Wicked Soul Read online

  “But how?” I pried, my initial fear of him waning now that it didn’t look like I was going to end up as dinner. “Aren’t you supposed to be super strong and fast?”

  His eyebrow quirked again, and I had the good grace to blush when I realized how rude that must have sounded.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you’re a failure of a vampire or anything. Just…” My voice died at his stare. “Sorry.”

  “You ask a lot of questions for a human who thinks I’m going to eat her,” he said.

  “Excuse me for trying to make the most of a shitty situation,” I snapped in reply.

  He softened his tone. “I apologize. I did not mean to offend.” Still, a ghost of a smile lurked at the corner of his mouth.

  “You’re an odd one too,” I said, frowning at his youthful face. “You don’t want to eat me, and you apologize for offending me. No offense, but you’re not at all what I’d imagined vampires to be like.”

  His expression didn’t change, but with another sigh, he turned all the way back around toward me. “Let me guess—you imagined a beast who would break your neck and slake his thirst with your lifeblood?”

  I felt another blush heat up my face. “Well, yeah. That or… you know. The other kind.”

  He frowned. “The other kind?”

  “Er…” Flashes from my book appeared before my mind’s eye—the kind containing breathy moans, heaving breasts, and a lot of neck sucking. “Never mind. Look, please don’t take this the wrong way—I’m very happy you don’t want to eat me and all, but… why not? I’ve always heard vampires are insatiable. Do I… do I not smell appetizing?”

  This time, he laughed. It was deep and rumbly, and surprisingly pleasant to listen to for the few seconds it rang through the basement.

  “A doe who worries the lion does not find it appetizing,” he murmured, an amused twitch still playing at the corner of his mouth. “That’s a first.”

  “I am not a doe,” I huffed, fighting back the warm tinge heating my cheeks. “And I’m not worried. Just… curious. I’ve got so many questions, and… well, this is sort of a once-in-a-lifetime chance for me.”

  His blue gaze was fixed on my face, expressionless, and it dawned on me I’d probably committed yet another faux pas.

  “Um, I mean… it’s only a once-in-a-lifetime chance if you want to answer my questions, of course. I can’t force you. Uh… I just… you know, want to make the best of a bad situation and… stuff?” I grimaced. “Sorry, there’s probably a reason vampires don’t do interviews in People magazine. You value your privacy—shrouded in a veil of mystery, and all that. Forget I asked.”

  The silence spread between us, seeming so much heavier in the wake of my unhinged babbling.

  “You didn’t ask,” he said at last.

  “Huh?”

  “You didn’t ask me your questions.”

  “Oh!” I couldn’t suppress my wide and immediate grin of elation. “You mean I can…? You don’t mind?”

  He leaned back a bit, supporting his weight on his hands. “I cannot promise I will answer them, but you may ask—if, in return, you will answer my questions.”

  I blinked, surprised a nightwalker was even remotely interested in knowing anything about me. I didn’t exactly lead the most interesting life. “Yeah, sure. That seems fair.” I hesitated, weighing what would be the least offensive question to start off with. I wasn’t about to let this once-in-a-lifetime chance slip through my fingers by accidentally offending the stoic young man in front of me.

  “All right, so… coffins? Do you all really sleep in them, or…?”

  The vampire’s sensitive lips twitched, giving his eyes an amused gleam. “It’s not overly common, no.”

  “Oh.” Well, there went centuries of vampire myth down the drain. “Where do you sleep, then?”

  “I prefer a bed.”

  I don’t know what I’d expected—upside-down in a cave like a bat, maybe. But a bed? It sounded so… normal. “I thought you slept in the ground?”

  “It happens.” Judging from the amused twist of his mouth, my disappointment was visible on my face. “But if we do, it’s usually with nothing but the dirt around us. Is it my turn?”

  “Sure.” I leaned back against the bars of our makeshift prison. “Ask away.”

  “What’s your name?”

