Free In the Blood by Abigail Barnette Page B

couldn’t rely on Viktor to save her from everything. She’d never relied on anyone before.
    Then there was Viktor himself. His loneliness must be unbearable, living in his mausoleum of an apartment with only Anthony and some regular tricks for company. If her presence somehow tainted him, though, and made him more like those rubbery monsters who’d attacked her in the alley, she definitely didn’t need to stick around.
    Not that she should want to, anyway. She’d met lots of lonely guys. It was an occupational hazard. She’d never really cared about that before. Maybe this was a sign that it was time to get out of the life altogether. But something about Viktor called to her, the way no other person had before. She wanted his protection, but she wanted his attention too. She wanted him to feel the same, unexplainable draw that she felt, the unsettling lift she got just from being in the same room with him.
    Her head throbbed, and she looked around helplessly. That was as close to admitting having real feelings about anything, let alone a guy, in a very long time. Now, more than ever, she wished she had something to distract herself.

    “Your afternoon snack, Viktor.”
    He looked up and took the warm mug of blood from Anthony’s hand. “Thank you. I will need some for supper, as well.”
    “Not feeding off your guest?” Anthony set a saucer down where Viktor would place the mug and laid a napkin beside it.
    “Not that it’s any of your business,” Viktor scolded. “I have suspended our arrangement while she stays here. And I will not be feeding from anyone else, so I will need more blood for dinner.”
    Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Taking my advice?”
    “Not entirely.” He sipped from the mug, hating the feel of the glazed ceramic surface under his lips. The soft, warm skin of a willing human was much preferred. Perhaps Anthony was correct, though; perhaps distancing himself from the act of feeding was good for his soul, as well as for his dealings with Cassandra. “What do you think of her?”
    The silence that met his question served as a sharp enough impression of what Anthony thought of her. He spoke slowly and carefully. “I think she’s a very attractive, very intelligent girl.”
    “You say intelligent as though it were an accusation,” Viktor mused. It mattered little to him what the Conclave’s lackey thought of Cassandra.
    “I don’t trust her,” the human stated simply.
    Viktor nodded as though he understood the man’s concern. “Has she given you any reason for suspicion?”
    Anthony spread his hands. “Her timing. Forgive me, Viktor, I’m sure you’ve already thought of this, but it seems strange that she comes into contact with you when the city is overrun with Minions.”
    “Anything else?” Viktor kept his tone even, as though he were considering the information he’d been given. In reality, it was absurd. If Anthony had the power to taste Cassandra’s blood, he would have known immediately nothing that dark lurked in her soul. The darkness inside of her had nothing to do with the Minions she’d seen in her dreams. She suffered because a part of her was missing, an important part she would not be able to deny forever.
    “I want you to be very careful,” Anthony warned. “I’m warning you, as a member of the Conclave, but also as someone who knows you well. I don’t think you’ve got your head on right where this woman is concerned.”
    “Perhaps not.” Tonight was not the night to ask for Anthony’s help in the matter. He had already soured himself against Cassandra. “Thank you, I will think about what you have told me.”
    He waited until Anthony excused himself, then turned back to his computer screen. The spreadsheet that had been open when the human had entered had merely been a cover. When he minimized the window, the screen filled with website after website, all detailing some manner of reincarnation belief. Just seeing the words on the screen was enough