Chapter Twenty-Two
The problem with pretending to be something you’re not, is you start to forget who you are.
After working hard to cultivate a passable rendition of Anja Gudrun, cultured, wealthy, powerful vampire, I almost hated to go back to being Anja Evans, confused, slightly geeky, music student. Somehow I managed to find a balance between the two. For the next couple of days I spent mornings at school, pretending to be a normal, human girl with no problems beyond the next pop quiz, thanks to Bishop’s wonder drug. I ended up dropping my afternoon classes, it wasn’t possible to stay up the whole day. While I wasn’t looking forward to having that conversation with my parents, it felt like a good compromise for the time being, better than dropping out altogether. As soon as the sun went down, I woke and hustled to my rehearsals, grateful I hadn’t had to give them up yet.
Late at night, I ventured back to The Bleeding Hart, eager to make more friends once I knew a little more what to expect and how to act. I fabricated an intricate back story for myself, of how Carys had found me in 1650 Austria and turned me. Nobody in town seemed to know anything about her, so it was easy to make up anything I liked about our life together before she died. Not that I knew a whole lot about Austria to begin with, or even how to speak their language. But it was fun to research and learn more about their history, and with a name like Anja Gudrun, I couldn’t say I was from Spain. Thanks to my new abilities, I was already on my way to learning conversational German in just a few hours of study.
It definitely helped to have a hobby, something to fill the wee hours of the night, because I didn’t hear from Bishop, except when he stopped by to give me more of the drug. I tried my hardest not to be clingy or ask him to stay, following Mason’s advice, but so far he hadn’t seemed to notice. I had to step up my game and make the bait more enticing. That meant spending time at the Hart cultivating new friendships.
The vamps at the Hart accepted me with open arms, despite the scene I’d caused with Bridget the first time I visited, though Serena avoided me like the plague. Jarrod and Leander invited me back to their table the first night, eager to learn more about me. After that, the stories grew and grew, each one feeding the next. Until I almost started to believe I was this cool, laid back, sophisticated vampire who’d spent the better part of the last three hundred years traveling the world, never setting down roots, all the better to avoid connections that could be proven false.
At the same time I was gleaning all sorts of interesting tidbits about the local vampire community. I learned that Jarrod and Leander also owned two night clubs in town that were considered premium feeding grounds due to the lack of video surveillance and the warren of private rooms on site that allowed for a quick bite if the mood struck. I learned that Aleksandr Kursik was well respected, if a little feared, and most vamps hoped to catch his notice. Conversely, most people hoped never to catch the notice of Bishop or anyone else in the Order, as they were beyond feared, as Mason said.
I tried to leave Bridget out of it as much as possible, not wanting her to be drawn into the vampire lifestyle and risk getting hurt if I could help it. She alone knew the double or triple life I was leading, and thanks to my compulsion, it didn’t bother her a bit. It was actually easier to live with her now that we almost shared the same schedule, sleeping for most of the day, waking at sunset. I knew she had another date with Rob coming up, but beyond that we didn’t share any girl talk, she’d had to work the past two nights.
By the time I got Bishop’s call to come over, I’d almost forgotten about asking him to find a source for bagged blood for me. Since I’d had so much of Stan’s blood, I hadn’t felt hungry at all over the past few days, that was something at least. Still, I wanted to see him, plus I knew I’d have to eat sooner or later, and it was a good a time as any to put the next phase of my plan into action.
A brief phone call and an hour of primping later, I showed up at his place, dressed to kill in my best dress, the one I saved for show openings. I gathered my hair up into an intricate braid, held in place with tiny crystal pins that sparkled like diamonds. My throat I left bare, maybe as an invitation considering I was on my way to visit a vampire. Did vampires find other vampire’s throats enticing? I hoped to find out.
Striking what I hoped was an appealing stance, I knocked on Bishop’s door and waited with bated breath (which actually can be quite a long time, since vampires don’t need to breathe).
Bishop’s eyes widened in surprise when he pulled the door open, and I held still while he looked his fill. I hoped for a compliment maybe, or at least a smile, but instead his brows knit together. “I hope you didn’t think I meant we’d go out when I said to come over for a bite to eat. Or did you change your mind about feeding from humans?”
