Blood Bound Page 4

  If that feeling was the cost of a better life, it was one she could pay. She would just have to figure out how to avoid Darien.

  With no clock in the room, Azalea had no idea how long she lay on the bed, waiting for her strength to return.

  At some point, Sara entered the room, closing the curtain behind her. Her gaze flicked across the room, evaluating the state of it, before turning to Azalea. “It won’t be long until your strength returns.”

  “How long?”

  “Hard to say. Everyone is different.” She pushed Azalea’s head to the side, examining her neck and face. “No marks—good. Try to relax for the next hour. When you get downstairs, make sure you stop at the bar for a glass of water.”

  “Lilah wants you to know she misses you.” Azalea’s voice came out as light and dreamy as she’d felt during the feeding.

  Sara’s features hardened. “Did you really go through all of this just to tell me that?”

  “Oh, no,” Azalea said. “She told me to come here, and she told me I’d find you here. But I’m here for myself.”

  “Lilah knows where she can find me. She’s made her choice, and I’ve moved on with mine.” Sara lifted Azalea’s skirts to examine her, just as Leone did from time to time. “Did he fuck you?”

  “No, just drank my blood.”

  Sara nodded. “Good. The Blood Den is primarily for feeding. Some of our elves fuck the vampires, but not all. It’s your choice. You can always say no to that here.”

  “I don’t think I want to do that with them.” Azalea shuddered.

  Sara looked at Azalea lying helpless in the bed, and her harsh expression changed to one of pity. “Darien has taken a liking to you. He said he wants you to come back.”

  “Do you want me to come back?” Azalea asked.

  “You’ll clean up pretty enough, I suppose, and I’m not one to say no to one of our more...demanding patrons.”

  “Are they all like him?”

  Sara hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. “Most of them aren’t so…” She waved her hand in the air, leaving the thought unfinished. “He’ll expect you back here tomorrow.”

  Azalea frowned as the fog over her mind began to clear. “So soon? Isn’t it dangerous to donate more than once a month?”

  “That’s true when they draw out the blood from your veins with a machine, but something about the physical contact with a vampire helps the blood replenish itself faster. Whatever it is that makes it feel pleasurable instead of painful, whatever freezes you in place and allows them to close up the wound after—I suppose it’s all the same.” Sara’s voice was monotone, like she’d given the same rehearsed explanation many times before.

  Azalea squeezed her eyes shut. The feeding left her so weak, so tired. She couldn’t imagine going through another one only a day later.

  “I’ll do what I must,” she said finally.

  “We’ll set up a room for you here in the Den. You can live here until you can afford to move into your own apartment in the Second District.”

  Azalea shook her head. “I don’t want to stay here. I’d like to stay at my apartment in the Third District until I’ve earned enough for my friend and me to move here together.”

  “You want to pay for two?” Sara frowned. “Your friend won’t come here for feedings?”

  “No, she won’t.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first to stay in the Third District in hopes of bringing someone along with you.” Sara sighed. “But if I might offer some advice, that never ends well. I’d suggest you prepare yourself for the possibility of leaving your friend behind. It might be less painful for both of you that way.”

  “I could never leave her,” Azalea said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Your friend will have to find work of her own so she can afford to stay here, and nothing pays better than the Blood Den. It won’t last if you try to pay for both of you forever.”

  “I’ll find a way.”

  Sara sighed again, then offered Azalea a sad smile. “I hope it works out for you both. Truly.”

  “It will.” Azalea closed her eyes. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, leave Miria behind. And no matter how much Miria hated the idea of Azalea letting vampires feed from her, she wouldn’t let her move to the Second District alone.

  Would she?

  “It’ll take you a while to save enough coin to move out of your district, so I’d suggest coming here as often as you’re able. You can keep all of your earnings for today, but after this, the Den gets a cut. See me before you leave. I’ll find some more suitable clothes for you to wear for the next time you come here.”

  Sara closed her fingers around Azalea’s sore wrist. The touch was light and gentle, but Azalea winced at the contact.

  “Give Darien what he wants—whatever he wants. You don’t want to fall on his bad side.”

  The gold coins felt heavier than their weight in Azalea’s pocket as she lingered outside her apartment building in the Third District. A fistful of gold coins for a single night. It would take an entire month to earn the same amount at Madam Leone’s.

  She pulled the sleeves of her undershirt down to hide the bruises that had formed on her wrists. If she were lucky, Miria would already be asleep, and she wouldn’t have to tell her anything about what she’d been doing that night.

  How could she explain that she’d allowed a vampire to drink from her neck? How could she tell Miria that she planned to return the next day? Darien was dangerous. Violent. No different from Aeidan.

  Worse, even.

  But this time, there was no Madam Leone to protect her. Darien expected Azalea to return, and he’d made it clear to her that she had no choice in the matter.

  She let the door close softly behind her as she stepped into the dark apartment.

  On the other side of the room, sheets shifted as Miria rolled over in bed. “You’re home late.”

