He knew my middle name.
I didn't sleep. Couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Karl's face in the alley, the way he'd said Amy Renée like he'd pulled it straight out of my skull. I never told him. Not once.
By the time the sun came up I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the mark on my shoulder. Still glowing. Still hot. The edges looked sharper now, like whatever Karl had done in that alley had cranked the volume up.
I grabbed my phone. Typed how does a vampire know your middle name into the search bar, then deleted it. Typed blood bond side effects. Deleted that too.
Finally I just called Marcus.
He picked up on the second ring. "You're up early."
"He knows things he shouldn't," I said.
"Good morning to you too."
"Marcus. I'm serious."
A pause. I heard him blow out a breath, the scrape of a chair. "What kind of things?"
"My middle name. I never told him. He just said it."
"Renée, right?"
I froze. "How do you—"
"DMV records, Amy. Relax." He sounded tired. "Look, bonds work both ways. If he's drinking from you, he's getting more than blood. Memories. Impressions. It's not mind-reading, but it's close."
I felt my stomach drop. "So every time he bites me he's just—what, rifling through my head?"
"More like catching the runoff. You can't control what he sees. Neither can he, really. It's messy."
I thought about the flashes I'd been getting. The chains. The cell. The man in the suit who'd smiled while Karl bled.
"Does it go both ways?" I asked.
"What?"
"The memories. If I'm seeing his, can I—"
"Yeah." Marcus cut me off. "You can. But it's not a free ride, Amy. The deeper you dig, the more the bond tightens. You start pulling on his memories, you're gonna feel what he felt. And if you're not careful, you'll start wanting what he wants."
"I don't want anything he wants."
"Not yet."
I hung up.
---
Karl showed up at noon.
I heard the window slide open in the living room and I was off the bed, halfway to the kitchen before I remembered I didn't have a weapon. I grabbed a coffee mug instead. Stupid, but it was heavy.
He was standing by the couch when I came around the corner. Same jacket, same dead-eyed stare. He looked at the mug in my hand and one eyebrow went up.
"You planning to caffeinate me to death?"
"Get out."
"We need to talk."
"No. You need to stop breaking into my apartment."
He didn't move. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, like he had all the time in the world. "The hunters know your address now. You want me gone, fine. But don't pretend you're safer without me."
I hated that he was right.
I set the mug down on the counter. "You knew my middle name."
"I did."
"How."
"I told you. The bond—"
"Yeah, Marcus already gave me the rundown. You're in my head. Congrats." I crossed my arms. "So what else did you see?"
Karl's jaw tightened. "It doesn't work like that."
"Bullshit. You saw something. What was it? My pin number? My browser history?"
"Amy."
"My mom's voice? The fights I had with my ex? What?"
His eyes went flat. "Stop."
"No. You don't get to dig around in my head and then tell me to stop asking questions."
He moved fast. One second he was by the couch, the next he was two feet in front of me, close enough I could see the faint edge of red still caught in the whites of his eyes.
"I didn't ask for this either," he said quietly.
I didn't back up. "Then help me break it."
"I'm trying."
"By hiding in my apartment and dodging every question I ask?"
"By keeping you alive."
We stood there. The air between us felt too hot, too tight. I could feel the mark burning under my shirt, a steady pull that made my pulse jump.
Finally I said, "I'm seeing your memories too."
Karl went still.
"The cell. The chains. The guy in the suit." I kept my voice level. "I see it every time you bite me. So don't act like I'm the one prying."
For a long moment he didn't say anything. Then he turned, walked back to the window, stopped.
"How long were you down there?" I asked.
His shoulders were rigid. "Doesn't matter."
"It does to me."
"Why."
"Because if I'm stuck with this thing eating me from the inside out, I want to know what I'm tied to. I want to know who you are."
He didn't turn around. "No you don't."
I crossed the room. Grabbed his jacket sleeve and yanked him around. He let me, which should've been the first warning.
"How long."
His eyes were black now. Fully black, no red, no white. Just dark.
"Twelve years," he said.
I let go of his sleeve.
Twelve years.
I tried to imagine it. A decade in a cell, chained, bled, used. I couldn't.
"Why you?" I asked.
"Wrong place, wrong name."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
I wanted to push. Wanted to grab him again and make him say it. But the look on his face stopped me. He wasn't angry. He wasn't scared.
He was empty.
I stepped back. "Fine. Then tell me this. If the bond's feeding you my memories, what's the worst thing you've seen?"
Karl's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "Your taste in men."
I stared at him.
"Kidding," he said. "Mostly."
"You're an asshole."
"Yeah."
I shook my head and walked into the kitchen, poured myself the coffee I should've started with. My hands were shaking. I didn't know if it was anger or something worse.
Behind me, Karl said, "You were nineteen. Your mom called you the night before she went into surgery. You didn't pick up."
I stopped.
"She left a voicemail. You still have it saved. You listen to it on bad nights."
I turned around slowly.
Karl was still by the window. He wasn't looking at me. "That's the worst thing I've seen. Not because it's ugly. Because you carry it like it's yours to fix."
I couldn't breathe.
"It wasn't your fault," he said. "The surgery went fine. You know that. But you still think if you'd picked up, something would've been different."
I set the coffee down before I dropped it. "Get out of my head."
"I didn't go looking."
"I don't care."
He finally looked at me. "You asked."
I wanted to throw something. Wanted to scream. Wanted to cry. I did none of those things. I just stood there, arms wrapped around myself, trying not to fall apart in front of him.
My phone buzzed.
I grabbed it. Texted from Marcus.
*Got a lead. Call me.*
I looked up. Karl was watching me, expression unreadable.
"Marcus has something," I said.
He nodded once. "Then we go."
---
Marcus met us at a diner off the highway, the kind of place with peeling booths and coffee that tasted like burnt rubber. He slid into the seat across from me, glanced at Karl standing by the door, then back at me.
"You bring your guard dog everywhere now?"
"He followed me."
"I can hear you," Karl said.
Marcus ignored him. Pulled a folded piece of paper out of his jacket and pushed it across the table. "There's one name that keeps coming up when you ask about bond-breakers. Real old-school vampire. Goes by Iris. She's a broker."
"Broker for what?"
"Magical objects. Contracts. Nasty back-alley stuff that doesn't go through official channels." He tapped the paper. "She's got a blood-breaking relic. Confirmed. Problem is, she doesn't sell. She auctions."
I unfolded the paper. It was a printout, blurry, but I could make out an address and a date.
"When?"
"Three days. Private event. Very exclusive."
"How exclusive?"
Marcus leaned back. "Invitation only. And the host is someone you both know."
Karl stepped closer. "Who."
Marcus looked at him for the first time. His face was carefully blank.
"Eli Ashe," he said.
The temperature in the room dropped.
Karl didn't move. Didn't blink. But I saw his hand curl into a fist at his side.
"That's not possible," I said. "Who's Eli Ashe?"
Marcus looked between us. "You really don't know."
"Know what?"
Karl's voice came out flat. "He's my brother."