CHAPTER 31 - MEDRA

The heavy oak door creaked as I entered. Immediately I was struck by the garishness of the brothel. The place was decorated in shades of crimson and gold, with thick velvet drapes and brocade-covered chairs lining the walls. Ornate brass chandeliers hung from the ceilings. There was a sense of opulence without a sense of elegance.

Something brushed past my feet and I looked down to see the fluffin.

I cursed under my breath and darted forward, trying to catch him, but it was too late. The fluffin darted into the foyer.

Pulling my cloak tighter around my head to hide my hair, I followed the pup deeper into the room.

The hour was late, but from the sounds of it, The Drained Rose was still going strong. Voices and laughter filled the air, mingled with the scent of perfume, wine, and sweat. Something subtle lay beneath it all. The faint aroma of blood.

A little ways inside the foyer stood a wooden counter. There was a sign on it: "Madame Illustra will return shortly. Wait here."

Behind the counter, a grand double staircase curved upward on either side, meeting at a landing before continuing to the second floor, which was encircled by a balcony that overlooked the room below.

I took a few steps forward and glimpsed Blake. He was nearing the top of the stairs. As I watched, he disappeared along the corridor.

Before I could even react, the fluffin scampered up the steps ahead of me.

"Dammit," I muttered, tugging at my cloak again.

I ran up the stairs behind the fluffin, trying not to lose track of it.

At the top, I paused. Blake had disappeared.

Then I spotted the little fluffin. He was trotting confidently down the hallway, his little paws pattering against the worn red carpet.

I followed, trying to keep my head down, and avoiding the gazes of the patrons who were wandering down the hall.

But one of them, a leering highblood man with greasy white hair and a half-buttoned shirt stained with blood, reached for me as I passed him.

"What you got under that cloak, sweetheart?" he sneered, pulling at the garment.

I jerked away and quickened my pace, praying he wouldn't follow.

Laughter followed me, but I didn't hear footsteps. I glanced back a few moments later, and the hallway was clear. I let out the breath I'd been holding.

The fluffin had stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. He stood there, pawing the door, waiting for me.

I thought about knocking, then thought better of it. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was empty. A large, four-poster bed sat in the center, draped with scarlet satin sheets. A cloying perfume hung in the air.

Blake was nowhere in sight.

Then I heard it.

His voice. It sounded so clear.

I looked around. The fluffin gave an excited yap and darted over to a tall wardrobe in the corner.

I frowned and followed. Pulling the wardrobe door open, I peered inside.

"You brilliant, sneaky little creature," I murmured, looking down at the fluffin who bounced up and down happily.

A peephole had been drilled inside the wardrobe, going right through the wall that connected this room to the next.

Hesitating only for a second, I stepped inside. The smell of mothballs filled my nostrils.

I peered through the hole.

There was Blake.

He must have just entered the room. I watched as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it casually over a chair. He wore a black linen shirt underneath, open at the collar. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the black tattoos that coiled up his muscular forearms.

Every line of his body seemed cut with precision. I found myself holding my breath as I watched him. Why did the bad ones have to look so good?

Blake raised a hand to his face and pushed back a lock of pale blond hair, then glanced across the room.

My heart caught in my throat.

On the bed, a blightborn girl lounged against the headboard. Her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders. Scantily clad in a short little dress of red lace, her golden-brown skin caught the candlelight perfectly.

She was beautiful. She was also watching Blake with unconcealed admiration, her gaze roaming over him as if he were a prize.

Her lips curled into a seductive smile as he strolled towards the bed.

A shiver went down my spine. Was I really going to watch this?

Yes. Yes, I fucking was.

My heart pounded in my chest as Blake darted forward in a sudden movement and lowered his head towards the blightborn girl's neck.

The girl's head jerked back, her breath coming out in a gasp, as Blake's fangs sank into her skin.

It should have been a grisly scene. This puncture of flesh, the slow trickle of blood.

And yet, it was anything but.

The blightborn girl wasn't writhing in pain. Instead, her eyes fluttered shut, as she tilted her head back a little more to grant Blake better access. Her body arched towards him, her hands reaching out to clutch the sleeves of his shirt, as if she craved more of the sensation he was giving her.

My stomach twisted, torn between disgust and the embarrassing heat rising between my thighs.

Watching Blake feed was unsettlingly intimate. His hands gripped the girl's waist, firm but not possessive, holding her steady as he drank.

Yet there was a coldness to his actions, as though his mind was detached from the ritual. He didn't caress her, didn't embrace her. He simply took what he needed.

At least, that was what I told myself as the girl's soft erotic moans filled the room.