  Azalea slipped off her shoes next to the entryway. “Busy day, I suppose.”

  Miria flicked on a lamp. “I just get worried when you get home late. Especially after everything that happened with Aeidan earlier.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m just going to stay up drawing for a while to wind down from work. You should go to sleep.”

  “You were supposed to be home hours ago.” Miria sat up, leaning back against the wooden headboard. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

  “I was just walking around, I guess.” Azalea sat down and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment from the drawer beneath the table. She kept her back to Miria, concealing her ruined shirt. Her efforts to lace the fabric back together before leaving the Blood Den hadn’t been enough. The top was ruined.

  She paused with her charcoal pencil hovering over the paper. After the day she’d had, she had no desire to draw anything at all. Tears stung her eyes as she stared down at the blank, uninspiring parchment.

  “What happened to your shirt?” Miria leaped out of bed and crossed the room, her eyes wide. She brushed her fingertips against the exposed skin where Darien tore Azalea’s shirt apart, stopping just before she reached the purple marks on her collarbone.

  “It’s nothing.” Azalea pulled away from Miria, covering her chest with her arms. What was left of the tiny charcoal pencil she held crumbled in her closed fist.

  “Did Aeidan attack you on your way home from work?”

  “No!”

  Miria cursed. “I should have escorted you. I knew something was going to happen.”

  Azalea winced as Miria’s hand brushed against her wrist. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

  Miria pulled up Azalea’s sleeve, revealing the band of deep bruising. “I’ll kill him.” Miria stepped into her boots and reached for her jacket.

  Azalea jerked her arm back. “It wasn’t him.”

  “The
n who was it?”

  Azalea bit her lip. Her refusal to answer would lead Miria to think her assumption was correct, but there was no way to answer without revealing where she’d really been all night.

  “I’m gonna go kill him.”

  “Don’t do that!” Azalea grabbed Miria’s arm. “He’s not worth the trouble you’ll get in.”

  “This is worth spending some time in a jail cell. I can handle it.”

  “Don’t be stupid. If you murder Aeidan, they’ll kill you. Or, if they’re feeling generous, they might send you to work the leyline mines.”

  Miria’s grip on the doorknob tightened, but she didn’t turn it. “And that’s just a death sentence that takes longer.”

  “Just go back to bed. Don’t even mention this to him. I’ll be fine.” Azalea took Miria’s hand in hers, pulling her away from the door. “I don’t want to lose you.

  “Fine.” Miria sighed and kicked her shoes off next to Azalea’s. “Just stay away from him, okay? I’m not making any promises about what I’ll do to him if this ever happens again.”

  Azalea crawled under the blanket on her bed, taking comfort in the familiarity of the scratchy sheets and lumpy mattress, so different from the silky smooth and feather-soft beds in the Blood Den.

  “Promise me that whatever happened tonight won’t happen again. I don’t want to lose you, either.”

  “I promise I’ll stay away from Aeidan.”

  It was the best promise she could make, as she had no intention of staying home from the Blood Den the next day. Letting Miria think it was Aeidan who hurt her was better than telling her the truth about where she’d been. Miria wouldn’t understand—not until Azalea had a new apartment for them in the Second District to show for it. Until then, she would have to keep Miria from finding out about her trips to the Second District.

  If she could even survive them.

  5

  Miria counted out her coins again, as though the number might change if she kept questioning it. It did not. Her savings had dwindled down to almost nothing—she had enough money for art supplies for Azalea or a day’s food for herself, but not both.

  That wasn’t much of a choice.

  As much as Azalea loved working on her illustrations, she never purchased her own art supplies. Miria didn’t have the heart to tell her friend that the move to the Second District would never happen, no matter how long Azalea hid away her earnings and neglected her own needs in the present. It would never be enough, and Miria would be damned if she let Azalea abandon the one thing that brought her joy because she was too busy pursuing an unattainable goal.

  Miria would starve before she let that happen.

  The crowded streets of the market stank of sweat and toil, of elven bodies pressed too close together. Elven children ran through the crowd, weaving between tents and carts with squeals of laughter.

  A green ball came rolling out from under a cart, coming to a stop against Miria’s foot. One of the children, a young girl no older than nine, chased after it, coming to a stop a few feet away from Miria. Her hair fell in a tangled, brown mess, and her eyes were dark.

  Miria picked up the ball and held it out for the girl, who eyed her with fear and suspicion. “What’s your name?”

  The girl didn’t respond. She snatched the ball from Miria and ran back to the other kids without saying a word.

  Some of the children had been taken from the surface, but most had been born below. They had never known a life outside of Terra Nocturne. They didn’t know any better than to be happy. She envied them for that.

  Judging by the haunted look in the girl’s eyes, she wasn’t one of them. She was brought here from the surface, and she would likely die here.

  It wasn’t right.

  Miria pushed aside a flap of brown canvas, worn thin from many years of use. The crisp scent of fresh paper and pencils greeted her as she entered the tent.

