by Selena Kitt
“Go back to the bedroom,” Zeph instructs, kissing me hard on the mouth before turning me around and pointing me down the hall. “Unless you want to be her breakfast, I suggest you go into the bedroom and wait for me.”
I nod, swallowing hard as I glance back, seeing the dark look in Zeph’s eyes, remembering the hungry one in Muriel’s. I suddenly remember what they told me just before they granted my wish. The words echo in my head.
You realize becoming mortal for any length of time leaves you subject to all the possible consequences, including the possibility of injury or death?
And my first thought had been—what could happen in twenty-four hours?
I hadn’t counted on vampires.
“Go!” Zeph smacks my bottom for good measure and I yelp. It stings.
“I’m going!” I insist, scooting down the hall.
Zeph waits for me to go in. Then he waits for me to slowly close the door.
I stand there shaking for a moment, remembering the inhuman look in Muriel’s eyes. The unquenchable thirst in them. If Zeph hadn’t been there…
“What did you kiss her for?” Char’s voice rises in anger. I can hear him, even through the door. “She’s not sleeping fucking beauty!”
And I remember my own anger, my jealousy. I want to hear more about that kiss.
I tell myself to just get back into bed and wait for Zeph. I tell myself that I don’t want to be some young vampire’s first meal. I tell myself that Zeph is likely to kill me himself if he finds I’ve disobeyed him. I tell myself that curiosity killed the cat.
And then I open the door. Just a crack. Just enough so I can hear.
“How long has she been in love with you?” Zeph asks quietly.
I’m glad I opened the door, because I wouldn’t have been able to hear them through it, not now that they’re talking in reasonable tones.
“Fuck, Zeph. It’s not my damned fault!”
“How long?”
Char sighs. “What, Mr. Know It All, you couldn’t see that?”
“It was… murky,” Zeph replies. “I think she was trying to keep me out. She’s still trying. She doesn’t want me to know. She doesn’t want you to know.”
“Why did you kiss her?” Char asks again. His voice shakes slightly, probably in anger. It’s clear he cares for Muriel. Has he turned her into a vampire?
“I didn’t do it for kicks!” Zeph snaps. “Listen, in her mind, she thought I was you, It… it was all I could do to bring her fully here.”
“Don’t!” Muriel croaks, speaking for the first time. Her voice is like gravel. I remember how I felt, waking up on Zeph’s couch, cold, alone, in an unfamiliar human body. “Don’t you dare tell him!”
“Tell me what?” Char sounds almost as confused as I feel.
“Take her home, Char.” Zeph sighs. “Feed her. Talk to her. Maybe she’ll tell you what happened. She knows. She remembers.”
“Goddamnit, tell me!” Char insists.
I remember how they wrestled together and wonder if they’re going to start again. I check to make sure there’s a lock on the door, in case they go at it and Muriel decides to follow her nose and make a meal of me.
Not that I’m sure a lock would keep her out.
“It’s not for me to tell.” Zeph isn’t going to say, I know by the tone of his voice. I know so little and so much about this man all at once. “Go home. Both of you, go home.”
“So you can get back to your twenty-four hour fling?”
“Char, don’t.” There’s a warning in Zeph’s voice. I don’t like being reminded of how little time we have either. Or being called a “fling.” It reduces what we have together. What we have is outside of time.
“Are you going to turn her?” Char’s question turns me cold. Turn me? Into a vampire? Is that what he means? I imagine waking up like Muriel and shudder.
“Are you mad?” Zeph exclaims.
“You could, you know.” Char sounds so calm, so casual, talking about turning me into one of them. A part of me is appalled, but another part of me comes alive. I suddenly have a little bit of hope. Is it possible? I’m human now. They warned me, in this form, I could be hurt. Or die. Or… perhaps become undead? I could be like Zeph.
I could be with Zeph.
Forever.
“I won’t do that,” Zeph says angrily. “I’m not going to turn her into one of us. Look at Muriel. Look into her eyes. I don’t ever want to see that look in Sam’s.”
And just like that, the brief flight of hope fluttering in my chest is caged.
