Page 49 of Eternal Surrender

Marcus held Zachary’s gaze, trusting his opinion over Penthea’s.

Zachary gave Marcus a nod, agreeing he too believed Anaïs was ready, and proceeded to guide her over to the long oriental-carved table. He assisted her upon it.

Marcus beamed me a smile. “Don’t you just love birthdays?”

I wanted to reply I’d never been one for celebrating the day I was murdered and transformed into a being who sucks the life out of another in order to survive. But fearing it might ruin the mood, I kept that to myself.

Marcus picked up on my reservation and whispered. “These feelings will pass.”

“And you know that for sure?” I threw him a strained smile, but it faded all too quickly.

“Apparently,” Marcus deftly changed the subject, “Anaïs has a knack for doing the Times crossword puzzle in less than five minutes.”

Fascinated, I tried to imagine what event in her life might have sent her spiraling and ending up here as a servant of the undead.

Anaïs lay on her back staring up at the ceiling, her hands across her chest as instructed, her heart beating faster, her thoughts trying to grasp the idea that her life was about to change irrevocably and that a kind of death was just minutes away.

Penthea rose up and headed over to her.

“Does it have to be her that performs it?” I asked, concerned.

“Anaïs is Penthea’s Gothica,” Marcus murmured.

“Still,” I said.

Penthea’s bite was so fierce that even I flinched. My empathy surged, as I watched how she was navigating a fledgling’s transformation. There was no grace or quiet strength. It was brutal. There was nothing gentle in it.

I clenched my teeth, hating the way Penthea took no regard for Anaïs’s need for reassurance. The girl gripped the sides of the table, trying to remain still as ordered, her knuckles white, her eyelids squeezed shut.

There’d been no sensuous gesture to lull her, no delicate foreplay to ease her transition. Penthea had gone in for the kill with an unmatched ferociousness.

And by the expressions of the onlookers, I wasn’t the only one appalled.

“You approve?” I asked Marcus.

“Her technique lacks panache, I admit it.”

I rose and made my way toward them.

Stroking Anaïs’s hair, I whispered to her, “It’ll be over soon. Try to relax.” I grabbed Penthea’s arm and sent her a mind message. “Lighten your bite or you’ll feel mine.”

Penthea’s face flushed with anger, her mouth still clamped onto Anaïs’s throat, draining her.

Zachary stood on the other side, holding Anaïs’s hand, doing his best to comfort the girl with whispers of reassurance. There was a flurry of activity as Penthea pulled Anaïs up into a sitting position and then bit into her own wrist, pressing it up against Anaïs’s mouth.

Sucking as hard and fast as she could, Anaïs swallowed just as she’d been schooled in preparation for this night, blood seeping from the corners of her lips and trickling down her throat.

I rubbed Anaïs’s back, trying to teach these barbarians a better way of performing our sacred ritual, hating myself for receding my power.

Anaïs’s doubt echoed like the darkest silent scream, fearing she’d failed to think this through, the once seeming glamour of transformation savagely stolen by Penthea’s ignorance of the art. I caught Anaïs as she fell back shuddering in my arms, her thighs trembling from the blood she’d imbibed. This was what I wanted for her, a mortal’s privilege of experiencing such sensuousness, snatching not only her breath away, but also soothing her.

Anaïs’s future beckoned. Endless nights filled with uncharted territory of luscious delights, adventures so rich in promise that immortality seemed the obvious choice as all doubts dissipated.

Her convulsions shook the table beneath her. Whispers carried from the onlookers and voices rose in concern. Anaïs’s eyes bulged, her chest heaving, her pallor morphing into a grayish hue; death’s rattle enduring.

Marcus shot beside me, trying to stir Anaïs, but her pallor remained blue; her flesh mottling.

“Out of the way,” I commanded Penthea.