Reborn by Michelle Fox

Author:Michelle Fox [Fox, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-05-23T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

We traveled to Brooklyn by taxi. Kristos had turned his car over to his men instructing them to lay fake trails for anyone looking for us or Arlo. Before we’d left the apartment, Kristos had set it on fire and we left in a wail of fire alarms. While unfortunately destructive, Kristos had assured me it was the quickest way to wipe the apartment clean. The fact he had all the stuff on hand and knew how to do it gave me pause. Something told me this was not Kristos’ first vampire rodeo.

Our new home wasn’t as nice as the last one, which hadn’t been as nice as the first one. It was a rundown brownstone. It didn’t belong to Kristos, that much I could tell. The decor screamed single woman. Stacks of romance novels filled the one bookcase and where Kristos preferred coolly modern design, the brownstone had a distinct shabby chic flair. Shabby chic being code for ‘picked up off the curb on garbage day.’

Despite the decor’s ratty appearance, the color palette was pleasant enough; soft gray and peach with dashes of blue on the walls. The wooden furniture was nicked and scarred and the couch and chairs were clean, but slumped. Still, even if the battered leather sofa had almost taken a detour to the dump, it was comfortable.

I curled up on the sofa and pulled a blanket around my shoulders. It was fleece, one of those no-sew blankets. My mom had made a few for her chemo treatments. Cancer patients were always cold and amassed an impressive array of gloves, blankets and thick socks as a result. I didn’t have cancer, but I was cold anyway. I couldn’t stop seeing Arlo’s head being twisted off every time I closed my eyes. Gross.

Kristos shoved a glass in my hand. I lifted it up and examined the amber liquid swirling inside. A spicy scent wafted up to my nose. “What is this?”

He sat next to me. “Whiskey.”

I made a face.

Kristos smiled, amused. “Drink. You’re too pale. This will help.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You sure about that?”

He nodded and held up a little first aid kit. “It’ll also numb you enough for me to take out your stitches. I noticed they’ve been bothering you lately.”

I lifted the glass in a silent salute and then tossed it down. I sputtered as my throat spontaneously combusted. Shoving the glass at him, I wiped my mouth. “Wow.”

He took the glass and set it on the coffee table. “Yeah, it’s potent.” Producing a small pair of scissors from the first aid kit he carefully snipped the stitches and pulled the thread free.

“Like fire in a bottle. Gah.” I kept swallowing even though my mouth was empty, trying to force the burn further down my throat. I wasn’t numb so much as distracted by the scorpion sting of the whiskey. Getting the stitches out didn’t hurt at all by comparison, although there was an unpleasant pinching sensation as he tugged on the thread to loosen it enough to be cut.

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