  A rush of shame stemming back from my Midwestern upbringing spread across my face. How had my first question not been his name? He might be a vampire, but that didn’t excuse bad manners. I could practically feel Grandma’s ruler cracking down across my knuckles in disapproval.

  “Liv. Olivia Green,” I answered.

  “Liv?” he asked. Something sparked in his eyes, curiosity perhaps, but it was hard to pinpoint. “Your name is Liv?” The way he pronounced it, it suddenly dawned on me that he had the slightest accent. It was a harder sound, like he was swallowing the v.

  “It’s my nickname,” I said with a shrug. “I like it better than Olivia. And, uh, what’s your name?”

  “Warin,” he said,disturbingly blue eyes intent on my face, as if he was trying to see through me somehow. “I am known as Warin Waldlitch.”

  “Oh, you’re from abroad?” I latched onto that opening with both hands. Somehow, the idea that vampires immigrated had never crossed my mind. But of course, if they were in America, it stood to reason that at least a few would have made the journey across the Atlantic at some point. “Whereabouts?”

  “The northern parts of Europe.”

  I’d always assumed most Scandinavians were tall and blond, and from the looks of it, Warin was just a few inches above my height and his short hair was even darker than mine. At least he had the blue eyes. “Do you miss it? Your home country?”

  “No.”

  All righty, then. “What about your family?”

  “My family?” he looked puzzled, as if it was the strangest thing I could have asked. It wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t. I had about a hundred inappropriate questions burning on the tip of my tongue, from whether he had a favorite “cuisine” to how personal hygiene worked for an undead. But I didn’t ask them, partly because that would probably be rude, and partly because I didn’t want to cut short the most amazing Q&A session I’d ever have access to.

  “Yeah, you know, your parents, siblings, grandparents. Aunts, uncles. Or do you still keep in touch?”

  Warin cocked his head, and I got the wild urge for pen and paper so I could draw him. The way the shadows played over his features underlined his inhuman beauty, from the paleness of his skin and hollows of his cheeks, to the strength of his jaw and softness of his lips. I hadn’t had much time to appreciate how jaw-droppingly handsome he truly was, what with being locked up by crazies and thinking I was going to get eaten, but as I looked at him now, it dawned on me that he was quite possibly the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. It felt a little strange to think of a man as “beautiful,” but for Warin, the word fit perfectly.

  “I do not miss them,” he said, pulling me out of my contemplations of his face with a start, even though his voice was quiet. “They were a part of another life.”

  I frowned. “Does that mean vampires have no interest in their former life after they are turned?” It sounded so… harsh.

  He considered me for a moment. “That’s something I can’t answer, Liv. It is not discussed in our society, so I do not know what it’s like for other vampires.”

  I guess it made sense that something like that would be private.

  “Why do you have ink smears on your arms?” he asked.

  I twisted my arms out in front of me to have a better look. Sure enough, a few high-placed ink smudges had avoided my attention the last time I washed my hands. “Huh. I was doing an ink drawing earlier and apparently didn’t notice. I always have random spots and smudges in odd places after doing a drawing or a painting.” I popped my finger in my mouth to wet it so I could rub the offending smears off.

  “You’re an artis
t?”

  I snorted. “A girl can dream! No, it’s just a hobby. I work in a shop to pay the bills. Today was supposed to be my day off to relax. What about you? Do you have any hobbies?”

  The vampire looked a little perplexed, as if he’d never pondered the concept of a hobby before. “I… read a lot, when I have the time. My work keeps me busy for most of my waking hours.”

  I looked up from my smudges, fascinated. I’d never really thought about vampires holding down jobs. “What do you work with? Ooh, let me guess! Mortician?”

  Warin shook his head once, smirking at my enthusiasm.

  “Nightclub bouncer?”

  Another head shake.

  “…Bartender?” I frowned, trying to think of nighttime employment that’d suit the young-looking man in front of me. It was surprisingly hard. “College student who only takes night classes…?”

  Warin huffed. I wasn’t sure of it was from amusement, or if I was starting to get insulting with my suggestions.

