Cherry Blossom (Vampire Cherry Book 2) (16 page)

The mattress dipped by my side, and I opened my eyes to Constantine half-lying next to me, propped up on the arm not acting as my feeding tube. He looked even paler than usual.

Shit. Now I was overindulging myself. I took one last, ladylike sip, and licked the wound closed. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Constantine smiled wanly. I could see this had gotten a lot out of him.

“I took too much, didn’t I?” I tested my limbs. They all seemed to be in working order again. At least I could bring up my knees and turn to my side, to better look at him.

“That’s not it.” He used one finger to tuck my hair behind my ear. My bangs fell back in place, as always. What had I been thinking, cutting bangs to shoot a porn flick—sorry, adult movie? At least by dying the day after my visit to the salon, I’ll have mostly well-styled hair for as long as I roam this earth.

And I was digressing again. Constantine narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re having an internal monologue, aren’t you? One of those weird ones.”

I shook my head. “I haven’t done that in years!”

Liar.

Shut up!

“Are you okay to get up?” I asked him, to get out of my own head. I didn’t want to kick him out. I just wanted to get to Alex, before he continued on his idiotic path of secretive self destruction.

“Right as rain.” Constantine started to get up, but I reached for his hand.

“If it’s not that I took too much, then what?”

“Nothing. It has been a while.”

I wanted to ask if he meant since he’d fed me or since we’d been in bed together. I kept my mouth shut.

He nodded curtly, as if agreeing with something only he’d heard. “I will be right outside. You get dressed, and we shall speak to Alex together.”

If ‘shall’ came to play, things were dire indeed. “I’ll be right out. And hey, now I can enter your dreams—or I guess I already could, since I had your blood before.” I don’t know what possessed me to say that. Did I want to let him know I knew? Was it just a half-assed attempt to alleviate some tension?

Whatever it was, it worked to reinstate Constantine’s usual posture. He rolled his shoulders, and stood in one slow, liquid motion. Watching me, he licked his lips and rolled down the sleeve he’d lifted for my sake. “Who says you ever left them?” he asked in the deep baritone he’d once used to whisper in my ear what he was about to do to me.

I still felt Alex inside me, but my whole body gravitated toward Constantine. It was the result of drinking his blood. No other explanation.

“On second thought”—he cleared his throat—“I will go find Alex, and wait for you upstairs. Don’t take forever.”

I barely had time to say okay, before he was out the door. I was still half naked, when he opened it again.

I had my back to it and was pulling up my jeans. “What did you forget?” I asked, turning around just in time to see him dump Alex’s prone form on the bed. “Oh, Constantine, what did you do?” Not that I could blame him for punching Alex’s lights out.

“Nothing!” He sounded incredulous. “This is how I found him, on the pullout. If I wanted to finish him off, I wouldn’t have brought him to you afterward. What am I? A bloody cat?” Constantine rarely lost his cool enough to curse, and his use of the British curse word would have cracked me up, if it weren’t for Alex. Lying on the bed. Apparently unconscious.

I could see nothing wrong with him. No wound. No blood, other than the smear of mine around his lips. “Did you try to wake him?”

“No, my first instinct was to shoulder his weight, and parade him around the house.”

His sarcasm felt familiar, safe, and allowed me to think of other, more important things. “Will he be all right?”

“You know how it is with us. If we’re not dust, it’s fixable.”

I nodded. “I have to go back in,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“His dream. Before he…”

“Yes?” The single word brimmed with impatience.

“Before you stopped Alex, I followed him into his dream. Ádísa was there, and”—I huffed—“I think she was about to blow him.”

One corner of Constantine’s mouth tagged upward, and I actually saw his effort to rein in the smile threatening to blossom on his lips. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but she tended to do that to people a lot,” he finally said.

Yeah, it was so nice having his usual, cocky self around, instead of the kind, understanding one. Only not. “She was
trying
to get him to say he’d leave me for her. I think that’s what she wanted. There was something he had to do, and then he’d have it all, as she put it.”

Constantine’s eyes lost their playfulness, and his mouth hardened. “What did he say?”

“He kept repeating that I love him, but she was feeding into his jealousy of you.” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, okay, it’s no secret he’s jealous of you. With no reason whatsoever, I might add.”

His smile was no longer suppressed. “Of course. Please, do go on.”

“Not much to say. I woke him up before things escalated between them, and he said he must’ve been affected by all the talking about Ádísa.”

“It is a possibility.”

Memories of the dream kept coming back to me. “But it was somehow more than that. It seemed like she could see me, when he couldn’t. I need to go back in, see if I can talk some sense to him there.”

“You just said he couldn’t see you.”

“Yes, but this time you’ll tell me how it’s done. The right way.”

Constantine paced the length of the room. Repeatedly. It was becoming annoying, and didn’t let me relax enough to sleep. Let alone how disconcerting it was seeing him stressed. The man was usually cool as a cucumber, both figuratively and literally.

