Page 71 of Tainted Souls
“I know many things about many people.” She waves a dismissive hand. “But few are as interesting as the dhampir daughter of Roman Rosen.”
The mention of my father cracks something inside me. “Who are you?”
“Someone who knew him well,” she says, her eyes softening with what might be genuine sadness. “He would be disappointed to see his protection charm sitting unused in your pocket rather than around your neck where it belongs.”
“My father gave you this?” I withdraw the pendant, studying it with new eyes. The heliotrope stone seems to pulse faintly in my palm, the twisted metal setting warm against my skin.
“As I said, it has been waiting for you.”
The transport arrives, its doors sliding open with a soft hiss.
“I have to—” I start, but the woman has disappeared. How strange.
I give my address to the driver and sink into the seat, letting my head fall back against the cushion. The city slides by outside the window, a blur of lights and shadows. Never in my life have I seen my father wear a pendant like this, but what if it wasn’t for him to wear? What if he’d saved it because he meant to give it to me someday?
Something he never got to do.
My apartment is dark and quiet when I return, the silence conspicuous compared to the past two nights. I don’t bother with the lights, navigating by memory to my bedroom.
The pendant goes on my nightstand, its surface seeming to absorb what little light filters through the curtains. I don’t remember falling asleep, only the restless slumber that followed.
CHAPTER 14
THENEXT DAYARRIVESwith brutal swiftness, announced by the insistent beeping of my alarm. With a groan, I hit the snooze button. My head throbs with the remnants of last night’s drinks, and my mouth feels like a desert waiting for rain. Since it’s Sunday, the calm before the storm, I’ve decided to pay Max a visit. It’s not because it’s our anniversary today and I am really hoping he’ll still be up for celebrating it with me despite the circumstances.
That would be totally and completely selfish of me.
I drag myself to the shower, letting the hot water clear away the fog of sleep and hangover. After drying off, I rifle through my closet, all of a sudden conscious of what I’m going to wear.
Something casual might suggest I don’t care, but something formal might make him think I’m trying too hard.
A tight cream bodice, boned and structured, the neckline just low enough to hint without offering, takes the cake. Over it,I shrug into a neat blazer, the kind that says control without raising its voice.
The kind that Max likes.
A pleated black miniskirt hangs low on my hips, frayed at the edges and trimmed with a thin line of lace, paired with fishnets patterned like roses. My boots are scuffed and heavy-soled, sounding like a threat on concrete, just to add some confidence to my stride.
I sweep the front of my hair away from my face, securing it with a small clip, then apply some makeup, enough to hide the evidence of last night.
My gift for him goes into my pocket along with the pendant—for good luck—before heading out.
The vampire integration center is a sleek, modern building in the medical district. Here, they provide occupational therapy to unstable or newly-turned vampires, helping them adjust to a civil life, regulate bloodlust, and adopt socially acceptable feeding practices, which are all prerequisites for citizenship in Penn City.
Unlike the clinical sterility of the hospital, this place is designed with vampires in mind—soundproof walls, soft lighting, and comfortable furniture.
A receptionist greets me at the front desk.
“I’m here to see Maxim Sinclair,” I say, presenting my ID.
She checks her screen. “He’s in the solarium. I’ll have someone show you the way.”
An attendant leads me through corridors lined with artwork created by rehabilitating vampires. Many depict sunrises or open skies, things that they can no longer experience directly.
It’s both beautiful and heartbreaking.
The solarium we enter is a large indoor garden with special glass that filters sunlight to safe levels for vampires while stillallowing plants to thrive—offering everyone a taste of nature, no matter what blood runs through their veins.
Max sits on a bench beneath a flowering tree, reading something on a tablet. He looks up as I approach, the red of his eyes seeming less stark today, more like dark wine than fresh blood.
