Which definitely put another point in thenot some past serial killercolumn.
“And what’s going to happen if someone finds you here?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. They’ll behead you.”
“Your care for me is touching.”
She rolled her eyes. “Still smug even while you’re dying of vampirism,” she said, then sighed just for good measure. “This isn’t me being kind. This is me thinking of our deal. You can’t teach me anything else while decapitated.”
“You don’t need anything else.”
“Because I rang a bell with the help of a ghost? And spent the night sleeping in a Calabaraian tree? It sounds like starvation is making you dense, as well as ten seconds away from foaming at the mouth and going all rigid and all the other things I now wish I hadn’t read about vampires,” she said.
Though she knew even as she did that it wasn’t the physical details of it that had gotten her. It was the reason the details had been listed.Once in this state, the creature becomes a kind of living corpse, perfect for anatomical study, she remembered, and shuddered. But it strengthened her resolve, at least. “Now, I’m going to try to get you on your feet. And you’re going to let me. And then we’re going to act like you’re still drunk, and I’m taking you back to yours.”
“They’ll think we’re fucking.”
“I’ve got bad news for you, pal. After you swooped me around the fancy ball and whispered sweet nothings in my ear and defended my honor against whoever swiped me, they already do. So come on, give me your hand.”
He groaned and turned his head away. “I’ll bite you.”
“I’d like to see you try, in this state.”
“You just told me you still need lessons to do a single magical thing.”
“Right. But I don’t need them to knock you over with a light tap of my foot.”
She lifted her skirts, on the last word, and nudged him a little on the shoulder with her toes. And sure enough, he went over like a house of cards in a stiff breeze. For a second, he couldn’t even seem to get back up again. He just laid there, sprawled on the grass, more exhausted looking than anyone she’d ever seen in her life.
He barely even turned his head for the hand she held out again.
But this time, he took it. He let her haul him to his feet.
And once he had managed, he didn’t let go. He clung to it, like a lifeline.
So now they just stood on the grass, holding hands.Like we really did fuck, she thought—and after that it was her turn to wobble over the whole thing. She came close to pulling away, and even closer when she realized where his arm was going to have to go in order to get him somewhere safe.
He needed help staying upright.
And that meant laying that big thingright over her shoulders.
Even though the hand alone was bad enough. It felt as if it was swallowing hers whole. She could make out the tension in it, likehe was trying to touch her without touching her at all. Or avoid crushing her with his impossible strength, before he could think about it.
Another tick in thenot a serial killercolumn, she thought.
But it didn’t help. Now he was being all nice seeming and trustworthy, just as she gingerly attempted to lever him closer. And it made it difficult in all kinds of other ways. She tried to stay on guard but had to do so while he trembled at the feel of her hip, her side, her arm around him. She put a hand on his back, and he let out a sound of fear and desperation.
It was a miracle she managed to stop herself doing anything more.
She had never had a stronger urge to reassure someone in her life.
So she forced herself forward, instead. Staggering and stumbling, but she managed to keep him on his feet. And when it seemed like he was faltering, she did what she had to in order to keep him conscious. “This would be aloteasier if you were shorter,” she said in between panting breaths.
Then got the kind of sass she’d come to know and hate.
“It’s not my fault you’re only two apples tall.”
