Hard muscle, feverish warmth burning through undershirt and starched cotton. Another ba-thud leapt under her touch; Bea almost flinched. Focusing on the rhythm made it louder. Oh, hey. That’s…
She couldn’t think it was pretty cool, because he was a monster. Bea snatched her hand away; he let her, releasing her other wrist at the same time. He should have looked ridiculous, his knees sinking into a messy bed, his brownish-gold hair as close to a ruffled mess as she’d ever seen it, but the uncanny, barely blinking stillness turned him into a cat watching its chosen mouse move within easy paw-range.
Bea took refuge in confusion. “Did you carry me up here?”
“I thought you would be more comfortable, waking thus.” Was that a faint tinge of uncertainty in his tone? “You’re right, the saferoom is a bit...bare. And there are new clothes, so you may select what you like. How do you feel?”
Like I’ve finally had enough sleep for once. Bea shrugged, glancing at the bedroom door—firmly closed, though no invisible shimmer. His heartbeat continued, and she found it was possible to quasi-ignore the noise, like very loud bass from a passing car. “What day is it? Am I allowed to know?”
“Of course.” But he paused, his eyes half-lidding. “All Hallows is tomorrow, I think. No, Halloween. The names change, though the festivals do not.”
She might’ve been curious about that—he had to have seen some history, even if he was only as old as she and Don had originally thought. But there were much bigger fish to bouillabaisse, as her college roommate Sami would say.
Bea almost flinched again; for a little while during the monster blood trip she’d thought Sami and Felicia were talking to her, explaining the finer points of what the new plan would entail.
If he was being honest, she’d lost almost a week. Being monster-fucked and high on blood would probably do that to a person, though. Strangely, her mouth didn’t taste like morning, just a faint spicy-numb tinge sliding past the almost-gone ache in her throat, very nearly soothing. Her hair was a mess, and she probably looked terrible.
How am I going to do this, then? “Am I allowed to get up?”
“Of course. Shall I ring for breakfast?”
“Can I still eat?” Let’s see how many questions he’ll answer. One of them might even give her an opening.
“Mortal food is pleasant enough, though it does not satisfy. It may slow the Gift a fraction.” He regarded her steadily; thank God there were no red lights in his eyes at the moment.
“So...I’m like you, now?” Am I going to go on a liquid diet? Those guys on the monster-hunting forums would talk about the right way to kill me then, I bet.
“Hardly, kitten.” But a faint smile, as if he found her amusing. Was that a good sign? “When the fangs break through you will be a fledgling.”
Fledgling. Okay. She restrained the urge to run her tongue over her teeth; they didn’t feel any different. “When does that happen?”
It was his turn to shrug, a supple movement, perfectly balanced. “A few more feedings. It takes so long as it takes, though the end is not in doubt.”
Maybe you just want me to think that. I’m doubting a whole lot over here. “So when do I start...when do I start biting people? You know, drinking...drinking blood. Hunting.”
“No need.” The monster tensed, and Bea got the idea it was a bad question. But he still used the same soft, conciliatory tone; all things considered he was being pretty patient. Maybe this was part of his script. “I will hunt for us both.”
She decided to press just a little further. “But shouldn’t I start practicing? Like, isn’t that the point—you make me into a bloodsucker, and I…” And I what? What’s his endgame? This seems way more revenge than necessary after getting a stake to the chest.
Although she had no frame of reference for that.
“You will feed from me. Always.” He leaned forward, the motion perfectly controlled, and red pinpricks flashed in his pupils before winking out. “You are my leman.”
I should really be frightened right now. The lack of fear was oddly more disorienting that being scared enough to cry or throw up. “What if I bit someone, though? Would they turn into?—”
“If I find your fangs in another, kitten, I will tear the interloper to pieces.”
Maybe being unafraid was an aftereffect from getting high. Did monster blood produce hangovers? “And kill me too?”
“What?” The intensity didn’t fade, but he now looked puzzled as well. “Of course not. No sanguinant will harm a leman, let alone their own. Take you, claim you, certainly. But harm? No.”
What do you call the elevator, then? And the very bed they were both on? Taking and claiming seemed like euphemisms. Was all this stuff about lemans a lie? It seemed a pretty complex con to run on a dumb ‘mortal’ who hadn’t even managed to get a stake all the way through, but what did she know?
Maybe it was time to shift to something else, since he was getting a little amped up. And maybe he had a different definition of ‘harm’ than she did.
That was, in fact, pretty goddamn likely.
Bea braced herself. Okay. Here goes nothing. She met his gaze, squarely, hoping those crimson dots wouldn’t come back. Did ordinary people ever see them?
