Tenth Grade Bleeds (17 page)

As if a lightbulb had flickered on over his head, Vlad relaxed. “Oh, I don't play that game. I'm just . . . well, a bloodsucking monster. You know.”

Snow smiled brightly. October and the others were all looking at Vlad as if he were the coolest person on the planet. Kristoff sulked.

It didn't matter that they were pretending, that they didn't really believe that they were in the presence of a real, actual vampire. What mattered was that he had confessed, had come out with the truth, and not one of them—well, except for Kristoff, but he didn't count—had balked at the idea. Rather than fear him, they seemed to respect him. Even if it wasn't real to them, it meant a lot to Vlad.

Snow and October exchanged glances—they seemed to be speaking in that weird telepathic way girls have. Vampires might be good at carrying on conversations with their minds, but all of Elysia couldn't hold a candle to the female population.

The girls each grabbed one of Vlad's hands and dragged him out to the dance floor. Horrific images of spinning in slow circles at school dances flitted through his mind and Vlad dug his heels into the floor, shaking his head emphatically, but it was useless. They tugged harder until finally he was immersed in the crowd on the dance floor. The music was a heavy techno with bass so loud that Vlad could feel it pounding in his chest. As if in response, his pulse began to race.

Snow put her arms in the air, swaying slowly even though the music was pretty fast in tempo. October moved her feet like crazy and jumped up and down. Vlad closed his eyes and listened to the incredible blend of music, chatter, and beating hearts. If he listened close enough, he could almost make out the rushing of blood through veins. With a smile, and his eyes still closed, Vlad danced to his own music.

A long, long time later—Vlad couldn't tell just how long, as the music and the blood seemed to pump nonstop—he opened his eyes and realized he was having the time of his life. He grinned at October, who grinned back, and then he shouted, “ This place is so cool! Do you think next time I could bring Henry?”

October burst out laughing. “Henry McMillan? I don't think he'd like it like you do, Vlad.”

Vlad yelled over the music, “Why not?”

“Because you're goth and he's not.” She shook her purple-streaked head. “He wouldn't get it.”

Vlad's feet slowed to a stop. “But I'm not goth.”

Both Snow and October stopped in their tracks and stared at him. “Wow, Vlad!” Snow shouted. “You're so goth you don't even know you're goth.”

Vlad shook his head, bewildered. “I'm gonna take a break, okay?”

The girls nodded, and Vlad headed back to the couch, where Kristoff sat scowling into a goblet of the syrupy red “blood” mixture. Vlad took a seat across from him but didn't say anything. He had a strong feeling that Kristoff didn't care very much for his company.

Kristoff met Vlad's gaze. “Don't you have better things to do than go slumming with us?”

Vlad raised an eyebrow. “Did I do something to offend you? I wasn't aware we hated each other.”

“Just stay out of my way. And keep away from October.”

Sudden realization hit Vlad, and he smiled inwardly. Kristoff had a thing for October and thought Vlad was trying to edge his way in. He couldn't have been more wrong. “It's not like that, man. I have a girlfriend.”

Kristoff grew very quiet. Subdued. Almost calm. After several minutes, they were joined by a girl who looked like a china doll. Kristoff stood when she approached and took her hand in his. “Ah . . . dinner has arrived.”

Vlad couldn't imagine biting through all that makeup just to get to her veins, but hey . . . whatever does it for you.

Then Kristoff swept the girl into his arms and, once she moved her hair to the side, he bit her on the neck. The fangs weren't real. Vlad knew that much. But seeing something that resembled his own fangs sinking into flesh—not breaking skin, but biting nonetheless—sent Vlad's fangs shooting from his gums, and suddenly it was all he could do not to rip the girl from Kristoff's arms and indulge in every last delicious drop of her. Vlad clutched the couch cushion and forced his eyes away.

But it wasn't enough to keep him from thinking about what he'd seen, or to stop his stomach from rumbling.

