Skye
A lab assistant, a young woman in her early twenties by my estimation, makes quick work of the blood draw, but I still feel queasy and unsteady while wrapped in a blanket in the clinic lobby, silently munching on a bag of the stalest oatmeal raisin cookies in the Allied Kingdoms.
Alex dutifully escorted me here, choosing the quickest path through campus. This early on a Saturday morning, the chances of running into anyone we knew were slim, and luck was in our favor, because we didn’t pass another soul. Now, it’s closing in on 9:00 A.M., and my unintentionally wild night has caught up to me in droves. My stomach is in knots, and I feel like I haven’t slept in years. I assured him I could get home on my own, and he left, which should make me feel better, but it doesn’t.
“Dr. Scarlett said you’re not feeling well,” the lab assistant says, returning to my side. “I have some basic medicine here. We keep healing tonics in stock as well, if that’s more your vibe.”
“I’m–I’m fine, just dehydrated,” I lie, smiling up at her. She’s familiar, which I hadn’t realized until now. Blonde and mousy, just like she was in Alex’s office. I believe this is Laney, if I’m remembering her name correctly. I wonder if she’s aware of his scheme when I notice the smaller cooler in her hand, which definitely has several samples of my blood resting within.
I wonder how often he has to do things like this, and that thought follows me back across campus, strengthened by a fully caffeinated, overly sugary can of soda and another bag of stale cookies–peanut butter this time.
Thankfully, my brain is somewhat back in working order when I punch in the code to my condo, the four zeros I never changed upon moving in, and slip inside, wincing at the memory of the mess I was the night before. Sixty-nine? Boobies spelled in numerals? Kill me. Goddess, strike me where I stand. I’ve seen and done enough!
I dig my dead phone out of my coat pocket, plug it into a charger, and change into a tank top and silky pajama pants before slumping on the couch. I don’t bother to turn on a light. Starlight shimmers across the ceiling like water reflecting on glass waves of light. Glimmers and streams of that perfect, spellbinding magic, I wish I could just reach out and touch it. I want to know….
A rapid, thundering knock echoes through my eardrums. I swear the whole couch vibrates against the thrum of sound. I clutch the cushions, utterly disoriented by the hardest, darkest sleep of my life, thinking for a moment that this is it–all those rumors about major shifts in the sea ice are real, and the whole campus is crumbling into that ancient, mysterious ocean miles beneath us–but the second round of knocks has me flying off the couch in a tangle of blankets. How long have I been asleep?
Someone is dead. For sure. Abby and Toby broke up for real this time. I’m getting fired and escorted off campus by warriors and–
“Alex?”
Alex shoves his way through the door and paces to the windows, repeatedly running his fingers through his hair while I shut the door and lock it firmly. I whirl, my heart hammering to the point I can’t catch my breath.
“Alex, are you okay?”
“You–” He points at me, eyes wide. He laughs sharply, which startles me, my heart leaping into my throat. “What are you?”
He looks deranged and slightly terrifying as he paces toward me but stops short, waving at me, then pacing back the way he came. I glance at the clock on the stove. I slept for hours. A whole day passed. It’s night again. I scrub my hand over my face and peek at him through my fingers, noticing his unkempt state, his wild hair and the sudden sharpening of all his features. “Alex?”
“Your blood is like… nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s–you–I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I push off the door and edge a few steps in his direction. He braces a hand against the window, turning to face the night, the elements, the burst of aurora painting the sky in shades of green and the deepest purple. “What are you talking about?”
“You are stardust. You are made of it. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He turns to face me, and it’s like the Goddess has reached down and slapped me over the head. I reel back, my entire body recoiling in shock. I fight the natural impulse to shift and run away, the shifter side of me clawing for release, begging me to run for my life against something so unnatural, so damning, I… can’t help but stand still and study Alex in all of his glory.
His very secret glory.
Fangs.
He has fangs. I hadn’t noticed before. Sure, he had what I thought were mildly pronounced canines, which isn’t totally uncommon, especially when surrounded by shifters, but he told me he wasn’t a shifter.
And I don’t know any witches or wizards with fangs.
He keeps them well hidden, never fully smiling, always so careful how his mouth moves, his stillness.
“What are you?” I counter, my voice hard and booming. My powers rile under the yoke of my bracelet in warning, warming my skin.
He bows his head.
“Alex?” I take a single step closer, but he holds out a hand to stop me.
