9

Ophelia

My foot taps impatiently on cobblestones and broken glass and cigarette butts in the alley down the street from the high-rise which houses the Raven.

Part of it's nerves, part of it's distinct discomfort at being back here after all this time, and part of it's irritation with Casimir and this insane plan he cooked up.

This insane plan that makes a certain amount of sense, if I think about it for more than a couple of seconds and set my knee-jerk reaction to contradict him at every turn aside.

But I'm not about to admit that—not to myself, and certainly not to Casimir—so I stand and fidget and wait for the vampire in question to make an appearance.

I'm still not totally over our conversation yesterday.

I'm not over the reminder of what happened here between us seven years ago, and I'm not over my frustration at just how easy it was for Casimir to waltz in and get Cassandra to cave with barely any effort.

But for the sake of actually getting somewhere on this case, I know I have to suck it up and get on board. I'm not getting anywhere on my own, and if pretending to be all cute and cozy with Casimir is the way to finally accomplish something, I can stop being so sensitive about everything else.

A motion from the end of the alleyway draws my attention, but instead of finding a blond, handsome vampire heading my way, I only find a couple of passersby on their way into the club.

From what Cleo's told me, the Raven is still a paranormal hot-spot, even after the passage of the Acts. It's still known for its dark charm and temptation, and still serves exclusive, high-flying clientele. They don't do any kind of advertising, and you won't catch them dead on a Google Maps search, but for those in the know, it's remained the place to see and be seen on a Friday night like this one.

It makes me remember the days when I used to be one of those club-goers. Dressed for attention and with the sparkle of a promising evening ahead, nothing more pressing on my mind than an upcoming midterm or if I was showing enough leg.

Shaking my head to clear away the memories, I look over and catch sight of a flash of blond hair and a tall, powerful frame clad in an exquisitely tailored suit.

It's one more hit to my already questionable nerves, one more reminder of the past, one more reason to push down and swallow back and bury deep everything and anything to do with the way things used to be.

There's no place for it. Not tonight. Not when the two of us have a job to do.

Crossing my arms and turning to face him, I'm subjected to Casimir's long, lazy appraisal.

"You always did know how to draw the eye," he says, warm approval sparkling in his crimson gaze.

My outfit is a bit more subdued than what I would have worn for a night out back in my younger days, and I don't want to accept any compliments from this irritating vampire, but even I can admit I look good.

A black body-con dress with sleeves to my wrists and a plunging neckline, black leather boots that hit just over my knee, and make-up done with a heavy, smoky eye and a deep burgundy lip. I'm going for a vibe somewhere between ‘don't fuck with me' and ‘wouldn't you like to find out' and I think I just about nailed it.

I frown at Casimir. "Not the reason we're here."

"Should that stop me from admiring the effort you made?"

Ignoring that, I square my shoulders and get to business. "How are we playing this?"

Casimir's teasing smile disappears. "We'll want to get as much time as we can with Marcus and Philippe. A pleasant chat between old friends, casual conversation about what's been happening in the city since you've been away."

Briefly, the memory of Marcus calling Casimir brother that night on the roof flashes through my mind.

I wonder how well the three of them know each other.

With as old as they all are, and with as small and insular as the paranormal community tends to be even in a city as big as Boston, I might have a few guesses.

But I keep those guesses to myself.

It's not like Casimir would answer if I asked.

"And if they know something?" I ask instead.

"If they know something, we follow the threads, see if we can get them to divulge any details about who's behind these rogue vampire attacks, and why."

I can't help but snort a laugh. "And you think they'd just hand that information over?"

Casimir's eyes go distant for a moment in thought, lips curling in distaste at whatever memory surfaces. "Philippe has a tendency to boast and prattle on when the situation suits. If we can get him talking, there's a fairly good chance he'll say something useful."

"What about Marcus?"

A sneer, this time, filled with even more distaste that borders on disgust. "Marcus will follow Philippe's lead, as he always has and always will. It's been centuries since he's had an original thought or made any kind of strategic decision of his own."

Again, about a hundred and one questions bubble up on my tongue, but I ignore them.

"Fine," I say with a curt nod. "Get in front of Marcus and Philippe. Get Philippe talking. Pump him for information. Seems simple enough."

Casimir nods as well. "Shall we?"

He steps toward the end of the alley, but there's something else stuck in the back of my mind, a little detail we might have forgotten in all of this.

I grab Casimir's forearm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Cassandra noticed."

"Noticed what?"

"My… neck. The lack of a bite there. If the two of us were actually dating like we're pretending we are…"

All of a sudden, I can't meet his eye. Turning my gaze to the cobbled path below me, I swallow around the lump of discomfort in my chest.