Moving as quickly as he could, Vlad hurried toward the nearest exit, which opened up to a back alley. The music blared into the night until the door swung shut, muffling the trance-inducing beats. Vlad leaned against the building's outer brick wall, resting his head back. His fangs were fully elongated and, try as he might to will them under control, they wouldn't shrink. The gums beneath them pulsed with hunger.

In hindsight, he should have known better than to come to a club full of humans without bringing a backpack full of blood—not that he thought it would have been enough to prevent this. His bloodthirst had grown to obnoxious levels, and lately, just the scent of blood and adrenaline coursing through a group of humans' veins was enough to bring his fangs out and set his stomach rumbling. He was losing control, and he had to find a way to rein himself in. And fast.

The side door swung open, and out stepped Snow. Vlad eyed her for a moment, her porcelain skin, that perfect blue vein that ran up one side of her neck. It moved slightly, pulsing with life—oddly, in sync with Vlad's gums. Vlad tore his eyes away and slid his thumbs in his front pockets, making certain his lips were covering his fangs at all times. “It's cold out here. You should go back inside.”

Snow cast a timid glance back at the door, her eyes shimmering, the black eyeliner under her left eye smudged. “I can't. My dad's in there.”

And that's when Vlad noticed the red mark on her left cheek . . . about the size of a hand. “Did . . . Snow . . . did someone hit you?”

Tears poured from her dark eyes and she nodded, drawing her arms around her small frame. “My dad. He's drunk again. He's always doing this.”

The door swung open again, and a burly man with a swagger in his step stumbled into the alley. His words were slurred. “You better get home like I told you. Hanging around these freaks—didn't I raise you better?”

Vlad stepped in front of Snow, ready to defend her. She was, after all, such a tiny girl, and her father a hulking mass of muscle and flab. “I'll make sure she gets home okay, sir.”

The man shoved Vlad aside and, closing the gap between him and his daughter, started to unbuckle his belt. “ This time I'll knock it right out of you. Teach you a lesson you won't forget.”

Snow backed up against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut, as if she knew she could no longer run from his abuse. Her cheeks, coated with tears, glistened in the streetlight.

Vlad didn't think. He didn't have time to think about what was right and what was wrong, about who might see and who might not. He grabbed the man and pulled him back, then shoved him as hard as he was able.

Snow's father hit the ground several yards away. He groaned in pain, stood, and ran off. To where, Vlad didn't know. But at least he was gone.

And Vlad was left with the understanding that shoving Tom that hard last year hadn't been a fluke. Apparently, another skill Vikas and Otis had yet to mention was vampiric strength. He flexed his fingers and turned back to Snow, who looked beautiful despite her tears. “Hey. He's gone now. You can open your eyes.”

Snow looked down the alley, then blinked at Vlad, confused. “Where did he go?”

Vlad shrugged. “Let's just say I convinced him to go home and sleep it off.”

She met his eyes, and understanding filled them. Then she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him, nice and tight and close. Her skin smelled like roses and Vlad drank in her scent, so sweet. He couldn't resist placing a small kiss on her pretty cheek, still moist from tears. And then another, on the smooth, pale skin of her jawline. And one more, just one, as he inhaled her sweet, irresistible scent, on her neck. He could taste the salt of her tears as he placed each kiss, and when he kissed her neck, they flowed into his mouth and over his tongue. They weren't salty anymore, but sweet, like her scent, like her. And she tasted . . .
so
. . . good.

Vlad's jaw tightened, bracing her neck against his jaw even tighter. He knew he was drinking from her, swallowing mouthfuls of blood, but he couldn't stop, no matter how he tried. He swallowed and swallowed, feeling terrible that he was feeding from her, but not caring that he couldn't seem to stop. He couldn't recall when he'd started. The kiss on her neck, he surmised. But there was no stopping, no walking away now. There was just her blood and his hunger. Nothing more. Nothing else seemed to matter at the moment.

