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The years of life pressed against her skin, and she closed her eyes to take it all in, to feel it eddy around her. It tingled against her like static.
"Do you want something to drink?" Chris was sweating, just a little.
Yes. "No, I'm okay."
Seduction wasn't a quick thing. Though she supposed, if she wanted, she could just take him. She could feel in her bones and muscles that she could. He wouldn't know what hit him. It would be easy, use the currents of the room, slow down the world, move in the blink of an eye-
No. No speed, no fear, no mess. Better to do it cleanly. Nicer, for everyone. Now that they were alone, away from the crowd, her purpose became so very clear. Her need became crystalline. She pla
Fake. It was fake, manipulative… She liked him. She really did. She wished she'd done this months ago, she wished she'd had the nerve to say something, to touch his hand-before she'd been attacked and turned. Then, she hadn't had the courage, and now she wanted something else from him. It felt like deception.
This was why Alette had wanted her to find a stranger. She wouldn't be wishing that it had all turned out different. Maybe she wouldn't care. She wanted to like Chris-she didn't want to need him like this. Didn't want to hurt him. And she didn't know if she'd have been so happy to go home with anyone else. That was why she was here. That was why she'd gone to that particular bar and waited for him.
That doesn't matter, her instincts-new instincts, like static across her skin, like the heat of blood drawing her-told her. The emotion is a by-product of need. He is yours because you've won him. You've already won him, you have only to claim him.
She reached out-she could feel him without looking, by sensing the way the air folded around his body-and brushed her fingers across the back of his hand. He reacted instantly, curling his hand around hers, squeezing, pulling himself toward her, and kissing her-half on cheek, half on lip.
He pulled back, waiting for a reaction, his breath coming fast and brushing her cheek. She didn't breathe at all-would he notice? Should she gasp, to fool him into thinking she breathed, so he wouldn't notice that she didn't? Another deception.
Rather than debating the question, she lunged for him, her lips seeking his, kissing forcefully. Distract him. In a minute he wouldn't notice anything. She devoured him, and he was off balance, lagging behind as she sucked his lips and sought his tongue. She'd never been this hungry for someone before. The taste of his skin, his sweat, his mouth, burst inside her and fired her brain. He tasted so good on the outside, she couldn't wait to discover what the inside of him tasted like, that warm blood flushing just under the surface. Her nails dug into his arm, wanting to pull off the sleeves of his shirt, all his clothes, to be closer to his living skin. She wanted nothing more than to close her teeth, bite into him-
She pulled back, almost ripping herself away. Broke all contact and took a step back, so that she was surrounded by cool air and not flesh. She could hear the blood rushing in his neck.
This wasn't her. This wasn't her doing this. She couldn't do this.
Chris gave a nervous chuckle. "Wow. That was… Emma, what's wrong?"
She closed her eyes, took a moment to gather herself, drew breath to speak. It would look like a deep sigh to him.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I can't do this."
She couldn't look at him. If he saw her eyes, saw the way she looked at him, he'd know about the thing inside her, he'd know she only wanted to rip him open. How could she explain to him, without explaining?
"I had a really nice time… but I'm sorry."
Holding the collar of her jacket closed, she fled before he could say a word in argument.
Alette had had to force her to drink blood the first time. Emma hadn't wanted to become this thing. She'd threatened to leave the house at dawn and die in the sunlight. But Alette persuaded her to stay. A haunted need inside her listened to that, wanted to survive, and stayed inside, in the dark. Still, she gagged when the mistress showed her the glass tumbler full of viscous red. "It's only your first night in this life," she said. "You're too new to hunt. But you still need this." Alette had then stood behind her, embraced Emma and locked her arms tight with one hand while tipping the glass to her mouth with the other. Emma had struggled, fought to pull out of her grasp, but Alette was deceptively powerful, and Emma was still sick and weak.
Emma had recognized the scent of the blood even before it reached her lips: tangy, metallic, like a butcher's shop. Even as she rebelled, even as her mind quailed, part of her reached toward it. Her mouth salivated. This contradiction was what had caused her to break down, screaming that she didn't want this, that she couldn't do this, kicking and thrashing in Alette's grip. But Alette had been ready for it, and very calmly held her still, forced the glass between her lips, and made her drink. As much spilled out of her mouth and down her chin as slid down her throat. Then, she'd fallen still. Helpless, she'd surrendered, even as that single sip returned her strength to her.
Eventually, she could hold the glass herself and drain it. She even realized she should learn to find the blood herself. She thought she'd been ready.
Alette found her in the parlor, sitting curled up on one of the sofas. "What happened?"
Emma hugged her knees and stared into space. She'd spent hours here, almost until dawn, watching dust motes, watching time move. This was fascinating-the idea that she could see time move. Almost, if she concentrated, she could reach out and touch it. Twist it. Cross the room in a second. She would look like she was flying. She'd almost done it, earlier tonight. She'd have taken him so quickly he wouldn't have known…
Alette waited patiently for her to answer. Like she could also spend all night watching time move.
"I don't know." Even after all that had happened, her voice sounded like a little girl's. She still felt like a child. "I liked him. It was…it felt good. I thought…" She shook her head. The memory was a distant thing. She didn't want to revisit it. "I got scared. I had him in the palm of my hand. He was mine. I was strong. And this
thing rose up in me, this amazing power-I could do anything. But it wasn't me. So I got scared and ran."
Poised and regal, Alette sat, hands crossed in her lap, the elegant noblewoman of an old painting. Nothing shook her, nothing shattered her.
"That's the creature. That's what you are now. How you control it will determine what your life will look like from now on."
It was a pronouncement, a judgment, a knell of doom.
Alette continued. "Some of our kind give free rein to it. They revel in it. It makes them strong, but often leaves them vulnerable. If you try to ignore it, it will consume you. You'll lose that part of yourself that is yours."
In her bones, in the tracks of her bloodless veins, Emma knew Alette was right, and this was what she feared: that she wasn't strong, that she wouldn't control it. That she would lose her self, her soul to the thing. Her eyes ached with tears that didn't fall.
How did Alette control it? How did she manage to sit so calm and dignified, with the creature writhing inside of her, desperate for power? Emma felt sure she wouldn't last long enough to develop that beautiful self-possession.
"Oh my dear, hush there." Alette moved to her side and gathered her in her arms. She'd seen Emma's anguish and now sought to wrap her in comfort. Emma clung to her, pressing her face against the cool silk of her jacket, holding tight to her arms. For just a moment, she let herself be a child, protected within the older woman's embrace. "I can't teach you everything. Some steps you must take alone. I can take care of you if you like-keep you here, watch you always, hold the creature at bay and bring you cups of blood. But I don't think you'd be happy."