it up, fragments of bloody tissue sticking. The hole was ragged, the soft skin torn between two fat puncture marks. Already a scab formed, and by morning it’d be healed. A swift-healing vampire bite, the original and best domestic violence. It’s gone before you have to say you walked into a door.
I tossed the sodden tissues into the gutter and gingerly fingered the egg-shaped lump on my forehead. This one wouldn’t fade so soon. Okay, so physically he was stronger than me. He’s a vampire; I can’t help that. Maybe I was being a bit hard on myself.
Or maybe I’d heard whore and slut and useless bitch so often, I’d started to believe it.
A lump swelled in my throat, too, and I swallowed, sniffing, my eyes stinging again. At least I didn’t have to endure Ange anymore. But there’d be another one, and another. All the same. All violent, angry, mean. Nice guys don’t do deals with Kane. And if one finally beat me to death, or killed me during their nasty little sex games—even if I jumped in front of a train or swallowed a bottle of pills—there’d be Kane, breathing my life back, making me go on. And on. Nothing could make it stop.
I let my hair fall to hide my burning cheeks. I didn’t want to go to a café, where well-meaning people would lean back and widen their eyes and ask if I was okay. I wanted to go home, stand under the shower alone in the dark and scald off the stink, but the place still smelled of Nyx, bitter and sad.
Poor Nyx would have tried to cheer me up. He’d sing to me in that beautiful breathy voice, bring me a bird’s nest or a sea-shell, roll in fresh-cut grass in the park so he could shake it over me from his crazy yellow hair. Sweet, clueless fairy. Dead.
I smacked my palms against the wall, the rough concrete stinging my skin the way anger stung my heart. My eyes filled with burning mist, and this time I let the tears come.
“Jade?”
I wiped my face uselessly, trying to swallow a sob, my throat aching.
“Jade.” A gentle hand on my bare shoulder, warm, hesitant. Not a Valenti.
I forced my eyes open, wiping them again until I could see, and my stomach tightened even further.
Dark concern shadowed gold-flecked chocolate eyes, the streetlight gleaming softly on brown skin and shedding an elusive autumn shimmer into midnight hair. He wore a black T-shirt over faded jeans, casual but elegant. With a body like that, he’d be elegant wearing a garbage bag. Even in my state, I couldn’t help checking him out. Damn. He looked just as hot without the rapture.
No doubt he knew it, too. Nice guys don’t get in thrall to Kane either. I pushed his hand away. “Go away, Rajah.”
“Funny. Not until you stop crying, or bleeding. Both would be nice.”
“I don’t need your help, okay?”
“Okay. How about my sympathy, then? You can have that for nothing.” Hurt glimmered on his tone. He licked his lush bottom lip, and for the first time I noticed it swelled a little out of shape, bruised.
I wiped my nose, contrition chewing at me. “What happened to your face?”
“Kane. It doesn’t matter. What happened to yours?”
Maybe Rajah knew a bit more about my kind of thrall than I’d thought. Kane has never hit me in the 140 years I’ve known him. Then again, I’ve never soultrapped one of his minions just to piss him off. I sniffed and swallowed, my voice indistinct through my blocked nose. “Angelo. Doesn’t matter either. What do you want? Were you looking for me?”
He glanced at the swelling on my forehead, my red dress, the blood clots streaking my arm. “No, but you’re not exactly inconspicuous.” He fiddled with the turned edge of a thrall bangle, indecisive, and then he stuck out his narrow hand to me. “Come on. I know what you need.”
I laughed, bitter. Sure. So did Ange. So did Kane. So did everyone, and none of them had a clue. “The world’s full of men who know what I need, Rajahni Seth. Don’t think you can astonish me.”
His eyebrows
I tossed the sodden tissues into the gutter and gingerly fingered the egg-shaped lump on my forehead. This one wouldn’t fade so soon. Okay, so physically he was stronger than me. He’s a vampire; I can’t help that. Maybe I was being a bit hard on myself.
Or maybe I’d heard whore and slut and useless bitch so often, I’d started to believe it.
A lump swelled in my throat, too, and I swallowed, sniffing, my eyes stinging again. At least I didn’t have to endure Ange anymore. But there’d be another one, and another. All the same. All violent, angry, mean. Nice guys don’t do deals with Kane. And if one finally beat me to death, or killed me during their nasty little sex games—even if I jumped in front of a train or swallowed a bottle of pills—there’d be Kane, breathing my life back, making me go on. And on. Nothing could make it stop.
I let my hair fall to hide my burning cheeks. I didn’t want to go to a café, where well-meaning people would lean back and widen their eyes and ask if I was okay. I wanted to go home, stand under the shower alone in the dark and scald off the stink, but the place still smelled of Nyx, bitter and sad.
Poor Nyx would have tried to cheer me up. He’d sing to me in that beautiful breathy voice, bring me a bird’s nest or a sea-shell, roll in fresh-cut grass in the park so he could shake it over me from his crazy yellow hair. Sweet, clueless fairy. Dead.
I smacked my palms against the wall, the rough concrete stinging my skin the way anger stung my heart. My eyes filled with burning mist, and this time I let the tears come.
“Jade?”
I wiped my face uselessly, trying to swallow a sob, my throat aching.
“Jade.” A gentle hand on my bare shoulder, warm, hesitant. Not a Valenti.
I forced my eyes open, wiping them again until I could see, and my stomach tightened even further.
Dark concern shadowed gold-flecked chocolate eyes, the streetlight gleaming softly on brown skin and shedding an elusive autumn shimmer into midnight hair. He wore a black T-shirt over faded jeans, casual but elegant. With a body like that, he’d be elegant wearing a garbage bag. Even in my state, I couldn’t help checking him out. Damn. He looked just as hot without the rapture.
No doubt he knew it, too. Nice guys don’t get in thrall to Kane either. I pushed his hand away. “Go away, Rajah.”
“Funny. Not until you stop crying, or bleeding. Both would be nice.”
“I don’t need your help, okay?”
“Okay. How about my sympathy, then? You can have that for nothing.” Hurt glimmered on his tone. He licked his lush bottom lip, and for the first time I noticed it swelled a little out of shape, bruised.
I wiped my nose, contrition chewing at me. “What happened to your face?”
“Kane. It doesn’t matter. What happened to yours?”
Maybe Rajah knew a bit more about my kind of thrall than I’d thought. Kane has never hit me in the 140 years I’ve known him. Then again, I’ve never soultrapped one of his minions just to piss him off. I sniffed and swallowed, my voice indistinct through my blocked nose. “Angelo. Doesn’t matter either. What do you want? Were you looking for me?”
He glanced at the swelling on my forehead, my red dress, the blood clots streaking my arm. “No, but you’re not exactly inconspicuous.” He fiddled with the turned edge of a thrall bangle, indecisive, and then he stuck out his narrow hand to me. “Come on. I know what you need.”
I laughed, bitter. Sure. So did Ange. So did Kane. So did everyone, and none of them had a clue. “The world’s full of men who know what I need, Rajahni Seth. Don’t think you can astonish me.”
His eyebrows
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