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TIFFANY

Her red fingertips called to me, begging for action. My body was writhing on the ground, the grit from the NYC streets digging into my knees as the cramps turned me inside out. All I could see was the red.

She took a step toward me and the thirst tripled. My heart pounded like machine guns in my chest as I scrambled away, tearing a nail to a bloody stump.

“Lachlan!”

“Tiff, what the fuck is happening?”

“No, get away.” I tried to close my eyes, but my body wouldn’t obey once it noticed the red on her neck, glowing like a neon sign.

“Are you OK?” Monique’s eyes widened with panic.

“Get Lachlan now!”

“No. Let’s go. Let’s get you to a hospital.” She reached for me, but I was lost when the scent of her blood hit me.

Red crashed my vision, all I could think, feel was that rhythmic pounding, soothing me, like a promise, like a lullaby. I closed my eyes, forced them shut, just for a second. Relief poured into me in an undulating wave, fast and chaotic at first, but gentling as I gathered it to me. When it got almost too slow to follow, my vision came back, blackened around the edges and narrowed to pinpricks.

I stretched my neck, the cramping dulled to a minor roar, letting me think again. I exhaled softly and hung my head.

I froze, horrified. Monique was beneath me. Her skin was rapidly losing its golden color. Her neck was chewed bloody and raw. The sight of it jacked up the cramping and thirst into overdrive again.

I pushed off of her and scrambled back.

I had… I had… No. Oh, god. I touched my lips. They came away red with her blood. With Monique’s blood. I wanted to throw up, but I felt good, strong with her blood… Oh god… I wanted… more…

I bit her.

Monique tracked me weakly with her eyes. “Why, Tiff?” she said on an erratic breath.

Everything in me told me to pounce again, to find that relief in her blood. I liked lips, pulling that taste into me. Oh god, I was going to kill her. I had killed her. Her body was limp, breathing slow, her heartbeat. Oh fuck, it shouldn’t be that slow. I screamed against my own body, desperate for life and satisfaction. My will wasn’t going to be strong enough. I tried pushing myself back, to get away. My body was frozen. No, it was coiling, storing power, getting ready.

I had to break away. I had to stop looking at her blood flowing slowly to the ground, abused by gravity.

Focus.

I needed focus. I needed something to focus on. I patted my pockets for something, anything.

I felt the heavy weight of the dagger and pulled it out, slashing a gash across my arm without thought. My own blood pulled my attention from Monique. The fascination at watching my skin heal only held for moments.

I grabbed the dagger in my fist and squeezed. The pain was sharp and demanding. Tension rolled off my shoulders. That relief flooding back. As I stared at each drop as it hit the ground, blood lust rose slowly again.

I squeezed harder, the dagger sinking deeper into my skin. The pain was delicious. I could focus with the pain. The pain meant I could keep Monique safe.

“I will hurt forever before blood lust wins again.” The words left my lips like a prayer.

Steps. Running steps. Little earthquakes I could feel more than hear. Shoes appeared in my narrow field of vision.

“Monique.” I gasped. Lachlan had to help Monique.

FIFTY-TWO

SHAW

“Give me the knife, Princess.” Her whole body shook at the sound of my voice.

I found her holding the business end of that antique dagger Lachlan kept in his pocket, like a talisman. Her blood was in a tidy puddle beneath the shaking blade. I crouched in front of her, tapping her on the back of the hand.