  “Okay, fine, I give up. What do you do?”

  “Hmm. I suppose humans would call it law enforcement,” he said after thinking for a moment.

  I blinked. Repeatedly. “Humans would call it law enforcement? Do you not…? Is there some secret vampire agency we don’t know about? Like a…” Excitement bubbled through my veins as I recalled the romance book that’d landed me in here in the first place. “Oh, my goddess, are you a secret vampire agent saving humans from all the terrors we don’t know exist? Like… Like an undead superhero?”

  This time, there was no mistaking the disdain in Warin’s snort, and I deflated a little.

  “Vampires are not superheroes, Liv,” he said, and the sudden, dark glint in his eyes made something at the base of my skull—some primitive instinct in charge of keeping me alive—wake up with a shudder that traveled the full length of my body. “Never, ever make the mistake of thinking we are safe. We are not.”

  “O-okay,” I stuttered, pressing my back up tighter against the bars. “Noted.”

  “What did you do to make these people lock you in a cage with a vampire?” he asked, and it took me a moment to realize he’d gone back to our Q&A session without missing a beat. As if he hadn’t just looked at me all scary-eyed, warning me that vampires were not our friends. While apparently not getting the dark irony of me currently being locked in a cage with one—him.

  “I read a book they didn’t approve of,” I said, still too startled to remember why I’d swerved that question before.

  “Which book?” he asked with a frown, and I could have bitten my own tongue off.

  “Er… just a… book. Fiction.” I fidgeted uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze.

  “What book of fiction would lead them to capture a woman off the street?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was mystified, or he thought I was lying.

  “One about vampires,” I begrudgingly admitted.

  “You read a fictional tale about vampires, and they thought you a threat?” Warin’s frown deepened.

  Great. Just great. Why drop an embarrassing subject when we could just keep right on digging?

  “It was a romance, okay? A vampire romance,” I snapped. I normally didn’t care what people thought of my trashy novel selection, but then I’d never really had to explain to a vampire that I loved reading about silly human girls falling for a sexy undead.

  “Vampire romance?” The dark-haired young man arched both eyebrows at my confession. “What is a vampire ro—?” His voice died as he turned his head toward the door. “Someone’s coming.”

  3

  The vampire gracefully got to his feet in one faster than my eyes could track.

  I got up too, though somewhat less elegantly, and waited with my hands wrapped around the bars. I couldn’t hear anything, but my heart thudded unevenly in my chest. If my kidnappers had expected me to be eaten by now, what were they going to do once they saw I was still alive? Even though I was very much hoping for “give up and let me go,” it wasn’t the option that kept tap dancing before my mind’s eye. More like “knife to the throat,” or “burned at the stake.”

  There was a clanking of keys on the other side of the heavy metal door, and then the lock clicked open.

  The same two men who’d kidnapped me entered the room. One of them had a mop and a bucket in his hands, the other a large plastic sack. I paled when I realized they’d probably been meant for disposing of my body and wiping up any leftover bodily fluids.

  “Well, would you look at that?” Mop Guy said when he caught sight of me by Warin’s side. “You’re still alive, huh? What’s the matter, vamper? She not your type?”

  Sack Guy barked a laugh. “Could’ve sworn I saw him eyeballing a rat the other day. "Oh, well. Guess we should let you use the can, then."

  I stared, entirely taken aback by this turn of events. Nothing about these guys had given me the impression that they’d stick to the Geneva Convention, to put it mildly. “Oh, uh…” I didn’t like the sly look that passed between them, but I was pretty thirsty and could use a trip to the bathroom. Pushing aside my unease, I stepped over to the cage door. “Thanks.”

  “No problem, darlin’,” Mop drawled. He leaned his tools up against the wall and reached into his pocket for the key. “Come on, vamper. Don’t let the pretty girl wet herself—at some point you’ll get hungry enough, and you’re not gonna like her soaked in her own urine, are ya?”

  Warin’s face remained stoic as he slid his wrists through the bars. I looked on, puzzled, until Sack pulled a long metal chain from the wall and sauntered over to Warin with a mocking smirk.

