Some Girls Bite

JUST A QUICK BITE

Sullivan walked in, followed by Luc and Ethan's redheaded consort from the sparring room. Since I hadn't officially met Ethan's flame, I stuck out my hand as she sauntered through the front door in hip-high leather pants and a pale blue tank she'd unfairly burdened with the task of holding up her pendulous breasts.

"Merit," I said.

She looked at my hand and ignored it. "Amber," she said before turning away.

"Nice to meet you," I muttered and shadowed the trio to the living room. I found Ethan standing, while his pretty vampire accoutrements fanned out on the sofa.

"Merit."

Playing it safe, I opted for the honorific. "Liege."

He arched an eyebrow. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, trying unsuccessfully to figure out what I'd done. "Why don't you go first?"

There was a two-part groan from the couch.

Ethan planted his hands on his hips, sweeping back the sides of his suit jacket in the process. "You've been to see the Ombud."

"I went to see my grandfather."

"I warned you yesterday - about your role, your place - and I thought we'd agreed that you weren't going to challenge my authority. Agreeing to spy on the House, to betray my House, clearly falls into the 'challenging my authority' category." He stared down at me. A moment passed as I tried to wrap my mind around the accusation.

His nostrils flared. "I'm waiting, Merit."

The tone was condescending. Patronizing. Profoundly irritating. And from what I'd seen so far, typical Sullivan. I tried to be the bigger person and explained, "I haven't agreed to spy on anyone, and I resent the implication. You may not like me, Sullivan, but I'm no traitor. I've done nothing that justifies the accusation."

This time, he blinked. "But you admit you were at the office?"

"My grandfather," I carefully began, controlling my voice to keep from screaming at him, "took me to his office to meet his staff, to tell me about Chicago's other supernaturals. I didn't agree to spy on anyone or to betray anyone. And how could I? I've been a vampire for three days, and I'm willing to admit that I'm still pretty ignorant."

Amber humphed. "She has a point, Liege."

I gave him credit - he kept his eyes on me. I got a long look before he spoke again. "You don't deny that you went to the Ombud's office?"

I grappled to discover the logic underlying the questions, found nothing. "Sullivan, you're going to have to help me here, because, contrary to the information you've been given, I haven't agreed to do anything for the Ombud's office. I went there to learn, to visit, not to get an assignment. I haven't agreed to spy, to sneak notes, to give updates, anything." I narrowed my gaze and crossed my arms. "And I don't see what's wrong with visiting my grandfather at his office."

"What's wrong," Ethan said, "is that your grandfather's office is trying to pin the Jennifer Porter murder on my House."

"The Chicago Police Department is trying to pin the murder on your House," I corrected. "From everything I've heard, my grandfather and everyone else in his office think you're innocent. But you know there was a Cadogan medal at the crime scene. Assuming the forensics unit didn't plant that evidence, that medal came from your House. Cadogan is involved, regardless of what my grandfather does, and whether you like it or not."

"No one from my House would do this."

"Maybe not the murder," I agreed. "But unless you hand those medals out as party favors, someone from your House has a part in it. At the very least, someone let in the person who did take it."

I didn't expect his reaction.

I expected another rant, an outburst about the loyalty of Cadogan vamps. I didn't expect his silence. I didn't expect him to walk to the love seat and sit down, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. I didn't expect him to run his hands through his hair, then rest his head in his hands.

But that was what he did. And the move, the posture, was so humble, so tired, and so very, very human, that I had the sudden, surprising urge to reach out, to touch his shoulder, to comfort him.

It was a moment of weakness, of yet another breach in the defenses I'd tried to erect against Ethan Sullivan.

And that, of all the goddamn times, was when the hunger rose.

I nearly lost my breath from the sudden race of fire through my limbs, and had to grip the back of the love seat to stay upright. My stomach clenched, pain radiating in waves through my abdomen. I went light-headed, and as I touched my tongue to the tip of an eyetooth, I could feel the sharp bite of fang.

I swallowed instinctively.

I needed blood. Now.

"Ethan." Luc said his name, and I heard rustling behind me.

A hand gripped my arm, and I snapped my head to look. Ethan stood next to me, green eyes wide. "First Hunger," he announced.

But the words meant nothing.

I looked down at his long fingers on my arm, and felt the warm rush of fire again. I curled my toes against it, reveled in the heat of it.