  Marvin sat behind the arrangement of various inks and supplies his shop offered. His elderly face was as weathered as the fabric of his tent, but his eyes lit up when Miria walked in.

  “Ah! I’ve been saving something for you.” He set aside the book he’d been reading and reached under the table.

  “For me?” Miria frowned.

  “Well, for you to give to Azalea.” He set a book on the table in front of Miria and pushed it toward her.

  She turned it over in her hands, admiring the beautiful craftsmanship. It was unlike anything she’d seen in the elven marketplace before. The fine leather that bound it boasted an intricate leaf pattern carved around the border, and the blank parchment inside was left unmarked by any words or lines.

  “How did you get this?” she asked.

  “I purchased it from one of the guards at the watchtower,” he said proudly. “He never used it—said it was a gift from an ex-lover. I was going to keep it for myself, but Azalea will fill it with far more beautiful work than I ever could. A true talent, she is.”

  Miria set it back down on the table and shook her head. “I can’t afford it. I’ve only got a few silvers left.”

  Marvin tapped his finger on the leather cover as he considered that. “I was hoping for ten silvers, but for you, I could part with it for four.”

  “I couldn’t—”

  Before she could finish her protest, Marvin tucked the leather-bound sketchbook and a fresh stick of charcoal into a small canvas bag. “I insist.” He held the bag out for her, nudging it against her hand.

  “Thank you,” she said, offering him a smile as she handed over the last of her coins. “I’ll pay you back for what this is really worth.”

  Miria fought her way out of the market and sprinted down the road toward the Silver Leaf. The bell on the doorframe chimed to announce her entry. The door swung shut behind her as she paused to catch her breath.

  Her stop at the marketplace made her nearly half an hour late to work, but it didn’t matter. The tavern was filled only with the lingering odor of smoke that clung to the air inside.

  Zephyr stepped out from the kitchen and raised an eyebrow. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

  Miria stuffed the bag with Azalea’s sketchbook under the bar. “I had to make a stop on the way here. Doesn’t look like I missed much.”

  Zephyr wiped his hands on his apron, which was soaked with splatters of water and soap bubbles. “Other than all of the work it takes to open the tavern up for the night and get ready for the game tonight? No, not much.”

  “Shit,” Miria groaned. “I forgot that was tonight.”

  Twice a week, the Silver Leaf hosted a game of cards for the usual lot of scoundrels who came to gamble away their meager earnings. Most nights, if she had any money to spare, Miria would join them. But that wouldn’t be an option tonight.

  “I appreciate you doing all of the work so I didn’t have to,” Miria said sweetly as she fastened her own apron around her waist. “Is Eldrin in tonight?”

  “He probably would’ve gone off on you for being late if he was here. He was in a mood earlier—the vamps came to get him to help with a supply delivery from the Second District.”

  When the Silver Leaf regulars began to arrive later that evening, tired from a long day of work, they took their seats at the three tables that had been pushed together for their nightly game of cards.

  Among them was Eldrin, back from his assignment. He took a seat at the center of the table, a deck of cards in hand, and waved Miria over. “Late again?”

  Miria set a tall glass in front of him. “How’d you know?”

  “You’re always late.” Eldrin shot her a sideways glare as he took a drink. “There are far worse jobs in this district you could try once I decide to fire you for it, you know.”

  She hoisted herself up on the table next to him and grinned. “Guess I’m lucky the regulars here like me so much,
then.”

  “We’d like you better if you stopped taking all of our money,” one of the men said with a feigned scowl. “I’ve been working my ass off on the river all day, and by the end of the night, every coin I’ve earned will somehow find its way into your pocket.”

  Miria rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, your money is safe from me tonight. I don’t have anything left to buy my way into tonight’s game.”

  “Don’t be too hard on her. All of her winnings end up in my pocket after she drinks them all away,” Eldrin added, earning a round of raucous laughter from the table.

  “You all seem to forget that she learned everything she knows from me.” Girard’s appearance had gone unnoticed in the midst of the discussion. He dropped a bag full of coins on the table with a dramatic flair. Several of the coins rolled out across the table, landing in front of Eldrin.

  “If Girald’s playing tonight, I guess I should be grateful I don’t have any money to lose.” Her grin quickly faded as she took a closer look at the man who’d raised her and Azalea into adulthood. His confident entrance had concealed how frail he had become. The lines on his face had deepened and darkened, making him look like he’d aged two hundred years since she’d last seen him.

  It had only been two years since the death of his wife, Avaline. Two years since he chose to go to work in the leyline mines. At the time, he’d said it was because he needed a change of pace.

  No one went to the leyline mines for a change of pace. The job was dangerous, often deadly. He’d gone so he could sooner reunite with Avaline in the After.

  It broke Miria’s heart, but she understood.

  “Oh, don’t be modest, Miria,” Girard said with a wide, toothy grin, interrupting her thoughts. “You’ve been beating me at my own game since you were twelve.”

  “Only when you let me win.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’m looking forward to watching you give them all hell tonight.”