Bad Blood Books 1-3

Chapter VI

Chapter VI

I HAD NEVER PROMISED Anthony a month, but not once did I consider leaving earlier. Anthony had made my visit overwhelmingly about me, showering me in attention until I stopped listening to my instincts or fears or whatever they were. At times, I wondered if he was trying too hard, but it didn’t seem like I should complain about it. Why couldn’t I simply enjoy the company of a man who’d focus on making a relationship work right from the start, instead of postponing any efforts until later, when the whole thing turned from building something together into patch work and life support for a dying affair?

I’d spend my days hunting for little cafés to work from, visiting museums and tourist attractions, meeting my friends, and giving directions to foreigners who almost always asked about the same spots. In the evening, I’d meet Anthony and we’d either go out or have a quiet night in, watching movies, playing games, or trapped in my bedroom, having s*x until neither of us could move. Was it just s*x? Or was it more? I avoided the question like the plague, but it snuck up on me now and then. I’d sometimes watch Anthony move or speak or analyze the way he looked at me and uneasiness would wash over me. I kept hitting this invisible wall whenever I tried to get closer to him, get to know him better, so if anyone asked, I’d avoid defining what I had with Anthony. My friends would call it a passionate affair, an adventure, or a rebound, something you did on your travels. I agreed with their assessment, but I cringed on the inside.

I lived for the evenings I spent with Anthony. I worked as usual, maybe more than in Malta, just to prevent myself from turning into a cliché of a woman pretending to be busy while waiting for her man. Was this truly a rebound? Probably not. I’d already had one of those back in Malta. On one of my first nights in Silema, I’d gone down to the hotel bar to enjoy a colorful cocktail. I’d met an Egyptian guy on a post-college gap year. He’d stopped in Silema on his round-the-world trip. Passionate, fun, and gorgeous, he’d stormed into my quiet retreat and I couldn’t say no. Anthony pushed different buttons. My blood ran cold every time I thought I might be in love with him. It didn’t count if I wasn’t sure, right? If I refused to analyze it, it would go away.

On the thirtieth day of my stay in Amsterdam, I woke up to red rose petals dotting my pillows and cover. I reached out to a note left on my night stand and picked it up, a wide smile that shouldn’t have been possible before coffee curving my lips. The note didn’t say much. Just a time and place and a casual See you there. Anthony thrown into the mix. I got out of bed and followed the trail of rose petals leading me all the way to the kitchen. Anthony had prepared breakfast for me, along with coffee, and a cute little basket full of fresh roses. I counted them. Exactly thirty.

Delight buzzed throughout my body and I cradled the basket in my arms as I twirled around the kitchen. I gently untangled one of the roses from the bouquet it was woven into and pressed it to my lips. I expected I’d remember my ‘one month in Amsterdam’ anniversary, but men were never that thoughtful, were they? They forgot your birthday and your anniversary, and dumped you and betrayed you, subsequently or simultaneously. I’d experienced all that first-hand. Anthony changed my mind or at least tried to. Shame gripped me and I held the basket closer to me. Anthony hadn’t done anything to cause all this doubt I kept fighting off. Maybe the right one had always been out there. Maybe I could be the same again, put the baggage behind me and forget all the bullshit of past drama. Breakups changed you, if you let them. And I’d given too much power to my ex and my backstabbing excuse for a best friend.

I dashed in and out of the shower, threw some clothes on, and rushed outside. My mind was on fire with all the tasks I’d set out for the day: get hair and nails done, find something cute to wear, get ready for my big date. The small drizzle I ran into the moment I stepped out of the house failed to dampen my enthusiasm. I ran back inside to grab an umbrella and power-walked to the bus station, a huge grin plastered to my face.

