I wake to a world that screams.
Every sound hammers into my skull. The hum of electricity in the walls sounds like a swarm of wasps. Fabric whispers against skin three rooms away. A heartbeat thunders somewhere below. I can taste copper in the air.
My hands grip the sheets. The threads snap under my fingers like wet paper.
"Easy," a voice says.
I jerk my head toward the sound. Dorian sits in a chair by the window, watching me. The bedroom feels too small and too large at once. The walls pulse with sound I can't filter out.
I try to stand. My legs don't work right. I stumble forward and slam into the dresser hard enough to crack the wood. The impact is barely felt.
Dorian crosses the room. His hands close around my arms. They feel like they could snap me in half without effort.
I flinch. Pull back. "Don't touch me."
"I'm trying to help you."
"Everything is too much." My voice comes out ragged. "Please make it stop."
"I can't make it stop," he says. "But I can teach you to filter it."
He walks me through it methodically. Points out the refrigerator hum downstairs and shows me how to push it to the background. The cars passing three blocks away. The neighbors arguing through the wall. Each sound becomes a thread I can choose to follow or ignore.
"Now the visual," he says.
He shows me how to dim the input that makes every shadow a living thing. How to stop seeing the individual dust motes floating in the lamplight. How to let the world blur at the edges.
"Better?" he asks.
"A little." I sink onto the bed. "What's wrong with my throat?"
"Hunger," he says simply. "That's going to be the hardest part."
"Why?"
"Because it's instinct. And it doesn't care about morality or control."
I press my palm against my throat. It feels like I've swallowed glass. "How do I make it stop?"
"You feed."
He pulls out his phone. Dials. Waits. "It's me. I need you to come by. Now. Yes, it's her first time." A pause. "Twenty minutes. Thank you."
He hangs up. Slides the phone back into his pocket.
"Who was that?" I ask.
"Someone who can help."
Twenty minutes later, there's a knock on the door. Dorian answers it. A man steps inside. Early thirties, athletic build, calm eyes. He wears jeans and a simple black shirt. He greets Dorian with a nod that speaks of old friendship.
"Bryce," Dorian says. "This is Nora."
Bryce looks at me with curiosity and sympathy. "Hey. First time?"
I nod. His heartbeat fills the room. I can see his pulse jumping in his throat. My gums ache. Something sharp presses against my lower lip.
"It's okay," Bryce says. He rolls up his sleeve without being asked. "First times are always messy."
"What are you doing?" I manage.
"Helping." He extends his arm toward me.
"Take it slow," Dorian tells me. "Start with the wrist. Don't bite deep. Listen to his heartbeat. Stop before it gets irregular."
I approach on legs that don't feel like mine. Bryce doesn't pull away.
I take his wrist.
"Whenever you're ready," Bryce says.
The first bite is instinct. My fangs slide through flesh and the taste hits my system like mainlined heroin. Hot. Perfect. Better than anything I've ever tasted. Bryce's gasp. Blood floods my mouth faster than I can swallow.
"Nora," Dorian says. "Slow down."
I ignore him. The rush of blood and the pounding of Bryce's heart silences everything else. My hands lock around his arm. I'm drinking too fast. Some distant part of me knows this but I can't stop.
Bryce's heartbeat starts to stutter. His knees buckle. I hold him up, bent over his wrist like an animal over prey.
Dorian moves. His arm wraps around my waist and physically pulls me off. I fight him. Actually snarl and try to twist free. Try to get back to Bryce. To that perfect warmth.
Dorian's grip is iron. He forces my face toward his. Makes me look at him.
"Nora. Stop."
His voice cuts through the hunger. The fog clears slowly. I see Bryce on the floor, pale and shaking, holding his torn wrist. Blood runs between his fingers. I see the blood on my hands. My clothes. Dripping from my chin.
Horror slams into me.
"Oh god." I back away until my spine hits the wall. "Oh god, what did I do?"
Dorian moves to Bryce first. Helps him to the couch. Brings bandages from somewhere and wraps the wrist with practiced efficiency. Brings juice and makes Bryce drink it.
"I'm okay," Bryce says. His voice is weak but steady. "I've had worse."
"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm so sorry."
Bryce looks at me. Manages a smile. "Hey. You stopped."
"I didn't stop. He stopped me."
"Still counts." Bryce takes another sip of juice. "Is she going to be okay?"
"Yes," Dorian says. He pulls an envelope from his jacket and hands it to Bryce. "Thank you for coming."
Bryce takes the envelope without counting it. Stands slowly. Tests his weight. "Call if you need me again."
After he leaves, the silence is suffocating. I stand frozen against the wall. Can't move. Can't think past the blood still coating my tongue.
Dorian appears beside me.
"I nearly killed him," I whisper.
"You did well for your first time," he says.
I turn on him. Voice rising. "How is that doing well? I lost control. I would have drained him if you hadn't been here."
"Yes," Dorian says. "That's what hunger looks like. Every vampire loses control their first time. Most kill. You didn't."
"I hate this." I pull away from his touch.
"You're a predator now," he says as his expression hardens. "Learn to see one." He steps closer. "Hunger isn't a moral failing, Nora. It's your nature."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means you stop apologizing for having teeth."
I stare at him. At the blood still on my hands. At the crack in the dresser where I slammed into it. At the shredded sheets on the bed.
"I don't know how to do this," I say.
"I know," Dorian says. "That's why I'm here."