Vlad slipped his arms around her, cradling her body as she trembled, then weakened into his embrace. Her heartbeat was fluttering against his chest, each beat sending a splash of crimson onto his tongue. And he swallowed, drinking it down, so much better than anything he'd ever tasted before. He wanted more, so he took it, ignoring the fact that her heart was rattling at a dangerous rate, that he was probably killing her, that she was a human and he'd vowed not to do exactly what he was doing right now, never, never, never. But he was doing it. He had to. It was so sweet and tasty and filled his muscles with an energy he'd never felt before. And she tasted . . . so . . .
good.

And finally, his belly was full, but Vlad kept drinking, just to taste her, just to have her blood coursing through him just a little bit longer. The idea that she was dying sent an excited chill through him . . . . . . and that's when Vlad's stomach clenched. He shoved the girl away from him, not caring that she was going to fall onto the hard pavement, only that she'd be away from him, and safe . . . safer than she was in his arms. His fingers were trembling, a twisted blend of fear, excitement, and insatiable need. His face felt warm and flushed. His feet refused to remain still, so Vlad paced the alley, his dark eyes locked on the nearly unconscious girl lying next to the Dumpster.

He'd almost killed her.

He'd almost taken her life, all because he couldn't control his hunger.

And what had set him off? The taste of her tears? Vlad retched at the thought.

It had been too easy. He'd gotten too close. And it could never, ever happen again.

The girl stirred, as if waking from a dream. She sat up, bruised from her fall and weak from Vlad's feast, but the glazed expression in her eyes said that she likely didn't recall exactly what had happened. She rubbed her neck and stretched, looking around the alley in confusion. When her eyes met Vlad's, he took a step back, as if the distance would help.

It wouldn't.

He knew that, just as sure as he knew that the only thing keeping him from crossing the alley and drinking the last of her blood until she'd slipped into death's arms was his dire fear of enjoying such a terrible, disgusting act, his utter terror of himself.

Snow blinked at him, still dazed. “Vlad?”

Vlad swallowed hard, the taste of her crimson still on his tongue.

“What happened? Did I fall?”

Vlad paused, then nodded slowly.

Then, because there was nothing more that he could do, Vlad turned and walked away, down the alley, down the street, until he was blocks away from the club, from the girl with the salty sweet tears, from the part of him that he couldn't bear to be near. Along the way, he tried once again to reach Otis with his thoughts, but Otis still wasn't answering, so Vlad kept his head down and walked until he'd found a pay phone. He dialed Henry's cell number, cursing Nelly for not letting him have one, and waited for the rings to cease. Finally, they did. “Yeah?”

Vlad licked his lips, took a deep breath, and squeezed the phone closer to his mouth. “Henry? I need your help.”

He could almost hear the irritation in Henry's breath. For a long time Henry didn't answer. When he did, his voice was tense. “What makes you think I'll help you? Going to order me to?”

“Henry . . .” Vlad's eyes brimmed with tears. “I just fed on a human.”

And he broke. The sobs came quickly, his body shook. And his stomach, so full of irresistible blood, ached as it had never ached before.

Henry's tone softened, once more the friend that Vlad had always had, once more his loyal drudge . . . but more, he was Henry. He was Vlad's number one. “ Tell me where you are. I'll be right there.”

H
ENRY'S ROOM WAS DARK, LIT ONLY BY THE GLOW of the moon through the open curtains. Vlad was sitting on Henry's bed, trying desperately not to look at Henry, who watched him from his desk chair across the room. They hadn't spoken since Henry had pulled up in Greg's car. It had been a long, quiet drive.

Henry would probably catch hell from his brother for taking the car, but Vlad was pretty sure Greg wouldn't clue their parents in to Henry's theft—or his driving without a license. Some secrets were important to keep. Luckily, Greg recognized that. Even if he had no clue what Henry's secret was. Vlad gripped the edge of the mattress, trying to get ahold of his insatiable thirst.

Henry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Vlad's eyes moved to his friend's neck. Otis was right. There was nothing like feeding from the source. And now that Vlad had had a taste, he knew he would always yearn for another. He gripped the mattress tighter and forced his eyes away. “Not yet.”

Henry nodded thoughtfully. “Hungry? I can run to your house and grab something.”

“It's not that. My stomach is full. It's just . . .”