“Are you sure?” There’s a knowing in Char’s voice. He must know how tempting the thought is. I know Zeph wants to be with me as much as I want to be with him.
“Would you have turned Muriel?” Zeph asks.
The other man doesn’t answer for a moment. Then, he says, “I didn’t have to.”
“No, she turned herself,” Zeph says softly. “Go home, Char.”
Turned herself? Was that possible? How did it work?
“Zeph… thank you.” Char claps him on the back. I know that sound. “For bringing her back. I don’t know what you do or how you do it…”
“I’m sorry I kissed her,” Zeph apologizes, sounding a little sheepish now. That makes me feel a little better. “It just… it was the only thing I could think of...”
“It worked.” Char doesn’t sound angry with Zeph anymore, and I know that’s true when he says, “Thank you.”
“She’s yours now.”
“Yes. And I’m grateful,” Char says. “But Zeph, I didn’t… I wouldn’t have…”
“Nor would I,” Zeph replies softly. I have to strain to hear him. “I know you wouldn’t have turned her. And I won’t turn Sam.”
“I’m sorry, brother.”
“Me too.” Zeph sighs. “Good night. Take good care of her. She loves you very much.”
I closed the bedroom door as quietly as I can, quickly hanging Zeph’s robe up before hopping into bed. I want to ask him. I want to know everything. But I’m supposed to be locked in the bedroom, awaiting his return. I’m not supposed to have been eavesdropping, overhearing a conversation between two vampires about turning and hunger, love and madness.
I’m still wondering how I’m going to ask him, what I’m going to say, fighting the overwhelming tiredness in my limbs, when I lose my struggle and drift off, my eyelids so heavy they feel as if they have weights on them. I haven’t
When Zeph opens the door, calling my name softly, it’s like a dream. I only stir slightly when he climbs into bed beside me, snuggling up close, so we’re like two spoons in a drawer. I remember I want to ask him something, but I’m too tired to remember what. Instead I mumble something about vampires and kisses as he presses his lips to my shoulder.
Then I slip into darkness again.
Chapter Twelve
“Maya doesn’t know what you are?” I ask as Zeph pulls up to a house at least twice the size of his own. It’s fully decorated for the holidays with icicle lights hanging from the gutters and a big, blow-up Santa on the lawn. I love seeing it all decorated for Christmas. The whole block is the same. The snow has continued to fall. It covers everything.
“No.” He cuts the engine and pockets the keys. “She just thinks I’m a nice preschool teacher… who happens to be a little psychic.”
“You can really read minds?” I ask, still a little incredulous. He’s not only a little bit psychic—he also happens to be a little bit vampire.
“Human minds, yes,” he replies. That makes me think of Muriel. Had he been reading her mind? We still haven’t talked about it—and he still doesn’t know that I was listening.
“Mine?” I gulp. I know he can, if he tries, but I keep forgetting.
He nods slowly, a slow grin spreading over his face.
“So you know what I’m thinking right now?” I bite my lip, meeting those dark, knowing eyes.
“Yes.” He leans over and whispers into my ear. “And if you don’t stop,
I’m going to throw you into the backseat and have my way with you.”
I’m not averse to the idea, especially when he puts his arms around me and kisses me deeply. I’ve never felt so connected to anyone or anything before, celestial or human. It’s true, I realize, breathing in the scent of him, feeling the way our bodies fit together. Yesterday, when I first became human, I profoundly missed the constant presence of The Maker. Now, I’ve grown used to the absence of it. And something else has come to fill its place. Zeph looks at me and I wonder if he knows I’m thinking that.
If he does, he doesn’t tell me. Instead, he just holds me close, both of us all too aware of how little time we have left together. But we don’t talk about that either. There’s no point.
“Do I smell… food?” I lift my head from his shoulder, sniffing the air.
“Come on, my little glutton.” Zeph laughs, rolling his eyes and getting out of the car.
I shiver as we rush up to the door. It’s beyond cold outside. The air hurts my lungs. And I’m not dressed for this weather.