So far my attempts to make him jealous were a spectacular failure. I gave him a faint smile, sailing past him into the apartment. “No, I still want to try the bagged blood. I have a date later.”
“A date?” Bishop blinked and I couldn’t help but smile inwardly.
“Yes. So is it in the fridge or…?”
“The fridge… Oh, the blood. Yes, I got you a cooler, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to keep the blood here or at your place. I don’t want you to do anything to complicate your friendship with Bridget.”
“Don’t worry about us, we’re cool. She won’t freak out if she sees the blood in the fridge.” At least I hoped not. Just because I’d compelled her not to tell anyone I was a vampire didn’t mean she would feel all warm and fuzzy about keeping human blood in the refrigerator we shared. Ah well, there was only one way to find out.
“I hope that means you took care of making absolutely sure she won’t tell anyone.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at his tone. “Of course. I know the law, brother.” He bristled at my reply, but didn’t say anything. Instead he pulled a plastic bag of blood out and tossed it on the counter where it jiggled unappealingly.
“Bon appétit,” he smirked, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed to watch me drink. Determined not to let him get to me, I made myself at home in his kitchen, reaching past him to retrieve an earthenware mug, pouring about half of the bag into the cup. Hesitantly, I lifted it to my nose. It smelled like… plastic and the refrigerator, with none of the mouthwatering appeal when it came straight from the source. Taking the smallest of sips, I tried my hardest not to gag when the taste hit my tongue. It was like drinking cold gravy the day after Thanksgiving - the texture wrong, the flavor impossibly muted. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying I told you so, I popped the mug into the microwave and set it to reheat.
“What are you doing?”
Pleased to see the thought had never occurred to him, I gave him a smug smile. “What? You don’t drink it cold, do you?”
“I try not to drink it at all,” he scowled. “Replenishing my stores in an emergency doesn’t lend itself to taking the time for the niceties of a cup and microwave.”
At the sound of the beep, I pulled the mug out, gratified to find it at least smelled better. With a tentative blow to cool it off, I took a sip, resisting the urge to grimace again. It was at least better warm, but nowhere near the delicious elixir pumping through the human body. If people tasted like that, I’d have no trouble controlling myself whatsoever. It was bound to get old drinking that day in and day out for eternity, but it was better than the alternative. Still, it was palatable, and I covered my disappointment with the mug, drinking dutifully.
“So?” Bishop cocked a brow.
“It’s fine, thank you. You should really try it heated up sometime, it makes a huge difference,” I smiled brightly.
“Good, I’m glad you found something that works for you.” He took me at my word. “I suppose you have to take off now?”
“Not especially, I’m being picked up here in a little while.”
“You are?” I’d
managed to surprise him for a second time.
“Of course. I’m supposed to live here, remember?”
“Oh, right,” Bishop nodded, leaving me in the kitchen to go to the window. I followed, mug in hand. “So, how have you been?”
“Pretty great actually. I’ve been making it to my morning classes and evening rehearsals, no problem.”
“Good, I’m glad the stims are working for you.”
“And I’ve made some new friends.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, down at The Hart. Everyone has been so friendly.”
“I’ll bet. You made quite an impression there the first time you showed up.”
“So did you,” I murmured, waving him off when he asked me to repeat what I’d said. “Have you had any luck in trying to track down my Sire?”
“No, not really. Have you had any more dreams about him, or any sightings of the man who showed up at your school?”
“No, nothing. I wish I could remember him, but… it’s all a big blank.” That wasn’t strictly true, I was fine with him not putting in an appearance now that I was starting to pull my life together, but the investigation did give me an excuse to see Bishop more often.
“I was thinking, I could take in a blood sample of yours and we might be able to trace your lineage that way.”
“My blood? Sure, if you think that wouldn’t raise any suspicions.”
“It’ll be fine. Stop by tomorrow night and I’ll be set to collect a specimen.” I was about to reply that I wasn’t sure if I’d be available the next night, when I noticed his attention was wholly focused on a dark limousine that pulled up. “You’re going to Kursik’s place again?” he demanded, his expression darkening.
