“Call me tomorrow, Valentine,” she had said, curling her fingers around mine as she handed over the card. “Or the next day. Whenever you are ready to learn more.”
Taking a deep breath, I lifted the phone from its cradle and punched in the numbers. Suddenly, I felt disconnected from myself—as though I were hovering above my own body, watching the quick motion of my fingers without feeling the compressions of the keys. The hands of a monster. How had my life become this?
“I’m ready,” I whispered as Helen’s phone began to ring, hoping
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that hearing my own voice would ease the eerie sense of separation I was feeling. I was going to fight what had happened to me, and eventually, I was going to win. For myself. For Alexa. For us. v
The Consortium had a library on the eleventh floor, complete with a reading room, computers, and a reference librarian who had been born at the turn of the nineteenth century. Helen’s secretary had arranged for me to spend the day there, with the promise that Helen herself would join me once night fell. I hadn’t left since the morning, unable to pry myself away from the wealth of information that Consortium members had compiled about both the vampire parasite and the Were virus. While the latter fascinated me intellectually—particularly because the increased regenerative capabilities of Weres had profound implications for modern medicine—I concentrated almost all of my attention on the parasite. I learned that it released toxins when my skin was exposed to the sunlight: that for now, I would be fine so long as I applied sunblock, but that once it gained control of my blood—at which point I would be known as a “full” vampire—I would barely be able to spend two minutes in the sun without a major systemic shutdown. The thought of never again being able to enjoy the heat of the sun pounding down on my scalp as I jogged through Central Park, or spend a beautiful Saturday morning window-shopping in Soho with Alexa, made my stomach hurt. I forced those thoughts out of my head and concentrated on the facts, rather than their consequences. There were, I learned, some beneficial aspects of becoming a full vampire—though as far as I was concerned, they didn’t outweigh the negatives. Because the parasite essentially replaced the host’s red blood cells, the effects of its chemical reactions with consumed blood were more pronounced. To use Helen’s drug analogy: full vampires got more of a high off human blood than I could. They would be stronger, faster, and have keener senses…until the effects wore off. Or until they drank again.
A cool, gentle caress against my neck startled me. “Didn’t your parents tell you not to read in the dark?”
I turned to the sight of Helen leaning over my shoulder. She smiled slightly—the briefest show of teeth—before shifting her attention to
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the page I’d been reading. Dusk had fallen without my knowledge. The cobalt clouds scudding above the city’s twinkling lights matched the shade of Helen’s sweater.
“Clearly, I shouldn’t worry about my eyesight any longer,” I said, nodding toward the screen. When she laughed quietly, I felt emboldened to ask the first question on my mind. “What does it feel like, for you? I mean—the changes that come, when you…drink?”
She settled into an armchair next to me and crossed one slender leg over the other. “Power,” she said. “Or perhaps more accurately, potential. Life returns to me when I feed: the world becomes more vivid. My body grows stronger and my mind sharper. I am confident in my abilities—or perhaps, I should say, my capability.”
“To do what?”
Her smile lasted longer this time—long enough for me to notice the pointed tips of her canines. As though she knew where my attention was focused, she teased one sharp tooth with her tongue. “Anything.”
Anything. I fought back a shiver. Once you experienced that sensation, I imagined, you never wanted to come down. No wonder full vampires needed so much blood. “That sounds like almost a transcendental experience,” I said. “But honestly, it seems to me like the Weres get the better deal. No biological imperative to drink blood, no craving to make it even harder to resist, and they shapeshift.”
Helen’s eyebrows arched, two perfect bows over her eyes. “In other places and times, there have been power struggles between our two factions. Many of the warmongers have made similar arguments over the years—that we should serve them, because they are more powerful.”
My mind reeled. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know. You are simply speculating, based on what little you know. It is safe to do so with me, but be careful, Valentine, to whom you speculate in the future.”
I nodded, feeling like a schoolgirl taken to task for making unwarranted assumptions. I suppose, in Helen’s eyes, that’s exactly what I was. It should not have been a surprise that the political undercurrents ran just as deep in this community as in any other. Probably, they were deeper, given that the players were practically eternal.
“The necessity of Weres to change once every month is an annoying inconvenience most of the time,” Helen explained. “It
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has the potential, however, to be their greatest weakness. Consider if someone knew the secret and wished to take advantage of them—
either individually or as a collective. It could be done easily, on the night of the full moon, when they are all beasts.
“Moreover, they are inherently volatile. You saw Darren yesterday. He has been a Were for just shy of one hundred years, yet a superficial head wound was enough to provoke his change. He fought hard against the impulse, but to no avail. A Were’s life is schizophrenic: a constant struggle between the personality of the human and the will of their animal half.”
I tried to imagine what that would be like—constantly battling for dominance against an entirely different entity in my head—and grasped Helen’s point. The defining attribute of each species was a biological curse. Some measure of power came along with that curse, but for vampires and Weres, long life would always be a struggle.