  “There’s a good bloodsucker,” he jeered while he wrapped the thin chain around Warin’s outstretched wrists. “Not so fucking cocky now, are ya? Dumb fuck.”

  “Cocky” wasn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe my vampire companion. He’d remained remarkably placid since waking up with a stranger trying to perform CPR on him mid-nap—even the goon’s insults didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. I eyeballed the thin chain around his wrists and wondered why they’d think it offered them any safety if he decided enough was enough. It was wrapped around his wrists multiple times, but so thin I was pretty sure even I’d be able to snap it if I was motivated enough.

  “Come on then, girl,” Mop said, jingling the keys in the lock before the door slid open. “Let’s leave those two to it.”

  I stepped out of the cage, but hesitated when I saw Sack grab a wooden stake from the wall before he turned back to Warin with a sadistic smile on his bloated face.

  “What are you doing? Don’t hurt him!”

  Both goons turned toward me, incredulous.

  “Don’t hurt him?” Sack repeated in an imitation of my worried tone. “Don’t hurt him? Would you listen to the deadwhore!”

  “You got any idea how many of our kind he’s hurt, you stupid cunt?” Mop growled. “How many humans he’s sucked dry? You’re a fuckin’ race traitor. Just wait until he gets hungry enough—we’ll see how much sympathy you have left while he’s tearing you apart.”

  “He’s just a kid, you sick fucks!” I snarled, giving Mop a shove so I could push past him and wedge myself in front of the tied-up vampire and Sack. “Don’t. Hurt. Him!” I didn’t exactly have a plan for how I was going to keep the two men from hurting him—or me, for that matter—but I hoped my bravado would at least make them reconsider.

  “Liv. It’s okay. Go.”

  It was the first Warin had spoken since the men entered the basement, and he sounded so… calm. I glanced at him over my shoulder, unable to comprehend how he could possibly still be so damn Zen. He was the one tied up and about to experience torture-by-stake, for fuck’s sake!

  Piercing blue eyes met mine, and the commandment in them nearly made me lose my balance. Something in that gaze pulled on me, like a vortex. “Go with him.”

  I blinked, too stunned by the weird sensation of floating as much as his seemingly insistence that I leave him to
his fate. “I… are you sure?”

  “I am. Go.”

  I shook my head to clear it and turned back to the two goons. Sacks’ stake was aimed at my chest now, and I suppressed a shudder. I might not be allergic to wood, as the urban legend suggested vampires were, but I had no doubt I’d take getting stabbed in the heart with a stake about as well as your average movie vampire. Shoulders slumping in defeat, I stepped around Sack’s pointed weapon and back to Mop.

  He greeted me with a rough shove in my back, making me stumble across the basement toward the door.

  “Ungrateful whore,” he sneered as he followed me out the basement and up the stairs. “We should’a let you piss yourself.”

  He led me all the way up to the first floor, which seemed as neglected as the living room, and pushed me into a small bathroom.

  “You’ve got two minutes” he said, shutting the door behind me. Apparently he had enough manners to let me pee without an audience.

  A quick look around the moldy bathroom explained why—there was no lock on the door and the small window had been boarded up, allowing only a few cracks of light to enter. There was nowhere for me to escape, and nothing I could use as a weapon.

  I did my business as quickly as possible, attempting not to touch any surfaces in the process, and drank from the tap until I was no longer thirsty.

  “If you’re not out in three seconds, I’m coming in,” Mop shouted from the other side of the door.

  “Chill, dude. Some of us can’t just shake dry,” I snarked before I opened the door and stepped out into the dingy hallway. “Why—“ I didn’t get to finish my sentence, because just as I exited the bathroom, Mop grabbed a hold of my long ponytail and ripped me off balance.

  I squealed and flailed, but before I could right myself, Mop threw me against the wall, smashing my face against the hard surface. When he pressed his heavy body up against mine, pinning me there, sick dread settled in the pit of my stomach.