This meant something. The feeling, the need, the thirst. I looked up at Ethan, dragging my gaze past the triangle of skin that showed through the top, unfastened button of his shirt, then the column of his neck, the strong line of his jaw, and the sensuous curves of his lips.

I wanted blood, and I wanted it from him.

"Ethan," I whispered in a voice so husky I barely recognized it.

Ethan's lips parted, and I saw the flash of silver in his eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by smoky green. I edged closer to his body, wet my lips, and then, without a single thought as to the consequences or what the act admitted, pressed them to his throat. He smelled so good - clean, soapy, everything male and masculine. He tasted so good - of power and man. The ends of his hair brushed my cheek as I kissed the long line of his neck.

"Ethan," I whispered again, his name an invitation.

A promise.

He went statue-still as I pressed a kiss to the skin just below his ear. I could hear blood singing in the veins that lay millimeters below the press of my teeth. Then he sighed, and the sound echoed through my head, an acknowledgment of shared passion, of mutual desire.

The others around us began to talk. I didn't want talk. I wanted action. Heat. Motion. I scraped my teeth against his neck - not breaking skin, just enough to hint at what I wanted. Of the direction I would take. His pulse raced, and I fought not to bite in too quickly, not to rush the pleasure of it.

But through the burn of arousal, something cold, unwanted pricked. I shook my head and pushed it back.

"Liege, you can't feed her the first time. She needs human or Novitiate blood. You've got too much power for a first feeding. She's strong enough as it is."

Ethan growled but didn't move. He stayed exactly where he was, beneath my lips, a silent submission. Pleased, I slid my hands around his waist.

"Get her off him, Lucas!"

I felt the cold touch again - a drop of chilled water against my heated skin. Irritating. Unwelcome. It was my conscience, I realized, begging me to wake up, to shoulder through the hunger. But superego warred with deep-seated instinct and latent attraction.

Id won.

I growled and flicked the tip of my tongue against his ear, ignoring my own warnings. "Ethan."

"Luc, you'll have to - I haven't - " He groaned earthily - and God, what a sound, thick enough to touch - as I trailed a line of kisses down his neck. "I haven't fed in two days.

Merit, you have to stop." Given that he was leaning into my body when he said it, his words lacked conviction.

A hand grasped my arm. Ever so slowly, I turned my head to find coral-painted nails digging into my biceps. The touch was enough to distract me, to make me realize, my lips still against Ethan's neck, that I was acting out the Canon. Despite his protests, I'd pushed on and was preparing to bite him. I was preparing to rip down his clothes and take him on the floor.

I was preparing, in every conceivable fashion, to service my lord.

That insight did it, pushed me through the hunger with an ice-cold hand, pushed me through the desire to the other side - back to the land of rational thought and good choices.

Gathering all the strength I had, I inhaled and pushed myself away from him and from her, needing space to regain control of my body. I hunched over, hands on my knees, gasping for breath. The hunger left me sweating even in my thin T-shirt and jeans, goose bumps prickling my arms as my body cooled again. I could still feel the hunger, a caged tiger prowling through my body, eager for sustenance, waiting to rise again. I knew any control I displayed was temporary. Illusory.

But in some deep, new core of me, I reveled in that knowledge. The tiger paced and was thrilled to be merely biding her time. She would have her chance.

She would drink.

Luc asked, "Blood?"

"Kitchen," Ethan hoarsely answered. "They delivered bagged. Amber, go with him. Give us a minute."

"Lot of control for seventy-two hours," Luc observed. "She reined it back in."

"If I wanted observations, I'd ask for them." His voice was firm, obviously troubled. "Go into the kitchen and ready the blood, please."

When we were alone, when I'd slowed my breathing, I stood straight again and dared to meet his eyes. I waited for a sarcastic response, but he merely looked back at me, his expression carefully blank.

"It's fine," he said, his tone clipped. "To be expected."

"Not by me."

Ethan pulled at the edges of his shirt collar, then smoothed the lapels of his jacket. Regaining his composure, I thought, maybe because he'd wanted something from me, as well. The silvering of his eyes demonstrated that, however much he protested.

"First Hunger can arise suddenly," Ethan said. "There's no need to apologize."

I arched a brow at him. "I wasn't going to apologize. If it wasn't for you, there'd be no thirst."

"Don't forget your place, Initiate."

"As if you'd let me."

