As soon as I straighten, his breath tickles the shell of my ear. “Want to get out of here?”
“No, I don’t,” I tell him loudly. “I’m here with my sister.”
The vampire’s grin fades and, after a moment, he moves away awkwardly. I turn back to Valerie, grabbing onto her shoulders to steady myself. “Score,” she says with a smirk, still moving her hips.
“Whatever. I’m not here to meet guys!”
She raises her neon orange eyebrows. “Are you going to tell me what you are doing here?”
I smile again, this one more forced, and shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”
She steps beside me so we’re shoulder-to-shoulder, close enough she doesn’t have to yell as loud. “Let me help!”
I turn my face toward hers. “What do you mean?”
As a response, Valerie reaches into her purse and pulls out a coin pouch. “Take this. Please.”
I shake my head again. “What would Father do if he found out you gave me money? He’s the one who made the Lavender laws, Val. He wants us to suffer.”
“He won’t find out,” she insists.
But Alexander Travesty is still her father—she didn’t look into his eyes and see molten hatred. Fear flutters in my throat. “He always finds out.”
“You’re my sister, Charlotte. I want to help.” She shoves the pouch at me without a trace of apprehension in her strong features. “So take it.”
Pressing my lips together, I hesitate for another moment before finally accepting her money. Considering how quickly my own is disappearing, I’d be a fool not to. “Thank you, Valerie.”
She nods. “Meet me here again in two weeks and I’ll bring more. That should be enough to get you through until then. Don’t try to fight me—you may be older, but I’m more stubborn.”
I just shoot her a look, because I don’t have a comeback ready. “Okay. Thank you, Val. Really.”
“Let’s get out of here,” she says airly, ignoring this. “I want to hear about your new life as a sewer rat.”
I laugh humorlessly. “I’m going to need another drink for that conversation.”
But that conversation never happens. After a stop at the bar, we clink our glasses together and dance to a few more songs while we drink. I’ve lost count of how many whiskey sours are sloshing around in my stomach, but when I stumble up to the bar and Mia turns me away, I pout at her.
“Nope. You’re cut off,” she says.
I turn to Valerie. “You’re a princess. Make her give me another one.”
Valerie shakes her head. “Yeah, not going to happen.”
I stop listening to her halfway through the sentence, my hearing picking up on a conversation from the other end of the bar. They’re talking about a weeper attack that happened today, this time in Midtown. Suddenly the drinks in my stomach feel like concrete.
I whip around, and the room spins. Clenching my jaw, I say to Valerie, “I need your phone.”
She blinks at me. Pulling her phone out, she types in the passcode and hands it to me. “Uh, sure. You don’t have one anymore?”
“Dear ol’ Dad cut mine off.” Sure, he gave it back earlier tonight, but I can’t tell Val that. I take the phone. “Why? Did you try to contact me?”
Her cheeks go a deep shade of pink. “Oh. Um, no, but—”
“Got it.” I pat her shoulder, smiling, though I’m not sure why—it’s not funny in the least. If my bloodstream wasn’t singing with whiskey, I’d be hurt. “Don’t worry about it. He’s a scary, scary vampire. I know that better than anyone.”
I slide away from her and almost teeter over. These fucking heels. I’m tempted to take them off, but too wary of what might be on the floor of this place. I right my balance and shuffle away, tapping on the screen until I can manage to get the right app open. I type in the same shining bright in my mind, like neon paint beneath strobe lights, and search results fill the screen. Within seconds, I find his number listed in a New Ve directory.
I lean against the wall, plugging my other ear from the music. “Noah Forrest,” I say, lowering my voice in an imitation of his growl. Then I start giggling again.
He sounds irritated. “Who the fuck is this?”
“That’s no way to speak to a princess. No, wait, ex-princess. Whatever.”
Noah pauses. “Charlotte Travesty, did you drunk dial me?”
“I need to tell you something,” I say, ignoring this.
“I’m all ears, halfling, but I can’t hear much over that shitty music. Where the hell are you?”
“I’m at a nightclub, covered in paint, dancing to that shitty music.”
Now Noah chuckles. The sound makes something flutter through me, unsettling the alcohol in my stomach. “Good to know my assessment of you was spot on.”
I scowl even though he can’t see me. “Well, thanks. What else was included in this assessment? How do I appear in the mind of Noah Forrest?”
“Naked, usually.”
I choke on the air in my lungs. There’s a voice—a much more sober voice than my current subconscious—that tells me Noah is just trying to get a rise out of me. Well, I’m not going to let him. Nope. This time I’m going to mess with him. “I mean, I pretty much am naked, in this particular dress,” I purr.
Noah’s voice is notably deeper. “Careful, baby vampire. I don’t think you really want to play this game with me.”
I’m not sure if it’s the liquor or the monster that says, “You have no idea what I want, hunter.”
There’s a second pause, this one notably longer than the first. “Tell me where you are,” Noah orders. Any trace of humor is gone from his velvet-soft tone.
“I can tell you where I’m not,” I slur. “Definitely not Ada’s, since she kicked me out last night.”
There’s a frown in his voice as he asks, “You’re not staying at the boardinghouse anymore?”
“Nope. But that’s not why I called you.”
Noah heaves a sigh. The sound makes our connection crackle. “Okay. Charlotte, why did you call me?”
“I forgot. Wait, no, weepers.” I push my fingers through my hair. “There was another attack. Some guys were talking about it at the bar.”
“I’m listening,” he says.
“Oh. That was it.”
Another sigh. “That’s nothing. Charlie, we know they’re attacking daily. That’s not news.”
“Well, I’m sorry we’re not all as perfect as you are,” I snap, swaying on my feet.
Just then, a bachelorette party walks past. Their voices and laughter echoes through the night, rivaling even the constant rumble of cars filling the street. I almost miss it when Noah asks, “How wasted are you right now?”
“I just… I wanted to forget,” I mumble. My surprise is muted by the alcohol, but it’s still there—I’m not quite sure why I’m confiding in a frightening, heartless bounty hunter.
But Noah doesn’t mock me or hang up. Instead he asks, “Forget what?”
I tilt my head back, resting it against the wall, and close my eyes. “Everything.”