excuse, but he and I both knew I was perfectly aware of how to open the stupid door, and my blood would do the trick as easily as his would. “Fuck it. Fine.”
This time Sig didn’t need to draw blood for me. My fangs slid out with little coaxing, and I bit my own thumb. Pressing the blood against the door, I followed the steps as Sig had shown me before, and the swimming blue light slipped away as if afraid of my blood. The lock vanished and the door swung open as it had for Sig the first time we’d come down here.
Not that knowing what was coming made it any less fascinating to watch. Somehow it felt more magical now that it was my blood unlocking the seal.
I turned to Sig and held my hand out to the open door. “I’ve seen this show before.”
He didn’t budge. Instead, he held out a thin, sharp blade to me, handle first. “She is your responsibility. And so is he. Traditionally, it would be expected that you would draw his blood in a more…standard way. But I understand you might be too squeamish for that.”
Did Sig just imply I was too chickenshit to bite Peyton?
The knife was now more of a mockery than a tool I’d find good use for. How long was I going to have to fight for the council to take me seriously?
Gently, I pushed his hand away from me.
“I think I can handle one little vampire.” But the hard swallow that nearly caught in my throat made my unease apparent.
Before Sig could offer me the knife again, I ducked under the low doorframe, leaving the Tribunal leader and my ward out in the hall. Once again, I was alone with Peyton. My head was spinning with the scary reality of what I was expected to do.
“Couldn’t…get…enough.” His rasping voice brought me back to my senses.
I moved as close to the husk of Peyton as I dared. “I’m not planning to make a habit of it.”
“You look…delicious.” His withered lips, still oozing a clear liquid, made a crackling noise as he tried to grin at me. The result was a menacing grimace, his lips sticking to his gums, showing me his one good fang and the too-long roots of his other teeth.
“Red is a good color on me,” I replied.
“I…once…painted you… So. Very. Red.” His last three words were spoken with perfectly clarity, no drawn-out wheeze in between like the previous ones. He said them with eerie precision, each vowel short, the consonants clipped and thick with his accent. I looked over my shoulder, hoping to see an easy escape. Instead, Sig was leaning against the wall near the door, watching me with a guarded expression.
I couldn’t be a scared teenager anymore, which was how Peyton always made me feel. Now I had to be a Tribunal leader, ruthless and cunning. My blood had to run cold if I was going to survive in the vampire world.
If they wanted me to be like them, I was going to show them just how much of a vampire I could be.
“Do you remember how my blood tasted?” I asked, crawling closer. My glare bored into his rapt gaze, those eyes black with hunger and edged with madness. In spite of his crazed appearance, the methodical killer I once knew was still in there. “When you swallow the nothing you are given, do you remember the last drink you had?” My head angled to one side, and I narrowed my eyes. “Is it sweet, Peyton?” Another inch closer. “Or do I taste fucking bitter on your tongue?”
He tried and failed to lick his lips.
My fangs were still extended, and it was my turn to give him my best, most demented smile. It wasn’t something I had to fake. Being near him brought something ugly out in me. “I wonder how you taste.”
The blackness receded from his irises for the barest fraction of a second, and I saw what I was desperately hoping for. Fear. Since I was sixteen he had been the monster I’d been most scared of. The bastard who had taught me the limits of my own mortality.
And now he was scared of me.
I edged closer still, and he tried to recoil.
“Come on, Peyton, you like a little pain, don’t you?” Rocking back on my heels, I raised my face to his chained arm and breathed out warmly on his bound hand. “But you like to dish it out…