A/N: Sorry for the wait guys! Life kind of grabbed a hold of me for a few days. Enjoy!
She doesn't take off her sunglasses, but I can tell instantly the expression of loathing that passes over her face as she stares at me.
Really, what had I ever done to her to make her hate me so much? Hate me enough, in fact, to try to drink me dry?
Mal says not a word as she shuts the car door with her hip, making the close-fitting dress wiggle impressively as she shimmies over the ground to stand next to Elsa.
Ignoring Francesca and me entirely, Mal puts her arms around Elsa's neck. And she curls her fingers with their bright red tips into Elsa's hair, something only a lover would dare, and draws Elsa forward for a hard, harsh kiss.
Francesca glances down at her purse, her mouth in a thin, hard line, as I feel the heat rise into my cheeks.
Mal backs away from Elsa after a long moment, her perfect lipstick smudged onto the side of Elsa's mouth. Elsa's eyes are like stones as she glances at Mal, as she carefully takes a handkerchief out of her dress pants pocket and wipes at the smudged lipstick on her pale skin.
"Aren't you back a little early?" is what Elsa says to Mal then, tiredly.
Mal had been sent away from the Mills Hotel for a week in "punishment"—because of the fact that she tried to kill me.
A fact that I was acutely aware of as Mal turns to me, glances at me, both brows lifted up imperiously over her sunglasses, before she turns back to Elsa, shaking her head.
"I've done my time," she says, snarling over that last word. "And for what? I heard she's leaving, after all."
Mal glances at me as if I were a stain on one of her very impressive gowns.
"Elsa, baby, we have a lot to catch up on," she says, her voice practically purring as she threads her arm snake-like through Elsa's. "Let's go somewhere…" she says, stepping forward so that the front of her body presses tightly against Elsa's, her round, full breasts shoved forcefully against Elsa's own.
"Let's go somewhere where we can be alone," she breathes.
"I'll see you later, Elsa," says Francesca, her words soft as she takes a step backward.
"No," says Elsa resolutely, taking a step backward, too—moving away from Mal.
"We have a lot of catching up to do, Frank…and we have things to discuss, Emma. Mal, I can't talk right now," she murmurs, her voice dropping soft and low as she glances at the sultry woman with something akin to regret.
If Mal is offended at Elsa's dismissal, she doesn't show it. Her head moves dangerously to the side, like a bird of prey getting ready to size up a kill, and then she straightens, her mouth forming a slow, sensuous smile.
"Maybe later," she murmurs, her bright pink tongue licking her lips languorously before she turns on her heel, her hips moving hypnotically beneath the skirt of her dress, causing all of our eyes to watch her until she'd gone up the few steps and onto the front veranda of the Mills Hotel, and then through the front door, disappearing from view.
"Well, Mal certainly hasn't changed much," Frank remarks wryly, shaking her head and clicking her clutch shut as she rolls her eyes a little, shaking her head.
"You'd be surprised," Elsa mutters, glancing sidelong at me. "She tried to drain Emma."
"Like I said," Frank mutters, thumbing the pack of cigarettes she'd dredged out of her clutch. She shakes out one and holds it easily, unlit between her first two fingers.
Far out over the sea, a flicker of lightning touches down into the water, so distant that it looks like static electricity. It's followed by a very distant roll of thunder.
"Let's get inside," Elsa remarks, gesturing forward. She hops back into her car for a moment, starting the engine and making the convertible's top roll up. The first big, fat drops of rain splatter against her windshield as Frank and I trot toward the front door of the Hotel, Elsa on our heels. We get underneath the veranda's roof just as the sky opens up.
"Perfect weather for a Conference," Frank murmurs happily as we watch the rain pound against the gravel parking lot. There are a few more headlights pulling into the lot, and a few more vampires running for cover and the front door.
The rain is so cold, and as I stare out at the parking lot, at the men and women with umbrellas or coats over their heads, moving past us and through the front door, which keeps opening and shutting, making the laughing talk inside muted or loud as it opens and closes, I realized that I would probably still have been on the road to town with the heavens pouring rain upon me if Elsa hadn't come and brought me back here.
I probably would have caught my death of cold. At the very least, I would have been freezing and alone and miserable.
I chance a sidelong glance at Elsa, who has her arms folded, her legs hip-width apart, and her nose up as she stares out at the rainstorm. If she has similar thoughts to mine—that maybe she really was my lady knight in shining armor—she doesn't voice them, or make any expressions to suggest as much.
Elsa is very beautiful in that eerie half-light of the thunderstorm, with her proud face pointed up at the heavens and her unreadable expression, as if her mind were a million miles away. But she turns then, catching the door as another vampire woman strides through it, and she holds the door for both Francesca and me as we enter the hotel together.
Since it's starting to get dark, all of the ornate, art-deco wall lamps are on inside, their brass fixtures shining warmly in the low light. To combat the creeping darkness in the wide hallway, all of the art lamps above the paintings in the main hall of the hotel have been turned on.
