The air was cold, permeated with perfume scents and a whiff of liquor. Jane inhaled until her lungs ached and there was no room for anything else.
The veil of memory was lifted, revealing a lounge full of people and Jim standing in front of her.
Right. The club. In the middle of James's nest. And she was being questioned.
Heat climbed up to her neck, settling on her face like a fever. If the scene hadn't played out just seconds ago, his hysterical act might have convinced her that she had done something so atrocious.
"To answer your stupid question, I didn't say anything," she paused, her lips curling with contempt. "You should even consider thanking me…for giving you some leftovers."
The air between them went cold. No one spoke; the only sound was the music seeping into the space. Jim stared down at the floor, hiding all his expression beneath a head full of curls.
Did turning into a vampire change a person that much, or was this who he truly was from the beginning? Jane couldn't decide. She could only hope that she wouldn't have to figure it out herself one day.
A low chuckle broke the silence. He lifted his head, a familiar smirk replacing his fake sulk.
"It never hurts to try," he said. "Especially when you aren't so bright."
"What?"
Ignoring her, Jim slumped back against the sofa cushions, carelessly throwing an arm over the unconscious girl's shoulder.
"Peter Anderson. Third son of the Anderson Group. The one you choose to suck up to?"
Her spine stiffened at the name and her nails bit into her palms at his choice of words.
"Others might turn a blind eye, but I can't, Jane. What happened to you? Since when did you fall behind?"
"What… I…"
"You used to be so bright. The one my mom bragged about after running into yours at the market."
He tilted his head, his voice switching to a casual tone like he was discussing the weather.
"I guess your name is still in people's mouths. They're guessing whether you're a drug addict, a whore, or both."
The words sank in, and they dropped into her stomach. Jane stared at her feet, her hands trembling by her sides. The room seemed to spin, and she was pinned to the center of it all.
"Whore is a bit of a strong word. We just wondered if you have any special skills," a girl chuckled from her right side.
Waves of cold nausea rose.
"Probably nothing more special than the others. He lost interest. Pay up," another voice—male, coming from the same direction.
Move your feet, Jane.
"Are you blind? The boy was sulking, probably not used to being used."
Move!
"How did you get him to give you the pills? Damn! I could've saved a fortune if I were a girl."
"You can still try."
More laughter echoed, laced with disgusting intentions.
"Careful. He's still at a higher rank than all of you," an elegant voice came from the left corner.
"Yes."
"Sorry, Valeira."
Jane didn't know who the voice belonged to, nor could she find the courage to look up. But for a split second, she was able to breathe.
"You're not gonna tell him, right?" someone mocked.
"Wait," another person spoke. "How does she survive the pills?"
Dread. And cold flooded in at the same time, seeping through every single pore and lingering on her skin.
How did they know? Was it Arlo? Samuel? Did Peter tell them?
No, she never felt like they were that close.
Lauren? No, that old lawyer had nothing to do with a bunch of teenagers.
And the deal happened behind closed doors. In that room that he reserved. So how could they have known?
Her mind rushed through every name, every encounter that could lead to this moment, until her head went blank.
It was her.
Once. It was a one-time mistake when her hand reached into the pocket for a cigarette and the plastic bags got pulled out along with it. One bag for one pill, and multiple empty bags lay on the floor.
The reaction had been bizarre, but she hadn't cared. Strangers entered the circle all the time.
Jane shut her eyes for a second. Their stares pressed against the back of her neck, making it almost impossible to stand straight. But she couldn't stay silent. If things ended right here, an open question would be the last thing they remembered.
A spark flickered in her mind, and she was able to grasp it.
None of them knew the truth anyway. Only she knew how she had survived consuming that pill.
Jane forced her head up. Her body trembled, frail and on the verge of falling, but the defiance on her face was the only thing they could see.
"Are you… an idiot?" she smirked. "Of course I didn't take the full pill."
Her words landed in that split second before the music dropped, soft and impossible to miss.
The vampire froze, taken aback by her words. Next to him, his friends snickered.
And that was all it took.
His features twisted into pure rage. His chest heaved as his whole body faced toward her.
"Fucking bitch!"
As expected, only anger could burn their rationality to zero.
