It’s not my fault that my blood smells the way it does. But her thirst isn’t her fault, either.
I climb off the bed, and I’m not sure if it’s the sudden movementor the deadly look that’s hardened my features, but she snaps back into lucidity, her neutral expression twisting into panic. “Stay back!” she shouts. Her arms tremble, and I can see her fighting the thirst, not allowing it to take over again.
“No,” I reply, stepping over the saltward. She keeps her eyes tightly shut, her breathing uneven. “You need to get used to this, Aliz.”
“I can’t,” she says, cowering towards her coffin. The danger in her voice is gone. She’s back to the Aliz I know. “You have to take the garlic, I can’t—”
“Well, I can’t risk it,” I say, crouching down in front of her. “Look at me.”
“I swear I won’t bite you.” Her voice is hoarse. “So please—”
“I know you won’t.”
I push her down, and unlike every single other physical interaction I’ve had with her, I don’t hide my strength. Later, if she asks how I did this, I’ll lie. I’ll tell her that I wasn’t that strong, that she was weak because she wanted me. For this to work, for us to survive what’s left of the month, I need her to listen.
“You’re not going to bite me,” I say in a cold voice, the one I use on hunts, keeping her wrists pinned down. “And no matter how much I want it, I won’t ask you for it. Understood?” My dreams may tell me otherwise. But this is reality. I won’t allow myself to be weak.
She holds her breath, eyes squeezed shut. She’s really trying.
“What if I accidentally cut myself?” I ask, leaning closer to her, and Aliz turns her head, tears dampening her white lashes. “What if I fall or get a nosebleed? You wanted my blood before you knew what it smelled like. You know that.”
“But this is a hundred—a thousand times worse!” she cries, struggling against me to no avail.
“I know.”
“No, you fucking don’t,” she says, straining still. “This is torture.”
I swallow, her words searing through me. I should have known she’d react like this. I should have known she’d lose me under the scent of my blood. “Please,” I find myself whispering, and she looks at me, confused. Her eyes widen as she takes in my expression.
“What is it?” she asks, sobering.
My eyes burn. “I need you to see me as a person,” I say, keeping my voice from breaking. My words probably make no sense to her. “I need this from you, more than anyone, Aliz.” Her eyes are still bright crimson. Slowly, I draw my hands back from her wrists. She doesn’t lunge at me. Despite the Familiar’s mark making her want me far more than she should, exacerbating her thirst, she stays in control.
“Of course you’re a person,” she says. She takes my hand, not to pull me down, not to trap me, but simply to squeeze it. Warmth and salt streak my cheeks. “I’m the monster here, not you,” she says. “But what if I compel you?” Despite all her struggling, despite saying it’s torture, Aliz has somehow managed to get her eyes back to their normal colour.
“I trust you,” I say in a small voice. I sit up straight, my knees still at either side of her hips. She stares up at me, eyes wide. Shocked.
“You do?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “We’ll survive this, Aliz.” I run a finger across her brow, and she doesn’t try to bite it, taking short and shallow breaths. “Have you had your dinner yet?”
“I couldn’t drink it,” she whispers. “The blood—” She tugs her shirt up, covering her nose. “It tastes sour.”
I shudder. That’s not good.
But before I can panic, an idea forms in my mind. Not the sort of idea a vampire hunter should have. But right now, at this moment, Aliz matters more than my principles. If I tell her, she’ll probably say no. “Why don’t you sit at the window?” I ask her, and she nods slowly. She seems to be calming down. I would hug her, but I know it would make things worse. “I have to make a call.”
Nocth answers immediately.
“Dean’s office,” he says, just as he did before.
“It’s Cassie,” I say, hoping he won’t say my real name with Aliz in the room. “I need help. Aliz—”
“Did she bite you?”
Aliz climbs up onto her desk, finally sitting on the window ledge, and I leave the room, standing out in the hallway, wearing just mynightgown and slippers. “No,” I say, and I can’t tell if his sigh is one of disappointment or relief. “Do you care about Aliz’s well-being?” I ask.
“Of course I do,” he says. I look up at the vaulted ceiling, my heart thumping.
