Diana exuded confidence, always seeming comfortable in her environment. I couldn’t help but wonder if she had a knife hidden somewhere on her at that moment.
“I read that book you recommended to me,” Diana told Connor, her voice filled with genuine interest.
Connor’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and a contagious energy laced his words as they delved into a discussionabout the book. I spaced out for a bit, feeling a sense of disconnection at the table. The music blared from the speakers, and I glanced at Donovan, who looked lost trying to keep up with the book plot, occasionally asking about what happened next.
Suddenly, I felt closed in and alone among the Slayers.
“Excuse me for a second,” I said, feeling the need for a breath of fresh air.
Outside, the cool night air embraced me, offering a moment of solace. I took a deep breath, attempting to quell the rising tide of stress within me, and fumbled for my phone to text Vail about Ivy and Sam’s absence. I waited for a minute for her response, but it never came. I took a moment to compose myself before returning inside.
I settled back into my seat, feeling Connor’s hand gently rest on my thigh. His concerned gaze met mine, silently asking if I was all right. With a subtle nod, I reassured him, squeezing his hand in return.
A round of tequila shots arrived at the table from a waiter.
“We ordered tequila shots when you were gone,” Diana told me.
“Clearly,” I smiled back at her.
Shit.
I knew I had to take a shot, or it would look suspicious. I was tempted for a moment to tell them that I didn’t drink, but with that and not eating the salad at dinner with Connor, he was bound to get suspicious. The shot glass stared back at me while I contemplated. If I drank it, then I would have a few minutes before my body would violently reject the liquid.
As my eyes met Connor’s, he smiled encouragingly, tipping his head back to down the shot. I followed suit, letting the fiery liquid sear its way down my throat. It had been yearssince I’d tasted anything other than blood, and the feeling was overwhelming. The burning sensation intensified as it travelled down to my stomach, where an immediate unease began.
“So, tell me about Connor,” I asked Diana and Donovan, attempting to divert attention from the churning in my stomach. I felt a small burp escape my throat and quickly swallowed, trying to compose myself. “Any juicy gossip?”
Diana exchanged a knowing look with Donovan before smirking. “Oh, you want the juicy details, huh? Well, Connor has a secret talent for salsa dancing,” she teased, earning a playful shove from Connor.
“I do not,” Connor laughed. The sound of his laughter made me smile. I hated to admit it, but I loved the sound of it.
The banter continued, and my worry from the Slayers surrounding me subsided, but the bubbling in my stomach grew more intense.
“Where is the washroom?” I asked Diana. I could feel my skin getting hot, and I hoped that I wasn’t sweating.
“Over there.” She motioned to a door at the back of the pub. “I’ll come with you,” she added, standing up.
Oh shit.
As Diana followed me to the bathroom, I attempted to maintain a casual pace, not wanting to betray any signs of distress. Every step felt like an eternity as the realization sank in—I was being trailed to the bathroom by a Slayer skilled with knives. My mind raced with uncertainty. How was I supposed to discreetly vomit with a Slayer in the bathroom with me?
The bathroom felt cramped, and the low buzz of the fluorescent lights hummed in my ears like a fly. Diana walked over to the sink, her eyes sharp in the harsh light. She was fixing her hair and touching nonexistent imperfections in herface. The stalls lined one side of the room, each door baring scratches of graffiti. I walked over and opened the stall door; I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The walls seemed to close in, and the faint music of the pub outside penetrated the thin walls, adding to the irritating noise in my ears.
“I don’t feel so good,” I said out loud. I had to tell Diana to make it seem less abrupt. “I think I might throw up.”
“You do seem pale,” Diana said, making her way over to me. But before she could reach me, I closed the stall door, barely containing the rising panic within me. With a violent lurch, I expelled everything from my stomach, the pure crimson of blood staining the pristine white of the toilet bowl.
“Oh, poor thing. Do you need help in there?” Diana called out.
I took a wad of toilet paper and cleaned up the blood around the toilet and on my lips and mouth. I flushed.
“No, thanks, I’m okay. I feel instantly better.” And I did. With the liquor and blood out of my stomach, I felt normal again.
I composed myself for a moment, straightening my clothes, and when I opened the door, Diana was standing there with a pack of gum in her hand.
“Here, you’ll probably need one.”
I took one, giving her a small smile. In that moment, the lines between Vampire and Slayer blurred, and we were two individuals, briefly connected in a shared act of mutual assistance within the confines of the women’s washroom.