After a couple of hours of fervent searching, I found a tight, navy blue dress that gave off a “naughty secretary” vibe but translated well into evening wear. I didn’t need shoes but found a pair of hot red pumps that I couldn’t resist and a matching purse and belt. I frowned as I roamed the jackets on display until I found a darker shade of blue that would work with my dress and dug into a huge bin until I pulled out a soft and translucent blue-and-red scarf to add a little more color to the outfit.

Getting a last-minute appointment at a beauty salon wasn’t a walk in the park, but I got lucky. A quick wash and style and manicure later, I walked out of the salon with plenty of time to spare. I stopped at a tiny Chinese restaurant near the Red Light District for a late lunch, then strolled along the canals until I stumbled onto a cozy café where I pretended to do some work.

Despite all that activity, I got back home too early and riding the mother of a caffeine high. Maybe having coffee at the salon, with lunch, and then at the café hadn’t been my brightest idea. I was twitchy and couldn’t stand still for more than a few minutes. My mind kept running over scenarios of how our date would go. Maybe a fancy dinner, some dancing, a deep conversation about our relationship. Wild s*x would be the pièce de résistance, of course.

I ran a bath but failed to soak in long enough to relax. As I put on makeup and my new outfit, I pictured Anthony playing dress up and switching between looks mimicking those of my favorite movie stars, but sexier. I pictured him in a dim lit restaurant, violins or a piano for our soundtrack, food that smelled delicious, but that we’d ignore, too busy staring into each other’s eyes. There should be wine. And tango won the competition for perfect dances. We’d walk under the moonlight, of course. Wait, no, maybe the moonlight was too farfetched. This was Amsterdam in the end, and it had been raining for most of the day. Hell, it had been raining for most of the week. I frowned at myself in the mirror, then shrugged. Walking in the rain could be romantic too.

Half an hour before our date, I picked my car keys from the kitchen counter where I’d left them and made for the door. A honk broke the silence outside, startling me. A black limo hummed in Anthony’s driveway, blocking my mushroom. Just as I opened my mouth to ask the driver to move, he held the door open to me. I blinked a few times, discomfort tingling in the back of my mind.

“Where to, Miss?” the driver asked, after helping me in and getting back behind the wheel.

I gave him the address, my eyes unfocused. I’d never been in a limo, yet the over-the-top luxury of the ride failed to grab my attention. I leaned back into my seat and took a few deep breaths. It would be okay, going the extra mile shouldn’t unnerve me like this. I forced myself to smile, awkward as it might be for now. Every woman wanted this, right? Being treated like royalty, spoiled and delighted? The car pulled out of the driveway, the engine humming low, barely audible. I loved this ride. I’d rather drive it than stay there in the back though.

With every mile, my smile became more natural, powered by the sheer thrill of being in such a powerful beast. I’d thought the car Anthony had hired in Malta had been a little extra, but this... I giggled and relaxed, watching the city lights go by.

We arrived at our destination with a few minutes to spare. I arched a brow as I took in the empty street, a night club or a bar the only visible venue. We were in some sort of industrial neighborhood, but there were no flashing signs, no trendy restaurants or other night spots. Nothing of interest apart from that supposed club with a dim sign and unappealing entrance. I shuffled closer to the door and placed my hand on the handle but didn’t open it.

The driver acted faster than me and came around the car. “Here we are,” he said, holding the door for me. “This is the address you gave me.”

“Are you sure this is the right place?”

His smile faltered but he nodded. “Definitely, Miss.”

I scrunched my nose and looked down the street. Bright lights bathed the road and sidewalks, but I shivered at the emptiness of that entire area. I stood on unsteady feet and took a few small steps away from the car. My stomach twisted and my hands went cold when the car left. I clutched my purse closer to me and walked to the heavy wooden door of this date spot. I took a few deep breaths and pushed. The door didn’t budge, so I pushed again. Still nothing. I looked up and saw a discrete PULL sign. I swore under my breath and did what the sign said with a little too much force.