I couldn’t tell if he was angry or jealous over my choice of dates, but it was definitely a reaction, and I tried to sound nonchalant. “Eventually, we’re going out first.”
“I won’t be able to pull you out of there again, he’s not a man to be trifled with.”
“You won’t need to, I’m sure I can manage a night at the ballet without you babysitting me.”
Bishop didn’t look happy with that, but he didn’t say anything else as we watched the driver alight from the vehicle to come collect me. Whether or not it bothered him, he remained silent until I turned away from the window to meet the driver at the door and Bishop called me back with a single word. “Anja…”
“What?” I asked, turning back to look at him.
“Don’t go back there.”
My heart twisted at the anguish on his face, and I took a step closer. Was he ready to admit his feelings for me? “Why not?” I breathed, silently willing him to say more.
“Are you interested in him?”
“Would you care if I was?”
The driver’s knock sounded at the door, loud in the stillness between us. For a long moment I thought he might crack, as Mason put it, but then Bishop retreated behind his familiar walls, completely dodging my question. “Stay here with me and focus on trying to find your Sire.”
“I’ll be right there!” I called out. Resisting the urge to shout in frustration, I turned around again, heading for the door so he wouldn’t see how close I was to crying. “I don’t see what help I can be, I don’t remember anything.”
“Anja, it’s important.”
“You don’t have the first clue what’s important.” I didn’t care if he heard me that time as the bitterness spilled forth.
“I think I have a better perspective on that than you think.”
“Whatever,” I muttered. “He’s waiting for me, I have to go.”
“Anja, wait…” Bishop reached the door before me, leaning against it. Everything about him screamed that he didn’t want me to go out with Aleksandr, why couldn’t he admit it? “You have your whole life ahead of you, but it won’t mean a damn thing if your Sire steps in and snaps his fingers, expecting you to drop everything and follow him. Don’t you want to find out who he is?”
“I wouldn’t do that, I’m not you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. The point is, I’m not beholden to this guy just because he made me. I’m my own vampire. He can’t step forward and claim me without getting into a whole passel of trouble, right? That’s my safety.”
“Unless he’s an Ellri.”
“I thought you said that almost never happens.”
“I’m starting to think it’s the most likely option though. Anja, an Elder can do as he pleases, your life won’t be your own.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I muttered.
“You wouldn’t say so if you’d ever met one. They can be very… persuasive.”
“So what’s the point in dwelling on it then? I might as well enjoy myself now if I’m doomed to this eternal servitude at some point, right? Besides, maybe I’ll like being in his thrall. You were very close to your Sire, right?”
“Yes,” he admitted begrudgingly.
“Don’t I deserve the same kind of connection with someone? Someone to share my life with? Someone who will appreciate my… unique attributes and find a way to love me the way I ought to be loved?” We were very close now, though I don’t remember either of us moving.
“Yes,” he breathed, and I was almost afraid to believe my ears.
“What was that?”
Bishop tipped my face up to his by the chin, his thumb brushing across the bottom of my lip as his eyes swept over my face. “Yes, you deserve all that and more. I hope you find it some day.” He let go of me and the sudden loss of his touch had my eyes pressing shut to hold back the tears.
Nothing. No kiss, no words from the heart, he didn’t even blink when I talked about loving someone else. Maybe Mason was a sadist, or I was incredibly naïve to listen to his advice. I hoped he never actually tried to date my sister, his views on relationships were obviously flawed.
“Right,” I cleared my throat. “Good, then you work on finding my Sire, I’ve got a date, brother.” I threw the word back at him. It was the only weapon I had left.
“Fine.”
“Fine,” I nodded. “Okay, I’m going.”
“Go then,” he frowned, arms crossing over his chest.
“I will, just as soon as you move away from the door.”
Bishop stepped aside, his face a mask as he murmured, “Have a nice time.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak, or even meet his gaze as I pulled the door open, managing a tepid smile for the driver in the hallway. Motherfrakker! I was hopelessly in love with Bishop and he couldn’t care less… what was I going to do now?