Chapter 11

"Maeve?" The sound of his voice, my name on his lips startles me.

I blink—I'd entered the trance state again, not exactly asleep, nor awake. This time, it lasted several hours, because we"re in New York, rolling slowly through heavy morning traffic down the glass canyons of Manhattan.

"Hi."

He glances at me—turns his head my way, and I feel his eyes on me; he"s donned sunglasses.

I understand why: my eyes burn. The light is too bright. It"s a cloudy day, heavily overcast, and still, I find myself squinting as I dig through my purse for my sunglasses, sighing in relief when I slip them on.

"Hey," he murmurs. "We"re almost there. You"ve been…sleeping? Sort of? For like five hours."

"Were my eyes open?" I ask.

He nods. "Yeah, but it was obvious you weren"t seeing anything. I waved my hand in front of your eyes and nothing. Never really seen anything like it, to be honest. Is it a fae thing?"

I shrug. "I don"t know. I thought it was a vampire thing, honestly."

He shakes his head. "No, we don"t require rest, even fully blooded. We can sleep, and I enjoy it, especially with you. But we don"t require it."

"So then it"s either a fae thing or a me-specifically thing."

"It"s weird and a little freaky, is what it is. You look awake, but you"re not. Like, you could be dead. I think someone who couldn"t scent the difference would think you are."

I glance at him, amused. "Wait—you're freaked out by me?" I laugh. "My, how the turn tables."

He frowns at me. "Don"t you mean, ‘my how the tables turn?'"

I snicker. "No, sorry, that"s my teenage mortal showing. It"s an internet thing. I honestly can"t explain where it came from. It means the same thing, it"s just…" I sigh a laugh. "It"s just a dumb internet thing."

"Oh."

We reach an intersection, piled up behind several Yellow Cabs, a box truck, and a black Lincoln with tinted windows. When the light turns green, Caspian makes a right onto a narrow two-lane cross-street clogged by parked delivery trucks and vans, construction equipment surrounded by big orange-and-white barrels, and shop owners arguing with irate delivery men. Steam rises from vents. Someone whips past on a bicycle, wearing a heavy backpack.

Another turn down an alley littered with trash and overflowing dumpsters and piles of crates. Caspian halts the car and shuts it off, leaving the keys on the dashboard. "Let"s go, we"re here."

I frown at him as I look around. "Here doesn"t seem like much, Cas. A dirty alley." I give him a droll, unimpressed glare. "You really know how to show a girl a good time."

He snickers. "Wouldn"t be much of a haven if it was broadcasted by a neon sign, would it?"

"I guess not."

He glances at me. "Hood up. You look exactly like what you are, right now—a vampire in desperate need of a meal."

"Are the others here?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "They"re being followed. I spoke to Fin on the phone earlier while you were—" he waves at me, "tranced out or whatever. They don"t want to lead them here, where we are, so they"re leading them on a merry old goose chase. Right now, they"re somewhere in Maine."

"Maine? Why Maine?"

A shrug. "It"s far from here, and Stirling has an old hideout there. It"s a good decoy."

"Have they…are they all okay? They"ve been pretty distracted whenever I"ve tried to talk to them. Except Alistair."

"They haven"t had to out and out fight anyone except for that first time—the Elites and Enforcers can't just go around attacking innocent vampires for no reason, and simply knowing you, even harboring you isn"t reason enough. You"re not a criminal, like, you haven"t birthed a child or anything. You"re just wanted by the Council for research and to keep you quiet, I"m guessing. But it"s been touch and go for them. Staying one or two steps ahead of organizations as well-funded as the Tribunal and Council is…not easy. And they"re obviously having a hard time keeping blooded while on the run, as we know."

He leads me down the alley, which is a dead-end. Reaches into his pocket and pulls out a keyring, jingling it as he flips through for the right key. He comes to a plain metal door; nondescript would be a compliment. It"s dented, battered, scratched. There"s no handle, only a round brass lock.