“Remember to stay focused on Alex,” he said, coming to a stop at the foot of the bed.

I looked to where my fingers were interlaced with Alex’s, and then closed my eyes again. For all Alex and I had been through together, the touch felt unnatural. “I don’t get why this is necessary. You were miles away when you dream-bombed Ruby.”

“I was already ancient by then. I
knew
stuff.”

“
Stuff.
Eloquent. I see the company you’ve been keeping lately has rubbed off on you.” And possibly all over him.

“Will you focus? Remember—only
you
can control yourself. It may be his dream, but you can be active in it. It’s a matter of will.”

I closed my eyes. “You told me.” As I’d suspected, I was supposed to use the same trick I did for flying. Visualize what I wanted to achieve, and believe it was possible. The reason most vampires can’t fly is because they can’t believe they’re able to defy gravity by sheer force of will. I’m generally very selective with what I consider impossible. A certain threesome, for example.

“Cherry? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not. I’m trying to sleep, and you won’t shut up.”

He grunted, and I briefly cracked open an eyelid to see him glaring down at me.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be here?” I said.

“Not an option. He might attack you again.”

“Yeah, ’cause he looks so scary, all unconscious like this.”

Constantine frowned. “Perhaps I should try to put you under.”

I almost sat up at that. “Like, with vampire mojo? You can actually mind-control vampires? Why didn’t you tell me? It would fall into the things-that-concern me category.”

“Hush. It has nothing to do with vampirism. I worked with a travelling magician once. He taught me the ways he used to reduce tension and hypnotize select members of his audience.”

Pop went my eyelids again. I had to see if he said all that with a straight face.

“Oh, will you sleep, already?” he asked.

“Show me.”

“I’d rather drain you again.” He ran his tongue over the tip of his elongated fang.

“Whatever.”

Neither or us talked after that. I tried hard to focus on Alex, but remembering all the good stuff wasn’t so easy this time. The badness was too pronounced and too recent for me to push aside.

I’m ashamed to admit it took a while before it dawned on me that the center of my focus didn’t necessarily have to be something positive. I had to zone in on Alex. The specific aspect of him that drew my thoughts was immaterial.

I remembered the way he crowded Constantine in the kitchen. The way he’d grabbed me earlier. How he didn’t seem willing to pay heed to my objections, but kept pushing. Touching me.

How he’d been drinking from humans who looked like me.

How he’d almost drained me, after doing nothing to stop Ádísa from blowing him in his dream.

I felt my feet slide. Dead leaves beneath my bare soles.

The smell of rain—

I’m in again.

I’m not standing; I lie sprawled on a heap of leaves. They’re slimy with dew, but I can’t spare the time to be disgusted.

Two feet away stands Willoughby, arms crossed over his chest, his impeccably white shirt glinting in the moonlight.

“Finally,” he says. “I was almost certain you’d manage to fuck this up too.” His words are loud as a gunshot in the absolute quiet surrounding me.

I can move. This time I can move. I need to remind myself, before I manage to scramble backward. I look around. It’s the same clearing, but in the night it seems dreary. Even malicious. There’s still no sound reaching my ears. Not even the squelching of the leaves and dirt under my toes, as I propel my body farther from my maker.

My head hits something hard. A tree. I blink, and Willoughby is closer. Close enough for me to—

I kick out my right leg with all my force.

It doesn’t move.

I call on every dredge of inner strength I have. I know this is possible. I did it mere seconds ago. I can move. I can control my actions. I can kick Willoughby on the shin.

No, I can’t.

“What did you do?” I try to ask, but the words remain trapped inside me.

Relax. I need to relax. This is just a dream. If I can’t control it, I’ll wake up.

Willoughby throws back his head, and releases an uproarious laugh. “She actually thinks she will somehow survive this.”

I don’t know who he’s talking to.

Wait. I
know
who he’s talking to.

The queen bitch floats toward us, her stride more elegant than her muscled legs ever managed in life or unlife. “Let her hope. It will make her defeat all the more delicious.”

Alex materializes next to her, as though out of thin air. His body is first just a shimmer. A splotch of light in the dark. The splotch grows and solidifies. She’s holding his hand.

I try to look at my hand, the one holding his in the real world, but my fingers aren’t in my line of sight, and I can’t move my head. I’m trapped here, unable to even close my eyes when Ádísa cups Alex’s cheek with her free hand and guides his mouth to hers.

“This time you’ll do it,” she whispers against his lips.

A fist clenches around my unbeating heart when Alex just melts into the kiss.

“This is just a dream,” I chant in my head.

Willoughby gives me a scornful look. “How wrong you are.”

If it’s Alex’s dream, how can my maker know my thoughts?

“You won last time,” Willoughby says, “but it was sheer luck. Your precious Constantine won’t be able to save you this time.”