"Someone has to remind you," Ethan said, stepping closer so that the cuffs of his trousers topped my sneakers. "You promised me submission. You agreed that your rebellious behavior was done. You agreed not to challenge me again. And yet you're poised to bring the walls of Cadogan House down around us."

"Master or not," I said, glaring up at him, "take it back, or I'll challenge you again." I'd been betrayed enough times in my life to know the value of honor and honesty, and tried to live by that code. "I have given you no reason to doubt my loyalty, which is a fairly tremendous thing given how you changed me."

His nostrils flared, but he didn't challenge the statement. "Merit, so help me, if you support Tate's office over my House. . . ."

I looked at him blankly. "Tate? Mayor Tate? I don't even know what that means, supporting his office. Why would I be supporting his office?"

"The Ombud is a creation of the Mayor."

I still missed his point. "I understand that. But why would the mayor care what I do? Why would he care if one of his employees brings a grandkid to work?"

Ethan gazed down at me. "Because even if you're estranged from your father, he's still Joshua Merit, and you're still his daughter. On top of that, you're the granddaughter of one of the most influential men in the city. And, in case we needed additional fuel, you're clearly stronger than average." He flicked a hand in the direction of the kitchen. "Even they recognize that."

Ethan stuffed his hands into his pockets and moved away, turning to look at a row of books on the shelf next to the front door. "Tate's not trustworthy," he said. "He knows about us - has known about us - and even though his appointment of your grandfather seems well-intentioned, the man's secretive. We understand that he knows about Rogue vampires, but he hasn't released that information to the public. That raises questions - is he trying to avoid more public panic, or is the information a bargaining chip he'll use against us later on? And, he won't speak to the heads of the Houses; instead, he works through the Ombud's office. As helpful as he may be" - he turned back - "as well-intentioned as he may be, your grandfather still works for Tate. Tate controls the purse and the policy direction. That means he pulls the strings."

"My grandfather is his own man."

Ethan stepped back from the bookshelf, crossed his arms, and looked at me. A line creased his forehead. "Think about it, Merit: Vampires announced their existence here, in Chicago. We're the first Houses in the U.S. to do so. Tate stands first among Mayors in that regard - first in terms of setting supernatural policy, in terms of making alliances with the Houses, maintaining security. A man can use that power, that position. But whatever he has planned - and rest assured the man has plans, probably has had them as long as he's known about us - he's not being forthright. I can't afford for you to become part of his plans, or for my House to be caught in the eddies. So until you've learned enough to act appropriately, to use discretion when discussing our concerns, you'll stay away from the Ombud's office."

I wouldn't stay away, and he probably knew that, but there was no sense in belaboring the argument. Instead, I cocked my head at him. "How did you know I went to his office?"

"I have my sources."

I didn't doubt it. But while I wondered which source he'd tapped - Catcher, Jeff, the undercover vamp who serviced the Ombud's office, or someone else assigned to watch me - I knew better than to ask. He'd never tell me.

But someone had given him information about my activities, someone who hadn't been close enough to know exactly why I was there. That was worth passing along.

"Some free advice," I said. "The person who's giving you information wasn't inside the building. If they had been, they'd have known why I was there, what was discussed.

And more important, what wasn't discussed. They made deductions and managed to convince you those deductions were fact. They're playing you, Sullivan, or at least trying to puff up sparse information to increase their own cachet."

For a moment, Ethan didn't speak. He just looked at me, like he was seeing me for the first time, had suddenly realized that I was more than his newest rebellious underling, more than the daughter of a financial mogul.

"That's a nice analysis."

I shrugged. "I was in the room. I know what went on. She, or he, doesn't. And back to the point, he's my grandfather. Other than Mallory, he's all I've got. He's my only real family tie. I can't cut that tie. I won't, even if you think it's a challenge. Even if you think it's rebellious and goes against your sovereign authority."

"You have other ties now, Initiate. Cadogan House. Me. You're my vampire now. Don't forget that."

I think he meant it as a compliment, but the tone was still too possessive for my taste. "Whatever happened six days ago, I belong to no one but myself, Sullivan, and least of all you."

"You are what I made you."

"I make myself."

Ethan took a step forward, then another, until I was stepping away to avoid him, until he'd backed me against the living room wall, until I felt the cold slickness of painted plaster behind me.

I was caught.

Ethan braced his hands against the wall, one on each side of my head, boxing me in, and stared down at me. "Do you want disciplining, Initiate?"