Casimir hooks a finger under my chin, tipping my face up. I think it's to make me look at him, but when he tilts my head to the side, I understand.

His eyes trace the line of my throat. Hard, focused, considering.

"We could fake it," I rasp, reaching for the switchblade tucked into the top of my boot. "If you can cut something that looks like fang marks, maybe no one will—"

"I will not cut you, Ophelia."

"Fine. Then maybe there's somewhere around here with a bathroom I can use. It wouldn't take me very long to—"

"Enough of that." Casimir drops his hand and meets my gaze. "There's no need to mar your lovely skin with that blade."

"Then how do you suggest we…"

Oh.

Casimir's lips curl into a smirk, and the flash of fang he displays answers my unspoken question.

"I would never ask you to do that."

His smirk fades. "No?"

"No. I wouldn't. I understand why that would be… repulsive for you to even consider."

"Do you?"

I don't answer him this time. I can't. Not with the way his crimson eyes darken to garnet and something almost like anger crosses his features. But it's not, not quite, and I can't read whatever it is he's thinking.

"I don't mind biting you, Ophelia. To help keep up our ruse, of course."

A rush of electricity through my blood. Like nerves and danger and something… else. Something I don't want to examine too closely, not even when Casimir's soft smile returns, like he can read all that strange, shaky energy clear as day on my face.

"It's only that… I've never been bitten before."

God, why did I have to admit that?

And why did I have to say it like that? Like it matters.

Even during my brief fling with Marcus, we'd never taken it that far. He'd wanted to, and I'd almost caved, but looking back on it now, I'm glad I never did. The idea that I might have given him any more of myself than I did with my stupid, trusting, vulnerable words makes my stomach turn.

I know I shouldn't be so damn precious about it. It's just blood. Cells and plasma, simple biology, nothing to get myself too worked up about.

If it helps our case, I can stomach it. A quick bite, a couple of punctures to make it less likely for anyone to question me showing up here with Casimir.

Easy. Simple. Not a big deal.

Casimir's expression is unreadable again. Blank, carefully blank, like he's trying to hide whatever it is he's thinking.

"But it doesn't matter," I hastily assure him. "I get the… mechanics of it. And it's only for show, right? Just think of me as your own personal blood ba—"

"Enough." Casimir's voice is hard, his scowl sharp and disapproving. "I abhor that term. It's offensive to the person who offers their blood, as well as to the vampire who receives it."

He steps closer, and as he raises his hand to tangle in the hair at the back of my neck, I find I can't move. I'm pinned in place by the sheer force of his focused gaze, the low rasp of his voice, and the aching tenderness in his words when he continues.

"To feed is a gift." He leans in until I feel his soft exhale against my skin. "Always a gift, and never one to be denigrated or made into something tawdry and meaningless." The grip he has on my hair tightens and I involuntarily arch my neck, exposing more of my throat to him. "We don't have to do this, Ophelia. Not if it's something you don't want."

"I want…" The words come out on a breathless gasp, and as soon as they do, I realize I don't have any idea how to finish that thought.

I want to make Cleo know giving me this job wasn't a mistake.

I want to finally get somewhere on this case, and not immediately blow our cover.

I want… I want…

I glance at Casimir's fangs.

"Will it hurt?"

He leans back enough to meet my eye and releases his hold on me. Instead of amusement or annoyance over the inane question, he's got more of that soft, dangerous tenderness written all over his face.

"At first, it will." A brush of fingers across my cheek, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. "But only for a moment."

"And after that?"

"After that," he murmurs, letting that same hand cup my jaw and tilt my chin up. He's close enough that if he were anyone else, I might think he was about to kiss me. "After that you will feel pleasure. How much, and what kind, depends on the vampire and the human they're biting. Whatever alchemy of blood and magick they create determines the experience."

His words hang in the air between us. A warning. Or a temptation. I can't decide which.

But waiting any longer to figure it out isn't going to help either of us.

"Alright. Let's do it."

Casimir gives me one more long, searching look. From the hollow of my throat to the curve of my jaw to my eyes, holding my gaze like he's looking for any last reason we shouldn't do this.

"Take a step back," he murmurs.

I'm about to ask why, but he crowds into me and I step without thinking. My back hits the ivy-covered wall behind me and Casimir presses even closer. With one hand sliding back into the hair at the nape of my neck and the other settling on my lower back, he tightens his grip to hold me in place.

"This might make you feel a little… wobbly," he says by way of explanation. "Wouldn't want to ruin your pretty dress by getting it full of grime if you swoon, would we?"

I huff an irritated breath. "I can handle it. You can just get on with—"

"So impatient." He clucks his tongue softly, the cool caress of his breath breaking over my skin. "As you wish, sweet Ophelia."

And, with that, Casimir strikes.