Silk Over Razor Blades (20 page)

‘Are you okay?’ Tristen’s voice
quivered. He pulled her close and stroked her hair. He seemed not
to notice when his hands came away bloody. ‘Your face — what did he
do to you?’ He held her all the way to the hospital then watched
while a team of doctors cleaned and stitched her face.

Hours later, in a cold white
room at the back of the hospital, Lenina longed to feel his arms
around her again. But he refused to meet her gaze.

‘Miss Miller?’ Thorne stepped
away from the wall and placed his hand on the table. ‘Can you hear
me?’

‘Hey,’ snapped Tristen. His
eyes narrowed to thin slits. ‘Give her a minute.’

Though grateful for his
intervention, Lenina knew she had to answer. ‘I’m listening,
Detective.’

‘Would you like me to call
anyone? There must be someone you want to talk to. Friend?
Family?’

‘No.’

‘Somewhere to stay? You can’t
go back to your house tonight. Do you have somewhere to go?’

‘No. Yes.’

‘Which is it, Miss Miller?’

Tristen slapped the flat of his
hand against wall. ‘Brad, take it easy.’

‘No,
you
do your job.’
Thorne gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, then let it out
slowly. ‘We need to get her somewhere safe.’

She ran a finger around the rim
of her coffee cup. ‘I have a friend nearby. I’ll stay with
her.’

His voice softened. ‘Would you
like me to call her?’

‘No.’

From the corner of her eye she
saw him gazing down at the top of her head. Then Tristen shuffled
his chair closer and wedged himself between them. His gaze brushed
hers, melancholic and desperate. It slid away again just as fast, a
guilty action quickly suppressed.

Thorne’s fingers twitched on
the table then slipped away. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Miss
Miller.’

The door opened a crack.
Through it came a young sandy-haired nurse. ‘Are you officers
nearly done? I have some paperwork for you.’

The bigger man huffed a heavy
breath. He glanced at Tristen, then waved away the nurse. ‘I’m
coming. Miss Miller?’

She looked up.

‘Detective Blake will look
after you now.’ His voice became heavy. ‘I know it’s easier said
than done, but try to get some rest.’ He stepped out. Stuffy
silence filled the space left by his body. The smell of cigarettes
and takeaway burgers lingered in his wake.

‘Lenina—’ Tristen began.

She raised a hand towards him.
‘Don’t. Please.’

More silence.

Eventually he reached across
the table. He touched her fingers and the contact was electric. A
shiver rippled through her body. Her mouth became dry. Very slowly,
Lenina pulled her hand away.

Tristen bit his lip and moved
his hands to his lap. ‘Talk to me.’ His voice was low. Hushed.
Desperate.

‘And say what?’

‘Anything. Whatever you need to
say. I want to help you, but—’

‘You can’t help me.’ She wiped
her face, catching the edge of the soft dressing covering the
horrific slash on her left cheek. The stitches ached and pulled on
her skin, delivering a stab of pain each time she spoke. Requesting
more painkillers was pointless; she’d already had. The doctors
insisted that she wait at least three hours before her next dose.
Joys of a vampire metabolism.

‘Let me try. I can’t imagine
what you’re going through but please, let me try.’ His hand snaked
out again, palm up. Small wrinkles formed at the corners of his
eyes. ‘Please?’

Lenina reached across the table
and placed her hand in his. He closed his fingers around hers and
squeezed, as if he could force his own strength into her. A tiny
smile touched his lips. ‘I’ll do whatever you need, Lenina.
Anything.’

Like when they first met, the
words seemed loaded with additional meaning. Though she tried to
shake it away, the weight of his gaze and the touch of his hand
made her palms moisten. Her lips parted.

A door slammed open somewhere
outside the room. Loud shouts and curses accompanied the tramp of
many footsteps and the squeal of gurney wheels. Another door
crashed shut. The spell between them splintered and died.

Lenina looked away and worked
to steady her breathing, abruptly aware that she’d been holding her
breath. She freed her fingers.

Tristen leaned back in his
chair and returned to fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.
‘We’ll process the clippings from your hair and fingernails as soon
as possible. We should have some information by the start of next
week. Brad already called Gwendolin, you won’t need to do
that.’

