Until the Sun Falls from the Sky (18 page)

The door closed behind us and I barely controlled my desire to jump or cry out. We started descending the stairs side-by-side and Lucien still hadn’t taken his hand from my arm.

“We get to The Feast, pet, you aren’t outside touching distance from me unless I specifically allow it. Am I understood?”

Oh my God.

He was taking me to A Feast. I wasn’t ready for A Feast, I was pretty sure.

“You’re understood,” I mumbled regardless of my newfound terror, making an attempt to instill in my tone the reverence Breed used, thinking this would annoy him greatly.

Apparently, it worked. His head turned sharply to the side and his fingers dug into the flesh around my elbow painfully.

When I looked up to him, forcing my face into what I hoped was innocence mixed with eagerness (Wats and Breed had given me a
great
idea), I saw his eyes narrow and his mouth grow tight.

He, and thus I, remained silent as we descended the first staircase. And the second. And the third.

At the end of the fourth, Lucien guided me into my first Feast.

I saw immediately there was a reason Wats and Breed weren’t down here. The place was a crush of beautiful people. Not thin. Not gaunt. Not heavy. Not ill-kept.

Perfect.

I didn’t know where the vampires ended and the mortals began.

And all of them were dressed impeccably. The men in tuxedos or well-cut suits, the women in evening gowns. There was no one there that looked hopeful and desperate to be chosen. No overabundance of jewels and finery. The people here were too cool, too elegant, too polished to exhibit themselves in a way that would cry for attention.

The people were the only thing about the place that was elegant.

It looked like it was made out of cement, all of it, including the bar that ran along the length of one side. The shelves at the back were glass however, covered in bottles of liquor and different shaped glasses, backlit with red lights as was the rest of the place, all of it illuminated by very dim, red lights.

The music was loud. Not rock ‘n’ roll but slow, throbbing and seductive.

As unassuming as it was, the room seemed alive as a hum of conversation ran low under the music. People were standing and talking or moving gracefully between the tightly packed bodies.

There was what amounted to a dance floor but the dancers weren’t exactly dancing. I found my attention riveted to them as I watched the bodies move, pressed tight, swaying against each other suggestively, hands moving, reaching, touching. Faces tucked into necks, lips and, even from my distance I saw a few glistening tongues gliding along jaws, cheekbones, temples, shoulders, other lips. It didn’t seem there were couples but like the group was one, a whole, anyone who joined it would be pulled into what amounted to mass foreplay.

No wonder Edwina, who thought of her girls as
good
girls, didn’t want them to come here.

I couldn’t believe Lucien brought me here.

Not that I had any problem with this kind of thing, it just wasn’t my scene.

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if this was also part of my punishment when he dropped my arm, caught my hand in his and he drove forward, propelling us through the bodies.

His grip was sure and strong as he pulled me through.

I saw people turn to him and nod acknowledgement. A few mouthed greetings.

I also saw people studying me, faces impassive, eyes scanning, too sophisticated to be overt but still betraying their curiosity.

Lucien stopped at the bar and, with a tug on my hand, yanked me through the final throng. In a tiny patch of free space, he curled his arm, whirling me so my back was plastered to his front, his arm tight around my waist, his hand still in mine and he didn’t let me go.

“What are you drinking tonight, pet?” he asked, his mouth bent to my ear and it pissed me off his deep voice sounding against my skin made me shiver.

I twisted my head and his came up to give it room to move.

I got up on tiptoes and sought his ear where I answered, “What do you want me to drink?”

Reflexively his arm tightened at my waist as his head shot up and his eyes scanned my face in the red light.

Then he looked away, clearly angry and jerked his chin at the bartender.

It was then I decided maybe I was laying it on a bit thick.

He looked back down at me, dipping his face close, his forehead touching mine, his mouth a breath away.

“I like you best when you’re drunk on vodka,” he declared. His words invoking a memory that made my stomach pitch in a way that wasn’t sickening but it hurt all the same.

I didn’t know what came over me the night before.

That wasn’t entirely true. I did.

I was drunk and my inhibitions were swept away.

They said you act most honestly when you’re drunk which gave me something else to spend my day fretting and getting angry at myself about. And last night, for the first time, I enjoyed my time with him before the bloodletting not to mention the bloodletting itself, which was, I couldn’t deny it,
unbelievable
.

By the time I’d drunk my last martini, I’d listened to both Edwina and Stephanie talking about what a great man he was, how generous he was with his concubines when they were with him and after he released them. Apparently, he not only took care of them, he still saw most of them, even the ones who were now old and frail. It didn’t hurt that the evidence of his colossal generosity was scattered around me, the clothes, the house, the housekeeper.

Sometime during the fashion parade, I’d forgotten my Why I Hate Lucien Vault and instead only remembered the good parts about him. The way a smile tugged at his mouth. The way his eyes went hooded when he knew I was watching him and I liked what I saw. The way he thought my worst traits were amusing. The way he could sometimes be gentle and patient. The way he kissed.

Good parts he showed upon arriving home, cementing in my inebriated mind that I’d been wrong about him.

Until he proved me right, that was.

His face pulled away, wrenching me from my thoughts.

I watched him glance again to the bar and order, “Two martinis, vodka, olives.”

