Free The Bloodlust by L. J. Smith

animal.”
    “Have you thought of a plan yet?”
    “No!” I exhaled loudly. “And I don’t even know why I’m trying. He hates me.” I looked down, suddenly ashamed. “He blames me for turning him into what we are now.”
    Lexi sighed and closed the distance between us. She took my hand. “Follow me.” She led me out of the room and walked slowly down the stairs, running her pale fingers along the portraits that lined the walls. All the paintings were covered with a layer of grime. I wondered how long they’d been hanging on the walls, and whether any of the subjects still roamed the Earth—alive or undead.
    At the very bottom stair, Lexi stopped and pulled a portrait off the wall. It was newer than the others, with a gold frame and the glass polished to a gleam. A young, serious-looking blond boy stared out at me. His blue eyes contained a hint of sadness, and his cleft chin jutted in defiance. He looked incredibly familiar.
    My eyes widened. “Is that your—”
    “—brother,” Lexi said. “Yes.”
    “Is he . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.
    “No, he’s not with us anymore,” she said, tracing the cleft of the boy’s chin with her index finger.
    “How did he die?” I asked.
    “Does it matter?” she said, her voice sharp.
    “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” I touched the edge of the photo. “Why do you keep it?”
    She sighed. “It’s a connection to the past—to who I used to be before I was”—she gestured down the length of her body—“before I became this . It’s important not to lose that final thread of attachment to humanity.” Her gaze grew serious.
    I knew what she meant: Remaining connected to her humanity was how she maintained control and why she made the choice to feed only from animals.
    “So, are you ready to save him?”
    As usual, Lexi didn’t wait for an answer, and I had to hustle out the door behind her. Together, we walked in silence toward Gallagher’s place under the cover of the inky night.
    Fifteen minutes later we turned the corner onto Laurel Street and the house came into view. A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair was climbing the stairs of the white structure, tapping each step with a gold-tipped cane. Behind him were two black-suited men. The three were engaged in intense conversation.
    Lexi put her hand on mine. “Gallagher.”
    The men paused on the porch. “I’m telling you, the vampire I have is the real thing. I could have him killed and sell you his blood. You’d make a fortune marketing it as the fountain of youth or an elixir of life,” Gallagher said roughly.
    My stomach plummeted. Damon’s body was being divided before he was even dead.
    “Blood,” a stocky man mused, rubbing his bald head as if it were a crystal ball. “I’m just not sure people would try that. But how much would you sell the fangs for?”
    The men entered the home, shutting the wooden door with a definitive thud.
    I sniffed the air. The cloying scent of vervain burned my nose, but I didn’t sense Damon anywhere.
    Lexi pushed the gates open and stepped onto the lawn.
    “What are you doing?” I hissed. “I don’t think Damon’s here anymore.”
    “Yes, but you need to know exactly who and what you’re up against. The more you know, the better you can gauge what the best course of action will be,” she said.
    I nodded, and together we stole in the shadows toward the main house. We ducked under a window ledge and knelt in order to escape notice; we could just make out the scene unfolding in the parlor at the back of the house. Gallagher’s voice drifted through the open window as he took a seat in a maroon leather club chair, his feet up and a glass of port already in his hands. He wore a large gold ring on his finger.
    In the far corner, Callie Gallagher sat in a pair of weathered overalls and a white linen shirt. Her red hair fell down her back in a vervain-laced braid, and her head was bent as she pored over a ledger book. A garland