Mention of Nick’s mother
threatened to shatter the carefully erected wall Lenina had built
around her emotions. She swallowed. ‘Thanks.’

‘You won’t get your clothes
back, but you can keep those trousers. And that shirt.’

Lenina glanced at the rolled up
sleeves of the borrowed sweatshirt. Stripped even of her underwear,
the foreign clothing rasped against her skin with unforgiving
coarseness.

‘Thanks.’

Through the silence Lenina
heard the bustle of the rest of the hospital. The clack of keyboard
keys and the occasional raised voice. The air smelled of stale
coffee, antibacterial gel and sickness.

‘Let’s go. I’ll take you to
your friend’s house.’ He held out his hand. When she took it, a
faint tingle across her palm echoed the first time they touched.
His fingers tightened on hers.

***

In the car, a plain grey
vehicle, with a police radio in place of a CD player, she curled
around her seat belt and gazed out the window, watching the world
outside slide through her reflection. It blurred, much as Jason had
when he’d plunged down with that dagger. The thought of his
persistence made her cringe and test the integrity of the mental
door holding his thoughts away from hers. Would it also protect her
location? It hadn’t before.

The car idled at a set of
traffic lights and Lenina found her mind drifting, picking apart
the encounter in her house with the care and attention she usually
reserved for museum samples. Part of her baulked at the cold
analysis of her actions, the rest was grateful for it.

Nick was dead. Probably lying
on a cold metal table to be prodded and poked by medical
professionals with no idea of who he was or what he meant to
anybody. He would mean nothing to them but a number and a name,
probably written on a small piece of card, attached to a pale big
toe with a thin piece of string.

His face swam before her, the
kind smile, crooked nose, dimpled chin. And his eyes: so very, very
blue. The image changed. The smile became a scream. The chin a
bloodied stretch of skin. Blue, washed out and empty.

She tasted his blood. So sweet.
So smooth. Gliding down her throat like the liquid silk and
touching every part of her with its warmth. Better than food.
Better than sex. Better than Pauline.

The truth struck her so hard
she thumped back against the seat, staring out the window while her
fingers trembled.

Two deaths. One night.

I really am a
monster
.

Where then were the tears? The
frenzied confessions of guilt? There was no guilt, just the gentle
pulse of pleasure as she remembered the blood. The taste. The
smell. The power.

Who would be next?

She unclipped her seat belt and
yanked at her door handle.

Tristen gave a cry of alarm.
‘What are you doing?’

‘I can’t stay with you. It’s
too dangerous. I might— he could—’

The car slowed but didn’t stop.
‘Sit back, Lenina. Put your belt on.’

‘No. I have to leave. Let me
out.’

Stoney silence.

‘Open the door!’ Breaking the
lock would be easy, as would leaping from the car even as it moved.
She could roll across the tarmac and leap up unharmed, running
before he had any chance of catching her.

Her skin tingled with the need
to flee.

‘I know you’re scared, but this
isn’t the way. You need to let us help. Let
me
help.’

‘You can’t.’

‘I’ll protect you.’

‘What about everyone else?’ The
words burst free before she understood them, but as soon as they
were loose, Lenina knew the truth. Jason found her once; he could,
and would, do so again.

She turned her attention to the
imagined door between herself and the ginger haired monster. Still
in place. Still sturdy. For now. She added several chains, a
padlock and a deadbolt to the projection in her head. The sense of
solitude in her own mind deepened.

Better, but not foolproof.

Lenina faced Tristen. ‘I can’t
go to Ramona’s house. What if he knows about her? She won’t be
safe.’

From him or from me.

‘What do you want to do?’

‘A hotel? B&B?’

Shadows striped Tristen’s face
and shoulders in a rhythmic pattern as he drove. His hands gripped
the steering wheel at a textbook two-and-ten but his attention
strayed from the road.

‘I can’t let you do that. You
need to be with someone.’

‘So I can put them in danger
too?’ Her insides writhed as she considered it. In that moment, she
had no idea who was the bigger threat. ‘I’m not myself. And that
man attacked me in my house. I won’t risk leading him to my
friends.’

