feel it, Whisper, in my blood. Do you know what that means?”
Whisper’s eyes brighten, curious and empty blue. “No.”
“Never mind. We must strike while Kane is distracted. The cherubs are amusing, but they’re not enough. We need a spy. Someone who knows the place, who can watch Kane and discover his weaknesses.” A golden butterfly flutters onto her wrist, and he brushes it away with one finger, leaving an ocher dust trail.
Whisper blushes, endearing. “But . . . Seraph, we already have Rainbow.”
“Rainbow is lost.” Shadow’s tone whets harsh, and somewhere on earth, a gale blows. “Kane has poisoned him. We need new blood.”
“But Kane can smell us. How will we hide someone new?”
Shadow gazes into the shimmering water, abstracted, remembering Rainbow’s dirt-smeared reflection, the scars on his shoulders where his wings used to be. A real angel’s body, not the ugly human-suit Kane’s dominance usually forces on Shadow’s kind. A strong, useful body. A body Kane is used to, and never inspects too closely.
Pity there’s not someone else in it.
Someone eager and clever, who isn’t afraid to immerse himself in Kane’s sordid world.
Someone Shadow can control, and dispose of when he’s finished.
He smiles, and below in a desolate desert, flowers bloom. “Let me worry about that. I have just the man.”
Whisper smiles back, and dares to cover his hand with hers, and this time Shadow lets her.
5
I slouched against the mirrored wall deep beneath the mezzanine, shame still stinging my blood. Glass slicked cool on my bare shoulder, my hair sticking like wet paper. Flashing lights cast me in bloodstained colors, blue and green and crimson, and my mirror-banshee stared at me with reproachful garnet eyes. Fresh scarlet bruises already turned blue on her delicate cheek. She looked gaunt, pale, her blue hair frightful.
I turned away, sick. I didn’t want to see myself.
White dry ice drifted low and fragrant, hissing over metal and suede, mixing with tart pot smoke and the fleshy scent of sex. On the couch beside me a skinny vampire girl with white dreadlocks and angry scars laddering her forearms ravished a half-insensible bloodfae boy. Tiny holes bled freely in his dark-skinned throat, and she lapped at the plumrich blood. His wet caramel hair dripped sanguine sweat onto the suede, his half-lidded eyes rolling white. She had her hand stuffed down his bloodstained jeans, and his sprawled limbs twitched limp, his breath ragged.
He didn’t look fully conscious to me. I kicked at her starved ankles. “You paying for that, missy?”
She snarled at me, blood and spit dripping, and the kid groaned and clawed at her dreads to drag her back down.
I grunted, flushing. One girl’s disgusting is another boy’s wet dream. I didn’t get it. Any bloodsucker who tried that with me got a swift stiletto heel somewhere hard and painful. But that kid’s throaty need crawled under my skin like a worm, slithering over my muscles and carving my nerves to a jittery mess.
The singer’s raw-ripped voice slid drunkenly inside my head, that vampire blood I’d drunk still coating my guts with desire and velvet compliance. I could see Joey at the bar, coolly polishing off another scotch, and the humiliating temptation to creep back up to him and apologize tickled my skin like fairy flame. His lips still burned on my cheek, the tiny touch of his tongue a stab of sweet torture I couldn’t forget. What was he thinking? What the fuck was I thinking?
Frustration seared into my guts like a hot iron rod, and I banged angry fists back against the glass, the mirror’s cool slam only aggravating my unease. Lately I’d become obsessed with touching him, some dark empty place inside me longing for his presence. Every glance, every scrap of his regard, I played over and over in my mind, searching, wondering, cursing my cowardice.
Those few precious seconds a few weeks ago when he’d kissed me reverberated in my
Whisper’s eyes brighten, curious and empty blue. “No.”
“Never mind. We must strike while Kane is distracted. The cherubs are amusing, but they’re not enough. We need a spy. Someone who knows the place, who can watch Kane and discover his weaknesses.” A golden butterfly flutters onto her wrist, and he brushes it away with one finger, leaving an ocher dust trail.
Whisper blushes, endearing. “But . . . Seraph, we already have Rainbow.”
“Rainbow is lost.” Shadow’s tone whets harsh, and somewhere on earth, a gale blows. “Kane has poisoned him. We need new blood.”
“But Kane can smell us. How will we hide someone new?”
Shadow gazes into the shimmering water, abstracted, remembering Rainbow’s dirt-smeared reflection, the scars on his shoulders where his wings used to be. A real angel’s body, not the ugly human-suit Kane’s dominance usually forces on Shadow’s kind. A strong, useful body. A body Kane is used to, and never inspects too closely.
Pity there’s not someone else in it.
Someone eager and clever, who isn’t afraid to immerse himself in Kane’s sordid world.
Someone Shadow can control, and dispose of when he’s finished.
He smiles, and below in a desolate desert, flowers bloom. “Let me worry about that. I have just the man.”
Whisper smiles back, and dares to cover his hand with hers, and this time Shadow lets her.
5
I slouched against the mirrored wall deep beneath the mezzanine, shame still stinging my blood. Glass slicked cool on my bare shoulder, my hair sticking like wet paper. Flashing lights cast me in bloodstained colors, blue and green and crimson, and my mirror-banshee stared at me with reproachful garnet eyes. Fresh scarlet bruises already turned blue on her delicate cheek. She looked gaunt, pale, her blue hair frightful.
I turned away, sick. I didn’t want to see myself.
White dry ice drifted low and fragrant, hissing over metal and suede, mixing with tart pot smoke and the fleshy scent of sex. On the couch beside me a skinny vampire girl with white dreadlocks and angry scars laddering her forearms ravished a half-insensible bloodfae boy. Tiny holes bled freely in his dark-skinned throat, and she lapped at the plumrich blood. His wet caramel hair dripped sanguine sweat onto the suede, his half-lidded eyes rolling white. She had her hand stuffed down his bloodstained jeans, and his sprawled limbs twitched limp, his breath ragged.
He didn’t look fully conscious to me. I kicked at her starved ankles. “You paying for that, missy?”
She snarled at me, blood and spit dripping, and the kid groaned and clawed at her dreads to drag her back down.
I grunted, flushing. One girl’s disgusting is another boy’s wet dream. I didn’t get it. Any bloodsucker who tried that with me got a swift stiletto heel somewhere hard and painful. But that kid’s throaty need crawled under my skin like a worm, slithering over my muscles and carving my nerves to a jittery mess.
The singer’s raw-ripped voice slid drunkenly inside my head, that vampire blood I’d drunk still coating my guts with desire and velvet compliance. I could see Joey at the bar, coolly polishing off another scotch, and the humiliating temptation to creep back up to him and apologize tickled my skin like fairy flame. His lips still burned on my cheek, the tiny touch of his tongue a stab of sweet torture I couldn’t forget. What was he thinking? What the fuck was I thinking?
Frustration seared into my guts like a hot iron rod, and I banged angry fists back against the glass, the mirror’s cool slam only aggravating my unease. Lately I’d become obsessed with touching him, some dark empty place inside me longing for his presence. Every glance, every scrap of his regard, I played over and over in my mind, searching, wondering, cursing my cowardice.
Those few precious seconds a few weeks ago when he’d kissed me reverberated in my
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