“Jed and I, well, even though he travels a lot, we’re pretty close. But you’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” she said once she’d shut off the faucet. “I know that sounds pretty pathetic, because it’s only been a few weeks. But I don’t make friends easily, and you—”
“I feel the same.”
Sydney looked over her shoulder. “Do you?”
“Yes.” To her surprise, Emily came closer and stroked a hand over her hair. Affection bled through the touch, comforting her. Warming her, when God, she’d been cold for so long.
“I hurt for you that day I found you in the library. And your bravery as you try to fight that what can’t be fought both impresses and frustrates me.” When Sydney would have spoken, Emily laid a finger over her lips. “You’re the only one I could ask this. The only one I’d trust to do this thing for me.”
The first hint of fear curdled like turned milk in her stomach. “Don’t.”
“It can be done. A latent is enough of a vampire to create another. I’ve done the research. You know I know what I’m talking about.”
Emily’s silvery eyes glowed with an inner resolve that both intrigued and repelled her. Had she ever been that determined about anything?
No. She’d coasted. Taking what she needed, doing enough to get by. Always telling herself tomorrow could be better than today, but never doing a damn thing to make it so.
“There are no guarantees, I understand that,” Emily continued. “Even with the lore, there’s a chance it won’t take. Or that something might go wrong. But I need to know.”
“To know what?”
“How it feels not to be afraid.”
Sydney had to laugh, but the sound was brittle. “Jesus, Em. Do I look like an example of someone who isn’t afraid?”
“That’s because you’re not embracing the change. I would.” When Sydney turned away, Emily’s voice pitched. “Goddammit, listen to me!”
Emily grabbed her arm and spun Sydney around to face her. “I was raped. Repeatedly. Do you have any clue what it’s like to feel so powerless that your whole identity’s been stripped away? That you feel like nothing but a husk? A shell?”
Sydney took her hand and searched her face wordlessly, then shook her head.
“I’ve been scared for thirteen years, Syd. Scared and ashamed and hiding myself underneath shitty clothes and sarcasm.” She plucked at her olive cardigan as if it were the rattiest rag she’d ever seen. “You can help me even the score. To get back some of my own. To get me back.”
Sydney stared at their linked hands. The naked need radiating from Emily pulled at her. How could she turn away? “If something goes wrong, I couldn’t live with myself.”
“You can’t live with yourself now.”
Her lips twisted into a weak smile. “Great argument, Yost.”
“Hey, we do what we can.” She smiled back, just as weakly. “I trust you, Sydney. And whatever happens, it’s meant. Isn’t that what you tarot-card-reader-types like to preach?”
“I don’t read tarot cards anymore.” She didn’t mess with the metaphysical any longer, not since the otherworld had taken up residence in her body. “But actually, no, the tarot tells us that there is more than one path.”
“Fine. I’ve chosen this one. And you need to feed. Sounds like a plan.”
“You’re not getting what I’m saying. If the change works, you’ll change. You won’t be the you you’ve always been. You’ll want sex and blood all the time. The burn won’t stop. You’ll need it for your very survival.”
“I get it.”
“You’ve been celibate for years. Now you’re ready to throw yourself into the sexual all-star ring, and for what? Because you think becoming a vampire makes you powerful?”
“You are powerful, no matter what you may think,” Emily said quietly. “And you’re not even full strength. If you wanted to, you could decimate this place with little more than a thought.”
Because she’d seen ample evidence of that herself—like pulling her bathroom door off the hinges yesterday when she’d grabbed her towel a little too quickly—she couldn’t argue. But that wouldn’t stop her from trying.
Goddammit, her best friend was asking her to kill her.
So she whipped out the big guns. “You know the bond between a vampire and their sire. It’s not always sexual, but it can be. There’s no way to predict how you’ll react.”
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
Rather than answer, she leaned in and shocked Sydney down to the marrow by laying her lips softly on hers. The kiss was gentle, but persuasive. And though she didn’t go further, the message was clear.