“I see,” I murmured. “That sounds very difficult.”
She inclined her head. “Was there anything else you wanted to ask?”
I sat up straighter, remembering the original question that had prompted my call to her this morning. “Yes. I woke up this morning feeling better than I ever have since my attack—like I’ve healed more in the past twenty-four hours than in the past week. I know you said yesterday that the effects of feeding don’t last beyond a few hours, but I can’t help but think that my sudden improvement must be related to drinking from Alexa. Do you have any explanation?”
Helen leaned back, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.
“Interesting,” she murmured. “So she is the one.”
I had never had or expressed any doubt that Alexa was my one and only, and Helen’s unsought confirmation confused me. “How do you mean?”
“Yesterday, I was speculating that Alexa’s blood would be a viable substitute for your parasite. But it is impossible to know whether you are matched in that way until after the fact. If you are indeed experiencing long-term beneficial effects from feeding already, then my guess was correct.”
“So this is normal?”
Helen cocked her head slightly. “The arrangement that you have made with Alexa is very rare. Few of us find human mates, and even
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if we do, those mortals may not be willing to make the sacrifices necessary to feed us. Often, they do not survive long.” She shrugged, but behind her calm exterior, a flicker of remembered pain flared in those brilliant eyes. “For as long as you feed exclusively from Alexa, you will not only halt the parasite’s progression—you will also attain a more permanent strength.”
“I don’t know if it’s worth it,” I blurted. Fear had risen to the forefront again at her oblique mention of the dangers involved in Alexa’s and my agreement. “I’m so terrified of h
urting her. I hate that I felt so out of control yesterday, and if I ever took too much I’d—I’d—
Jesus, why does she even want to be with me still, now that she knows what I am?”
On the verge of breaking down, I locked my jaw and looked away toward the windows. I knew I was visibly trembling, but I forced myself not to give in to the sobs that wanted to rip their way out of my throat. I didn’t want to betray any weakness in front of Helen. A moment later, her cool fingers firmly gripped my chin, turning my head so that I was forced to meet her gaze. “You cannot do this to yourself,” she said, her tone sharper than I’d ever heard it. I would have flinched, had she not been holding me. “To live out an eternity crippled by guilt for what you are is nothing but pathetic nihilism. You are a vampire: powerful and untouched by time. You are beautiful now, and the passing of the years will only make you more so. This rash impetuosity of youth will be replaced by wisdom and patience. You will be a force to be reckoned with, Valentine. You must never apologize. And you must never let anyone convince you to be less. If Alexa cannot embrace what you have become, then you must let her go.”
She spoke with an intensity that riveted me, even as my chest constricted in fury that she would dare presume to tell me what to do when it came to my lover. “Alexa has always loved me for exactly who I am,” I said stiffly. “That should have been at its most apparent yesterday, when she volunteered her blood only minutes after hearing the whole story.” Helen couldn’t have been more off base by accusing Alexa. She wasn’t the so-called “problem”—I was. But how was I supposed to wholeheartedly embrace my newfound vampiric nature when giving up rigorous self-control meant the possibility of killing her? Helen’s fingers loosened. She rose, smoothing her hands over
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her charcoal slacks as she stood. “Her loyalty and love are remarkable gifts,” she said softly. “Don’t poison them with your own guilt.”
Only when she had gone did I realize that Helen’s tirade—if not the words with which she expressed it—was familiar. My father had taken a similar tack during my senior year of college in one of his attempts to persuade me to take up the family mantle rather than pursue a master’s in what he had called “psychobabble.”
I had told him to fuck off. Maybe I should have told Helen to do the same.
v
I frowned hard at page 172, trying to bully my brain into focusing on the material. I had an exam next Monday and wasn’t remotely prepared, but it was impossible to concentrate. Alexa had left half an hour ago, after bringing over Chinese take-out for dinner. She sat at the desk and I perched on the bed, and we kept the door open lest one of us get carried away. Our conversation had been stilted, even when she had moved to the bed and offered me a shoulder rub. I had allowed that, but my inability to relax had made her attempts fruitless. I craved her blood. I craved her body. At least tomorrow, I’d be able to have the former. My throat ached sharply, nostalgic for her taste.
A knock at my door yanked me out of my brooding. Maybe Alexa had come back for some reason. The thought both thrilled and frightened me. But when I looked through the keyhole, I saw the Consortium’s receptionist. Why hadn’t she just called up?
“Hello,” I said politely, swinging the door wide open. “What can I—”
She walked right in, kicked the door shut with one of her stilettos, and grabbed the collar of my shirt.
“We haven’t been properly introduced,” she murmured, mere inches from my mouth. Her breath tasted like cinnamon. “I’m Giselle.”
And then she kissed me.
I tried not to react, but my body betrayed my mind. Giselle kissed as though she were as starving for passion as I was. Twin flames of need twisted in my gut. To fuck. To drink. Yes.
