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“Well,” she dusted her hands off, “there’s nothing for it then. You need a hug.”

“I need a what?”

“A hug.”

“A hug?”

She stepped into me, not too close, not like that girl on the dais, pushing her blood into my mouth. She slid her arms around my back. This wasn’t a come-on, this was… comfort. I shuddered. Loosely hung my arms around her. My cheek rested naturally by her temple, like we’d done this a thousand times and would do it until the stars ended. I shuddered again. My throat went dry.

She patted my back. I held her a little tighter. My breathing slowed. The incessant fucking chatter in my head hushed. The grip of the drugs even let up. I breathed deep for the first time in decades. My head dropped with the feeling of weight being lifted.

I nuzzled into her neck as she made broad circles on my back with her hand. Her hair got in my mouth. Her scent was different here, almost floral like carnations, not dusky. She shook her hair off her shoulder. My lips grazed flesh and black ribbon. The invitation to bite her wasn’t full of potential regret or needs I didn’t want to meet.

I did that trick of Warren’s, sliding in fangs so gently you only feel that first flush of euphoria at the massive, overwhelming blood pull. No pain in this, for either of us. Not for her, never for her. I felt her heart flutter against my tongue. Fear could still be instinctual with the newly made.

Her pulse was now ripping through my senses, burning away Veronica and leaving this weightless ease. She went limp in my arms, mewing sounds barely breaking past her heartbeat in my ears. I held her tighter.

Greedy. I’m being too greedy.

If others had snacked on her already… A fiery itch started in my brain. I didn’t want to share this. This calm. This peace. The comfort. Her. I pulled on her blood harder.

Her head lolled back, fangs slipping from her. She was… pale. Too heavy in my arms. Her weight, the weight of grief piling back on, bringing us to the floor. Her skin was cool, lips draining of color, like spent grapes.

A beat of panic rose.

This was… not right. Not right. Not alright.

I touched my lips. Her blood stained them. It had tasted…

No.

I adjusted the ribbon at her neck. She was… I touched the puncture wounds at her neck. Still seeping. A slow trickle. She must have been tapped out already. Couldn’t have taken that much. I rubbed my eyes.

Think. Think.

Blood loss didn’t out right kill, it caused organ damage. Her pulse barely beat. To recover, she’d need mortal blood. My blood could only be a bandaid.

No. I swore. Never let another drink from me. Warren was the last. But… I wanted her peace again. Selfish bastard.

Veronica’s dagger glinted by her outstretched feet. I shook her. Didn’t help. Blood would. Panic washed over me. Cold sweat.

She was cold.

I cradled her. Fumbled for the dagger. Brought it to my neck. No. Can’t.

I crushed her to me. Slashed a wrist. Held it for her. To her pale lips. Shook her. Fucking drink. A second gash opened. My heart thundering now, pushing out blood. Filling her mouth. A small swallow. Drink. Another swallow, then another. Her eyes shot open.

She drank. Weak pulls. Relief rocked me.

She two-fisted my wrist, gnawing at it. Thirsty now, she straddled me. Went for my neck. I held her off, she pushed me down. Her teeth too weak to break my skin.

I gave in. Anything for that comfort again. Anything for her. I flashed the dagger under my chin, giving her access to the vein. Drink it all. Didn’t care now.

“What the fuck?”

We both spun. She growled, fucking growled, and launched herself at the interloper. Dagger in her hand. I snatched her by the waist and held her back. She clawed and screamed. Wrapped arms around her waist and a leg around her. She fought.

Nadine. She took a step back. The girl screamed. Pain, not rage. She puked. Puddles of black blood seeped into the carpet. Then she was out. Limp, dead weight in my lap.