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By Root 4434 0

I bit him. I wasn’t a vampire. There were no mind tricks to make it pleasant. We weren’t having sex anymore, there was no distraction, only my teeth tearing his flesh, his blood pouring into my mouth, and the moment the blood poured over me the necromancy flared and I pushed it into that honeyed touch. She laughed at me, at us, then the laughter stopped, because she felt the push of my power. I was a necromancer, and she was just another kind of vampire. My magic didn’t differentiate between her and any other corpse. I shoved her out, cast her back, locked her outside us. I’d been training in witchcraft this year, so I bound her from us, bound her from harming us in any way, bound her from contacting us through her power. My last thought to her was, If you want to find out what the fuck is going on, pick up a phone. Then she was gone.

19

I WAS NAKED again. It seemed to be a theme that night. The five of us lay in a heap, breathing hard, bodies tingling, with that rush that magic will leave behind sometimes—where you feel both tired and exhilarated at the same time—sort of like sex. Asher and Nathaniel lay on the bed just out of my reach. My mouth, chin, and neck were covered in Jason’s blood. He lay with his head on my chest, his head turned so I could see the neck wound. I’d marked Nathaniel and Micah, but there was a piece of meat missing from Jason’s neck. It wasn’t a big piece, but it was a missing piece of flesh, nonetheless.

I swallowed hard, taking deep, even breaths. I would not throw up. I would not throw up. I would not throw up. I was going to throw up. I pushed everyone off the bed and ran for the bathroom. I threw up, and the flesh—about the size of a fifty-cent piece—came up just like it had gone down—whole. There was something about seeing it, about having my worst fears confirmed that brought nausea in a burning wave. I threw up until I thought my head would explode and I was dry heaving.

There was a knock on the door. “Ma petite, may I come in?” He hadn’t asked if I was alright. Smart vampire. I didn’t answer him, just stayed kneeling with my head against the cool bathtub edge, wondering if I was going to throw up again or my head would fall off first. My head hurt worse than my stomach.

I heard the door open. “Ma petite?”

“I’m here,” I said, my voice sounding thick, as if I’d been crying. I kept my head down. I didn’t want to see him, or anyone.

I saw the edge of the black robe, then more of it as he knelt down in front of me. “Is there anything I can get you?”

A dozen answers flew through my mind, most of them sarcastic, but I settled for, “Some aspirin and a toothbrush.”

“You could ask me to cut my heart out at this moment, and I might do it. Instead you ask for aspirin and a toothbrush.” He leaned in and laid the gentlest of kisses on the top of my head. “I will get what you ask.” He stood, and again I heard a drawer opening and closing.

I looked up and watched him move efficiently around the bathroom, setting out a bottle of aspirin and a toothbrush and a choice of toothpastes. It was absurdly domestic, and the black-furred robe didn’t fit the part. Jean-Claude looked like someone who should have servants, and he did. But mostly around me he’d always done for himself, and for me. When I wasn’t around he probably had fifty dancing girls waiting on him hand and foot. But with me, it was often just him.

He brought me the aspirin and a glass of water. I took them, and there was a moment when I wasn’t sure my stomach would keep them down, but it passed. Jean-Claude helped me stand, and I let him. It wasn’t just that my legs were shaky—though they were—it was more like all of me was shaky, uncertain.

I started to shiver and couldn’t stop. Jean-Claude held me against his robe in the circle of his arms. My breast hurt where it rubbed against the cloth. I pulled back enough to look down at my body. There was a perfect imprint of Nathaniel’s teeth encircling my breast around the areola. He’d only drawn blood in a few places, but the rest was a deep red-purple. It was going to be a hell of a