"Try the B positive," Connor suggested. "It's the easiest for beginners."
Charlie lifted the glass, the crystal cool against his fingers. The blood inside looked almost burgundy in the candlelight. He brought it to his lips, took the tiniest sip.
It didn't make him faint. It didn't even make him dizzy.
It tasted like summer.
"Holy shit," he breathed.
Maya grinned. "Right? Whatever they do to it here, it works."
The rest of the meal passed in a blur. Charlie found himself actually enjoying the blood, sipping carefully from each glass, marveling at how different they tasted. The other vampires included him in their conversations naturally, asking about his experiences without judgment, sharing their own disasters and adaptations.
For the first time since that night behind Rosie's, Charlie felt like maybe he wasn't a mistake.
After dinner, Thomas offered to show Charlie to his room. They walked through hallways lined with what looked like genuine antiques, their footsteps muffled by runners that probably cost more than Charlie had made in his entire working life.
"Maya wasn't joking about the books, just so you know," Thomas said, stopping at a door marked with a brass number twelve. "There's a whole series on adaptation challenges. It helped me figure out why I kept breaking everything I touched for the first month."
"You did?"
"Let's say I had some trouble gauging my strength." Thomas waited while Charlie fumbled with the old-fashioned key. "Viktor says you're three weeks old?"
"Four now, I guess."
"And you made it this long on your own?"
Charlie pushed open the door. The room beyond was simple but comfortable—a bed with far too many pillows, a writing desk, and built-in bookshelves. A window that looked out onto the gardens. "Wasn't really alone. I had help."
Thomas leaned against the doorframe. "Your sire?"
"No. He left. Someone else." Charlie didn't know how to explain Simon. The hunter who was supposed to kill him. The man whose blood sang in Charlie's veins. The person whose kisses both felt like drowning and drawing breath for the first time.
"Complicated?"
"You could say that."
Thomas nodded like this made perfect sense. "It often is." He straightened. "Integration session's in an hour. It's in the East wing. Make sure to follow the incredibly pretentious signs for 'Authentic Movement Studio.' We're doing control exercises tonight."
"Control exercises?"
"Learning to moderate strength, speed, senses. Basic stuff, but useful. Unlike Tuesday's session on 'Embracing Your Eternal Journey Through Journaling.'"
After Thomas left, Charlie sat on the bed. It was firm but not too firm, with sheets that felt expensive against his skin. The room smelled faintly of lavender and something else, something that made his vampire senses settle in a way they hadn't since turning.
He should feel safe.
Happy, even.
These people understood him. They'd given him answers, community, blood that didn't make him want to die.
It was a nice change from spending his nights at the convenience store and sucking ketchup out of plastic sachets.
So why did his chest feel hollow?
A knock interrupted his thoughts. Viktor entered without waiting for an answer, closing the door behind him with deliberate care.
"Well?"