I stared at him, a flame igniting in my core. "Not especially." Liar.

His eyes searched mine. "Then why do you persist in taunting me?"

The eye contact felt too intimate, so I turned my head away and tried to swallow down the reluctant arousal, uncomfortably aware that I couldn't blame my actions, my interest, on the vampire lurking inside me. On the genetic change. She and I were one and the same - same mind, same genetics, same unwanted, undeniable, attraction to Ethan Sullivan.

But I reached out for that whisper of denial, wrapped hands around it, and held it like a life preserver. In that second, I dreamed of running away, of beginning again with a new name, in a new city, where I didn't long to clench fingers into his hair and push my mouth against his until he capitulated and took me against the cold white wall, pushed his body into mine to alleviate the need, to warm the chill.

Instead, I said, maybe honestly, "I wasn't taunting you."

He didn't move, not until he lowered his head, his lips even closer to mine than before. "You wanted me a moment ago."

This time, his voice was quiet, his words not the challenge of a Master vampire, but the entreaty of a boy, of a man: I am right, aren't I, Merit? That you wanted me?

I forced myself to be honest, but I couldn't force myself to speak. So I stayed silent, and let the silence stand for words that I couldn't bring myself to say: I want you. Despite myself, I want you. In spite of what you are, I want you.

"Merit."

"I can't."

He dropped his head so that his lips hovered just above mine, his breath on my cheeks. "Give in to it."

I flicked my eyes up to meet his, which were the deep, dark green of primeval forests -  ancient, unknowable, and hiding monsters in their wooded depths. "You don't even like me."

He smiled a little evilly. "That doesn't seem to matter."

A slap wouldn't have pulled me out of the trance any faster. I twisted beneath his braced arms, then moved away. "I see."

"I'm not happy about this either."

"Yes, I get that you don't want to be attracted to me, that you think I'm beneath you, but thank you for pointing it out anyway. And in case you haven't realized it, I'm not thrilled about it, either. I don't want to like you, and I certainly don't want to be with someone who's appalled by me. I don't want to be . . . desired begrudgingly."

He stepped toward me with the grace of a slinking panther. And just as dangerous.

"Then what do you want me to say?" His voice was low, thick with lambent power. "That I wanted you to taste me? For all that you're stubborn, sarcastic, completely unable to take seriously my authority, and patently disrespectful, that I want you? Do you think this is what I would choose?"

There it was again - the list of flaws. The reasons he shouldn't have been attracted to me. The reasons he hated the chemistry that, against both our wills, flared between us. My voice quiet, the sound oddly far away, I told him, "I don't want anything from you."

"Liar," he accused, and lowered his mouth to mine.

He kissed me, and the circuit closed again.

His lips were soft and warm, and implored a reaction, challenged me to join in, to give in, even if only briefly, to the chemistry. My limbs loosened, my body daring me to sink into it, to revel in it. But I'd come close enough to the fire, when I'd nearly jumped him to pull the blood from his veins. That had been enough. That had been too much. So I kept my lips together and tried to turn my head away.

"Merit," he intoned, "be still." Ethan's fingers slid along my jaw, knotted into my hair, and he used his thumbs to tilt up my chin. He took a small step forward, our bodies aligning, just touching.

He dipped his head and kissed me again, thumbs stroking my cheeks as he moved his lips across mine, caressing, calming, not coercive. Then, when his tongue slipped between my lips and stroked mine, when the electric thrill slid up my spine, I gave in.

Tentative at first - and only responding after promising myself that I'd never, ever touch him again - I kissed him back. I gave back his kiss, sucked on the tongue he offered me, responded to his nips and bites with my own.

I couldn't seem to help it. I couldn't not kiss him. He tasted so good, smelled so good. He was heaven, a golden beacon in the supernatural darkness that spindled around me. But this wasn't something to blame on magic. This was much more elemental, much more powerful. It was want, desire in its most basic form.

But I couldn't afford that, not to want someone who didn't want me. Not really.

So I put my hand on his chest, and felt the thud of his heart beneath the soft cotton of his dress shirt before I pushed him away. "Stop."

He took two halting steps backward, his chest rising and falling as he pulled in air, and stared down at me.

"That was a mistake," I said. "It shouldn't have happened."

He wet his lips, then ran a hand across his jaw. "No?"

"No."

Silence, then, "I could offer you more."

I blinked, looked up, met his eyes. "What?"

