Page 43 of This Ravenous Fate
The harsh sound of bells clanging pulled Elise’s focus. Police cars ground to a halt in front of the club, officers and Saint members swarming the scene. A few drew close to the alley and even turned their attention toward where Elise and Layla stood.
Layla, with her lips and chin still stained with blood, tried to move away from Elise, but Elise acted quickly, cornering her and shoving her back into the wall.
“Look at me,” Elise demanded.
Layla’s eyes flicked to hers. A crooked smile split her bloodred lips. The light in her eyes told Elise that more than just bloodlust filled her veins. “You want a taste, Saint?” she asked. Bloodstained fangs flashed up at Elise, and she shuddered, her hand trembling on the wall by Layla’s head.
“Police,” Elise breathed. “If they see your feast, we’ll both be in trouble.”
“Me more than you.” Layla’s smile slipped as her eyes moved to something beyond the alley. Then suddenly she lunged forward, one hand grabbing Elise’s waist, while the other seized the back of her neck.
Elise yelped. But Layla breathed into her throat. “Shhh…”
Elise went still. The rush of armed officers passed behind them, but all Elise could focus on was the sharp scent of blood and piercing apprehension that seeped between them. Layla’s face pressed against her throat, the blood on her cheek and chin smearing on Elise’s skin. It felt raw—nearly animalistic. She did not despise it. Instead, Elise’s fingers gathered in the fabric of Layla’s shirt and she clenched it into her fist. Her own blood felt electric, her skin burning with a vicious craving. But Elise’s devotion was to an opposing fate. And for this touch, she would burn.
As soon as the passing officers were gone, their commotionfaded to the scene across the street, Elise tore herself away from Layla. The world spun and her legs trembled. The current between them fell quiet, nothing more than a cold tension replacing it.
“I’m going home,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “We’ll meet up again tomorrow.”
Layla’s pupils were dilated and her breath shook while her hands clenched by her sides. “Sure, Saint.”
Elise walked all the way home and did not let go of the fact that she had survived touching Layla Quinn again.
***
At the Saint estate, guards and associates gathered outside Mr. Saint’s office, discussing the news of the Cotton Club attack. Elise knew that her father’s office would be full of policemen and associates, so she slipped upstairs to her room. She needed to talk to her father but wanted to wait until they were alone. She hadn’t bargained on Sterling waiting in the upstairs hallway for her.
“Thank God you’re back.” He enveloped her in a tight hug, then pulled back just enough to get a good look at her. “Are you hurt?”
“No, Sterling, I’m fine.” But she wasn’t sure.
“You don’t look it.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket then wiped it over her cheek. It came away bloody. Elise’s eyes widened and pins prickled all over her body at the sight. Never mind the bloodbath she had just witnessed; a layer of grime covered her and she suddenly felt like she was suffocating.
Elise swallowed a breath. “Sterling, it’s bad. It’s so bad.”
“Let me help you.” Sterling touched her hand, but Elise shrugged away from him.
Nothing made sense to Elise now. An hour ago, she had been stuck between debauchery and peace, almost ready for Layla to sink her teeth into her. She wanted to feel something other than responsibility, she wanted to act without the worry of whether she was being perfect.
“Something happened at the Cotton Club,” Elise muttered.
“I know—”
“It was my fault. I need to apologize to Father—”
“Elise, relax for a moment.”
But she couldn’t.
The itchy feeling all over her body intensified while she looked down at her ruined clothes, caked with debris and blood. “No. I need to fix this—” Elise choked on her own words as she backed away into her bedroom, where she began to pull off her filthy clothes.
“Elise—” Sterling tried to follow her in, but she ran into the bathroom and closed the door on him. Elise took out Sterling’s gun and removed the remaining bullets. She laid out the five bullets on the counter, her breathing going shaky when she realized one was slightly farther away from the others. Her finger pushed it closer in line, then traced a cross over the handle of the gun seven times, exhaling when she finished. But still, the tension remained. Threats surrounded Harlem, and Elise’s skin itched—her chest twisted at the thought of not being able to control them. One wrong move, one misstep, and chaos would unfold.
She paced the bathroom, opening and snapping the revolver closed seven times. Even on the seventh movement, her body didn’t feel settled. Her scalp buzzed, and her chest felt so tight, breathing became difficult. Elise turned, preparing to count her steps in sevens and restart the ritual with the gun, but the moment she opened the chamber, the bullets slipped out, scattering across the floor. A new wave of panic crashed over her, and Elise’s breath stopped altogether while she watched the rounds roll to a halt around her.
Sterling banged on the door again. “Elise, I will break this door down. Please, just let me help you.”
Elise paused. She could handle this on her own. Her father expected her to anyway. But any error would be her fault and the city would be in ruins soon if she was not careful. She needed more than just security in her numbers and rituals.