The sumptuous blood-red and black marble floor tiles are wet in spots from the rain that drips from the guests, as the vampires remove their coats and begin to mill about in—what I realize—is a beginning reception of sorts.
Old oaken tables have been set up along the wall, beneath the paintings, and on top of the antique lace tablecloths, there are many pretty wine stems and liquor glasses lined up—as well as many, many, many multicolored bottles of booze.
It almost looks like a normal, fancy reception. Save for one thing. There isn't a bite to eat.
I mean, it is a meeting of vampires; the fact that there is no food really isn't that surprising. I am surprised a little, though, that they drank liquor. I glance at the front desk, at my coworker—or, rather, I supposed…my ex-coworker—Clare, perched on a stool behind the desk. She doesn't exactly look afraid, but there is something odd about her body language, her hands folded, knuckles white, on her lap, her blue tartan skirt tucked tightly beneath her, as if she's cold, as she stares at the vampires milling in front of her with wide eyes.
I wonder if the main course isn't visible because it isn't something you can put on a table. I wonder if it is, rather, someone.
It's a chilling thought, a thought I've been trying to ignore, considering the fact that vampires from all over the world are congregating before my very eyes. Vampires who, by their very nature, crave human blood.
The only thing that makes me feel a little safe is the fact that Regina or one of the other Mills' had mentioned that they ignored the more bloodthirsty aspects of vampirism as a group.
However, the same could not necessarily be said for the rest of the vampires here, and I have a feeling that the Mills' are likely a rarity among vampires. I mean…it is the thing vampires were known for, isn't it? Drinking blood?
At this point, I haven't learned that much about vampires. I know that they lived a long time and are incredibly strong and magnetic. I know that they crave human blood but can live without it if they chose to do so. I know that they probably don't sleep in coffins but that sunlight burns them badly over time. I know little else.
But as I stare at this group of beautiful creatures milling about, drinking champagne out of thin, expensive glasses with blood-red lips and laughing with lovely voices in the hallway as the rain pours down outside, I know that, as a human being, I've willingly walked into a proverbial lions' den.
Mal, chuckling with a tall, red-headed man in a dark suit over flutes of champagne, turns to glance over her shoulder at me just then. Her wicked, terrifying smile includes sharp, glittering fangs. If she is trying to frighten me…she's done a pretty good job of it. But I am more stubborn than that. Right now, I don't have anyplace to go.
And if I've learned anything about Regina, it's this: We were safe in the Mills Hotel. No matter who stayed here.
Mal had attacked me in the water, down on the beach. And even then, somehow, impossibly, Regina had saved my life. Somehow, she'd known I was in distress. I'm not certain of the rules and restraints of the vampires' Conference, but I am almost certain that Regina has put something in place to protect the humans in her care.
As if my thoughts themselves had summoned her, there she is then, across the room. Her long, dark brown hair is swept back from her face and falls like a cascade of satin over her shoulders, and she wears a shirt in the most appropriate shade of red for a vampire.
It has a surprisingly plunging neckline, and the bare skin above her breasts is covered in dripping black gems fashioned in an elaborate, decadent necklace. There is a tall black collar on her black jacket, and if my eyes aren't mistaken in the dim lighting, she's also wearing leather pants that seem to have been made perfectly for her body, like a second skin, with a pair of tight-fitting leather boots with thick black heels.
I reach out to steady myself with a hand against the corner of the wall. Not because she's beautiful in a way that makes my knees weak—though she is—but because, in the space between us, a…line seems to pulse.
It's the best way I can describe it.
It's as if a glowing thread is tied around my heart, stretching across the distance between us, and is tugging at Regina's heart, too.
I know without a shadow of a doubt in that moment that we are inextricably linked. Connected, utterly.
If Regina feels that connection, that bright pull from that invisible thread, I can't tell…because it isn't me that her violently dark eyes find.
Regina's eyes find Mal and pin the woman beneath her gaze. Mal stops speaking to her male companion.
Across the crowded room, she lifts her champagne flute to Regina in a mocking sort of toast and drains the contents dry in a single swallow. She keeps her eyes trained on Regina's as Regina stalks her way across the room, threading herself between the assembled vampires—or maybe they part for her so that she can move easily and quickly across the crowded room—to reach Mal.
I can't hear what the two women say to one another as Regina inclines her head toward Mal, as they step so close to one another, it look like a fight is about to begin, their stares so hard and intense—nose to nose.
Both Regina's and Mal's eyes are flashing as Regina turns, indicating the corridor with a quick hand. Mal doesn't look at Regina as she sails past her, nose up, fangs bared in a snarl.
And Regina and Mal leave the room together, speaking heatedly and quietly as they both stalk down the corridor.
Is Regina talking to Mal about…me?
Maybe it's absurd to think that I mattered so much to Regina, after all, hadn't I been discharged from the Mills Hotel without any interference from her?
But there had been something in the clenching of Regina's jaw, and the dangerous glittering of Mal's eyes… I thought that, yes, maybe they are talking about the incident that had garnered Mal's "punishment."