Blake seemed unbothered by her reactions. He must have been used to them. His only interest seemed to be in the blood he was taking.

I tracked the motion of his throat as he swallowed mouthful after mouthful from the girl's limp body.

I could have looked away at any time. Yet I didn't.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Blake stepped back.

His chest was heaving. His mouth was smeared with a trace of the girl's blood.

I felt a strange anger fill up inside me as I looked at the red wetness on his lips. As if the girl had marked him in some way she had no right to.

Blake's fangs shone briefly in the light, before retracting. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, clearing away the drops of blood.

The girl sat up on the bed, her eyes half-lidded, her skin flushed. She pouted. "Is that really all you want from me?"

Blake didn't answer. His face was impassive as he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a leather pouch. He placed it on the bedside table and the girl grabbed for it, spilling the contents onto the coverlet.

She huffed softly, her fingers brushing over the gold coins. "It's too much," she muttered, sounding sulky. "You always overpay."

She slid off the bed and moved towards him, her fingers reaching for the collar of his shirt.

I felt a knot in my stomach. She wanted him. She wanted more from him. Had he used thrallweave on her? Enchanted her somehow? I didn't think he'd needed to. She'd clearly wanted this.

But then, she'd been raised from birth to idolize people like Blake, I reminded myself. To see them as purer than she was, better than she was. Of course, she wanted him.

Still, I hoped he'd reject her.

I needn't have worried. With a frown, he brushed her hands away.

"Maybe the next time you come to call, I won't be here," she said petulantly. "Or maybe I'll be with someone else. Some other highblood man. It would serve you right. What would you do then?"

"I'd pay the next girl," Blake said coolly, picking up his jacket from the chair and shrugging it back on.

I choked back a laugh. He was one cold bastard. I should have pitied the girl. But I didn't. There was something about the possessiveness she was showing towards Blake that I didn't like.

I watched the jacket slide over his shoulders. He was leaving. I felt a flicker of smugness rise inside me.

Smug, that is, until a cold hand clapped firmly over my mouth.

I was yanked out of the wardrobe. A man's hand wrapped around my waist.

"Well, well," a low voice growled in my ear. "What have we here? Does someone like to watch?"

My heart raced, breath ragged against the highblood's palm.

"A new girl," the man muttered. "I've drunk my fill tonight, but I always like a new girl."

I felt my hood being pulled down. The ribbon was wrenched from my hair. My curls cascaded down around my shoulders.

There was a sudden silence as the man took in my appearance.

Then I felt fingers move through my hair. I tried to yank my head away but he held tight.

"What have we here?" the man murmured. "Such pretty hair." He sniffed at it. "You even smell different. Unique. I've never tasted one like you before."

Panic flared inside me at the thought of this man putting his teeth into me. I twisted, jerking free of his grip, and leaned down, pulling Coregon's dagger from my boot.

I spun around, my hand moving fast, and drove the blade deep into the closest part of him I could get to–his thigh.

The man howled in pain and staggered backward, knocking over a wooden chair.

I looked him over quickly. I'd half-expected to see the man I'd run into back in the corridor. But this was a different highblood. He wore a black domino mask over his eyes and a crimson cloak. There was blood all around his lips–blood he hadn't bothered wiping away, as if he liked looking like that.

I glanced at his hands. They were covered in blood, too. My heart sped up. This man had done more than simply feed tonight.

And he wasn't done with me yet. Rallying with more speed than any mortal, his face contorted in fury and in a flash, he was on me again, seizing my wrist and pulling my arm back with a painful twist.

I cried out in agony, but didn't drop the dagger. My eyes darted around the room in desperation.

There. On the floor. The fluffin was lying motionless. The highblood must have kicked him earlier. The sight filled me with a sudden, blinding rage.

Stab him again, my mother demanded. Use the knife. Hurry. He's not going to let you out of this room, no matter what he might claim.

But I couldn't fight him off, no matter how I twisted. He was too strong.

I remembered something I had learned in my History of Sangratha class. That highbloods grew stronger with age. Before now, I'd only fought against highbloods my age–Visha, Blake. I might have been close to a match for them...but I wasn't one for this man.

"I should bring you to the Sanctum," he muttered as he fought me. "Turn you in. You've been hiding from them, haven't you? Naughty, naughty. You're special. That hair. But you smell so good. I think I'll keep you for myself. Will you scream like my other girls? I don't like my girls damaged. Not until I'm ready to do it myself. Drop the knife, little girl. Don't make me break your fucking wrist now, girly."

He was close to it. I could feel my bones coming close to the snapping point. My eyes were burning with pain.

The door to the room slammed open with a splintering crash.