Jane's hand shot into her pocket, her fingers holding tight to the pin. The edge of the low table dug into her calves. Nowhere to hide, nowhere to dodge, not unless she wanted to pay for the damaged furniture—
Oh fuck it!
Jane moved forward. So many things happened at the same time, but none of them was what she had expected.
A tremendous pressure crushed her wrist, forcing her to drop the pin.
Something flashed by the sofa, followed by Jim's gut-wrenching scream.
The vampire lunging toward Jane stopped dead in his tracks. Disbelief washed over his face, his mouth falling open in a strangled gasp for air.
"SIT!"
The word vibrated straight through her chest. In her peripheral vision, a muscular arm extended right past her shoulder. Long and veiny fingers clamped around the attacker's neck.
With her wrist still trapped in his other hand, Jane turned her head slowly.
First, she saw the clenched jawline. Then the high bridge of his nose that covered almost everything above it.
Their eyes met.
James.
Deep in his eyes were the dark green of a forest after dawn. Two deep creases etched between his eyebrows, hinting at a silent storm brewing.
The grip on her arm shifted, and with one violent throw, she hit the floor.
James glared down at her. His hateful eyes were doing one of two things: threatening her to get out of his sight, or trying to erase her existence.
Jane didn't endure it for too long. Scrambling to her feet, she stumbled out of the lounge.
Her body shrank into the crowd, vanishing until he could no longer see the messy black hair and the disheveled blazer.
James turned his attention to the body slumped over the sofa.
This newborn was proving to be "beyond" his expectations. So far, he had offered no useful information, but had killed one hostess and been stabbed by another.
James took a step when an uncomfortable lump pressed into the sole of his shoes.
He crouched.
Picking the small metal object from the floor, he turned it over in his palm. A gold pin shaped like three leaves, embellished with the same number of gemstones.
"James."
Impatience and disgust flashed through his eyes, but by the time he turned around, all expression had smoothed away, leaving nothing but a rigid line pressed into his lips.
The woman coiled around him like a snake. One arm hooked around the crook of his neck, the other slowly crawling over the broad span of his shoulder.
"I must say," she whispered, her lips brushing the skin below his ears. "This whole… rigid... misanthropic... persona… fits you."
James's body stiffened. A thick cord of muscle flared from beneath his jaw down to his collarbone, tightening around his throat like a robe.
With a silent smirk, the woman let go and slouched back against the sofa. "I want another shot."
And from her red lips, his hell began.
***
Jane rushed onto the dance floor, ducking and weaving through the heavy bodies with a pathetic sense of relief.
When her eyes met his, she froze. Fear and probably guilt poured over her. He looked at her like she had done something so horrible—and she had. She killed his friend.
Jane slowed down until she eventually stopped moving. Her shoulders hunched forward as her ragged breathing finally caught up to her chest.
A selfish part of her wanted people to forget it; the other part betrayed and showed empathy to those who didn't.
Then, a string of light bled to where she stood, blinding her for a moment. When her vision cleared, her mind had been dragged back to a different room. One with a bed and a burgundy wall.
"Is this how it's going to be? A piece of paper?" Peter's voice echoed in her ears.
"Yes."
This is how it should have been.
Jane cringed, the memory of her own thoughts making her disgusted. Too punchy, too unnecessary, and even the barely-sane version of herself knew better than to say it.
Yet, a weird satisfaction followed. She got the pills by holding him to his own words. There was this one specific clause in the contract: each party is obligated to fulfill their role upon request.
Jane had noticed it the first time she read it. How could she not? What an insane thing to leave on paper, considering her role was to provide blood. It was a legal trap, clearly designed to benefit him…
She had felt so… proud at that moment. But standing there now, her smile faded.
He never once used that line on her.
For all the theories and bad intentions she had projected onto him, he never did any.
Jane spun on her heel. Her walk broke into a hasty stride in the opposite direction, heading toward the stairs where she should have gone an hour ago.
Behind her, the heavy doors sealed shut again, cutting off the lights from the outside world.
The two guards remained in their positions. Their arms crossed in front of their body as they shared one fleeting, silent look of understanding.
No one should ever leave the club with regret.