"Power. Access. Rewards. You'd need be available only to me."

My lips parted, words momentarily failing me, the shock of it was so overwhelming. "Are you asking me to be your mistress?"

He paused, and I had the sense that he was deciding if that was, in fact, what he was offering me. Likely weighing the costs and benefits, deciding if easing his erection was worth the trouble I'd cause. A flush crossed his sculpted cheekbones. "Yes."

"Oh, my God." I dropped my gaze, put a hand at my abdomen, wondering how this night had suddenly become so bizarre. "Oh, my God."

"Is that a yes?"

I looked up at him again, saw the flash of panic on his face. "No, Ethan, Jesus. Definitely not."

His eyes flashed, and I wondered if he'd ever been turned down before, if any woman in his nearly four hundred years of existence had rejected the opportunity to service him. "Do you understand what I'm offering you?"

"Do you understand that it's not 1815?"

"It's not unusual for Masters to have Consorts."

"Yes," I said, "and your current Consort's in my kitchen right now. If you need . . . relieving, talk to her." The shock - the sheer shock of his offer - was beginning to wear off, replaced by a little bit of hurt, a little bit of insult that he didn't like me enough to offer me something else, and that he thought I'd be flattered by the little he did offer.

"As much as it pains me to say it, Amber isn't you."

I stared at him. "I don't even know what that means. Should I - What? Be flattered that while you don't like me, you're willing to sacrifice just to get into my pants?"

His nostrils flared, a tiny line appearing between his eyebrows. "You're crude."

"I'm crude?" My voice, the whisper that came out, was fierce. "You just offered to make me your whore."

He took a step closer, his jaw clenched, the muscle trembling. "To be the Consort of a Master vampire is an honor, Initiate, not an insult."

"It's an insult to me. I'm not going to be your - anyone's - sexual outlet. When that . . . happens for me, when I meet him, I want partnership. Love. You don't trust me enough for the former, and I'm not even sure you're capable of the latter."

He flinched, and I immediately regretted the words.

I took a breath and took some space, moving to the couch.

It was a long moment before I could stand myself enough to meet his eyes again. "I'm sorry. That was a really horrible thing to say. It's just - I live in a different time," I told him, "with different expectations. I wasn't born to serve someone indiscriminately, without thoughts of my own. Whatever else my father may have done, he raised me to be independent. To find my own way." He just didn't believe my own way was the correct one most of the time.

"I'm trying to be myself, Ethan. To keep some sense of myself in the middle of all this" -  I raised a hand, made an abstract gesture with my fingers - "chaos. I can't be that kind of girl." There was more to that statement, I thought, than just my response to his offer, than a response to being his mistress. I wasn't sure I could ever be what he wanted -  the acquiescent vampire, the perfect little soldier in his Cadogan army.

Ethan's expression, already shuttered, completely blanked, his green eyes going flat. "Then we're done here. I've explained the situation to you. Whether you like it or not, we're not human. You're not human. Not any longer. Our rules are different than those you're used to, but they are the rules. You can decry them, deny them, but they are the rules." His eyes shone with power. "And if you disobey them, if you balk, you defy me."

"I'm not rebelling," I said, as calmly as I could, realizing how many lines I'd already crossed, we'd already crossed, in the span of the evening. "Nor am I trying to usurp your authority. I'm just trying to" - I searched for words - "avoid it."

Ethan straightened the cuffs of his shirt. "We have rules for a reason, Merit. We have Houses for a reason - for a multitude of reasons, regardless of your opinion, regardless of whether you find . . . merit in the idea. Like it or not, you are my subject. If you deny your House, there will be repercussions. You'll be deemed an outcast. A Rogue. You'll be rejected by all vampires - ignored and ridiculed because you chose not to trust me. You'll have no access to the Houses, to the members, or to me."

I looked up at him. "There has to be something between anarchy and subjection."

Ethan glanced up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes. "Why do you think of it as subjection? You saw the vampires at my House. You saw the House. Was it a dungeon? Did they look miserable? When you challenged me, was I unfair to you? Did I treat you cruelly or give you a fair chance to prove yourself? You're smarter than this."

He was right, of course. The vampires in the House clearly respected him and looked, at least to my eyes, to be happy in their acquiescence to his leadership. But that didn't mean I was able, blindly, to put my trust in him, or any of them. I didn't have a cache of faith big enough for that.