“You’re practically drooling.” Zeph wraps his arms around me. He isn’t warm, but he blocks the wind.
The whole house smells like food. I can even smell it standing on the doorstep.
“I’m hungry again,” I confess with a sigh. My teeth are chattering. “Does this hunger thing ever stop?”
“No.” He leans in and kisses me, making me hungry for something else entirely.
I’m surprised when Maya’s birth mother, so recently reunited with her daughter, answers the door, but I’m grateful to get out of the bitter cold.
“Hello, I’m Gloria McCormick,” she says, waving us inside. Of course, I know already, but I don’t say that. Instead, I let Zeph make the introductions. He just gives them my first name because, well, that’s all I have. He can’t exactly introduce me as Samariel Azuran.
“Zeph!” Maya hugs him and I find myself experiencing that new emotion—jealousy—even more strongly, even though I know she’s just his friend. “I didn’t know you were bringing someone.”
“Neither did I.” He grins. “Maya, this is Sam.”
“Nice to meet you.” She takes my hand and squeezes it and I try not to remember what she looked like that time I saw her in the tub. Touching herself. With this hand. Yikes! “This is my husband, Rick.”
Right. Of course, she has a husband. I remember now. But I still don’t like the way she takes Zeph’s hand and leads him into the living room as her husband, Rick, shakes mine.
“You met my mother?” Maya asks over her shoulder.
“I had the pleasure.” Zeph smiles at the older woman.
I can see the resemblance between the two women. It’s actually uncanny, especially when they’re sitting next to each other on the sofa. Zeph sits in a big, oversized chair, beckoning me to him. I see the way Maya looks at us when Zeph pulls me into his lap, a hand on my bare knee.
I’m wearing a skirt—a pretty red Christmas one I’d insisted on having from Wal-Mart—and a t-shirt with glittery jingle bells painted on it. There are red ribbons strategically tied to the top of each bell. Zeph had laughed when I picked it out, saying it was like shopping with one of Santa’s elves.
“Well, this is her husband, Steve,” Maya says, introducing a tall man with short-cropped hair standing near the fireplace with a drink in his hand. I recognize him from the day I’d made him late for work. The day his wife entered his bedroom and they made love for the first time in years. But I don’t say that.
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Zeph says politely, giving the man a nod. I just smile at him. He’s not that old—neither is Maya’s mother, honestly. Probably both in their mid-forties. But he doesn’t smile, and his eyes are old. Pained.
“He also happens to be my birth father,” Maya says softly, sliding a hand into her mother’s and squeezing.
“What?” I blurt, confused. I knew Gloria was her mother, but I had no idea Steve was her father. Of course, everything with The Maker is on a need-to-know basis. Obviously I hadn’t needed to know anything about Steve.
Steve looks over at his daughter, still not smiling, but his eyes soften.
“We’ll have to tell you the story over dinner.” Maya looks at me, then at Zeph, and smiles.
I really don’t like the way she smiles at him. I mean, I can’t blame her. There’s something about Zeph, always has been, that’s rather magnetic. Probably that vampire vibe, I realize, now that I know about it. It would be attractive to humans, right? Because, you know, humans are basically like walking Happy Meals for vampires.
Still, I don’t like it.
“Dinner?” I perk up at the word—my stomach is growling again, even after my breakfast of bacon and eggs. Well, to be fair, we’d worked all of that off. In the kitchen. And the shower. And the bedroom. And the hallway. And in the shower again.
I can feel Zeph laughing silently beside me.
“It’s just about ready.” Maya nods. “Are you hungry?”
“She’s always hungry,” Zeph says, his hand squeezing my knee.
The dining room has a giant mahogany table and chairs decorated with Santa hats on the back. It’s set for five, but Gloria is putting down another place setting for me. I sit next to Zeph and smile at Steve as he pours me a glass of wine. I’ve never had wine before and I find it strange, fruity but a little bitter too. It makes me wince when I drink it, but after a few sips, I have a nice, warm feeling in my middle. I ask him for more.
