Things are worse now than when we first met. At least then, although we couldn’t stand each other, I could stillseeher. And even though we still sleep side by side to avoid our nightmares coming back, that is the extent of our proximity. We don’t speak. I swallow hard and make my way across the room, stopping just outside her curtains.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
“Sure.” Her voice is nasal.
I lift one curtain and find Aliz staring down at me from her coffin. Her eyes are bloodshot.
“I probably shouldn’t talk,” she says. “I don’t want it to happen again.”
I take in her features. The urge to reach out and grab her hands burns through my veins. But I ignore it. “All right,” I whisper.
I already know what I want to say. I know what I’ll be giving up, but there is no alternative. Unless we magically find another cure before Tuesday night. “This might be a lot to ask from you,” I start, trying to keep my voice composed. Sure of myself. “But if the mark becomes permanent”—I touch my neck, fingers trembling against my skin—“will you sire me?”
Aliz’s eyes widen, and before I can make sense of her expression, she bends over, hiding her face. I hear a deep inhale before she says:
“You know, you’ve told me a lot of lies. But when you said you’d rather die than become a vampire, I knew you were telling the truth.”
My chest stings.
“Only if we don’t find another cure,” I say.
I reach out to touch her knee. For a second I think she’s going to push me away. Instead, she grabs my wrist and pulls me close, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.
“We’ll fix it,” I say, voice cracking. It could be worse. I could hate her. I could have more to lose. But if we’re not able to perform thecure,I’d rather give up my mortality than my free will. And if anyone is going to turn me into the monster I’ve spent the last four years fighting, I want it to be her.
She pulls back slightly, brushing my cheek. Her eyes search mine, and I nod. In a matter of seconds I’m melting into her, her lips just as hungry as they were during our first kiss.
I climb up onto the coffin, pushing her down. The wood creaks as I undo the buttons of her waistcoat.
“Am I still not allowed to touch?” I ask. I tug the last pearly button of her shirt open. Beneath it, she’s in a cotton vest, nipples hard against the fabric.
“I want you to,” she says, breathless.
“But?”
She sits up suddenly, her shirt falling down her toned arms, while pushing me back in the process. “But I still don’t trust myself,” she whispers, hiking up my skirt. “You smell too good.” She traces the contour of the mark with her fingers, a slow line from my neck down my torso, and although the thorns end just beneath the waist, Aliz continues, following her fingers with her lips, managing, in just a few minutes, to undo all my worries.
The full moonis hidden behind thick clouds right outside our window. Soon it will be at the same spot where it was when Aliz and I first performed the blood contract. Somehow, that night feels years away already.
While Aliz is showering, I strap on my weapons, just as I did when I went to Inverness. Three silver daggers to my thigh, but no cross this time. My stake, with my real name etched into the wood, I slot into a pocket that Elia has sewn into the white wings that go with my costume.
Its cut is not too dissimilar from that of the dresses I wear to blood parties. And considering what I’m going to do, perhaps it’s appropriate. The fabric is pleated chiffon, with a layer of silk underneath it. Ipull the dress on. It has long, off-the-shoulder sleeves, with a golden thread crisscrossed up the length of the fabric.
By the end of the night, if things go our way, it’ll be dyed crimson with blood.
I’m struggling with the zip of the dress when the bathroom door creaks open. Aliz walks out, towel around her shoulders, wearing a white vest and a pair of black leather trousers. Her hair is still damp, sticking to her forehead.
“Could you give me a hand?” I ask, the zip stuck halfway up my back.
Aliz nods. I’m not used to her being so quiet. She’s been communicating in texts, afraid of accidentally commanding me again. I only heard her voice in the middle of the night, when we got carried away, her lips on my neck, and her hand between my legs. She draws the zip all the way up and does a few buttons that I hadn’t noticed were there.
“Thanks,” I whisper while she reaches for her phone.
What are you dressedas?
“Cupid,” I say, putting on the wings. “Elia said she wore this same outfit eighty years ago.”
Aliz’s gaze stops on the spot where the Familiar’s mark starts, well hidden beneath a coat of tattoo concealer. “What’syourcostume?”