Tristen pursed his lips.
‘Fine.’ He stamped the foot brake, bringing the car to a squealing
stop on the side of the road. Ignoring the toots and waving fists
from other cars, he performed a daring U-turn and sped off in the
opposite direction.

Catching her sidelong look he
fixed his gaze on the road and squared his shoulders. ‘We’re going
to my house.’

Panic fluttered through her
belly, followed by a stab of pleasure. Then confusion. ‘Is that
allowed?’

He wouldn’t meet her gaze,
looking instead at the road with an expression of deep
concentration. ‘You’ll be safe and among company. If this guy has
been following you he won’t know anything about me. You can have my
bed; I’ll sleep downstairs. However we do this, I’m not leaving you
alone tonight.’ At last he met her gaze, pausing at a set of
traffic lights to stare into her eyes.

Even in the darkness the green
of his irises was visible, bright and vibrant like a pair of
emeralds. His hair billowed around his face, dancing in the gusts
from the air conditioning.

When the lights changed he
returned his attention to the road. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to
call someone?’

‘I will. Soon.’

Lenina returned to watching the
streets roll by.

After hours of hustle and
noise, question after question, and constant looks of pity on every
face she saw, sitting in silence suited her. The pity bothered her
most. While there was no way for the officers to know the truth of
Nick’s death, knowing she didn’t deserve their kind looks and
gentle words made her stomach writhe. That, more than any other
thought, stopped Lenina reaching out to her friends and family.
Instead she sat in Tristen’s car, enjoyed the steady rhythm of his
breathing and the faint traces of peppermint on his breath each
time he spoke.

After ten minutes he nosed the
car on to a drive lined with pruned hedges. Lenina gazed at the red
brick, polished windows and small garden filled with flowers. Two
small gnomes with silly hats and fishing rods stood to one edge of
a tiny pond made of shiny plastic.

‘This is where you live? Seems
. . . not like you. Too homely.’

‘I’m homely.’ Tristen appeared
hurt.

She patted his hand. ‘You’re
young, good looking and single with a good job. I expected a
bachelor pad.’

‘You think I’m good
looking?’

Lenina nibbled her thumb nail.
‘Did I say that?’

He shrugged, though not without
a tiny smile. ‘Maybe I misheard. But . . . I was married once.’

‘Really?’

‘Her name was Ava. Pretty
woman. Smart. Funny. She looked like you too. Something in your
eyes.’

‘What happened to her?’

‘She died.’ The flat way he
said it told Lenina that part of the conversation was over.

***

The off-white carpet, tasteful
decor and spotless furniture forced Lenina to rethink her opinion
of single men even further.

Tristen ushered her along the
front passageway into a large, open room. Within, a three-piece
sofa suite separated the living space from the dining area. The
smell of new leather filled the room. She left her handbag on the
dining table and aimed for one of the armchairs.

‘Would you like a drink?’ He
loitered near an open arch on the left, leading through to the
kitchen.

The thought of putting anything
else in her mouth made her stomach growl. ‘No, thanks. I just want
to lie down.’

‘I’ll clean the bedroom first,
then you can go upstairs.’

She watched him leave, cupping
her face in her hands. How had she come to be here? How did
everything deteriorate so quickly? The band of her engagement ring
scraped her eyebrow, a quick stab of pain. Lenina’s breathing
caught in her throat as she twirled the band around her finger,
watching the light caress the diamonds on its crest.

Nick hadn’t deserved to die.
Had Jason been the one to kill him, the loss might be easier to
bear, but Lenina couldn’t blame him. His bite had started it all,
but the choices were hers. Replaying the events in her mind made no
difference to the fact.

Something inside her
wanted
to hurt Nick. Something longed to hear him scream and
beg and refused to release her until she fed those desires. A dark
creature lurking deep inside over which she had little or no
control.

That thought frightened her,
far more than the memory of what she did to the man she supposedly
loved.

But I did love him. Didn’t I?
We were getting married.

She heard Tristen moving
directly overhead, opening and closing cupboards. His features swam
before her mind’s eye, kind and gentle. The teasing tilt to his
smile. The low lure in his voice.