I glance back at the sagging, shit-brown old Buick that got us here. "You"re just leaving the car here with the keys on the dashboard like that. Isn"t that an invitation for it to be stolen?"

He barks a laugh. "That"s exactly what it is."

"It served us well, didn't it? It got us here. Plus, I thought you liked old things."

He inserts a brass key into the lock, turns it, and uses it to pull the door open, catching the edge. "I like nice old things. Good old things that have been well maintained and which have some semblance of…" he waves a hand in a vague circle. "Charm. That?" He flips the same hand at the old Buick in a derisive gesture. "That thing is a shitbox, and good riddance."

I laugh. "You"re a snob, is what you"re telling me."

He gives me a mock glare. "Yes, Maeve. I"m a snob. I like the finer things in life. Like a one-owner 1987 Chevy Stepside Shortbox, all original, numbers-matching. Preferably black, with red leather interior and the original AM-FM radio."

"I don"t know what most of that means, Caspian."

He laughs. "A pickup truck. Like the one I had when we first met." He sighs sadly. "I loved that truck."

I pat his butt. "We"ll get you a new one, I promise. Or, a new old one. Or whatever."

He ushers me through the door ahead of him, withdrawing the key and letting the door slam closed. The square of light illuminates a short hallway, low-ceilinged, narrow, with a concrete floor and brick walls, and another heavy metal door. This one features nothing so prosaic as a lock, however.

There"s a wide digital panel set into the door where a key or handle would go. Caspian sets his palm on it, and it lights up red, just like in a Mission Impossible movie, the red light scanning his palm, and then the panel emits a loud beep and the light turns green. There"s a faint click, and then a thunk, as of a lock disengaging. Another thunk, this one louder, and then a hiss of hydraulics, and the door slides open a few inches.

The door is a foot thick, with three-inch thick bolts.

"Wow," I say. "This is some next-level security."

"Absolutely. This is our haven. Our sanctuary. Only Alistair, Fin, Stirling, and myself have access to that door—I"ll add you when we get upstairs. Even if a mortal could hack that system, which is beyond the capabilities of just about everyone, never mind what you see in the movies, they couldn"t open the door—it weighs over a ton."

"Impressive."

He nods. "Even the Elites and Enforcers will have a hell of a time getting in here. At the very least, it buys us some time."

I resist the urge to ask time for what. It doesn"t matter, not right now. At the moment, all I want to do is lay down in a real bed with Caspian and not worry about Enforcers or Elites crashing through the window.

I want to let go of my desperate control over my blood hunger.

I let Caspian lead—he strains to pull the door open enough to admit us, nudges me through, and then follows. On the other side is another panel, this one with a keypad. He inputs an extraordinarily long code, and then the door hisses and slides closed silently—thunking home, more hissing, more thunks as the bolts lock. The keypad lights up red, stays lit for a few seconds, and then turns off.

We"re in another short hallway, but this one opens up into a wide, high, cavernous space. The ceiling, beyond the edge of the hallway, soars at least three stories up. Bare brick walls and columns soar upward into barrel arches. Torches featuring real flames flicker and dance on the walls, one on either side of six arched doorways—we stand in one such—which line the perimeter of the open space. In the center is a circular bar on a broad pedestal—you have to ascend four tall steps to reach the bar. More torches stand in tall wrought-iron sconces running the circumference of the bar.

Despite the mid-morning hour, this is a nightclub in full swing. There are no windows. No natural light. No artificial light, other than the torches. A story up, more arches undulate around the perimeter—a walkway or balcony; candles dance in regular spacing, and I can make out faces huddled around them—tables. Around the bar, at the base of it, on the steps, and milling and dancing and clustered, are immortals. I smell fae blood. I see fangs. I smell other blood—strange, cloying, heady, primal: shifters. Littered among them are mortals.

Sweet, rich, innocent blood. Women, scantily clad in low-cut tops and leather leggings, mini-skirts revealing the lower swell of taut asses, lace bras and nothing else with pale breasts spilling out. Men, bare-chested and rippling with shredded muscles, oiled or sweaty, wearing jeans or leather pants or tight hotpants.