She would do whatever it took.
“You’re asking a lot of me.” Sydney took a shaky breath and eased back. Her lips still thrummed with the power from Emily’s kiss. No power burned like that of intention. “You know how I feel about this whole vampire thing. I’m not there yet in my own head, but you’re asking me to be your sire. If it can even be done, which I have my serious doubts about. And once you’re a vampire, if it works, then what? You have your sense of self back and all will be hunky-dory?” She gripped Emily’s wrist when she shifted her face away. “Or is there more?”
“That would be plenty.”
“Is there more?” she repeated softly, already knowing the answer.
“I’m going to kill him. Happy now?” Emily’s head whipped back and their gazes collided with enough furor to shoot sparks. “He deserves to die. And I deserve to be the one who sends him to hell.”
Kellan tightened his leather jacket around himself as he walked the darkened street toward Pastry ’n’ Joe. It was heading toward midnight, and no one was about though it was a balmy early summer night. Such was the allure of a small town. Not a damn thing open past nine o’clock, but lots of privacy for nocturnal activities, should one know how to blend.
As he’d been blending for thirty years now, he’d grown used to never staying too long in any one place. Already he and Lucas had lived in Nettles for going on two years. They could spare a few more, but then it would be time to pick the next nondescript town in nowhere, USA. Not aging was a problem. Better to move on before anyone asked any pesky, unanswerable questions.
Would Sydney go with him? He shook his head as he lifted his collar against a sudden gust of wind. Premature to wonder, since she’d yet to give him another chance to show he wasn’t an insensitive brute. Hell, they’d never even been on a date. After all, Sydney had been unconscious most of the hours they’d spent together.
Probably why their relationship had lasted as long as it had, he mused sourly.
He turned on to the block that held the coffee shop and quickened his step. He knew she was still at work because her car—the one he’d delivered to her and left outside her apartment—was parked at the end of the lot. But the lights in Pastry ’n’ Joe were out and when he tried the door, it was locked.
Panic scraped icy nails down his throat, though he couldn’t have said why. Maybe she’d gone into the storeroom or—
Then he saw her, bent over a motionless figure on the black-and-white tiled floor. And he saw the blood.
Jesus Christ, what had she done?
He shook the door, rattling it in its hinges. “Sydney,” he said in a low, insistent voice, knowing she would hear him.
Her tear-streaked face lifted, caught in a beam of moonlight. “Kellan!” He saw her lips move around his name, but he didn’t hear it. Didn’t hear anything but her sobs as she ran to the door and pulled it open, then threw herself into his arms. “Help her. Lord, please help her. She’s going to die.”
Without letting her go—and oh God, did it feel good to hold her again—he moved into the shop, half-dragging her when her feet remained rooted to the floor.
“What happened? You bit her,” he said gently when she only shook her head. “Who is she? A patron? Someone who works here?” He knelt and parted the tangle of oak-brown hair tha
t covered her deathly white skin. He took her face in by inches, his dread magnifying.
“Sydney,” he breathed, not only afraid for her victim now, but for her.
She crouched beside him. “It’s not too late, is it? Tell me it’s not too late!”
He gripped her chin, wet with her tears and smeared with blood—Emily’s blood—and shook her until her streaming eyes leveled on his. “You need to tell me exactly what happened, so I can fix this.”
Because if I can’t, there will be three of us dead tonight.
Kellan closed his eyes. And he wouldn’t blame Luke one bit.
“I didn’t want to do it. Honestly. It wasn’t my idea. I tried to convince her she didn’t want this life. I don’t want it, so why would I inflict it on my best friend?”
Her words drove one more stake through his heart, but the hits kept coming. He should be used to them by now. “Your best friend?”
“Yes. We’re friends now. She understands. She doesn’t judge me. Oh God, I should have thrown her out of here when she came up with her stupid plan, no matter the reasons.” Her throat worked as she stroked Emily’s cheek with the back of her fingers. “She’s Lucas’s mate.”