We stood silently until Ethan made a final, frustrated sound and called for Amber and Luc. As they moved through the living room, Amber skewered me with a look that was both knowing and victorious. She somehow knew, had probably heard, what he'd offered me, and that I'd turned it down. But I hadn't just taken myself out of the running; I'd secured her position. She winked jauntily, and I felt a sudden, unwelcome stab of jealousy. I didn't want his hands on her. I didn't want her touching him. But I'd had my chance to take her place, and I'd refused. The decision had been made, so I ignored the irritation and looked away.

"Let's go," Ethan said.

Luc nodded at me. "There's blood on the counter. It's warm and ready to drink."

Ethan didn't look at me as he turned for the door, and I felt the weight of his disappointment. However illogical, I wanted him proud of me, proud of my fight and my strength, not disappointed that I'd failed to meet the basic criteria for vampire behavior. On the other hand, I shouldn't have to apologize for not crawling into bed with the head of my House.

Luc and Amber preceded him outside. There were two vehicles at the curb - a black Mercedes roadster that I guessed was Ethan's, and a heavy black SUV. Luc and Amber headed for the latter. Traveling security, I assumed.

When he reached the first step, Ethan turned and glanced back at me, his face carefully blank.

"I would have asked you if I could have, Merit. I'd have asked for your consent, and had you make the decision then and there. But I didn't. Couldn't have, without your dying. There certainly wasn't time for you to debate the merits of affiliation. Would that I had. Would that I had, so the choice would have been made."

After a pause, he continued, his voice suddenly tired. "The clock is ticking. You have four days until the Commendation, until your formal initiation into the House. The time is coming when you'll have to take a stand, Merit. One way or the other, you'll decide whether you want to accept the life you've been given and make the most of it, or run away and live on the fringes of our society, withstand the humiliation of being rejected by the House, by everyone else like you. By everyone who understands what you are. Who you are. How you thirst." His gaze intensified. "Your desire. And that decision, such as it is, is yours." With that, he trotted down the stairs.

I followed him outside, and flanked by the two guards at my door, I stood on the stoop and called his name. He glanced back.

"About the . . . hunger. Will it always be like that?"

He gave me a rueful smile. "Rather like being a Cadogan vampire, Merit, it will be what you make it."

I had to give him credit - he was right about one thing. The time had come for me to make a decision. To make a choice, either to accept the life he'd given me, such as it was, or eschew Ethan, the House, the community of vampires. I could choose to live as a member of the American Houses, or make a life for myself on the outskirts. But an eternity of watching friends, the world, change around me while I stayed the same, was going to be lonely enough. Watching while Mallory aged, while my grandfather aged, while I looked eternally twenty-seven. What kind of life would it be, to also reject the House, to pretend at being human, and outlive my family, no companions but musty books and medical-grade plastic bags?

Still, I wasn't ready to take that next step. Not yet. There were loose ends to be wrapped up. Well, one major loose end. And that was what put me in the car at four o'clock in the morning, leaving the sanctum of Wicker Park for the neighborhood of vampires.

This time, I wasn't headed for the House. I was headed for the university. And I was a woman on a mission, so when I arrived, I ignored the permit warnings, parking in the first empty on-street spot I could find. I got out of the car, locked it behind me, and walked to the main quad, empty satchel over my shoulder.

I stood at the edge of the quad and stared at the expanse of grass, sidewalks and trees, my hand at my neck. I'd always loved this spot, had usually paused before heading into the Walker Building, which housed the English department, so that I could get a taste of grass and sky. I walked to the spot where I'd been attacked, crouched in the spot where my blood had been shed, and touched a hand to the grass. There was nothing here, no blood, no trampled grass, no indication at all that the few square yards of lawn had been witness to birth, to death. To me. To Ethan.

The tears I thought I'd finished shedding began to fall. I dropped to my knees, knotted fingers in the carpet of grass, wishing that things had gone differently. That I hadn't made the regrettable decision to leave the house, to walk the quad. I sobbed there on my knees, the frustration, the regret, nearly overwhelming.

There was laughter across the lawn. I knuckled away tears, lifted my head. Two students, a couple, walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, before disappearing between buildings. Then the night was quiet again, most of the windows dark, no breeze to stir the trees that dotted the quad.

