget Hoobastank?”

  “Really?” Faith squealed, clapping her hands together. “I love Hoobastank, too!”

  Lucius gestured to the bed. “Please, have a seat, Faith.”

  Three would definitely be a crowd on my narrow twin mattress—especially with a six-foot vampire sprawled there—so I stood. I wasn’t really excited to hang out with a rude, egotistical cheerleader, anyway. “I guess I’ll get going.”

  “See you, Jenn.” Faith dismissed me, taking my spot next to Lucius. She thumped down on the bed, and he winced, almost imperceptibly.

  “Watch his leg,” I advised, thinking what a self-absorbed witch she was.

  “Jessica,” Lucius called me back as I headed for the door. “Wait.”

  I turned around. “What? Do you need something?”

  “No. I have something for you.” He felt around behind the pillow and withdrew a book. I sucked in my breath, recognizing my copy of Growing Up Undead: A Teen Vampire’s Guide to Dating, Health, and Emotions.

  “You abandoned this under your bed.” Lucius held it out to me, keeping his hand strategically positioned over the title. “Forgotten amid the considerable dust. And after all the thought I put into the inscription.”

  I accepted the manual from him, folding it against my chest, hiding it from Faith. “Uh . . . thanks.”

  “I think you’ll find chapter seven helpful,” he noted. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you more guidance than that. But the book should answer most of your questions.”

  “I thought this was your area of expertise,” I joked obliquely, referring to his inscription.

  “To be honest,” he said, “I suggest you satisfy any curiosity you might have, and then discard the guide. Permanently. It’s really much ado about nothing.”

  My eyes snapped open. “What?” Since when did Lucius Vladescu think anything related to vampires was “much ado about nothing”? I’d just heard him wax poetic about blood ties. . . .

  I tried to read his expression, but Lucius was already focusing back on Faith. “I am rude, though, to speak of private concerns when I have a guest. Please forgive me, Faith.”

  “No problem, Lucius. I’ve got lots of time.” Faith smiled at me and repeated, “See ya.”

  “Yes, good-bye, Jessica.” Lucius dismissed me, too. A little abruptly, I thought.

  “Um . . . see you,” I said.

  But they didn’t even notice me. Faith had already scooted in closer to Lucius, demonstrating all the features on his new iPod. Their heads were bent over the little screen, and they were laughing.

  I glanced one more time at my stupid second-place ribbon, wishing I had never hung it on the corkboard. Faith was sitting practically right under it. The ribbon in her room was blue. And bigger. A winner’s ribbon. My red ribbon was technically brighter, bolder, gleaming in the sunlit room, eye-catching as an exotic bird. And yet, the crimson slip of silk was really just blue’s weak, sorry cousin.

  “Bye,” I repeated. They still didn’t answer, already too deep in their conversation, so I left, taking my book.

  Pausing at the foot of the staircase, I flipped to chapter seven. It was entitled, “So You Smell Blood? Congratulations!”

  I skimmed the opening paragraph, not once but four or five times, reading, “A heightened olfactory awareness—sometimes approaching sexual stimulation—when you are in the presence of blood is a sign that your vampire nature is blossoming!”

  My vampire nature.

  A few paragraphs later, the guide advised, “Soon you will thirst for blood, especially when emotions run high!”

  Above me, I heard Lucius laughing with Faith Crosse. Laughing loud and hard, as if they already shared some long-standing joke.

  Chapter 28

  “MINDY, WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” I asked, picking my way through the bleachers to where she was perched.

  “I could ask you that same thing,” she countered, motioning for me to sit next to her.

  I dropped my backpack and sat down. “Jake invited me to watch wrestling practice.” I caught Jake’s eye and waved. He winked up at me, his muscles bulging almost cartoonishly, barely contained by his tight spandex unitard. “So I repeat: What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Mindy smiled. “I stop by sometimes, just to watch the practices.”

  The gym was sectioned off to allow teams with overlapping seasons to share the space. The wrestling mats were unrolled in one corner, the cheerleaders bounced around next to the wrestlers, and the basketball team hogged a full half of the shiny hardwood floor. The air was filled with grunts and cheerleading cries, the squeak of rubber shoes, and the smell of sweat.