After this, Lucien was silent and motionless until our drinks arrived. Once they did he passed a bill to the bartender. I took my drink and he repositioned us. Lucien with mostly his side but also his back to the bar. Me turned to the room, my back still tight to his front, my body snugly, possessively, even protectively held in the curve of his arm.

His mouth came back to my ear and, apropos of nothing, he murmured, “Breed and Wats are hangers.”

I hadn’t asked but I was curious to know. I turned my head to face him and when I did I saw his expression was guarded and watchful.

Yes, I’d taken it too far.

Damn.

While doing my hair for the night (Edwina wanted to do it but I put my foot down this time), I’d come up with my plan.

He wanted to instruct me?

Well, I was going to teach
him
a few lessons too.

But I’d gotten carried away.

I determined to rectify that.

“Hangers?” I asked.

He nodded.

“What does that mean?” I went on.

He looked to the room. It was a gesture I was meant to follow which I did and when I was facing the room his mouth came back to my ear. “They want to be down here.”

I stayed facing forward, something I sensed he wanted me to do and asked, “Have they ever been down here?”

“Never, and they never will,” he answered. “But they don’t give up. Obsessed with vampires and our culture, especially The Feasts. Obsessed in an unhealthy way. They’ve made themselves servants, unpaid unless someone gives them a gratuity.”

I felt badly for Breed and Wats, to want something so badly, to be so close but never to have what you want.

“How do they know about vampires?” I queried since I thought no one but those in the life did.

“They sense us,” Lucien answered. “I’ve no idea how. Very few mortals do. And those who do always become hangers.”

I found this interesting.

“Do people tip them?” I asked.

“Rarely.”

“Why?”

“They’re filthy, ill-bred, unkempt. Most vampires have the capacity to procure the finer things in life and they do, without fail. They don’t have patience for reminders that there might be something less.” I felt my body stiffen as he continued, “And they’re hangers, Leah. Zealots. They make people uncomfortable, vampires but especially the mortals. They’re not only uninvited, they aren’t wanted.”

I looked across the room, taking in the beautiful people who could afford the finer things in life who wouldn’t tolerate the not so beautiful people who had next to nothing.

Then I remembered Lucien tossing his keys to Wats and Wats’s fanatical toadying.

“Do
you
tip them?” I whispered, thinking he might not hear me, my voice was so low and forgetting he was a vampire, so of course he’d hear me.

“Always,” Lucien answered and I twisted my neck to look at him.

“Really?” I breathed, not knowing why his answer, which was the right answer, meant so much to me.

His eyes roamed my face and I watched the guard go down as they gentled.

“Really, my pet. They wouldn’t eat if it wasn’t for Cosmo and me.”

Without my permission, my body relaxed into his and I faced forward again.

His arm grew tighter around my waist as his mouth went back to my ear. “It doesn’t make us terribly popular with our kind, however.”

“Screw ‘em,” I muttered before I could stop myself and I felt his body shake with laughter as I heard his throat roar with it.

Automatically, my entire being tuned itself to his laughter. Something I hadn’t heard since yesterday morning. Something that seemed to feed me, not like chocolate or some other forbidden treat, but like essential nourishment.

I felt my throat close with fear at the very thought.

In all the time I was with him, a vampire who drank human blood, who was vastly stronger than me (hell, than anyone I knew), who hurt me and humbled me and played my body against me, I’d never felt more fear than at that moment.

He felt it or sensed it, I knew this when his mouth at my ear called questioningly, “Leah?”

I noticed it then. Something else. Something that had been playing at the edge of my consciousness since we arrived.

Actually, two things.

The first wasn’t so much real as it was an undercurrent.

The eyes. The ears. The senses. The attention. Surreptitiously people were watching us, listening to us, probably, as some of them were vampires, hearing our words, smelling my perfume mingled with his woodsy cologne.

I wasn’t the sole curiosity, being new to this crowd.

It was also Lucien. In fact, it seemed to be mostly Lucien.

It was like we were movie stars…

No.

It was like
he
was a wildly famous movie star, I was his arm candy and we’d gone out to a regular club amongst the common people.

The second thing was what I’d felt at The Selection. The weird drugged feeling. The feeling Stephanie explained was him tracking me, marking me.

“Are you marking me?” I whispered.

His arm at my waist slid up, his hand stopping at the side of my breast, his thumb stroking the skin over my dress there.

I felt his head move, his mouth no longer at my ear but his lips were against my neck.

“Yes,” he answered.

I forgot our audience, who were now getting a show, turned slightly to him and his head came up.

I got close to his face and asked, “What
is
that?”

He answered without delay. “I’ve tuned myself to you.”

I didn’t know what that meant.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“You know I can hear your heart?” he asked in return.

I nodded.

He hesitated before he went on, “You know I can control your mind?”

I swallowed before I nodded again and asked, “Are you reading my mind?”

“I can’t read your mind unless you’re speaking to me with it.”

Wow. That was a relief.

“So what are you doing?”

“I’ve adjusted you to me and me to you. At the same time I’ve attuned my senses to you, so every breath you take, every slight movement, I know it almost before you do it.”

I didn’t get it but whatever it was, it was freaking me out!

“What does that mean?”

“It means our hearts are beating in tandem. It means I’m anticipating your movements. It says to the vampires in this room who can hear it and feel it, that you’re mine.”

“Don’t they already know that?”

“Yes.”

“Then isn’t that overkill?”