Blacker than Black (22 page)

“What’s this to do with ‘mutts’?” Jhez and I ask simultaneously.

“Shortly after the disclosure,
lyche
were scientifically classified as a separate species. Genus
Homo,
species
hirudo.
As such, we’re still young. Most believe that in order to strengthen the quality of our differences, we should refrain from ‘diluting’ them. Others just say it isn’t acceptable to
fuck
lower creatures.” I blanch at the crass edge in his voice and he pauses, lifts his gaze to study me. “There are instances, though, where crossbred lines have managed to demonstrate abilities that are wholly distinct. Not entirely human, not entirely
lyche
. Many find the result repugnant. Others view it as a threat.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “People always fear the unknown. That much certainly hasn’t evolved out of our nature. And if nothing else, mutts represent the unknown: the random and inexplicable idiosyncrasies of evolution.”

“Greater potential for something, or someone, more powerful than the
lyche
.” The room feels cold. I chafe at the hairs standing up beneath my sleeves, not caring what he might think. The derision, birthed of fear, is understandable. It’s why we call them vampires, after all. Or . . . one reason. We’ve done it in the Blue District for so long . . . it seems the collective culture has forgotten there even was another name for them.

“Not just the potential, I think,” Garthelle whispers. He stretches his palm across the suede beside him. “Different doesn’t mean stronger or better. It just means . . . different. Come here, Black.”

I stare at him. The air around me is ice, frozen shards stabbing into me from everywhere, even inside my lungs. How long will it take for the drugs to kick in? Didn’t take very long for the side effects to resurface, that’s for sure.

He knows. One black eyebrow arches up his pale forehead as if in solemn consideration.

The blood in my veins grows heavy; the heat surging through me sears the chill away in the space of a heartbeat. It pools in my stomach, tickling at the congealed mass of energy still lurking there. My eyelids feel heavy and I want nothing more than to close my eyes and relax, languish in the pleasant sensation of bliss.

“Come here.” His words, firm and insistent, reach across the living space and sink directly into the triggers he’s playing with. The pleasure fades slightly but the demand remains, persistent.

And I want to get up and go to him. No other thought, desire, exists.

I sit down on the couch next to Garthelle, but he isn’t smiling. His fingers grip my jaw. The touch licks over my skin like the radiant heat from a bonfire. And then, as swiftly as it began, the thick flood of sensations drains away. Sludge down a waste receptacle. No. Spring sunlight sliding behind an ominous thunderhead.

“You.” His whisper is rough, slightly hoarse. “You are a mutt. You’ve twined our chi. I turned the tables on you, but you . . . what you did was more than a simple case of chi-theft.”

I’ve not the first clue what he’s talking about.

“I thought all
lyche
had the ability to influence humans this way,” Jhez interjects cautiously, sounding tense and uncomfortable.

“Not on this level. Telepathic impression, suggestion, and residual control? Yes. Nothing like this.”

“But this is you, not Black. You’re doing this to
him
. He’s not doing anything to you,” she insists, irritated. “You’re the one who turned the tables on a
chi-thief,
by your own admission.”

Leonard’s gaze doesn’t waver from mine. His pupils contract and dilate, dramatically, as if he’s flexing muscles in an attempt to wrench loose from a physically superior foe. And failing miserably despite his most valiant efforts. “You think Black has done nothing? I think it best you believe that.” He grits his teeth, pulling his lips back in a momentary snarl before managing to get himself back under control. “There’s something else, something more, going on here.”

“Right.” Jhez sounds like she’s misplaced the last shred of her patience. “So you don’t think this can be reversed, right? Is that what you’re saying? What does that make us? Indentured servants? Slaves? Need I remind you that the agreement you and I have, Monsieur, was made under duress? As I recall, there was an understanding that this employment would be short term. To terminate when this condition ended. Now you suddenly discover that’s not going to occur. And you want to blame it on
us
?”

“You are being compensated quite handsomely for your employment.” The corner of Leonard’s eye begins twitching rhythmically. “I expect Black and I will work out a manageable truce, given some time.”

He sounds distracted, not entirely engaged in the discussion. I can’t decide if that annoys me or amuses me. Both, perhaps. “What sort of time frame are you renegotiating? I don’t recall a ‘truce’ between me and you being enough in the past. In fact, you found it sorely lacking and that’s what led to all of this in the first place. Why should I believe you’ll be satisfied with renegotiating the arrangement with me? When nothing’s really changed?” This won’t happen without my input, not this time. Never mind that the
lyche
isn’t making a whole lot of sense.

 “Yeah,” Jhez says. “We’re being compensated handsomely. I’ll give you that. But this arrangement is deviating from the agreement,
Le Gross.
Not something either one of us is willing to tolerate.” The tone of my sister’s voice ratchets steadily upward in volume as she speaks, each word harder and colder than the one before. “Either we find some way to alter the details, or we part ways here and go back to the streets. We’ll take our chances with the vindictive johns who think they can mete out vigilante justice on a pair of chi-thieves.”

Right. It took them, what? A decade, at least, to find us this time. I’m sure we can manage just fine. Being the kept ’walkers of the Monsieur of York might make for a more opulent lifestyle than we’ve known, but the lack of freedom is a piss-poor tradeoff.

Being owned leaves a bitter, rotten aftertaste in my mouth.

“Why don’t you go start dinner and give me a moment?” The fine thread of tension cording through the
lyche’s
voice makes it more order than request.