“Yes.”
“If he hadn’t lied to her about being a vampire, she could have asked him. She would have been sired by him, not half-assed sired by me.” More tears fell, and she dashed them with furious impatience. “This is his fault almost as much as mine.”
“Wait a second. You’re saying you tried to sire her? Not drink her? You would have had to drain her to the point of mortal death—” He fumbled for Emily’s pulse, and found a faint, thready beat that wouldn’t have sustained a rabbit. “Jesus Christ. She’s nearly dead.”
He whipped off his coat and stared at his mate as if he’d never seen her before. And in many ways, he never had. What could have possessed her to do something so stupid? So utterly dangerous?
“She wanted it. You’re not listening to me. She begged me to sire her. To try. She was sure it would work, but it didn’t. And in the end, she didn’t give me a choice.” Sydney snatched at the bloody knife lying beside Emily’s knee. “She cut herself. Above the jugular. I had no choice. And God, the smell, the taste….” She buried her face in her hands, her body wracked with silent sobs. “I didn’t stop. I just kept taking and taking more. And she scarcely drank from me after.” Absently, she fingered the fading marks on her wrist. “I took too much, didn’t I?”
“Very bloody likely. Which isn’t surprising, because you don’t have a clue what you’re doing.” Little of her story made sense to him—since when did Emily want to be a vampire?—but he didn’t have time to ask questions.
He also didn’t have a choice. She was too far gone to be brought back as a human. Emily had to become a vampire or she would die.
And what that meant for him and Sydney, and for Lucas and Emily, he couldn’t stop to think about. They would all have to live with the decision he had to make, but right now he had to act.
“I need you to listen to me and to do everything I say. First, lock that door.”
She scrambled up to comply, then rushed back to his side.
“Cover her mouth,” he told her as he unbuttoned Emily’s starchy blouse. “She may start to scream, and you need to keep her quiet. Don’t cut off her airflow. She’ll need every bit of air she can get until she changes over.”
If she changes over. But he didn’t voice that part aloud.
When he briskly unfastened Emily’s bra, Sydney stared at him. “Why are you undressing her?”
“I have to bite her in the heart.” At her gasp, he stripped the cups of Emily’s bra away. He left her with as much modesty as he could and still access her heart. “It’s the only thing that will shock her system enough to revive her. When that happens, I have seconds to get my blood into her system. So you need to keep her quiet while I’m bringing her back, but once I have, she’ll need my blood. And possibly yours, too.”
Sydney nodded. “Whatever she needs. Oh God, thank you for coming. For knowing I needed you.”
But yet she hadn’t called. She hadn’t reached out even when her supposed best friend’s life was at stake.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said under his breath, lowering his mouth to Emily’s chest.
He didn’t hesitate. Her skin, so soft and pale with the last blush of life, would have proved irresistible even if he hadn’t been charged with bringing her back from the brink. Once his fangs pierced her flesh and her rich, luscious essence spurted onto his tongue, he was lost.
It had been weeks since he’d had anything but bagged blood. The craving consumed him. Driven by his own mindless hunger, he fed eagerly, not wasting a drop. But still, he managed to pull back when the weak pump of her heart began to slow even further and the torrent of blood in his mouth eased to a steady trickle.
“Now,” he gasped, and picked up the blade at Emily’s knee. He slashed his wrist and handed the knife to Sydney, then clamped his wrist over Emily’s mouth.
She hadn’t screamed, he realized. Had barely even moaned. Her lips parted with a flash of white. Teeth. Not fangs, not yet. He forced her mouth open wider and rubbed his wrist back and forth while her lids fluttered as if electricity sparked under her skin. Then, slowly, oh so slowly, she began to swallow the liquid that splashed her chin and cheeks.
“More.” His voice was little more than a rumble.
“Do you need me?”
Sydney’s voice came from far away. He glanced up and saw her clutching the wrist she’d slashed open again to her own lips. Her pupils dilated under his intent stare.