I slid inside a large establishment with a long pub-like bar to the side, tall stools placed in front of it. The rest of the immense space housed large red-and-black couches and low tables, far enough apart to give a sense of privacy. I couldn’t decide if the dim lights made it look smaller or creepier, especially since the place was pretty much empty. A few men sat at the bar, chatting among themselves and to the bartender. Further inside, three groups had claimed the tables in the back. Odd that they’d chosen to flock together like that when the rest of the place was deserted.

I rolled my shoulders, releasing my death grip on my purse and slinging it over my shoulder. No room for dancing, but the understated lounge music fitted this place like a glove.

I took a few steps inside, squinting my eyes at the people in the back. Anthony sat at one of those tables, surrounded by the biggest crowd. I suppressed a snarl and walked toward the half-naked women hanging on Anthony’s every move. Everyone turned to look at me and I raised my chin. Cold shivers ran down my back as Anthony stared at me, a smirk marring his lips. As I approached him, it morphed into the warm smile I knew so well and I stopped in my tracks. Anthony took one more sip from his glass, then stood, giving me plenty of time to look around.

At the table next to his, three gorgeous women fought over the attention of some guy. I scrunched my nose at the pathetic display. The striking man causing the ruckus had his eyes trained on me. He shook his head and smirked, then turned to Anthony. They didn’t say anything, just held that connection for a few beats. Anthony gave a subtle nod, then made his way to me.

“Gorgeous as ever,” he said. Anthony wore a white button-down shirt and dark jeans, so no superspy outfit. I pushed down the touch of disappointment, along with the worries over being overdressed. Anthony looked gorgeous in anything he wore.

“Thank you. Interesting… bar.”

“It’s a private club, actually. Bar, lounge, restaurant, concert venue, and even dancing club when needed.”

“Seems remote enough for a private hangout,” I said, nodding.

“Come.” Anthony took my hand as he waved to one of the bartenders, then led me to a table to the side. It stood farther apart from other tables and as we sat, I was forced to turn my back to the other people in the club. I wiggled around on the couch, unable to find a comfortable position. The fine hair on the back of my neck stood, the sensation of eyes fixed on me still there.

“Relax,” Anthony said, running his hand up and down my back. “They are friends and extremely curious. I told them tonight you’re all mine, so they have to wait to meet you.”

“I see.” I nodded and smiled, the twist of his lips familiar and foreign at the same time. Who on earth brings a date to a place where all their friends are and doesn’t introduce said date to them? I opened my mouth to put that thought into words but closed it as the bartender arrived with a bottle of chilled champagne. The music changed to something softer, the pop of the champagne bottle making me jump a little.

Anthony chuckled as he handed me a glass. After a few sips of the dry and cool drink, I sighed and leaned into him, closing my eyes and hoping his heartbeat would drown the murmurs and laughter I heard in the back.

Anthony couldn’t keep his hands off me and a few drinks in, I had forgotten everything about the awkwardness of being treated like a circus monkey by his “friends” and the numbingly cruel smile Anthony had greeted me with.

We laughed and drank more champagne and kissed for what felt like hours. My head was a little floaty from all the alcohol I had indulged in and I struggled to focus on Anthony’s words. He took my hands in his, smile gone and a frown forming between his eyebrows. He inhaled, his chest expanding, then released the air, the warm breath washing over my neck.

“Alexa, this has been a wonderful month,” he said, squeezing my hands. “But there is something I desperately need to know.”

“What is it?”

“Do you love me?”

I twitched, eyes wide, and mouth hanging open, his words a cold splash of water, sobering me up. Did I? “I’m falling in love with you.” The words burst out before I had time to analyze them. They sounded true, my voice steady as I spoke them. I was falling in love with him, I loved being around him, butterflies twisting in my stomach every time I laid eyes on him. But I wasn’t all the way there to I love you, was I?