“You have it in your blood.”
“What do I have in my blood? Stardust? I feel like that’s been well established–”
“More–more than that. It’s there. I saw it. I’ve been looking for it for so long. And here you are, right here, the answer to–to everything.” He tries to straighten but loses his balance, knocking his shoulder against the window. He hisses in pain, his fangs catching the starlight. Shadows play over the faint notches where he’s… shaved them down.
Multiple times.
My fight-or-flight feeling ebbs into heartbreak as the aurora’s glow spills through the window, highlighting his body. His pale skin. The gauntness of his face, the sunkenness of his eyes. He looked tired before–this morning–but I’d thought it was just from staying up all night guarding me, ensuring I was okay.
It’s not.
I know in my heart it’s not.
He’s starving.
I should be frozen in fear. I’m not. I can’t believe this is real, that he’s real. All those stories from my childhood, all the lore, the myths….
I know what he is without needing to ask. I don’t need confirmation. Every silent question I’ve had about him I refused to voice becomes startlingly clear–the cold pallor of his skin, his secretive behavior, why I haven’t seen him eat, or drink, or sleep.
His aversion to blood has nothing to do with squeamishness.
“I’ve only heard stories about your kind,” I whisper.
He shuffles forward, unable to stand up straight, and tries to grip the railing of the staircase but misses, falling to his knees. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My family has several historians. Arthur–he’s different. We’re not sure what he is but he… he’s been around a long time. He talks about your kind like you existed once, but not anymore. Not for a long, long time. My aunt Misty has seen–”
“Skye–” He motions for me to step away when I edge toward him. He’s on his hands and knees trying to push himself upright, but he can’t. He eases onto his side, then sits up, his back against the wall. “Don’t.”
“What do you need?”
“Don’t ask me that. Just back up.”
“Tell me what’s wrong with you!”
His eyes are so dark and so endlessly blue, sharper than usual. Predatory, like there’s only one thing on his mind, and it’s survival, but he won’t act.
He’s so controlled. I wonder how he’s survived all these years, but I suppose I already know.
“It’s true that sunlight hurts you, isn’t it? That’s why you chose Lunaria, Aurorium specifically.”
“Stay away from me.”
“You’re always in your lab, and it doesn’t really affect you temperature-wise, does it? You’re immune. It doesn’t faze you.”
“It–it does–”
“You take blood samples from the lab–”
“Stop!”
“You’re a vampire.”
He holds my gaze for several achingly long seconds. I can practically see the gears behind his eyes while he tries to come up with an excuse and more lies.
I edge closer, and he bares those fangs at me. I recoil, my skin prickling with gooseflesh, those shifter sensibilities screaming that being in his proximity is a very, very bad idea.
But the other side of me? The powers that make me what I am–a mystic?
Oh, my Goddess, this is amazing. He’s amazing. He has no lifeline. No thread in the tapestry. He just exists. How is that possible?
“Back up,” he warns, gritting his teeth. His nostrils flare as I crouch to inspect him at a closer angle. “Skye, get away from me.”
“How long has it been since you’ve had any blood?”
He chokes a laugh. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s what you need right now, isn’t it? Blood? How do you get it here? The blood samples from the clinic?”
He searches my gaze, stunned, I think, that I’m not screaming in fear. I reach out to touch him, and he moves away, grunting against what I think might be serious pain all over his body. “Don’t touch me.”
“What will happen if I do?”
“You’re insane,” he growls. “You have no idea how much danger you’re in.”
I’ve had enough. He’s hurting, starving, likely disintegrating right before my eyes, and I know he won’t be able to answer any of the million questions taking up every pocket of my mind until he’s lucid.
And full.
I slam the palm of my hand against his forehead. He shouts but quiets instantly against the pull of my powers. My bracelet vibrates violently and heats to the point of pain against my skin in warning, but I push past the barriers of the charms and sink into his mind.
I don’t pry even though I want to. Desperately. It’s all there, but different than being in the mind of a witch or shifter. He sees more in… feeling than images, I think. Everything is color, and right now, the dominant color is red. Red fury. Red concern. Red hunger. Red heat when I push deeper, and he can feel me all around him. It takes him several seconds to submit, and then his mind quiets, and when I pull my hand back, he’s slack against the wall, eyes open but unseeing.
I gently shut his eyelids and step back to admire my work and… him.
