Blood Trial Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #1) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,47

twelve hours? Or was it that last night I was drained of a crucial pint or two?

After the events of the last two days, I should feel wrung out. But fear filled me with a crackling, erratic energy that I didn’t know how to process.

Someone knocked at the front door. “Miss Tetley?”

I leaped to my feet again, dizziness forgotten. Okay, maybe I wasn’t as cool and calm as I thought; much more like an on-edge rabbit who could ignore the world as long as she remained in her burrow. Or her prison cell.

I didn’t recognise the woman’s muffled voice. I didn’t have to, really. I was in Kyros Sky and anyone in here was surely above me on the food chain if bright eyes were an indication of their race.

“Yes?” I squeaked in response.

“Are you well?” The woman’s faint voice trickled through heavy wood and across the five metres between me and the door. My prison cell was actually pretty big. The massive bed occupied the corner farthest from the doorway, and two other doors branched off the room and were closed. That’s all I could make out in the alarm clock’s blue glare.

Was I well? A high-pitched squeal left my lips.

“Miss Tetley?”

“Sure. I’m right as rain,” I said, choking on a chuckle. Oh fuck, I’d lost the plot.

“... Very well. Let me know if you need anything.”

Yeah right.

My prison cell had a guard. Which, upon second thought, I’d known. Angelica brought me here and spoke to another female vampire, and Kyros had ordered her to post someone outside the door.

Kyros.

Groaning, I turned for the closest shut door. Hopefully one of the two contained a bathroom. I didn’t want to leave my burrow.

Pushing open the door, I felt along the wall until I found a light switch. Soft light flowed through the space. A bathroom.

Win.

I whistled low. They treated their victims well—a claw bath, double overhead nozzles in the shower, and fluffy white towels.

Sinking onto the toilet, I left the rules of the world dilemma unresolved and moved on to problem two of one million—the blood compulsion.

I had to grab Tommy, her family, and my grandmother and get the fuck out of Bluff City. Oh man, that might not work. This city couldn’t be the only place with a vampire infestation. Which meant I had to get out of the tower, away from Kyros and Live Right, and alert my loved ones so they were on their guard always.

Or would that put them in more danger? The last thing I wanted was for them to go through the same thing I was going through. Moaning low, I slid from the toilet to the cold, graphite floor of my burrow.

I was going legit insane. Like, living in a tree where pants were optional and tree bark sustained me insane.

Only one cure to insanity existed.

Shave, wash, hydrate.

Peeling myself off the graphite, I swept the bathroom counter for the necessary supplies. In my haste, the objects on there—a hairnet, body milk, shampoo and conditioner, soap, and a tiny comb—went flying to the cold ground. The neatly rolled hand towels followed.

I had soap and moisturiser, but if I couldn’t complete all three parts of my sanity ritual, the whole thing was pointless. Sometimes hotel rooms—which this seemed to be—had little razors. Returning to the bedroom to continue my search, I halted in the doorway. Light streaming from the bathroom illuminated the silver logo of my Elegance pack.

“Mine,” I snarled, leaping on the bag in a frenzy.

I recalled Kyros checking out my homeless story by sending a pleb to check my office. Someone thought to bring it here for me—Angelica, I assumed. Thank Zeus’s left nut all my stuff was in there.

I drew out my sanity pack and cradled it close, scuttling back the way I came.

Turning the shower settings to scalding, I remembered my reason for leaving bed in the first place.

I turned to the mirror to study my neck.

Dark smudges circled the space under my topaz eyes. My eyes ranged from orange-brown on a good day, to muddy brown on a bad day. It was a muddy brown kind of day. My silky butter-blonde curls weren’t looking so silky smooth—the locks plastered against my face and neck.

I swallowed, peeling the tresses back from the right side of my neck.

No marks.

Huh. I don’t know what I’d expected—two small wounds. Maybe a tattoo of Kyros’s face? The spot was tender to touch. No way could I forget the feeling of his fangs slicing into me.