Electronic dance music comes from everywhere and nowhere, throbbing like a heartbeat, laced with tribal drums. Blood is in the air. It hangs heavily, sweet and rich and everywhere. I could stick out my tongue and get a taste.

Caspian"s arms lock around me. "No, honey. No. You go in there, you"ll draw attention to yourself. To us. You can"t."

"Blood." My vision hazes, wavers, darkens. Tunnels.

I see a young mortal male, dressed in a pair of tight pale jeans and white sneakers, dancing and writhing with a vampire female. She has her hand down his front, caressing him as she nuzzles his throat, licking, kissing, teasing. She sways with the music, and he sways with her, his hips beginning to thrust as she works him inside his jeans.

She licks the side of his throat again, and again, and I see him visibly nearing the edge, his hips losing the movement of dance and descending into pure erotic release.

I groan, and feel my body surge forward, wanting to…I don"t know. Something. Take part. Taste him.

Caspian holds me back but doesn"t move me away. Lets me watch.

"Blood," I snarl.

"I know, my bloodmate," he growls in my ear. "Soon."

She sinks her fangs into him—it"s a slow, erotic thing, ivory needles delicately piercing flesh and gently gliding in. I can almost hear his groan.

She opens his jeans with her free hand, unbuttoning and unzipping—frees him. Her small pale white hand caresses his length, ever so slowly. Teasing him as she feeds from him.

Like sharks scenting blood in the water, I see two more females approach the scene from opposite directions—another vampire and a fae. They arrive at the same moment—a standoff.

Neither says a word, but I get the feeling a negotiation is underway somehow.

Something is agreed to, because they both sink to their knees. The fae female takes his erection into her mouth, not otherwise touching him. The vampire gently lowers his jeans further, and I have a good angle to see what she"s doing: she licks his thigh, high up, nearly to his balls. Another lick, and then I see her fangs sink into his femoral artery—fuck, I can almost taste the blood. Feel his hardness. So close—he"s so close. I can smell it from here, feel it from here. The whole room is redolent with the scent of sex.

I watch, straining against Caspian"s hold, as the young mortal male is bled and leached and sucked off all at once. I watch as he comes, shouting so loud I can hear it from here over the music, watch the fae female swallow all he has and more, and more, because the vampires are feeding, and the more they feed, the more their venom keeps his body aroused, pumping blood through him, overproducing more and more, keeping his cock hard and refilling his balls with seed. Fuck, I can smell it, taste it, feel it.

A group of male vampires occludes my view as they pass, laughing, passing around a bottle of wine, hauling with them an intoxicated mortal female. My gaze goes with them, curious. Aroused.

They bring her to a couch in a corner beneath a flickering torch. They don"t hide in shadows here. Or perhaps I can just see through the shadows. The mortal girl is willing—I can see that from here. She tears at her skirt, pulling it up as one of the males tugs her top down to bare her huge silicone boobs. Her hand reaches, finds a zipper. Her mouth hunts and finds a mouth. They"re all over her, licking, sucking, nipping. She"s writhing, gasping, moaning. Fangs bury into her breast, into her thigh. Lips seize her sex, and a cock fills her mouth. She wants it all, hands busily caressing, mouth accepting and taking more and more, hips gyrating.

"Enough," Caspian snarls. "Come. Now."

He drags me away, out of the hallway and around the corner, along the wall. There"s a cleverly disguised stairway here, hidden by a trick of the light and shadows and brickwork.

Up the stairs. I"m somewhat pulled free from the aroused trance, but the scent of blood and sex is overpowering, and I"m delirious with hunger and need.

I taste vitality in the air, and I want it. Need it. The well within me is low, roiling and pent up but in need of refreshment.

I need…fuck, everything.

I catch a glimpse of bodies—the candles are indeed on tables, which are surrounded by crimson leather booths lining the wall opposite the balcony and the arches openings. The booths are filled with immortal: fae talking and sipping ambrosia, vampires drinking blood from crystal goblets, shifters sipping whisky that smells…odd. I can"t put my finger on it, and I'm too out of it and distracted to think about it more.