Jhez is a fleeing blur of red moving in the unfocused background of my awareness. Garthelle’s yellow gaze, dark brows, smooth skin, and finely chiseled features are in sharp, contoured detail. The only thing I can focus on. The only thing I want to focus on. Beautiful, frightening. Arousing, terrifying. My visceral reactions to him are dual and counteractive. I’m repelled and drawn at the same time, and that alone is confusing, disconcerting. I can’t think of a single other instance where I’ve found myself attracted—sexually, anyway—to a creature I knew was inherently dangerous. Capable of killing me. Granted, Jhez and I are both closet adrenaline junkies. It comes with the territory of Nightwalking. No doubt the Monsieur of York would correct me, claim it comes with the territory of chi-theft.

What I don’t understand is why I don’t want to look away. Yes, he has beautiful eyes. And there’s a faint scar trailing along the left edge of his hairline that disappears out of sight into his black hair. His lips part slightly and the corners of his mouth twitch. His nostrils flare, pupils constricting and expanding rapidly in a spasm of effort to extricate himself.

But from what? Me?

“Do you understand now?” he asks hoarsely.

I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue, feeling hesitant, confused. “Understand what?” My voice is a rasping whisper, nothing more.

“What it is you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done.” I give a slight shake of my head and stare at his dark lips, tracing their curving outline with my eyes. “With all due respect, it takes two to tango, vampire.”

He emits a low growl of frustration and I get the distinct impression he wants to say something more but can’t form the thoughts long enough for them to reach his tongue. Or maybe he’s resisting the urge to strangle me. He leans in, gaze fluttering over my face, so close I can almost feel his hand fisting in my hair, knuckles digging into my skull.

His lips graze against mine, a feather touch of soft warmth, hesitant and reserved, tense with restraint. “Perhaps it’s a conversation for another time then.” His fingers on my chin relax, skimming down my throat like one luxuriating in the feel of a feline’s silken pelt. Contrast between reality and memory is jarring, disturbing. “When you and I have a measure of . . . privacy.”

The statement caresses my ears, a gentle staccato breath over my cheek. The quality of his words strikes me and elicits a surging ache in my chest. Yes, I’m attracted to him. To the edge of danger he presents, in part—never tangled so intimately with a
lyche
before.

The Monsieur of York is
lyche
, though.

One of those that took my childhood from me, leaving me and Jhez to rot on the streets, uncaring—that we adapted, even thrived instead, that we love the streets now, is beside the point. Like the father who abandoned us in favor of his new family. Who wanted nothing to do with us. Who didn’t consider us good enough, pure enough for him.

Yeah, I’ve some issues with this whole attraction. Not going to deny the pull is there, but I don’t like it. I turn away from him sharply. The trance isn’t broken so much as shattered, shredded. A shocked hiss of breath expels from him as I stand up and circumvent the couch, fleeing to the kitchen.

I all but collapse against the counter, startling Jhez. Her hands fall still on the vegetable she was slicing and her dark gaze studies me, questioning.

“What?” she asks, her voice low. “Did he try to tap you?”

I shake my head and swivel to lean against the heavy marble surface of the counter. “I just needed to give us both some space.”

She grunts and the chopping continues. “You can’t avoid it. He has a measure of power over you now. You’re going to have to learn to deal with it.”

Judging from the tone of her verbal slap, Jhez has no intention of being forced into the same acceptance. I let my eyes unfocus, registering movement and color without any detail, grip the edge of the counter as if it’s the last vestige of anchoring sanity that remains in the world.

And then the drugs hit my system, purging the sensation of Garthelle’s presence as if he’s left the flat.
Free
. Sort of. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

“Perhaps you should make an effort to give him a chance. Just because he’s vampire . . .
lyche . . .
doesn’t mean he’ll treat us the way our father did. Or the way anyone has since then.” Her tone carries a thread of uncontrolled doubt. Even a hint of sarcasm, maybe.

“The odds are stacked against him.” When he discovered what I was, what I’d done, his first response was one of aggression, hostility. Then again, any other
lyche
wouldn’t have hesitated to drain me to the dregs and be done with it. My gaze drifts toward the living space, to the back of the couch.

He’s upset with me now. For severing the thread of contact forged between us
when he could not
. Amongst his kind, such an act is likely akin to an open-handed slap. The more powerful side of a potential alliance rubbing the other’s face in the dirt. Why do I care about his reaction to the rejection?
Fuck
. I push myself away from the counter and halt a few feet from the couch. I fold my arms across my chest and study the vampire.
Lyche
. Truce, then. Must start somewhere.

Leonard sits hunched over, forearms resting on his thighs, hands dangling limply between his legs. A flash of energy-memory superimposes the present, replacing it with his bare-chested image, perched on the edge of his bed in exactly the same position. I let the pulse of energy in my veins linger with the juxtaposition this time, studying the ridge of his spine.

I sigh and release the image, shoving it away. “I want to understand.”

His head swivels slowly, his yellow eyes glinting at me over his shoulder. Guarded, withdrawn.

I take a step closer. “How many times have you fed on someone else’s energy?”

He shrugs. Or maybe he’s shifting in discomfort. I can’t tell. “What’s it matter?”

“I’m a little confused,” I admit, “as to why you were hunting for chi on the boulevard the other evening. Why you picked
me
.” Feline connoisseur. Yeah, hunting chi-thieves. But that was not what happened. At all. That didn’t come up until afterward. When I’d given myself away.

I want to know how much he knows. How to do so without revealing too much might prove difficult. His shoulders twitch and he rolls them as if uncomfortable. I walk around and perch on the couch sideways, one leg folded on the cushion between us as an additional barrier.

“If you feed on felines, then why did that suddenly change?”

“I wasn’t trolling for a cheap thrill,” he snaps, radiating hostility as he turns and glares at me. He looks away just as quickly, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I was out hunting for a pair of chi-thieves that a fully-staffed investigative search team failed to locate.”

“Oh.
That
investigation.” Every syllable oozing sarcasm. Leonard just keeps on going.