Jeff nods. “Twenty-one then.”
Fifty-two fucking scions. Fifty-two bets hedged against me.
Well, I guess I know where Paul really stands. “OK,” I say. And while my voice is totally back to normal now, my body is doing weird things that I would like to cover up with clothing sooner rather than later. “I’ll feed you.” There’s a great murmuring conveying relief. “But”—I hold up a hand, gesturing for them to shut up—“I need to take care of Syrsee first.”
“That’s your Black witch, right?” Jeff says this innocuously enough, but he licks his lips. Like he’d like to taste her.
“Jeff? You’re never going to drink her. And if, by some chance, you find yourself presented with an opportunity to drink her, you’re still not going to drink her. Because if you take her blood without my permission, what you’re really doing is taking mine without permission.” My wings suddenly unfurl with a great whoosh of air. And even though all these scions must surely have seen Paul doing this very same thing at some point, they all gasp and take a step back. “Do you understand me?” These words come out in an entirely new voice that is deep, and resonant, and echoing with a very serious don’t-fuck-with-me sentiment backing it up.
They all drop to their knees and bow their heads. Some of them say, “Yes, my lord,” out of habit for Paul, probably. But Jeff says, “Yes, Ryet,” like a good little minion.
“All right then. Stand up and… go do something productive.”
“Should I keep working on the coat?” some random scion in back asks.
“What coat?”
Jeff answers me. “Paul wanted us to hunt wolves to make him a coat.”
These words make so little sense to me, I don’t even bother trying to understand them. “I don’t know. I’m taking Syrsee up to my apartment. When she’s better, we’ll talk again.”
Then I fold up my wings and simply walk past them, entering the lodge. They’re not entirely satisfied with this outcome, so they grumble behind me, but I don’t care.
What can they do?
They are just scions. Helpless, in-between creatures that smell like rot.
And it is quickly becoming very,veryclear that I am something else entirely.
I don’t think aboutSyrsee’s limp body in my arms as I make my way over to the north side of the lodge where I have an apartment. I get stuck at the door because I don’t actually remember the code and have to kick it in. And then I pause for another handful of seconds to take in how easily this solid wood door broke under my will. Well, my foot. But it might as well have been my will, that’s how little effort it took to crack it.
The problem with breaking the door is that it won’t close behind me. But this is a secluded section of the lodge, that’s why I put my personal space here. So I don’t care. I just carry Syrsee over to the bed and lay her down. Then I push some sweaty and dirty hair out of her eyes, open my wrist with a clawed fingernail, and let my blood drip into her mouth.
I wait.
It takes nearly ten minutes before she actually swallows. Relieved at this good sign, I get into bed with her. We’re filthy, absolutely covered in smeared blood and dirt, not to mention the scent of the rotting scions that were obviously feeding on us. But I don’t even know if she’s gonna live, so who cares what we look like.
There’s a part of me that thinks my doubt is absurd. I mean, she’s a Black witch and she’s filled with the blood of two old and powerful vampires. Not to mention whatever magic was done to her with those jars and vials we consumed back at my cabin.
But there’s a limit. There has to be a limit to this protection, if that’s what is. This ability to live long past your scheduled demise, and then come back, even better than ever.
Which is a relative term.
This is when I start thinking aboutme.
I’m… a vampire.
Which should not be a shock, considering all the decades it took to bring me across this finish line. But it is.
I am a vampire.
Not some creature in a book. Not some actor in a movie.
This is mylife.
And I have wings.
I’m lying in bed next to Syrsee, who hasn’t moved at all from the position I put her in, but I’m sitting up, resting against pillows, so I can see my body. And it’s not the blue-black bruising body, either. I’m pale to the point of almost being silver. And there isn’t a bite mark on me, thanks to Syrsee’s blood. “What does it all mean?”
