Evie stayed on the club floor longer than she’d intended and drank more than she’d planned. Much more.
She would like to believe it was the atmosphere that spurred her into drinking the bar dry, but she knew it wasn’t. Natalya showing up, all beautiful and commanding, and justbeinghad left a strange worry in Evie’s chest that she couldn’t ignore.
“We’lltalk…” she mumbled as she entered the elevator. It was almost dawn. “We’lltalk, alright. Stupid, dumb fiend.”
The last time she’d felt this way, it was because Natalyadidn’twant to talk to Evie. Now it was because she wanted to do just that. There was an irony there that would be funny if it wasn’t so goddamn irritating.
What did Natalya want to talk about anyway? What more could she want? She was always asking stuff of Evie, making her open up and talk about how she wasfeeling. Natalya never did that. Stoic, strong protector Natalya.
Right…ProtectorNatalya. Who was responsible for keeping Evie safe and nothing else. Even her talking to Evie could be traced back to her wanting to know what had gone on at Varro’s. She didn’t care about what Evie felt. Only about what she’d seen and heard.
If Evie had been sober, the thought could have been dismissed with reasoning. When drunk, it lingered. And it stung.
Evie staggered down the hallway towards Natalya’s apartment. Drago left her alone when she got to the elevator, and she was glad for it. She didn’t want anything big and looming near her. She didn’t want to be reminded of why she was there.
“What the hell…” Evie looked down at the steely gray carpet in the hall. There were splotches of black on it. Someone must have spilled paint or something. Though it smelled funny.
Grumbling and cursing, Evie unlocked the apartment door and walked in. She was met by a sharp smell of brimstone that made Evie cover her nose. The scent was faintly familiar, though she couldn’t say why.
The smell sobered her up some. Fear did it even more when she noticed a trail of black stains leading through the apartment toward the bathroom. The door was open. She could hear the shower running.
“Hello?” she called.
No answer. Just the pattering of water against tile.
Evie considered going back to the elevator and finding help, but something kept her from leaving. Drunken stupidity was part of it, but there was a memory too. Of a gunshot and black blood.
Hesitantly, Evie started moving towards the bathroom. The sound of the running shower got louder. It was the only noise in the apartment.
As she reached the open bathroom door, she moved with the slow certainty that something was terribly wrong. She peeked inside. The sight froze her in place.
The room was filled with steam. The white tiles were covered in black, smoking liquid. It was on the walls and the sink, smeared all over the shower stall. A discarded suit jacket had been dropped on the floor and lying in the shower, unmoving and covered in black blood, was Natalya.
Her clothing had been torn to pieces. The water from the shower was hitting her, but she didn’t seem to feel it. Her eyes were closed. With horror, Evie realized she wasn’t breathing.
“Natalya!” Evie rushed to her, the panic sobering her up to the point of complete, horrible clarity. She reached forward, wincing as the water from the shower hit her skin. It was scalding.
Evie turned it off and leaned over Natalya. She wasn’t moving, and she was soaked. How long had she been lying there?
Streams of black, smoking blood ran out of two massive wounds, one in her shoulder, another in her side. Smaller trickles oozed from half a dozen bullet wounds.
“Natalya, wake up!” Evie shook her. She didn’t react. Her skin was cold, despite being under the hot water. Touching her produced no sensation in Evie’s fingers at all.
Was she dying? Maybe she was already dead.
Evie pulled Natalya closer, her body limp and cold and smoking. Shecouldn’tbe dead. She just couldn’t be.
She’d gotten to the apartment on her own. An assailant wouldn’t have left a trail like Natalya had. It had started in the hallway. She’d walked to the apartment like this.
Natalya needed to heal. She needed to feed. Evie recalled the nasty scar Lily had shown her, the one Aleksander made when he was close to dead and lost control.
Evie decided she didn’t give a damn.
She bent down and kissed Natalya. Her lips were cold. It was like kissing a corpse. Natalya didn’t move.
Evie deepened the kiss as if by doing so, she could will her awake. She pressed her tongue against Natalya’s lips. Tears ran into her mouth.
There was warmth. Faint at first, but then it turned hot. Natalya’s lips were searing against hers, burning like flames. It hurt, but the relief of feeling the pain meant more.
