I’m grateful for clothing that is from this century, as I slide into the wide-legged pants and button-down shirt. Everything, including the black heels, fits like they were purchased for me.
“We will have that ridiculous color stripped from your hair tomorrow. Unfortunately, nothing is open this time of night.”
I stare at my captor or rescuer…I’m not sure which. His eyes are a color of blue that can only be compared to the ocean, not the murky water from around New Orleans but the crystal blue of pure water. They are the perfect contrast to his nearly black hair and neatly trimmed beard. His clothes are high fashion and tailor-made for his frame.
“Why are you staring?” he asks, drawing me back to reality. I look away quickly, not sure what the proper response should be. Cyrus turns toward me. “Did he hurt you?”
What a strange question from someone who justpaid twenty thousand dollars to purchase me. “Depends on your definition of hurt,” I answer truthfully.
“Did he…force himself on you?”
“No,” I answer. “That’s the one thing he didn’t do.”
“I don’t know your story, Violet, and to be honest, it’s best that you don’t tell me.” Sitting perfectly still, I cross my hands into my lap, mimicking his perfect posture. I don’t know what’s happening, but my instincts tell me this man is safe.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask after several minutes of silence.
“My God, you do ask a lot of questions.” He sighs before answering. “If you must know, we’re going to my home in the city.”
“What are your intentions with me?”
Cyrus turns toward me. “Nothing more than to teach you how to be a vampire and make money on my investment.”
On cue, the car stops, and Cyrus steps out, reaching a hand toward me. I take a deep and unnecessary breath before stepping out behind him. I recognize the street we’re on immediately. Bourbon Street has quickly become the hot spot of the French Quarter. He motions toward a wrought iron gate nestled between two buildings. “This way.”
I follow him through the locked gate and into a beautifully manicured courtyard. Brightly coloredflowers make the area feel more like a botanical garden than a building in the middle of New Orleans.
He leads me up a narrow flight of stairs to a door with no signifying symbols or marks. “This is where we’ll be staying for a few weeks.”
“We’ll?”
“You’re an investment. One that I’m not willing to lose money on.” He unlocks the door, leading me inside.
The room we step into is not what I imagined a home in the French Quarter to look like. Dark woodwork lines the open room. In the far corner is what would be considered the kitchen. A modern ice box, electric stove, and all the conveniences I’ve only seen in magazines.
Next to the door is a couch, two chairs, and a large radio. Instead of each room having walls like a house, Cyrus’s home is one room.
“Your room is through there.” He points at a closed door on the other side of the living area. “You’ll find anything you need inside.”
My stomach growls, making me lean over slightly. “Violet, have you eaten?”
“Yes,” I whisper, refusing to give more information. Images of Dorothy’s body flash into my mind.
“Dammit. Let me guess. That bastard brought you a donor and expected you to control yourself.” I don’t answer. He sighs. “Let me get you something.”
“No, I can’t do that again.”
“You don’t have to take a life to eat.” He moves to the kitchen, returning seconds later with a glass bottle in his hand. “This is fresh.”
I take the bottle, smelling its contents through the glass. What’s left of my humanity doesn’t want to drink blood, while the monster inside me begs for every drop. I start slow, taking a small sip. The minute the blood hits my palate, I can’t control my hunger and empty the bottle in one gulp. My eyes close in response.
“More?” Cyrus asks.
I don’t want to be selfish, but my brain isn’t in control. “Yes,” I answer. The timbre of my voice surprises even me. Cyrus is in front of me a heartbeat later, with a second bottle. I drink it as quickly as the first. For the first time since waking, my stomach settles.
“Thank you,” I say, handing the empty bottle back.
“Of course.” He motions toward the Victorian-style couch. “Please, sit down.” I follow directions, making myself small and moving to the end of the couch. “I’m not going to bite you, Violet. You’re safe here.”