What’s everyone’s obsession with Constantine? He wasn’t saving me when he ripped Ádísa’s head off. He was saving himself. She planned on offing both of us. All of us—Alex included. I scowl at Willoughby, hoping my gaze shows exactly what I think of him.

“Oh, you may speak. This will be the last time we hear your annoying voice anyway,” he says.

I test my vocal cords by clearing my throat. Sound comes out. Instead of wasting it on my maker, I call for Alex.

Alex, who is still kissing
her
, his palms curved around the weight of her full breasts.

He doesn’t stop kissing her. Doesn’t stop squeezing the perfect creaminess I’m seeing way too much of.

“Alex, please,” I whisper. The sight of him responding so eagerly to her advances is breaking me in a way his almost draining me earlier couldn’t have done.

Wake up. I have to wake up, if he won’t.

“He can’t hear you. Ádísa has him now.” Willoughby says her name as if she’s more than his maker. A goddess, perhaps. “He belongs to her. You can scream his name till you lose your voice again, but this time she’s won. Pity you won’t be around to see her become her true self again.”

For a change, my mind latches onto the important detail. “Where will I be?” I ask.

Willoughby raises both arms, palms up. “Everywhere. You’ll be scattered by the first gust of wind, once Alex finishes the job.”

“The job?”

“Choosing her, and in doing so, killing you.”

Fuck, I need to wake up. Now! Wake up and tell Constantine what Willoughby is planning. Alex’s subconscious is trying to warn me through his memory of Willoughby, and if his subconscious still cares, I can appeal to the rest of him.

“Alex,” I call out again. “Please stop. Please remember who you are. What you know about her. This isn’t you.”

Only, whoever it is, he’s obviously enjoying himself, even as Ádísa rips open his T-shirt and scratches a line from his collar bone to his navel. It’s a shallow cut, barely bleeding. Alex hisses in an unnecessary breath, and tangles his fingers in her hair, to bring her mouth to his chest. “Lick it,” he says, voice gruff with what I recognize as lust.

I’ve lost him this time.

“She’s obviously won. He’s with her now. Choice is made. Why does he have to kill me, too?” I try to stall for time, unsure what I’m hoping for. Divine intervention can’t reach me here.

Why can’t I wake the fuck up?

“You will never wake up again, Cherry. God, you’ve always been so dense.” Ádísa nuzzles Alex’s stomach, but looks straight at me, the sapphire around her neck lighting her face with an eerie blue glow. “We’re not figments of Alex’s imagination. His subconscious isn’t doing this.” She glides a palm down the front of his jeans, and he bucks his hips against it. “I am really me, and it’s really Willoughby holding you down, like the powerless little cunt you are.” Turning her face up to meet Alex’s gaze, she says, “Let me touch you. Please.”

If she’s telling the truth, there’s no getting out of this. My only advantage over her in the real world is that she’s dead, which isn’t the case here. There’s two of them, ancient and half-past crazy, and only one of me. I can’t count on Alex to take my side, even if I don’t believe he’ll really help them.

I need a weapon.

The only thing I can think of is Ádísa’s ego.

“Makes sense,” I say, “that even when you control someone’s dreams, you need to beg for their affections.”

She doesn’t take the bait. Her lips are fixed in a smug smile, when Alex pops his fly and pulls his jeans down his hips.

I can’t close my eyes, so I settle for rolling them. “Your hold on him only works when you’re touching him. I remember you using sex to win Constantine over too, and he ended up dusting you for me.”

This time her smile falters, but it doesn’t fall from her face. “Constantine fell for your innocent act. The women in your family seem to have the damsel-in-distress bit down to a pat. Alex is smarter than that, though.” She closes her hand around Alex’s cock, slides it to the base and squeezes, until the head turns an angry purple. “Aren’t you, lover?”

Alex moans, and begins fucking her fist, one hand pulling on her hair, pushing her head downward. I almost wish she’d take him in her mouth, so I don’t have such a clear view of her pleasuring him. What she’s doing to him is essentially rape. Even if he’s a willing participant, his consent is not informed. He thinks he’s dreaming, while according to her, this is actually happening.

“Alex!” I make one last effort to concentrate on everything that’s passed between us from the moment we hooked up until he started changing. I need to believe he can feel the love I try to broadcast his way, and break her spell.

For a split second, I think I may have succeeded. He inclines his head toward me, and his eyes hold immeasurable sorrow. “Cherry loves me.” His voice holds no conviction. He grabs Ádísa’s wrist, stops her, but his hips are still thrusting forward. “I can’t. I love Cherry,” he says, louder this time.

Ádísa frees her hand and stands.

Is she giving up?

No. She pushes at his shoulders, until Alex takes a step back and lets her lower him to the ground. He opens his mouth to talk, but she hushes his protest with a finger across his lips.

“I love Cherry,” he says once more.

She smiles. “Not enough, though.”