Gloria and Maya carry dishes to the table filled with food. Rick brings in a turkey, golden brown and steaming, and starts to carve it. Steve sits and drinks his wine. Zeph’s hand moves from my knee up to my thigh. There are bruises there—he was gripping me so hard in the shower—and feeling his hand on those little sore spots brings back the memory with incredible heat. I put my hand over his under the table and squeeze.
“So tell us this story,” I say once everyone sits down and starts passing the food. I’m on my third glass of wine and everything has grown soft around the edges. “It sounds Christmasy.”
“I guess it is.” Maya takes the basket of rolls from me. She’s at one head of the table, on my left, her husband at the other. Gloria and Steve sit across from me and Zeph. “At least, it has a happy ending.”
“It certainly does.” Gloria takes the basket of rolls from her daughter. “You see, I gave Maya up for adoption twenty-five years ago.”
I know this part of the story but I nod along like I don’t, nibbling on my roll. I brighten up when Zeph takes it and slathers butter on it for me.
“I didn’t want to,” Gloria goes on, pouring gravy on her turkey. “But you see, her father was shipped overseas.”
“Gulf war,” Steve says, pouring himself more wine. Me, too, when I hold out my glass.
“We were young,” Gloria explains, nudging her husband with an elbow. “And Steve, the doofus… he told me I had to forget about him.”
“I didn’t want her waiting around for me.” Steve scowled, offering his plate to Rick, who put turkey onto it. The platter with the bird was too big and heavy to pass. “Who knew what might happen to me over there? I didn’t get killed, but I got plenty sick.”
“Wait… you got back together?” Zeph asked, holding out both my plate and his for our share of turkey.
“We did.” Gloria nodded, putting mashed potatoes onto her plate. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, I got pregnant. Then, Steve dumped me and went overseas—”
“I thought I was doing the gallant thing.” Steve shrugged, looking a little sheepish.
“Right. So Steve said he didn’t want me to wait for him, and I found myself pregnant,” Gloria went on, passing the potatoes. “I was just out of high school. I’d started community college, but I was living at home. And my mother—she was adamant about not helping me raise a child.”
“Old bat,” her husband grumbled, passing the potatoes to Rick, who was done doling out turkey.
“Steve!�
� Gloria nudged him again with an elbow.
“She’s dead. She can’t hear me.” Steve rolled his eyes.
“So, anyway, I felt a little stuck,” Gloria confessed. “I have to admit, I considered… the alternative to adoption.”
“Keeping the baby?” I ask, spooning fluffy white mashed potatoes onto my plate. Just looking at them makes me happy.
“Sam…” Zeph nudges me and I cock my head at him, confused.
Then I understand.
“Ohhhh.” It never would have occurred to me. Abortion is the ending of a life, however small or just begun, and fairies, that’s not ever what we do.
“I, for one, am glad you didn’t,” Maya says, smiling at her mother.
“Me too, sweetheart.” Gloria replies softly.
“Me too, actually,” says Rick, passing Zeph the gravy.
“I think we can all say we’re glad Maya’s alive,” Zeph agrees, pouring the gravy and handing it to me. His lighthearted comment makes everyone laugh.
“Right, of course.” Gloria holds her glass out to her husband for more wine and so do I. “So obviously I decided to have the baby. But I couldn’t… I just couldn’t raise her on my own. And I knew I wasn’t going to get any help.”
“If you’d just told me,” Steve grumbled.
“You didn’t tell him?” I ask through a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy.
“No.” Gloria shakes her head, looking down at her plate. “I didn’t want him to feel trapped.”
“But if she’d told you?” I look at Steve, blinking in surprise.
“Well, she did tell me,” he says with a shrug. “Eventually. But by then it was too late.”
“What do you mean?” I’m absolutely enthralled by this story now. It’s even distracting me from the heavenly taste of sweet potatoes topped with mini marshmallows.
“I made arrangements for the adoption,” Gloria says. “Giving her away was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I thought… well, I thought she would have a better life with a couple, instead of being raised by a single mother…”
Beside me, Maya snorts and rolls her eyes, taking a long drink of wine, but she doesn’t say anything.