* * *
Alex
I wake up to the feeling of my arms stretched above my head. My fingers tingle as I open my eyes to slits, and Skye’s living room comes into view. For a moment, I think the worst. The shadow in front of me is her body drained of blood, but it’s not.
She moves closer to check the belt holding my wrists together above my head, bound to the railing of the staircase. Her scent hits me like a punch to the gut–warm and soft. Delicious, just like the sound of her heartbeat filling every space in my mind.
“Good evening,” she says softly.
I test the strength of the belt, finding it secure enough to hold me captive for a while, at least. Smart girl.
“What are you doing?”
“How do I go about getting whatever blood samples I can find for you to munch on?”
I shut my eyes but feel her kneeling in front of me, eye to eye. “You can’t. I’m out. They were supposed to come in that late shipment from Aurorium, but they sat warm for too long. I couldn’t… I’ve been busy with the Beta’s investigation. I didn’t order more.” I open my eyes enough to see her fully–her curious, unafraid eyes staring back at me expectantly. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“So I’m right? You’re a vampire?”
I nod. My body feels feather-light and numb. I can’t do much other than accept whatever she planned, which I don’t think is killing me, unfortunately. She’s going to torment me first, with questions, which is worse.
“How many others are there like you?”
“None here.”
“Where are you from? Where are your people from?”
I take a breath, wincing. I can’t undo this. Once she knows, she knows. “I’m from a kingdom called Scarlett Thunder.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“You wouldn’t have. They don’t know this place–the Allied Kingdoms–exists. We’re cut off by a mountain range and a sea, and a few thousand miles of plains and rivers after that.”
She rocks back on her heels, her hair falling over her shoulder as she inspects me like a research specimen. “You’re immortal, right?”
“I can die. I’m dying right now, just slowly. Immortal to me just means a few centuries of life if I’m careful not to get killed or starve–”
She cuts me off with another question. “How old are you?”
“I’m still thirty-three.”
“In vampire years?”
“Thirty-three. I was born thirty-three years ago.”
She seems disappointed by my answer, which I would find amusing in any other circumstance, but my vision starts to fade, replaced by primal instinct. Her scent gets sharper. The vein in her neck pulses, and it’s the only thing I can focus on. I imagine sinking my fangs into her skin. Tasting her. Holding her soft weight against my chest while I drink my fill and…
“You need to leave,” I whisper. “I’m not–not safe to be around.”
“You haven’t had blood in weeks, have you? How long does it take to–”
“To kill me like this? Weeks, which it’s been. You’re right.”
“Why didn’t you just… use my blood samples?”
I barely have the energy to laugh. It comes out as a grunt. “I don’t feed on people. Not anymore. Not for over a decade.”
“The whole time you’ve been here in Lunaria–”
“Animals. The blood samples we get from Aurorium are always from animals–sheep and reindeer, mostly. I… I can’t answer any more questions.”
“You don’t feel well?”
“Obviously,” I growl, but then I bite it back. “Listen. Toby can… he can help. You just have to be very discreet, okay? The clinic might have blood samples. Maybe. I’m not sure, but Toby has access–he doesn’t know what I am.”
Her scent overwhelms my senses, and I jerk forward against the restraints when she leans toward me, her bare wrist less than an inch from my mouth.
I close my eyes. “Please don’t.”
“You need this.”
“You have no idea what you’re offering.”
“It’s just blood. I can make more.”
“I could kill you,” I explain, keeping my eyes firmly shut. If I see her, see her offering herself like this, as a fucking feeder? I’ll snap. I won’t be able to control myself.
“Well, you’re restrained, so unless you’re strong enough in this state to get free, I think I’ll be fine.”
“I won’t risk it–”
“Also–” She reaches for me, running her fingers through my hair. It’s such a… gentle, loving touch, and I lean into it on instinct. It’s been so long since I’ve been… touched. Like this. But then a sharp pinch rips through my brain. I cry out as my senses fade, and my body jerks. I feel her then, in my head, like she’s gripping the part of me that makes me into this monster, like she has it by the metaphorical balls. “I can just do this. You can’t hurt me.”
She lets me go. My head falls forward. It takes several long seconds to regain my composure, and when I do, she is still there, holding out her wrist.
“Do it. I want to know what it feels like.”
“You’re insane.”
She presses her skin against my mouth, and I lose any sense of myself to the feeling, and taste, of her.