Chapter 11: Reign

Chapter Eleven

Reign

T onight certainly is looking up. I’ve spent much time recalling the way Greer’s fangs felt buried in my throat and even more contemplating her situation. It seems I’m finally on the edge of getting some answers, which would normally make me less interested. Things are only intriguing until the mysterious shine wears off, but I’m beginning to think that logic doesn’t apply to the sweet fledgling vampire.

“This place is nice,” Greer says, struggling to keep up with my long strides as I lead us toward the VIP bar on the second story of Chaos.

“Thank you.” Slowing my pace, I place my hand on her hip so we don’t get separated in the small crowd of people.

Is it unlikely?

Yes, but I need an excuse to touch her. Keeping her close under the guise of safety is a perfect farce.

“Would you like me to order for you?” I ask as we get close to the bar.

She turns to me, blinking her big gray eyes. “I’m actually not feeling well. Could you point me toward a restroom?”

My head tilts.

She’s a vampire.

She should never experience any feelings of being unwell.

There’s no chance to voice my confusion, because she turns to the side, desperately scouting for something. When she doesn’t find it, she leans over, violently vomiting pitch-black blood all over the floor.

My eyes widen.

Fuck me.

I’ve never seen anything like it. Stepping forward after her, my hand lands on her right hip to give her some protection from being jostled into by the now-fleeing patrons.

I swivel, waving at the bartender. “Call someone to clean that up. Close this section if necessary.” With that, I scoop up the still-heaving newly turned vampire and take off for Novak’s office.

The hallways have never been this long before, or if they have, I failed to notice. It’s an equally miserable trip through the stairwell while listening to her whimper before Novak’s office door comes into focus. If I had been thinking clearer, I could have siphoned us there to save the jostling of the trip.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

“None of that,” I murmur, reaching for the door handle.

Novak and Seiran’s arguing greets us as I pull open the door with a little too much force. We barely make it three steps into the room before she stretches away from me, vomiting again.

“What the fuck?” Seiran growls, stomping over. “What happened?”

“We didn’t even manage to get a drink. Something is very wrong.” I glance around for Novak, who watches Greer with wide eyes.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, swiping a hand over his face.

Seiran takes Greer from me, placing himself down on the far end of the sofa. He brings her to sit in his lap, facing the room.

I head toward the trash can next to Novak’s desk and gather it to prepare to set it in front of Greer.

“Do you know what this is?” I ask Novak. He still hasn’t moved from his spot, but based on the look on his face, I’d bet good money that he does.

He frowns, nodding. “I might.”

I barely have the chance to put down the garbage can before Novak squats down in front of Greer. He shoves the can to the side, which, in my estimation, might be a mistake.

Seiran runs his hand over Greer’s forehead as he cradles her back to his chest. He murmurs something in her ear, but it’s too low for even me to hear.

“Look at me,” Novak says in the voice that signals his compulsion. Her eyes pop open, staring directly into his.

Gods be damned.

Her eyes are bloodshot, and she looks terrible. The black blood stained around her mouth isn’t helping anything.

“Who is your maker?” Novak asks.

Her body contorts as she writhes against Seiran’s chest. I’ve known the incubus for a long fucking time, and I’ve never seen him look so panic-stricken. He holds her in place, wrapping his arm around her middle from behind.

Novak repeats the question, and the energy in the room practically vibrates with his power. He’s the ancient kind of old, and only one generation removed from the primordial vampires that were around before written records were even kept.

Greer wails, and I find my fists clenching at my sides to keep myself from trying to remove Novak’s head. Her body begins to tremble and blood drips from her clenched eyes. She leans forward, and Novak barely manages to shove the trash can into place before she vomits again.

I siphon to the supply closet, grabbing several washcloths and towels before returning to Novak’s office.

There’s no way I’m gone for more than thirty seconds, but when I get back, he’s holding her face in his hands, and they’re stained in Seiran’s black blood.

“Let’s try again. When you were turned, did your maker feed you human blood?” Novak asks.

Her head shakes. “I don’t know. I can’t remember any of it.”

Novak doesn’t need to breathe, but his shoulders bounce as he exhales. “Have you fed from a human since you were turned?”

“The night here…outside the club,” she chokes out.

My stomach churns with a strange feeling.

Novak wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. And despite my physical appearance mimicking a human, my blood structure doesn’t change.

“That wasn’t actually a human,” I admit, rocking back on my heels.

Seiran’s mouth falls open. “You mimicked?”

I shrug, glancing away from his prying stare. “You left the two of us without souls to our own devices. What did you expect to happen?”

I’m not sure incubi have souls, either, but he does have a conscience, and that’s more than can be said for myself.

A lot has changed around here since he left. No one should trust me or Novak to be upstanding citizens without the voice of reason around to ground us.

This really is all his fault, the more I think about it.

“None of that. Stay focused.” Novak pats her cheek when her eyes fall shut. “Anyone else?”

“Not that I can remember,” she says in a weak voice that makes my stomach churn even more violently. “And I’ve been so hungry, it’s been hard, but I fed from Seiran?—”

“Neither would facilitate the final step of your transformation.” Novak gently rests her head back against Seiran’s chest and stands.

This is something I can help with. “I can grab a human or two from the club and be back?—”

“No,” Novak says, cutting me off. “That won’t work. Not now.”

“What do we do?” I ask, studying the way his jaw clenches. That seems like a very bad sign, but I believe I’m at least partially to blame for her current state.

“It’s not we , it’s me— if I decide I’m willing to take on that level of commitment, which, frankly, is not looking good.” He sighs heavily.

“What’s wrong with her?” I whisper.

Novak’s eyes meet mine. “Her maker never completed her transformation. I’m sure there was some partially formed bond there before he released her, but…” He curses under his breath. “That won’t matter, not for long. She’s nearly at the stage for the rot to set in. She’ll be a ghoul within days if I don’t drain her dry and repeat the turning process.”

Seiran’s head whips up as my jaw falls.

I’ve never put an ounce of thought into where ghouls come from.

Gods.

What a mess we’ve stumbled into.