one eyebrow and laughed, though it sounded bitter to my ears. “You sure about that? I mean, the stories I’ve heard . . .”
“Like what?” I took a step back from him, pressing up against the shower stall.
“The usual rumor mill junk—I’m sure you’ve heard it too. Sick games he plays with his Donors, and that they burn out even faster than usual. All the Bressovs are that way—the backhanded dealings, the abuse and scumbaggery. You know how it is with the old Families. Money, power, and centuries upon centuries of life at the top of the food chain keeps them full of themselves.”
“Lucio wasn’t so bad,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, and look what it got him.” Finch ran his finger around the curve of my shoulder and along my reedy arm. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
He leaned forward. His breath was hot, and spicy with the smell of a real-meat meal. For the leader of a ragtag band of freedom fighters, he sure ate well. His eyes locked onto mine; his pressed his mouth forward.
But all I could think of was Victor Bressov and the alluring, shapely shelf of his lips. The swift flick of his fingertips . . . I tightened one hand into a fist and turned my head the other way. “No.”
“No?” he repeated, eyebrows raised. Had I ever denied him before? Usually I was the one chasing after him, pouting when he blew me off to head to some clandestine meeting or to run some minor operation.
“Just . . . not tonight. Please.” I ducked out from under his arm and turned away from him. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, is all.”
Lordy, did that barely begin to cover it.
“Okay, Raven, I’m sorry.” Finch grabbed at my towel. “Listen, how about you get some rest—”
The towel pulled away from my backside in his hand. He didn’t make a sound, but he didn’t have to. I could feel his gaze running over my bruised and battered ass like the blade of a knife. I tugged the towel back into place, but it was too late. He knew. He had to have known.
“ . . . Yeah. Just get some rest, kid.” He smiled sadly. “Only those who die can truly live,” he added, echoing the Resistance’s slogan.
His footsteps rang through the tiny compartment, and the door swooshed open and shut behind him.
I slumped against the door to my wardrobe, letting the cold from the plastic seep into my cheek. This was going to get real complicated, real fast.
But I didn’t have time to worry about what Finch thought of me. My presence was required at the social event of the season, which, if the Stream video was to be believed, might just be the most important event to befall our Republic since Lucio Bressov’s assassination. I squeezed and shimmied and stuffed and tucked and fluffed my way into the absurdly expensive dress Victor had sent me, and tried (unsuccessfully) to stop myself from imagining how that dress would feel if Victor were to also peel it off of me.
Chapter Four
I felt completely ridiculous riding the mag lift up to street level in my couture gown and metallic corset. Not many humans traipse around this late at night—not any you want to encounter—so at least there was room on the lift for me to breathe, but between the metal binding my waist and the tight fist of anxiety that had hold of me, it was little comfort. A grim-mouthed old Laborer eyed me up and down, probably guessing that I was headed Uptown, and sighed to himself. Traitor, indeed.
Once I reached the street level, I transferred to a horizontal mag train that actually had seats and smelled like it had been cleaned sometime in the past century. There were a lot more Vampyrs on the train, hopping on and off as it slithered between the looming towers of New Sanguinus, but I took comfort in knowing that the other humans on the train were traitors like me—ones who had simpered and ass-kissed their way into one of the Families’ good graces, selling out our race so they could enjoy an apartment proper and a view of actual sky . Not
“Like what?” I took a step back from him, pressing up against the shower stall.
“The usual rumor mill junk—I’m sure you’ve heard it too. Sick games he plays with his Donors, and that they burn out even faster than usual. All the Bressovs are that way—the backhanded dealings, the abuse and scumbaggery. You know how it is with the old Families. Money, power, and centuries upon centuries of life at the top of the food chain keeps them full of themselves.”
“Lucio wasn’t so bad,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, and look what it got him.” Finch ran his finger around the curve of my shoulder and along my reedy arm. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
He leaned forward. His breath was hot, and spicy with the smell of a real-meat meal. For the leader of a ragtag band of freedom fighters, he sure ate well. His eyes locked onto mine; his pressed his mouth forward.
But all I could think of was Victor Bressov and the alluring, shapely shelf of his lips. The swift flick of his fingertips . . . I tightened one hand into a fist and turned my head the other way. “No.”
“No?” he repeated, eyebrows raised. Had I ever denied him before? Usually I was the one chasing after him, pouting when he blew me off to head to some clandestine meeting or to run some minor operation.
“Just . . . not tonight. Please.” I ducked out from under his arm and turned away from him. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, is all.”
Lordy, did that barely begin to cover it.
“Okay, Raven, I’m sorry.” Finch grabbed at my towel. “Listen, how about you get some rest—”
The towel pulled away from my backside in his hand. He didn’t make a sound, but he didn’t have to. I could feel his gaze running over my bruised and battered ass like the blade of a knife. I tugged the towel back into place, but it was too late. He knew. He had to have known.
“ . . . Yeah. Just get some rest, kid.” He smiled sadly. “Only those who die can truly live,” he added, echoing the Resistance’s slogan.
His footsteps rang through the tiny compartment, and the door swooshed open and shut behind him.
I slumped against the door to my wardrobe, letting the cold from the plastic seep into my cheek. This was going to get real complicated, real fast.
But I didn’t have time to worry about what Finch thought of me. My presence was required at the social event of the season, which, if the Stream video was to be believed, might just be the most important event to befall our Republic since Lucio Bressov’s assassination. I squeezed and shimmied and stuffed and tucked and fluffed my way into the absurdly expensive dress Victor had sent me, and tried (unsuccessfully) to stop myself from imagining how that dress would feel if Victor were to also peel it off of me.
Chapter Four
I felt completely ridiculous riding the mag lift up to street level in my couture gown and metallic corset. Not many humans traipse around this late at night—not any you want to encounter—so at least there was room on the lift for me to breathe, but between the metal binding my waist and the tight fist of anxiety that had hold of me, it was little comfort. A grim-mouthed old Laborer eyed me up and down, probably guessing that I was headed Uptown, and sighed to himself. Traitor, indeed.
Once I reached the street level, I transferred to a horizontal mag train that actually had seats and smelled like it had been cleaned sometime in the past century. There were a lot more Vampyrs on the train, hopping on and off as it slithered between the looming towers of New Sanguinus, but I took comfort in knowing that the other humans on the train were traitors like me—ones who had simpered and ass-kissed their way into one of the Families’ good graces, selling out our race so they could enjoy an apartment proper and a view of actual sky . Not
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