  A whistle blew sharply. “Vladescu! Front and center, dammit!” Coach Ferrin’s booming voice rang out above the din. “You’ve been at the goddamn water fountain for a damn hour! Get your loitering ass back in the drill!”

  I sat up a little straighter, watching as, sure enough, a tall, dark-haired Romanian loped out from near the boys’ locker room and onto the court. “Lucius is playing?”

  “Is he ever.” Mindy sighed dreamily.

  “Mindy, is Lucius why you come here?”

  “It’s not, like, an addiction,” she protested. “Maybe just once or twice a week. But I mean, look at him!”

  As we watched, Lucius snatched a ball hurled at his chest, took a few aggressive strides toward the hoop, rose seemingly without effort—and crushed the ball through the rim.

  “But he hasn’t even been back in class yet.”

  “Yeah, I saw him in the hall before practice,” Mindy said. “He said he’s coming back to classes tomorrow.” She gave me a curious look. “I thought you said his leg was broken?”

  “It was hurt . . .” Oh, hell. I’d given up trying to explain the mysteries of Lucius Vladescu. “I guess it’s better now.”

  I’ll say.

  “Mindy!”

  “Well, look at him in shorts, Jess. Some guys—you wish they’d keep their clothes on. But Lucius makes you wish he’d peel off another layer, even. I mean, wouldn’t you like to know what’s under there?”

  Indeed, there was a reason that Lucius looked so good in clothes. The body beneath them was just about flawless—with the exception of another scar, a wide, serrated mark that sliced across his bowed right bicep. How did he earn that? And did he have more on other body parts? His left leg, which had been snapped, bore a large black bruise, the only sign that he was still injured. Aside from those minor imperfections, there just wasn’t anything to criticize. Okay, even the scars were sexy. Lucius also stood a good head talle
r than most of the other players, his leg muscles were more defined, and his shoulders were broader, more masculine, without bulging. . . .

  I cast a guilty glance at Jake, feeling I’d betrayed him.

  Mindy followed my gaze. “Oh, hey, look, your boyfriend is grappling away.”

  “I don’t know if he’s my boyfriend . . .”

  “Come on, Jess. You guys are together. You were out twice last week, you eat lunch together almost every day, and you’re here, aren’t you?”

  I watched Jake spinning around on the mat, grunting. “Can you keep a secret, Mindy?”

  “Hey, we’ve been friends since preschool,” Mindy said. “Have I ever spilled your secrets?”

  “No. Never.” Mindy was a lot of things—flighty, impulsive, sex-obsessed—but she was never disloyal.

  “So? Talk.”

  “I’m not sure if Jake and I are a great match.”

  Mindy’s eyes, rimmed by a thick layer of Cover Girl charcoal eyeliner, widened. “What? I thought you really liked him!”

  “He’s . . . nice,” I said, flinching a little at my use of Lucius’s despised adjective. “But I don’t know if there’s a real spark there. Not like I thought there would be.”

  “Hmm. Well, Jake is no Lukey,” Mindy concurred, her gaze wandering back over to the basketball court. “I told you that from the beginning.”

  “Yes, they are very different,” I agreed. If only she knew how different . . . maybe she wouldn’t be so keen on her Lukey. Mindy had gotten queasy when we’d dissected worms in sixth grade. She wasn’t a blood-drinking-type girl. “Not that I’d be dropping Jake for Lucius,” I added. “I’m just saying that I’m not sure about Jake and me.”

  “And I’m saying you should finally come to your senses and choose Lucius, before he gets sick of chasing you,” Mindy observed. “Face it, Jess. Lucius has charisma,” she added, nodding toward the cheerleaders. “Look at the way even Faith is staring at him. Lukey just draws your attention.”

  Sure enough, when I looked across the gym, Faith Crosse was climbing high atop a pyramid of cheerleaders—walking all over people, as usual—but her face was turned toward the basketball court, where Lucius was deep in conference with his coach. The way Lucius stood, hands on narrow hips, towering over Coach Ferrin, it looked like the starting center was the one in charge. I glanced back at Faith. She was atop her people pile but still watching the discussion at midcourt.