Though I did not—and still don't—think leaving the Mills Hotel for a week was an appropriate sentence for attempted murder. Maybe vampires simply think about things differently, I muse as I stand there, one hand still against the wall, the other over my heart to quell its incessant beating.
How much did one human life count to a being that considered us…dessert?
But that's unfair. Regina had never thought of me that way, I know. Though I wonder, then, if what I've felt between us has really been that special, after all. I'm trying to heal the hurt in my heart. I know better. But I'm trying to convince myself otherwise.
But how else could I explain that pulsing connection between Regina and me that I had just felt? Honestly, I've never felt anything like it before in my entire life. It's otherworldly, that tug that had compelled me to lean toward her amidst the crowd.
It's nothing that I can explain—but it had been there, all the same.
Across the room, I see Danielle. Her bright red hair is unbound and hangs down around her shoulders in waves. She's wearing a red dress with a plunging neckline—so plunging, in fact, that the neckline itself ends somewhere around her navel, her breasts hardly concealed by scallops of red fabric.
She's laughing at something a dark-haired woman is saying, the woman bending her head to speak into Danielle's ear. And as Danielle lifts up her gaze, ready to retort something to her companion…she spots me.
She looks surprised and genuinely confused for a heartbeat. And then unmistakable rage passes over her face, contorting her pretty mouth into a snarl before she turns away, lowering her voice and speaking again to her companion.
This wasn't a good idea.
I don't want a scene; I don't want to be made a fool of in front of all these people. I probably shouldn't have come back to the hotel, but Elsa had been convincing, and…I have no place else to go.
Elsa is at my elbow, then, her sure, strong fingers gripping me gently, curling over my skin.
"Let's go up to my rooms," she says in a low voice, her lips close enough to my ear that I feel them brush against my skin. I shiver at that unexpected touch. But there is a thin sliver of delight that races through me, too.
I turn to glance up at Elsa. Having just seen Regina, having just felt that bright thread of connection pulsing between us…I know that I don't have that same sensation with Elsa.
Between Regina and me ran an electric thread. It was something extraordinary. But there is a deep attraction between Elsa Mills and me, and there is absolutely no denying that fact.
Still, it doesn't matter. None of this matters. Because now that we are back at the hotel, I can find Ruby, and she and I can figure out how to get me back to New Hampshire. Where I'll start my life fresh, free of a strange, glittering, beautiful life full of vampires.
"What about your friend?" I ask, nodding in the direction of Francesca, head bent to a beautiful female vampire with jet black, straight hair who is whispering into her ear. They look intimately acquainted, the way this vampire lays a hand on Francesca's pink-clad hip.
"There's time enough for that—and anyway, she looks…occupied," says Elsa with a shake of her head. Then, with her fingers still wrapped strong and gentle around my arm, we walk down the corridor, in the opposite direction that Regina and Mal had taken.
"I need to speak with Ruby," I tell Elsa once we've reached the bottom of the spiral staircase; we'd gotten here, walking the entire five minutes, in silence. We pause next to the first wide step of the staircase, and I gaze up at Elsa's face. She has a carefully schooled expression of neutrality as she shrugs.
"I don't know where Ruby is right now. Why don't you call her?"
I blush, biting my lip. "My cell phone is dead," I tell her.
"You can charge it in my room—and you must be hungry," Elsa notes, her head to the side. "I can get food for you, bring it up to you. I don't want Danielle to see you," she murmurs, stepping closer.
"It's too late for that," I murmur back, glancing over Elsa's shoulder at the empty corridor behind us.
I shiver a little beneath her intense gaze, her icy blue eyes flashing. "Danielle already saw me—at the reception."
"Well," says Elsa, working her jaw as she glanced up at the staircase. "Let's get to my rooms. Just…in case."
"In case of what?" I ask, another shiver moving over my skin.
Elsa pauses, her foot on the first step, her fingers still wrapped around my arm.
She lets me go.
"Danielle isn't really…how she used to be," she says, shaking her head, not meeting my gaze.
"She's not how she was when I knew her. Before. She's…very different." The words sound so forlorn, so remorseful.
I pause for a long moment, watching Elsa climb the steps.
"You knew Danielle before she…died?" I ask her, then. My words sound strange to my ears as I begin to climb after her.
"We all did," Elsa answers, walking slowly up the steps, her long fingers trailing on the railing.
"Some…better than others." Now her words sound bitter.
I try to put the pieces together. Elsa's shoulders are rigid, and she hasn't been sarcastic once since we'd entered the building.
"Did you see Regina—" I begin, but Elsa rounds on me, glaring down at me for a long moment with a shake of her head.
"I saw Regina with Danielle," she whispers, the words low and growling. "Together."
For a long moment, I stand very still.
And then it dawns on me.
"Were you in love with Danielle?" I ask.
Elsa pauses on the steps, her back to me. Her shoulders relax.
"Yes," she says simply.