“Always.”
“My blood. I mean, does she….”
“She doesn’t. Not right now.” The room seemed to contract and expand in dizzying waves. He knew the sensation well. He’d felt it after the night he’d almost drained Sydney in her car. Likewise, he’d given too much of his blood to Emily, and now he was starving.
He drew her arm toward him. “But I do.”
Kellan expected her to resist. Her eyes were wide with nerves and arousal, and the scent that poured off her reflected both. But she came closer willingly, and cradled her other arm around his head when he began to feed.
He knew he moaned at the first taste of her after being so long denied. Pleasure saturated every pore as her bitterly sweet blood undulated through him like a warm riptide. It opened the clenched channels inside him, easing the emptiness he’d carried since she’d left.
He sensed rather than saw her settling Emily’s head on her lap. She still drew from him even while he fed from Sydney, an oddly fulfilling erotic chain. Emily took what was dark and cold inside him while Sydney gave him back his life.
His love.
He fought to drag his fangs from her wrist as the wild hunger began to ebb. Her succulent flesh, ripe with blood and coated in the smell of rich coffee, soap, and her own sexual perfume, proved more than he could withstand.
His eyes locked on hers, already drugged from the sensuous pull of his teeth. “I can’t stop.”
“Don’t.” She panted the word. “Don’t.”
Was she asking him to stop? Or to continue? He had no way of knowing but for the barometer of her blood. He didn’t taste her fear any longer, just pleasure. Just need. Endless, towering need.
But fears of draining her loomed in his mind, and he didn’t have Lucas to act as ballast if she needed an infusion. So he made himself pull away, though the effort cost him immeasurably.
Sydney gazed at him in the charged darkness, her green eyes huge enough to swallow him whole. “You could’ve had more.”
She had to have been near capacity yet she offered herself. Love surged through him. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He only shook his head.
Sydney stroked her knuckles over Emily’s cheek. Her lips had gone slack, though blood still ran in rivulets into her mouth. The jerk of her throat showed she still swallowed, but she appeared asleep.
Another one. W
hy the hell didn’t anyone turn the way they were supposed to anymore? In the old days, the change had generally invoked the ravages of the hell vampires were said to hail from. Now after little more than a nap, a new nightdweller was born.
“I smell her arousal now,” Sydney said, the statement laced with wonder and an edgy tension Kellan knew was lust.
Bisexuality was hardly uncommon among vampires, or humans for that matter. The urge for sex often didn’t discriminate, but people could, if they chose. He’d chosen long ago only to sleep with females, but that didn’t mean Sydney would choose only males.
And if it came to that, would he be able to watch her with Emily as he’d watched her with Lucas? Would finding his soul’s mate mean he had to learn to share her?
He drew in a deep, heady breath, tinged with both Sydney’s and Emily’s need. Their scents were individual. Sydney’s was bittersweet, like pure dark chocolate straight from the cocoa bean. Emily’s was sharper, keener, the smell of ozone stinging the air before a storm. And his own, crisp like a woodland after midnight when only the creatures of the night dared to play, layering over both.
“She’ll need more than blood soon.”
“I warned her.” Sydney leaned forward, and for a moment, her hands hovered over Emily’s breasts, still partially exposed. Then she closed her bra and pulled the panels of her blouse together. “She said she was prepared. She…kissed me.”
He waited for a reaction. Irritation. Jealousy. Possessiveness. But he could only gaze at the limp, dozing girl that Sydney cuddled in her lap as if she were a precious doll.
“She was determined,” was all he said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her lips firmed and she merely shook her head. A moment later, she whispered, “Will she survive?”
“I can’t say. Nothing is as it used to be. Turning is usually exquisitely painful, but she seems to be mostly at peace. As you were.” He tried to keep his tone neutral. “Though you didn’t fully change.”
“The transition wasn’t as bad because of my latency. We read up. Did all the research.” She gave him a small, pained smile. “The only thing we couldn’t find was how to make it go away.”
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