I closed my eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. Opened my eyes again. But for the cloak of grief, it was a beautiful night. One of an eternity of nights I'd have the opportunity to see. But in order to see those nights, I'd have to figure out a way to deal with loss, to mourn lives that would end, even as mine continued. A way to deal with my obligations to Cadogan.

A way to deal with Ethan.

I'd have to figure out how to support Mallory, how to keep my relationship with my grandfather in spite of our positions. I'd have to figure out how to tell the good guys from the bad guys in the strange, new world I'd been dropped into.

More important, I'd have to figure out whether I was one of the good guys. Whether Ethan was one of the bad guys.

I realized the means to that end. It had to be a choice. I'd been made a vampire without my consent - attacked and violated, of course, without my consent. The only way I'd be able to move on, to build a new life, to take ownership of my new life, would be to make that conscious decision for myself, for better or worse. To live, or not to live, as an acknowledged vampire.

I could make that choice. Here and now, I could take ownership, take back my life again.

"Vampire it is," I whispered. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get me off my knees in the middle of the night, in the middle of the quad.

And this time, I rose on my own terms.

My direction decided, I resituated the empty satchel diagonally across my chest and headed for Walker. The building was dark, locked. I pulled out my key, unlocked the door, and made my way up the stairs.

Each graduate student had a mailbox. I used mine like a scrap-book, kept in it the detritus of my time at Chicago. A ticket stub from a midnight screening of Rocky Horror I'd watched with fellow TAs and lecturers. A ticket stub from a basketball game we played against NYU, where I did my undergraduate work.

I opened my satchel and loaded papers, memorabilia, mementos into the bag. Tangible memories. Evidence of my humanity.

But also in my box was something new - a pink envelope, sealed but unsigned. I unhitched my bag, placed it on the floor at my feet, and slipped my thumb under the seal.

Inside was a scalloped pink card, glittery letters congratulating a girl for her sixth birthday. I grinned, opened it, and found inside, beside an equally glittery unicorn, the signatures of a good chunk of the grad students in the department, most with smartalecky well wishes for my new, fanged life.

I didn't realize until I saw the card that I'd needed it. I needed the connection between my old life and my new one. I needed them to know why I'd disappeared, why I'd stopped showing up to class. It was closure of a kind. It didn't excuse the fact that I hadn't called my friends in the department, hadn't called my mentor or my committee chair. God only knew when I'd have the strength to do that.

But it was something.

For today, it was enough.

So I grabbed my bag, left the key in my mailbox, and walked away.

I returned to the brownstone to find, as promised, a glass of now-cold blood on the kitchen counter. The house was quiet, Mallory still asleep. I was alone, and glad that she wasn't there to witness what I was about to do.

I stared down at the thin orange-red liquid in its glass, and felt the hunger rise again -  signaled by the humming of my blood. My pulse quickened, and I didn't need a mirror to know that my eyes had silvered. Still, it was blood. My mind rejected it, even while my body craved it.

Craving won.

I wrapped a hand around the glass, fingers shaking, and raised it, knowing this was truly the end of my life as a human, and the beginning of my life as a vampire. There'd be no more justifications, no more rationalizations.

I lifted the glass to my lips.

I drank.

It took mere seconds for me to empty the glass, and it still wasn't enough. I drained two more bags that I pulled straight from the refrigerator - bags I hadn't bothered to heat or prepare. I drank the liquid - more than I'd ever put into my body at one time - in minutes, finally stopping when I felt my own blood slow again. Three bags of blood, and I'd ingested them like I'd been starved for food and water, denied sustenance for weeks.

When the hunger was sated, I caught sight of the discarded bags on the floor. I was appalled at the act, at the substance, at the fact that I'd actually drunk - willingly drunk -  blood. But I clamped a hand over my mouth, willing myself not to bring it up again, knowing that if I did, I'd just have to drink more. I slid to the floor, my back against the side of the island, and clutched my knees to my chest, forcing myself to breathe. Forcing my brain to catch up with my body - to accept what it needed.

To accept what I was.

Vampire.

Cadogan Initiate.

That was where Mallory found me - sitting on the kitchen floor, empty medical bags at my feet - minutes before the sun began to rise. She was prepped for work - black suit, heels, chunky jewelry, sassy handbag, blue hair a frame around her face.

Her smile faded. She crouched in front of me. "Merit? Are you okay?"

"I just drank three bags of blood."

Dropping her purse at my feet, Mallory picked up an empty plastic bag with the tips of two fingers. "So I see that. How do you feel?"