Only when the backs of my legs hit the bed did I regain enough
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sense to tear my lips away. I grasped her upper arms firmly but gently and held her as far from me as I could. “No.” But my voice was a pant of desire, devoid of any authority.
She relaxed in my grip, and I let go, believing that she was going to honor my request. Instead, she pulled aside her shirt collar and, with one long, pink-tinted fingernail, drew a furrow just below the bone. I had one split second in which to register just how persistent she was being, before the sight and smell of blood assaulted me. The tiny red ribbon beckoned, but I forced my feet to remain where they were. I was struggling so hard against my thirst that I didn’t even register her grip on my hand. But when her tongue touched my fingertip, a jolt shot down my spine.
“I see how thirsty you are, Valentine,” she said, ending each sentence with a twirl of her warm tongue around my finger. “Every day. You’re suffering. Denying yourself. You really shouldn’t.”
She sucked hard and I moaned. I couldn’t help it. I was wet. Blood was dripping down her chest. She wanted me to take her. I needed to take.
But not her. The thought knifed through my instincts, granting me an instant of clarity. An instant in which to realize that her blood didn’t smell right, and her body didn’t feel right, and good wasn’t enough, once you’d had the best. No.
I pulled my hand out of her grasp. “Get out, please. Now.”
She pouted. “Valentine…”
“I don’t blame you,” I said, trying to calm my heartbeat and my breathing. “I know who sent you. But get out, please. And don’t come back.”
With a huff, she spun on her heel—no doubt to find some vampire who would willingly take advantage of the blood she so freely offered. The door rocked on its hinges behind her. I leaned against it until my pulse had returned to normal, holding an image of Alexa in my brain: smiling broadly as we rode the Carousel at Central Park on our second date. I would have given anything to go back to that moment. When I felt calm enough, I went to the phone. Helen’s secretary picked up and, after a moment of waiting, Helen greeted me directly. What I had to say was very simple.
“I am in love with Alexa. She is the only one I want. I may not be choosing the normal path, or the easy path, but I am doing what’s right
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for me. For us. And I would ask you to respect that. Don’t ever send someone to me again.”
Her voice was low. Musical—as though she were secretly amused by my vehemence. “Very well. I will never send anyone to you again…
unless you ask me to.”
My lip curled in a snarl she couldn’t see. “That will never happen.”
I hung up the phone and retreated to the bed. My entire body ached with unsatisfied need, and I knew that sleep was a hopeless proposition. At least that gave me more time to work. At least tomorrow, I could taste her again.
But I would still be starving.
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Chapter NiNe
Alexa’s phone was still off.
I leaned against the wall outside my Physiology lab, combing my fingers through my hair in frustration as I tried to figure out what to do. She had called me early this morning before going into her first class, but now it was almost two in the afternoon, and I was still getting her voicemail. I was starting to feel all panicky inside—my palms were sweating, and my heart was flopping around in my chest like a fish out of water. I hated being this needy. It was my own damn fault, too, for insisting on the separation period. I had done it for her safety, but after three weeks of sleeping alone and seeing her only briefly each day, I was starting to go crazy. I missed her. I didn’t want to lie in bed awake, thinking about how much I needed her, so I stayed up far too late every night, studying or reading the Consortium’s files. And when I did sleep, I dreamt only of him. I felt his knife pierce my shoulder, his teeth dig into my skin. I saw my blood pooling on the ground, and the flash of color across his knuckles as he backhanded me into oblivion. I heard him taunt me, calling me by name. Every night, he
was there in my head, waiting for me. Between the loneliness and the nightmares, I was exhausted. And my body was physically aching for her touch. I was completely off-kilter.
If Helen had intended for Giselle to relax me, her plan had completely backfired. Ever since getting slapped in the face by just how closely linked sex and feeding were, I had insisted that I drink from Alexa under full supervision. While her blood tasted sweeter than ever, our lack of physical intimacy made the act of feeding feel…empty, somehow. I was frustrated, and she was frustrated—though admirably
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trying not to show it—and yet every time I thought of taking her body as I took her blood, my terror at hurting her eclipsed even my desire. Clearly, she had just forgotten to turn her phone back on after class. Obviously. And yet, something in my brain wouldn’t let me believe it. What if she was angry with me? What if something had happened to her? What if—and this was the thought that really sent me off the deep end—she had finally decided that I wasn’t worth the effort?
Because these days, I required a lot of effort.
I could see the physical changes in Alexa’s body already. Dark circles lurked beneath her eyes, made all the more distinct by the pallor of her cheeks. A month ago, we had been in the habit of calling a fivemile run a “light” workout, but now, she confessed, she could barely manage three. She had lost more weight, too. Most nights, she brought take-out for both of us to eat while we caught each other up on the latest news and tried to savor what little time we had together. We ate in my room—she sitting at the desk, I perched on the bed. So I knew she wasn’t starving herself. Her body just couldn’t keep up with my appetite.
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