Chapter 8

Unexpected

Echo left the bathroom and went looking for something to wear while clutching the towel around his waist. Remembering the note, he was annoyed that Dante’s clothes were the only option.

Echo found the closet, large enough to disappear into. Hanging up was a row of black suits and white button-ups. Apparently, Dante wasn’t one for variety. Then again, Echo himself never saw an occasion to change from what functioned.

He freed one of the white shirts from its hanger and pulled it on, letting the damp towel drop to the plushly carpeted floor. Once buttoned, the hem of the shirt reached past his thighs. Nothing would stay up on his waist, so he didn’t even bother. Dante was built like a tank.

Echo picked up the towel and used it to wick away more water from his hair as he walked back to the bathroom.

He hung the towel on a hook, then searched for something for his hair. In a drawer, he found a small fine-tooth comb. It wasn’t the best to use, but he set to work untangling his long strands.

Before he was willing to venture out where Jimmy was, Echo made a thorough inspection of Dante’s room. He’d kept Echo’s knife, and though Dante wasn’t stupid enough to leave it for him to find, it’d be prudent for Echo to get acquainted with any potential hiding spots.

The room lacked a personal touch, and Echo could infer nothing about Dante from looking around. He quietly opened the door and crept out into the hall. Dante’s room was at the end of the long hallway. There was one door on the right and two on the left. And it looked like the hallway led out to an open space.

Echo went to the closest door, the first one on the left, and slipped inside. It was a second bedroom, smaller than Dante’s and obviously uninhabited. Echo closed the door with a sigh, knowing Dante was unlikely to let him sleep there. The next door was another bathroom, simpler and lacking the huge tub. Echo went across the hall to the last remaining room and slipped inside.

It was an office. A large desk took up a good amount of the space, but there were also modern black bookshelves and file cabinets. Two armchairs sat off to the side by a glass cabinet filled with bottles of what were probably expensive wines, though some were filled with amber-colored liquid. Echo left, making a note to come back and search when he felt it safe enough.

Voices carried from beyond the hall, and Echo silently padded closer to the opening. He recognized Jimmy’s voice but not the softer one speaking in return.

Around the corner to the right was a huge sitting area, high ceilings, tall windows, and black leather sofas. A sprawling dining table with, Echo counted, ten chairs was just beyond the sitting area. Scanning his eyes counterclockwise, he saw an opening to another hall that might be the entryway for the apartment. Then a kitchen with gleaming countertops and shining appliances. Winny would have been over the moon seeing a kitchen like this.

At a portion of counter that jutted out like a peninsula stood Jimmy and a red-headed youth. He must be the one Jimmy mentioned—Ollie, was it?

Echo let his foot brush along the carpet, making himself known, and the two turned to look at him. The human smiled warmly. Echo stilled, taken aback.

Thralls were unkindly talked about at the compound. Vampires were supposed to have created thralls as a convenient source of food and sex. And having discovered the quick-healing ability, Echo figured that blood was in plentiful supply. Thralls were said to be mindless, singularly focused on the vampire who made them. Echo had wondered when he would become such a being, hoping to kill Dante before that. But, looking at this boy… maybe the rebels were wrong about thralls.

“Hello there. My name’s Ollie,” he said, an expectant pause following.

“Echo.”

“Echo,” Ollie repeated, trying out the name. Then he waved a hand over a mountain of food. “Sir Jimmy did right by ordering all this. You’re probably mighty hungry.”

And dammit, he was right. Echo’s stomach panged as he surveyed the counter overflowing with almost enough food to feed the entire rebel compound.

“But I brought some clothes, if you wanted to change first,” Ollie said, looking at the oversized shirt Echo wore. His fair skin reddened beneath a spattering of freckles. “They might fit better.”

Ollie grabbed up the neatly folded clothes and brought them to Echo. The boy looked comfortable in soft faded jeans and a hunter-green T-shirt, not at all what Echo expected a thrall to wear.