Caspian hauls me past the booths—at one, a vampire couple mates as they both feed from a mortal female. It looks complicated. And fun.

God, what"s wrong with me?

It's the beginnings of bloodlust, Maeve,Alistair says into my mind. Soon, your instincts will take over and you won"t be able to stop what happens. Even reheated blood will only temporarily sate you.

Caspian drags me onward down the aisle between the balcony and booths to a door in a shadowed corner. Here, there"s no digital panel, only a small oval opening, to which Caspian presses his thumb. I hear a small, quiet snick, and scent blood—my own, from Caspian. There"s a pause, and a dim red glow from beneath his thumb that turns green, and the door clicks open.

"Biometric blood lock," Caspian explains, pushing me ahead of him.

The door closes behind us, leaving us in a pitch-black stairwell.

Or, it should be pitch black. It is—except I can see. Not quite shades of gray, but nearly. I see the stair risers leading upward and turning a corner.

The music throbs distantly.

I still smell blood and sex—the blood is from Capian, and the sex is from me, now. My arousal.

"So that's a haven," I murmur.

"Yes."

"Those mortals are all there by choice?"

"Of course. Most are regulars, people who have, in one way or another, brushed up against immortal society. This is a way to keep tabs on them. They know what goes on here, and they enjoy it. Most of it, they won"t even remember, only dancing and drinks and beautiful people, and nudity, and pleasure. It"ll seem like a fever dream or a drug-induced hallucination."

"They did seem to be enjoying themselves," I mutter.

"No one gets drained to a dangerous degree. Or leached. The male you saw? When they"ve had their fill and their fun, they"ll ply him with drinks and guard him until he"s recovered. They won"t turn him loose back into the fray until he"s recovered. Which, with all the venom in his system won"t be long."

"I can"t believe how it affected me," I say, my head clearing a little. "I would"ve…if you hadn"t held me back—"

He presses his hands to my bottom and guides me up the stairs. "But I did. Bloodlust is very serious, and you"re very close to it. So am I, but I"ve had far longer to practice holding out against it than you have."

We reach the landing, turn the corner, and go up more stairs. I"m stumbling now—suddenly exhausted.

"Come on," Caspian murmurs. "Only a little further."

"Why am I so tired all of a sudden?"

"I don"t think that trance state you go into actually satisfies your fae nature"s need for sleep. Fae don"t need much, from what I understand, but they do need some. Like food. And if you"re low on vitality too?"

Another door, but this one uses a standard lock, matching the one at the outside door. Caspian opens it, and we enter…

A nice, open-concept, fully modern condo. Floor-to-ceiling windows line one wall, letting in acres of natural light. Aged, dark, worn wooden floor and exposed brick walls covered in climbing ivy and potted plants hanging from white braided ropes, sleek leather couches, black marble counters and stainless steel appliances and white open-front cabinets and bright red statement-piece central island. I scent vestiges of Alistair, Fin, Stirling, and Caspian everywhere.

There"s not even a hint of the haven beneath us.

"Is that staircase the only way in?" I ask.

Caspian answers as he goes to the refrigerator and withdraws two of those white pouches. "Yes. We own the whole building, which is actually two buildings that were connected at some point. We had the whole thing demoed and rebuilt to our specifications by a vampire company."

"There are vampire construction companies?"

He laughs, stabbing a straw into one of the pouches—as the straw enters the pouch, there"s a brief golden-white glow from the ring where the straw is inserted, and then I smell warm blood.

"Yes, of course. They are qualified as normal, mortal construction companies, and they do accept bids from mortals because bills must be paid, but others, like the one we hired, specialize in projects like this. The building looks old and decrepit from the outside, with boarded-up windows everywhere except these," he gestures to the wall of windows. "There"s no clear record of ownership except a series of shells, and, to the general public, it"s abandoned. We"re near the Meatpacking District if that means anything to you."