I giggled. "Fine, I think."

"Did you just giggle?"

I giggled again. "Nope."

Her eyes widened. "Are you drunk?"

"On blood? No." I swatted the idea with a hand. "It's mother's milk to me."

Mallory picked up the other bag, then walked them both to the trash can and tossed them in. "Uh-huh."

"And how are you? Feeling witchy?"

She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a soda, then popped the tab. "I'm adjusting. I guess I can say the same for you?"

I frowned, considering, then began counting off the events on my fingers. "Well, I found out my grandfather's been lying for four years about his job. I met a sorcerer, met a shape-shifter of indeterminate origin, got propositioned by said shifter, found out I was almost the victim of a serial killer, almost got hit by these magical electric blast things, made out with Ethan, rejected Ethan, was threatened by Ethan." I shrugged. "Pretty average day."

Her mouth fell open, and she gaped at me until closing it with a click of teeth. "I don't know where to start on all that. How about, your grandfather's been lying?"

I pulled myself up from the floor, hands on the countertop to steady myself. It took a moment for my head to stop spinning - the aftereffects, I presumed, of drinking so much blood at one time. "Drink, please?"

Mallory went back to the fridge and grabbed another soda, held it up for my approval, and when I nodded, popped the top.

After she handed it over, I took a long pull, discovering to my delight that diet grape soda was a refreshing chaser to three pints of human blood. I thanked her for the drink, then filled her in on the Ombud and his slate of employees. I didn't tell her about Catcher's recommendation that Mallory get training. I decided the safer course of action was just to put the two of them in a room together - all that beauty and stubbornness -  and watch the fur fly.

"I have to train tonight," I told her. "I'm meeting Catcher at a gym on the Near North Side. You want to come along?"

She shrugged. "I could do that."

"Do we need to talk about something? I mean, are we okay?"

Mallory smiled ruefully. "We're fine. It's not your fault I'm . . . whatever I am."

"I bet Catcher has some answers for you."

"That'd be nice."

I finished my drink and tossed the can. "I need to be at the gym by eight thirty. But first I have to sleep. Dawn's coming, you know." I yawned, pointed out, "You haven't asked me about kissing Ethan."

She rolled her eyes. "Why would I need to? It's obvious you have the hots for him."

"No, I don't."

She gave me an obviously skeptical glare, in response to which I shrugged, lacking the energy to argue the point . . . and it would have required a heavy bit of lying and thickly laid self-denial anyway.

"Fine," she said. "I'll indulge you since you recently became the walking dead. Was he good?"

"Unfortunately."

"Technique? Skill? Hands?"

"High passes in all categories. Of course, after four hundred years, the boy's gonna have some skills."

"Quite a resume," she agreed. "And it wouldn't matter if he was inexperienced and inept. Just being in the same room, you two melt the drapes. All that heat, it's not surprising you came to blows again," she added. "Didn't land one, did you?"

I went silent.

"Merit?"

"He asked me to be his mistress."

She just stared at me, openmouthed.

"Yeah."

We stood quietly for a moment, until she moved to the refrigerator and grabbed a pint of ice cream from the freezer. She found a spoon, popped the ice-cream top, and handed the duo to me. "No one has ever deserved this more."

I wasn't sure that was true, but I took them both anyway and helped myself to a dose of Chunky Monkey.

Mallory leaned against the countertop, tapped a manicured finger against it. "You know, it's kind of flattering in an ass-backward way. Even if he's conflicted about it, he clearly finds you attractive."

I nodded around a spoonful of ice cream. "Yeah, but he doesn't like me. He admitted it. He's just . . . kind of . . . accidentally attracted."

"Were you tempted?"

I shrugged.

"That doesn't answer my question, Merit."

What could I have said? That even in the midst of it, some tiny bit of me, some little secret room in my heart (or more accurately, my loins), wanted to say yes? To finish out that kiss with caresses and something more, anything more, than a lonely day beneath cool, empty sheets?

"Not really."

She cocked her head at me, seemed to evaluate that. "I can't tell if you're lying or not."

"Neither can I," I admitted around another spoonful of ice cream.

She sighed and rose, patting my back before grabbing her purse and heading toward the front door. "You give that some thought while you're hibernating. I'll see you tonight. I'll go with you to train."

"Thanks, Mallory. Have a good day."

"I will. You sleep good."

Maybe unsurprisingly, I didn't.