Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

e Atlas had seen such a reaction, and nuzzled against Dinu’s neck. Whatever she whispered was too quiet for Atlas to hear, but judging from the way Dinu gently brushed the backs of his fingers down her arm, it must have been equally affectionate.

“So it’s harder for you to feed?” Atlas asked Vasilica. He thought of how bad Cristian had looked as Angelica’s death day neared. “Is that why you all kept pestering Cristian to come here?”

“No,” Ioana said from behind him. He started, making Dinu laugh, and Ioana slid past him. On her way she added, “That’s because he wasn’t feeding at all.”

He hadn’t realized just how hard she’d worked to give away her presence around him. The more comfortable she was, the less she pretended to be human. It was complimentary and unnerving at once.

“We all have to feed to stay healthy,” Vasilica said. “But those of us who are born vampires need the personal connection donors provide. Bagged or synthetic blood is little more than stop-gap to keep us alive.”

“And there are consequences for staying on it too long.” Ioana’s comment was unexpected and came out a bit raspy. Vasilica gave her a worried look.

Dinu cleared his throat and clasped his hand around Vasilica’s wrist. “True. But it’s still better than not feeding at all.”

“Why’s that?”

Ioana abruptly walked to the edge of their balcony, looking out over the railing at the dancers below. She tapped her fingers against her glass, a staccato rhythm out of step with the beat of the music. She stood drowned in shadow until a light twisted in its pre-programmed movements, casting slants of illumination over the tight downturn of her lips. “Vampires who don’t feed properly can become very dangerous.”

Dinu and Vasilica both avoided looking at her and returned to their flirting. Despite their avoidance, curiosity made Atlas step closer, giving Ioana ample time to move away if she didn’t want him to join her at the railing.

“You okay?” he asked her quietly.

She let out a shaky exhalation and finished off her drink. He waited her out while she avoided his question by setting her glass down on the table, and celebrated silently when she reengaged with him. “Bad memories,” she said. She pointed at the dance floor. “He’s down there, in case you’re curious.”

He let her change the subject, even if she was less subtle than usual. “That seems faster than normal. Did he need another donor?”

“No. Said he wasn’t hungry yet. He finished up quickly and was asked to dance with her. Took her a while to convince him.”

“Does he usually go this long without feeding?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Would it be easier if he had a regular partner?” He glanced over his shoulder at Dinu and Vasilica. He shuddered at their obvious affection and inspected the crowd. It took only a few seconds to pick Cristian out. The woman he was dancing with was lovely, with dark hair and a confident sway to her hips. He looked from the woman to Ioana and back, noting the similarities. “Why not you?”

Ioana laughed. A full blown, accidental guffaw so out of sorts with her serious demeanor Atlas actually boggled at the sound. “Sorry,” she apologized when she got herself back under control. “Sorry. It’s just...” She wiped at her eyes and took an unsteady breath. “God, we’d be such a disaster. Our needs are too different. I usually feed on bagged blood. Sometimes I’ll feed from a friend, but not often. I just...it doesn’t do much for me. I don’t like having someone else that close when I’m vulnerable. Cristian needs the connection he makes while feeding, more than any other vampire I’ve ever met.” Ioana shook her head. “And yet, he always puts his donors’ needs first. He shuffles them around so no one gets addicted.”

“Donors can become addicted?” Atlas asked doubtfully.

“All too easily,” Ioana confirmed. “Having the chance to step into your partner’s mind, to share their memories, is an easy way to get lost. The connection is...intimate.”

Atlas curled his lip. His experience with Cristian had been traumatizing. There’d been no rush, no joy from it. And the attack—yeah, there was no chance in hell he’d repeat that. “The connection can be nonexistent too,” he argued.

“What are you talking about?” Ioana asked slowly.

He clutched at the balcony railing, pressing each finger against the metal, one after another, to ground himself. “The attack Cristian and I survived...it wasn’t the first time I’ve gone up against a vampire.”

“Shit, Atlas, I didn’t know.”

“I told him not to say anything. Anyway, the vampire that got me, that fed from me, there was no connection between us. Nothing. Just pain.”

Ioana’s stillness was too absolute, too perfect. She stood there, a frozen statue staring back at Atlas. The only sign of her uncertainty was the tiny furrowing of her brow. “That’s impossible,” she said at long last. “We don’t have a choice about the bond if we’re feeding fang to living flesh. The donor can choose to reject the bond, but it is still offered. You must have felt it...the pressure in your mind?”

“With Cristian, maybe. But not during the attack,” Atlas said.

“Atlas, then whatever attacked you wasn’t—” She bit her lower lip. “It was something else, then.”

“Like what?”

She trembled with the same shivering misery she’d suffered at Desolation House. Every instinct screamed she knew more than she was letting on. He just had to convince her to tell him.