"So if you have to have that key and have to pass the biometrics, how do all the immortals and mortals get in?" I take a tentative sip from the straw—blood bursts on my tongue, rich and strong and thick and warm. "Oh. There"s no…no…" I wave my hand, trying to find the word. "Memories."

"No, of course not. It"s been…cleaned, essentially. Processed through a transfusion machine, more specifically. Something about passing through mortal transfusion machines cleans the blood of any trace of the original donor."

I take another sip. I understand now what they were talking about that day in their kitchen, back in Elk Rivers.

God, that seems like a lifetime ago, when I was nothing but a curious, naive mortal girl. Or, thought I was.

The blood only somewhat sates my need—even though it has the same temperature of blood from the vein, the same texture, the same consistency…it"s not the same. My mind knows. My body knows.

But yet, the fog abates. I can think more clearly. Most importantly, the impenetrable glass dome over my vitality thins with every sip.

By the time the blood is gone, the barrier is so thin I can almost touch the magic.

But I can"t.

I won"t be able to until I feed—from a living vein that isn't Caspian"s.

Caspian pushes another pouch into my hand, the straw already inserted.

I laugh as I sip. "Mmmm. CaprI Sun. I"m in sixth grade all over again."

"What"s CaprI Sun?" Caspian asks, sipping from his pouch.

I laugh. "I"ll have to show you, someday. It"s a juice pouch that mortal kids get in their school lunches." I gesture with the white pouch. "It"s a whole hell of a lot like this. Except sugary juice instead of blood, obviously."

Caspian"s brow furrows. "Oh. I know what you"re talking about. There was a freshman in the lunchroom who got bullied for having one in his lunch, earlier this year before you showed up." He laughs. "Except for the color and the contents, they"re nearly identical."

"These are a little bigger," I note. "Thicker plastic, too. But yeah, the resemblance is…well, funny."

He looks at me as I finish the pouch. "Better?"

I nod, licking my lips. "Yes, thank you. I can still feel…" I frown. "I don"t know how to put it. I know I still need to feed, properly. And I still can't touch my vitality. It seems to be a fun little effect of being a vaer: if I"m dangerously unblooded, I can"t access my fae side at all. I have a feeling that If I'm similarly low on vitality, my vampire side will be equally out of reach."

"When you were vitality-locked, you were fully both. Vampire and fae. You leached and drank from me at the same time," Caspian points out.

"Well, I think that was a unique scenario. I used all my vitality at once and for the first time. I doubt I could trigger that same sequence of events again even if I tried."

"I hope not," he says. "It was scary. Seeing you catatonic like that." He grins."The sex was fucking incredible, though."

I blush. "Caspian! I almost killed you."

"Worth it," he says, smirking. He closes the distance and pulls me against him. "I mean it. There"s nothing I won"t do for you. I"ll give you all my blood, all my vitality, if it keeps you alive." Another sly smirk. "The sex was epic, though."

I can"t help but laugh, blushing, burying my face in his chest. "It was, wasn"t it?"

He scoops me up in his arms. "Come on. You need proper sleep."

As if his words triggered something, I"m suddenly so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. My limbs are heavy. My vitality is restless, boiling. Somewhere else inside me, somewhere more ephemeral and less physical, I feel the bloodlust still lurking, prowling, waiting.

I feel a mattress beneath me, and Caspian"s arms around me, his lips kissing the top of my head.

Rest, now, my mate. I"ll keep watch. You"re safe here.

Alistair"s mind snakes around mine, soothing, comforting coils of presence.

Fin"s is heavy and hot and wild, settling beneath my mind, somehow, as if his mind is a Titanaboa and I"m nestled in the god-sized coils.

Stirling? He"s quietness itself. A cool, restful silence. The presence of a ghost haunting an ancient clearing where Druids once worshipped. The bell of a cathedral tolling on a cloudy Sunday morning. The whisper of wind through a primeval forest.

I sleep.

I drown in the darkness.

I dream of my mother.