Page 117 of Red Masquerade

I held his face. “Your darkness calls to me,” I said, seeing him,trulyseeing him. “You want to burn everything.”

He nodded once, eyes flicking toward my lips, almost close enough to touch.

“You want to destroythem.”

He said nothing, but it was answer enough.

I hadn’t fully comprehended that this was no longer Adam; hadn’t understood that Vince was an entirely separate being. One had been killed, destroyed, and rose from those ashes anew. His fragility had died with Adam. His caring, his empathy, his curiosity for the world. None of those books had been cut open. Every moment had pointed to this, to reclaiming what was his, to taking it all from those who didn’t deserve it.

“You own them.”

His hands came up to rest on my waist. “The price for immortality is everything. The price is ruination.” He fell forward into me, his head against my chest.

I saw him now. And the weight of it all was no longer solely his to bear.

Outside this room, they fed off each other, drinking blood and giving each other their bodies. They were creatures undead, invincible to the world. They could not be killed, did not have to eat food to survive. They didn’t need sleep, didn’t need humanity any longer, save for the blood.

It was a sort of trick. If you thought you were indestructible, you forsake everything that made you weak before. A selfishness bloomed. Becoming a vampire, an immortal, was isolating.

And in this isolation, is where Vince was feeding.

Until they were as blank-faced and dead inside as the servants fueling the parties, waiting on humans indefinitely.

A laugh threatened to spill from me at the irony of it all.

His eyes flashed, and he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me to him, our bodies flush.

“When will you stop?” I asked as he laid me down, looming over me. I became dizzy with want, with the heady knowledge of his power.

His lips descended to my neck, sucking on the spot he’d bitten, drawing a unique sort of pleasure through me. I gasped, and he muttered, “When I’m dead.”

Forty

Upon awakening, I could feel it in my bones that the house was empty. The bed was cold again. I knew Vince was gone before I truly came to my senses. I had the distinct memory of him pushing the hair from my eyes, kissing my face, and whispering that he would return.

But when I opened my eyes, a dark red rose, almost black at the tip of the petals, sat against my pillow.

The sweet smell of the flower seeped into me, wrapping itself around me like a hug. I set it gently on the table beside the bed, careful not to crush the petals.

It was just like the one in my bedroom—the one I’d found in the garden, then on my pillow, back then.

He had been watching over me.

Visiting me in the night.

I dressed hastily and pulled my shawl tight around me as I padded down the hall, footsteps muffled by the slippers on my feet. No voices echoed down the marble halls, only a few of the dead servants scrubbing at the floor, dusting light fixtures.

I didn’t think about what that meant—where Vince and Sinclair and the others might be, what they could be doing. Or if anyone else showed up, any other vampires.

The servants fluttered about, cleaning the floors in the wake of last night’s party. None of them looked up at me as I passed.

How strange to walk amongst monsters, and know they had no power to hurt you.

These were all Made vampires, and Vince was their Sire—and they could do nothing to me.

I made my way to the colonnaded veranda outside, greeted by a soft rumble of thunder out in the distance. The sky was a deep gray, a large collection of near-black mountainous forms along the horizon. Every few seconds, lighting would flash from within, bringing with it the delayed grumble of Mother Nature.

I leant against a column, the marble a stark white against the hazy green of the lawn. The large fountain before the stairs to the porch still bubbled, the drive swept of all evidence of the previous evening’s carousing, no cars left behind, no stray scarves or shoes.