Free Crimson Groves by Ashley Robertson Page A

the day. Most of all, though, I hated Bronx.
    After I finished my pity party in the mirror, I returned to the leather chair in the corner. A small table sat next to it with a bunch of books stacked messily on top, a wrought-iron floor lamp standing tall beside them. Vampires didn’t need light to see, but it sure helped when you were reading.
    I closed my eyes, remembering. A week ago, two blood donors had come over. Bronx thought it would be a great time to practice using persuasion. The one assigned to me was Celeste. She was forty-something, with mousy brown hair, a tall pencil-thin body, sunken cheeks, and dark circles under her eyes—obviously from years of donating blood.
    “Before we eat, let us experiment with your ability, shall we?” he asked, voice eager through a childlike grin. He looked like he was going to get that lollipop from the window at the candy store.
    “Okay. What do I do?”
    He walked over to his donor—a petite redhead with freckles scattered around her face, big blue eyes, and oversized breasts. He asked her to wait in the other room. She turned and left without asking why. My, my, Bronx, what big persuasion you have. Then he focused his attention on Celeste, who seemed a little impatient with our dawdling before drinking from her. Within seconds her eyes were blank, empty, his.
    “Abigail, come here and stare deep into her eyes.”
    I walked over and stood next to him. He placed his arm around me. Ignoring him the best I could, I turned my attention onto Celeste. “What do I do now?” I looked up into her hazily brown-colored eyes.
    “It is a feeling you must release into her from yourself. Do not just look into her eyes. Feel into her eyes. Feel yourself entering into her and then make your requests to her.”
    “What should I ask her?”
    “Anything you want.” He kept his arm around me, giving me a tight squeeze. Encouraging me, I suppose.
    What I really wanted was to have Celeste punch Bronx in the face. That was something I could feel from my inside out. I stared at her as hard as I could, pushing myself inside her eyes, digging deeper, penetrating beyond the surface. My head felt warm. My hands started shaking. I squeezed them into fists and held them at my sides. It was working. I felt it. I knew it. Everything around me fell out of focus. But her eyes were clear; her mind was open, waiting for me to speak to it. She was mine. What a scary ability to have.
    I felt a sly smile curve my lips. You know those stupid facial expressions that give you away when you’re up to something that can get you into trouble? I didn’t want to smile, but it happened anyway. I envisioned Celeste punching Bronx in the face. I nudged that thought inside her mind as if getting her attention with my hands. She grinned at me, turned to Bronx, and hit him square in the nose—hard enough to make him bleed, but that was all. He let go of me, dropped his arms to his sides. There was anger in his eyes, sapphire flames building up like gasoline had just been splashed on them. I wanted to laugh, could feel it building inside my throat, but I held back. Goody for me.
    But he didn’t hit me. He didn’t lose it like I’d thought he would. His body relaxed, head up, body straight and tall, fully controlling his anger. He reached over, placing his arm back around me, squeezing tight, a lot tighter than before. Maybe a teensy weensy bit of anger was showing. But he kept the rest of it perfectly hidden. Celeste stood motionless awaiting my next command.
    “Very funny,” he said, lips swaying closer to my ear. “Your attempts to piss me off are all in vain. I will always love you. You will always be mine. Soon, you will not be able to fight it any longer.”
    His lips trailed across my cheek. They weren’t touching me, but I could feel their closeness. His eyes burned deeper; anger wasn’t there anymore. It was different—not softer, too bold for that. Desire, lust, and something else, but it didn’t