Anthony’s eyes glowed with childish delight. I shivered at the intensity of his pleasure, my heart beating so fast, he might have heard it over the music. Anthony pulled me in his arms, squeezing the air out of me, and whispered in my ear, “Come with me.”

No “I love you” or “I feel the same way.” I shook my head, the dubious invitation ringing in my ears. He pressed me closer and placed a soft kiss to my neck. His scent, the feel of his lips on my skin slowed my heartbeat, air returning to my lungs.

“Where to?” I asked, cringing at the sound of disappointment in my voice.

“Oh, just upstairs.” He grinned, the sparkle in his eyes turning mischievous.

He dragged me to a “No Entrance” side door leading to dark stairs. I followed him up, flashes of a haunted house at an amusement park flooding my mind. The stairs led to an empty, unlit room just above the club. The only thing keeping it from being pitch black was the streetlight seeping in through the large windows, casting long shadows on the dusty floor. Anthony led me to the back of the room where dozens of chairs were thrown together, probably for storage. He spun me around and told me to stay. I bristled at the one word, dog-like command he murmured and took a step forward. He turned and winked, and I faltered. Maybe this would be worth it. Just another surprise like the limo and the roses. He glided across the floor, all the way to the door and turned to face me.

“You are in love with me,” he said.

Silence settled in as I looked at him. Anthony didn’t move, his head tilted and his body stiff.

“We had this conversation earlier.” I shifted from one foot to another, scrambling for something else to say. It hadn’t been a question, so what the hell was he waiting for?

“Right. Then look at me closely.”

I squinted my eyes but could barely make out his shape in the dark. I was about to roll my eyes at him when my breath caught. His eyes… they were aglow. Not a little twinkle, but almost neon. Bright green neon! What the hell? Anthony had dark brown eyes. His eyes were alight though, shining bright, almost like a cat’s would in the night. Predator. The word formed in the back of my mind and I clenched my fists, pressing them into my thighs.

A shiver rocked my body as I stared at those unnatural globes of green across the room. Think of Vin Diesel as Riddick. No, bad choice, the girl dies in Pitch Black. My ears were ringing and every cell in my body burned with the need to run. It’s Anthony, just Anthony. It will be all right. I knew Anthony, there was no need for fear.

“That feeling you are experiencing right now, the need to run away or grab a weapon, it’s only natural.”

His voice sounded cold and foreign, as if coming from afar, filtered through some veil of darkness and fear. My breath came out in labored huffs, my entire body rocking with shiver after shiver. “What the hell is this?” My shaky voice, feeble and broken, barely carried through the room.

“A demonstration.”

In a split second, Anthony towered over me, holding my left wrist up, close to his face. His glowing green eyes trained on me, he grinned. My throat closed off, my mouth dry. I tried to breathe in, but couldn’t, my chest burning. His gaze paralyzed me. My eyes fell on his mouth and my heart went wild. Anthony had fangs! Freaking fangs, bright white and threatening. He yanked my hand up, biting into my wrist. I screamed, the sharp cut too much to bear. It hurt worse than anything I’d ever felt. I opened my mouth to scream again, but nothing came out. I watched in startled silence as he sucked, his Adam’s apple moving with every gulp. Run. Push him away and run. I reached back for one of the chairs, putting my strength into dislodging it. Anthony caught my arm and pushed it behind me. I whined, dizziness making me unsteady, and I leaned into him.

Anthony released my wrist, his eyes fixed on me as a drop of blood dripped down his lower lip. He licked it, then ran his tongue over my wrist. “Now you know what I am,” he whispered.

My legs gave out, but he held me up. He dipped his head and kissed me. His fangs grazed my lips, a strange mix of pain and pleasure. He pried my lips open, sliding his tongue inside my mouth. I tasted my own blood, the metallic flavor knotting my stomach. Anthony kept caressing my tongue with his, a slow and intimate glide. My head swam, lust and fear warring for dominance. Shaking and sobbing, I closed my eyes and surrendered to the kiss.