“Thank you,” Echo said, taking the clothes. He turned back toward the hall, and above, Echo saw a loft area with stairs leading up from the sitting room area. Through glass railings, Echo saw a strange looking table but not much more than that.

Echo went to the second bathroom and changed quickly, slipping into boxer briefs, a white cotton T-shirt, jeans, and socks. They were likely Ollie’s clothes, and since they were similar in size, the clothes fit well enough. The jeans’ stiff denim didn’t allow for as swift and quiet movement as Echo preferred, but it was better than parading around in Dante’s shirt. Echo discarded the shirt into a hamper he found.

Then Echo returned to the kitchen. He sat in a tall chair against the counter and next to Ollie. Jimmy stood on the other side.

“I ordered what the kitchens had,” Jimmy said. “And I can get more of something if you like it.”

Echo nodded, unwilling to acknowledge the vampire being… nice. Ollie pushed over an empty plate. He wanted to refuse, but that thought died quickly. He couldn’t do anything with a hunger-weakened body. Echo filled the plate with anything that looked good, which was most everything, he hated to admit.

Winny did her best with what they had, but meals at the compound were simple and sparse. Sometimes Axel rewarded him with packaged things, like potato chips and candy bars, which the high-ups got from raids, but that was rare.

Echo didn’t know the name for most of what he piled on his plate, from sticky pastries and vibrant colored fruits to tender meats and rich sauces, but he devoured more in one sitting than he would in an entire week.

“I’m Prince Abram’s thrall,” Ollie said, wiping his mouth prettily with a napkin. “Lord Dante asked me to come over.”

“To tell me how to be a good thrall—how to please and serve him?” It came out harsh, but Echo needed to get a measure of his situation. Only then could he figure out how to work with it.

Jimmy glanced at them, then moved away into the sitting area. Echo knew the vampire could still hear everything, but he hadn’t expected the gesture.

Ollie’s warmth remained; if he felt insulted, it didn’t show. Light laughter filled the space, drawing Echo in. “No. I don’t think Dante would be interested in that.”

The statement startled Echo—that this thrall would laughingly dismiss the idea. All vampires wanted absolute subservience. Shouldn’t Ollie know better than most? Yet he didn’t come across as a timid plaything.

The chiming laughter stopped though, and Ollie cleared his throat, his expression falling into knowing sadness. “I’m sorry, Echo. By all rights, you’d be expecting the worst. And Dante tends to make plans in his mind before the rest of us know what’s going on. Can you tell me… what happened to you?”

Echo set down his fork. Again, Ollie spoke so casually of the monstrous Dante Vittori. 

“They didn’t brief you?”

“Abram told me a little bit… Is it true? You tried to kill Dante?”

“It was my mission to rid the world of his evil,” Echo said, conviction punctuating his words. “But I was caught. I woke tied up in some torture room. Dante drank my blood and made me his thrall.”

Understanding sincerity poured from Ollie. He tentatively reached out and touched Echo’s hand. Echo almost wrenched away, but something about the boy stopped him. Gentle touches were not something he was used to, and he stayed still, perplexed by the offered comfort. Maybe this was why they’d sent Ollie—to lull him into his slavery, to accept it.

“I’m really sorry this happened to you. I don’t like how Dante went about it, but if he hadn’t claimed you as his thrall, King Luther would have executed you. And, from a rebel’s perspective, I get why you wanted to kill him… but I’m glad you didn’t succeed.”

Echo’s mouth hung open, unsure how to respond. Ollie continued gazing at him with utter kindness, his hand still soft against Echo’s. The boy’s eyes were brown but lighter than Dante’s, more like fresh baked gingerbread from Winny’s stone oven. They tugged on Echo to listen to him, to think about his words. Why would a human not want Dante Vittori dead? —A vampire known for trafficking thousands of humans.

Then they both startled at the sound of a door closing. Like speaking of the devil to summon him, Dante appeared in the entryway with a smirk on his lips and a black box in his hands.