Page 24 of Born Reckless
She can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, despite the fact that she’s definitely taller than me. Her cheekbones are sharp, in a way that says she needs to put on twenty pounds. Her shoulders are boney. She wears a skintight miniskirt, thigh-high black boots, and a red leather jacket.
She slides right next to Elena and says something in a language I don’t understand. To my surprise, Elena answers her in the same language.
“Juliet, this is Tabitha,” Elena says. And I try not to raise an eyebrow. This tiny, fragile looking woman is Elena Godfrey’s bodyguard? “She doesn’t speak English. She’s Russian.”
Ah. Now I get it.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, despite what she just told me.
Tabitha bows her head just slightly, a sign of acknowledgment.
Fifty-three minutes later, Warren declares me finished. I’m the proud new owner of five roses, interwoven with thorns and stems. He gives me some aftercare instructions. For the next thirty minutes. Apparently, it will be fully healed in that time.
“Good luck,” Warren calls as we head for the door.
“Thank you, Warren,” Elena says. “You’ll come for Sunday brunch, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says. And I think that smile is genuine.
“Brunch?” I ask with a raised eyebrow as we step out into the darkness outside.
Elena smiles. “What? Warren is a sweetheart.” She slips her arm through mine, and together, we walk to the limousine waiting for us at the curb.
The driver jumps out and walks around swiftly to open the door. From the scent of him, I know he’s a vampire, too.
The four of us climb into the limo and as soon as the door is closed, the driver is nearly instantly back in his seat, and we roll forward.
“Thirsty?” Elena asks as we head to our destination, wherever that may be.
“Yes,” I say, because just at the thought, fire ignites in my throat. I take the bag of donated blood that she extends. She takes one for herself and I notice that Mason looks away as her fangs extend and she bites into it.
The burn is always there. I wonder if that will ever go away, or if this is just part of my new life. Being in these tight quarters with a human intensifies the burn. So, the taste of the blood as it slips over my tongue and down my throat is one of the best feelings, ever.
If only it were warm and not cold.
And coming straight from an artery.
I shake the thought off, disgusted by myself.
“Care to explain what a Bitten is?” I ask as I discard the emptied bag.
“Elena said that you can’t be turned into your kind of vampire,” Mason says. Once more, he’s calm and collected, looking ready to walk into a board room. “But you can turn others into a different kind of vampire. A Bitten.”
My eyes slide over to Elena. “You have to be careful when you’re drinking fresh from a human. If you take all of their blood, you’ll kill them. If you take too much but don’t kill them, their body gets flooded with our toxins, and they change. The Bitten are different. They’re not immortal, they still age. They’re stronger than your average person, but nothing like us. They still drink blood, though. They’re not near as in control of themselves as the Born. And instead of red,” she taps her temple, indicating her eyes, “theirs are yellow.”
“They also are slaves,” Mason says darkly. “When a Bitten is turned, they wake up with an unfailing loyalty to whoever turned them. It’s called the Debt. It wears off after a while, but it could be months or years. As you can imagine, having any unwitting vampire slaves who have a hard time controlling themselves is a bad idea. Roman wasn’t being dramatic when he said creating one will earn you a death sentence.”
“It’s just not tolerated,” Elena says, and I don’t doubt her from her tone. “So be careful.”
“Good to know,” I say, and suddenly I’m not so sure I’ll drink straight from a human again. How is one supposed to know what amount is too much?
I look out at the city that flies by us outside. It’s three in the morning, so it’s quiet out there. I did a little bit of research on the plane ride here. There are more than two and a half million people who live in this city. It doesn’t touch the eight-plus million who live in New York City. There’s the occasional homeless person milling about. There’s one or two drug deals going on in the recesses. But for the most part, the world is asleep.
I love living in a big city. After growing up in dusty trailer parks, the tall, towering buildings feel beautiful. And I’m never alone. I might have a total of one person in this world who I care about, but in a city, at least I’m never actually alone. There are always people. All you have to do is go outside, and there they are.
Past towering skyscrapers, we roll. By parks and museums. My feet are itching to get out and go explore my new home. But I’m here to do a job. And the sun is only a few hours from rising.
Just a few minutes later, the limo pulls into the protective overhang of a building. It’s impressive. Soaring high, it’s built in a curved shape, almost like a crescent moon. It glitters in the night sky, way more lit up than any of the others around this time of night.