and somehow, with her assistance, managed to put myself into something like a presentable shape.
Back in the grand ballroom, the crowd had grown increasingly drunk and rowdy, the smell of alcohol, perfume, and drying blood hanging thick over the chamber like a fog. Instead of relegating the lewd displays to the exhibition hall, we passed several clusters of Vampyrs and their human pets engaged in various acts of sex, Donation, and some interesting combinations thereof.
My skin felt set on edge by the energy, the vibrancy, the hunger swirling all around us. I could hear every conversation surrounding us like it was its own silky ribbon coiling around me. The throbbing bass line of the music seemed to echo the beating of thousands of hearts, however artificial their pumping might be. So many colors, swirling overhead, and splashed across the fine gowns and suits and makeup and coifs. Everything looked too sharp, too real, like I could cut myself on it.
“I know,” Nastasya murmured, taking my staggering, swaying gait for a sign of lingering pain, perhaps. “It must take some getting used to. I’ve heard Victor can be . . . a true savage. More than one would expect, even from a Vampyr.”
I did ache, to be sure. But the twinge of every bruise and cut was like a boon. I stood straighter, knowing what I’d endured and come out of stronger.
Save for that nasty-looking bite on my knee. I’d never seen his fangs emerge. Surely he couldn’t have bitten me with them—it had to have been from his normal teeth alone. I flinched. I didn’t even want to contemplate the possibility that the Vampyr venom was working its way through my veins and my brain.
“Just remember.” Nastasya smiled at me, eyes twinkling. “It may be painful now, but only those who die can truly live.”
The slogan of the Resistance. My jaw dropped. “You’re—you’re one of—”
“Shh.” She pressed one finger to my lips. “We immortals may not die naturally, but it doesn’t mean we can’t respect the natural order of things. All this . . . unnaturalness. Seems like a rather lot of work, doesn’t it?” Nastasya sighed. “There has to be a better way. One less degrading to your side, and that doesn’t falsely reward ours.”
I rocked back on my heels, trying to parse my words. Finch hadn’t prepared me for this possibility—that there could be Vampyrs who were actually sympathetic to our cause. Of course, it could always be a trap, but something in Nastasya’s eyes told me otherwise. She’d been to o kind to me when she didn’t have to be. When she had nothing to gain for it. And Vampyrs were all about only doing things that would directly benefit them.
But before I could answer, a squadron of waiters began to weave through the crowd, offering up flutes of champagne as well as shot glasses of blood, the glass color-coded by type. Nastasya and I both chose the champagne, but the waiter leaned toward me with a bow and produced a black box tied with ribbon from his suit pocket.
“ From Lord Bressov, miss.”
As the rest of the ballroom sipped their champagne and chattered excitedly, wondering what grand announcement was about to transpire, I tugged the ribbon free and cracked the box open. Nastasya arched one eyebrow and waited expectantly for me to show her the contents.
But I wanted to keep it all for myself.
Nestled in the velvet of the box was a metal collar, coated in fine filigree scrollwork. It snapped shut in the back, and in the front hung a metal ring. I clutched the box to my chest as possibilities cascaded through me. Victor pulling a chain through the fastening to restrain me, or maneuver me around . . . Victor gripping me hard by the collar as he thrust into me from behind . . .
The handwritten notecard with the collar read simply, Bring this with you tomorrow, but don’t yet put it on. I’ll know if you’ve cheated.
An eager thrill ran through me at the possibility of just how he might punish me for
Back in the grand ballroom, the crowd had grown increasingly drunk and rowdy, the smell of alcohol, perfume, and drying blood hanging thick over the chamber like a fog. Instead of relegating the lewd displays to the exhibition hall, we passed several clusters of Vampyrs and their human pets engaged in various acts of sex, Donation, and some interesting combinations thereof.
My skin felt set on edge by the energy, the vibrancy, the hunger swirling all around us. I could hear every conversation surrounding us like it was its own silky ribbon coiling around me. The throbbing bass line of the music seemed to echo the beating of thousands of hearts, however artificial their pumping might be. So many colors, swirling overhead, and splashed across the fine gowns and suits and makeup and coifs. Everything looked too sharp, too real, like I could cut myself on it.
“I know,” Nastasya murmured, taking my staggering, swaying gait for a sign of lingering pain, perhaps. “It must take some getting used to. I’ve heard Victor can be . . . a true savage. More than one would expect, even from a Vampyr.”
I did ache, to be sure. But the twinge of every bruise and cut was like a boon. I stood straighter, knowing what I’d endured and come out of stronger.
Save for that nasty-looking bite on my knee. I’d never seen his fangs emerge. Surely he couldn’t have bitten me with them—it had to have been from his normal teeth alone. I flinched. I didn’t even want to contemplate the possibility that the Vampyr venom was working its way through my veins and my brain.
“Just remember.” Nastasya smiled at me, eyes twinkling. “It may be painful now, but only those who die can truly live.”
The slogan of the Resistance. My jaw dropped. “You’re—you’re one of—”
“Shh.” She pressed one finger to my lips. “We immortals may not die naturally, but it doesn’t mean we can’t respect the natural order of things. All this . . . unnaturalness. Seems like a rather lot of work, doesn’t it?” Nastasya sighed. “There has to be a better way. One less degrading to your side, and that doesn’t falsely reward ours.”
I rocked back on my heels, trying to parse my words. Finch hadn’t prepared me for this possibility—that there could be Vampyrs who were actually sympathetic to our cause. Of course, it could always be a trap, but something in Nastasya’s eyes told me otherwise. She’d been to o kind to me when she didn’t have to be. When she had nothing to gain for it. And Vampyrs were all about only doing things that would directly benefit them.
But before I could answer, a squadron of waiters began to weave through the crowd, offering up flutes of champagne as well as shot glasses of blood, the glass color-coded by type. Nastasya and I both chose the champagne, but the waiter leaned toward me with a bow and produced a black box tied with ribbon from his suit pocket.
“ From Lord Bressov, miss.”
As the rest of the ballroom sipped their champagne and chattered excitedly, wondering what grand announcement was about to transpire, I tugged the ribbon free and cracked the box open. Nastasya arched one eyebrow and waited expectantly for me to show her the contents.
But I wanted to keep it all for myself.
Nestled in the velvet of the box was a metal collar, coated in fine filigree scrollwork. It snapped shut in the back, and in the front hung a metal ring. I clutched the box to my chest as possibilities cascaded through me. Victor pulling a chain through the fastening to restrain me, or maneuver me around . . . Victor gripping me hard by the collar as he thrust into me from behind . . .
The handwritten notecard with the collar read simply, Bring this with you tomorrow, but don’t yet put it on. I’ll know if you’ve cheated.
An eager thrill ran through me at the possibility of just how he might punish me for
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