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This was a special kind of horror. Was I healing? Was it possible? If so, it hurt almost as much to do that as it did to fall apart.

A fresh wave of burning, searing heat swept all other thought away, and I lost consciousness.

My next conscious thought was of peace.

Peace, finally.

I felt the floor under my body and wondered if I was even still alive, since there was no more pain and I was sure the only thing that could stop that sort of pain was death.

I had to be hovering in between life and death. That had to be it. My body was on the floor, and I was aware of it, but I was on the brink of death.

I couldn’t have survived.

Yet when I curled my fingers, they curled until my hands were in tight fists. When I took a deep breath, I felt the air moving through my throat, into my lungs. I felt my chest expanding. No more pain, no more gurgling noises. It was all real. I had to be alive.

I opened my eyes.

Still the same ceiling. I blinked hard. My eyesight was perfect, but I wasn’t wearing my glasses. The brief memory of them shattering when I hit the wall flashed in my consciousness, but it faded away just as quickly. I didn’t need them anymore.

Footsteps.

Vale knelt down next to me. “You’re back.”

“Am I?” I whispered.

I was so thirsty. My throat was parched as a desert, and I could barely speak.

“It looks that way.” His hand was gentle on my face, even if his skin was rough. “It always seems like the pain will never end, but it does. I’ve seen a lot of us change over—even though you’re the only one I’ve ever turned, personally.”

“You… you turned me?”

Of course, he had. That was where all the pain came from. That was the only reason I was still breathing.

Bradley had killed me, or almost. I would’ve died in another minute if Vale hadn’t saved me.

But what did he save me for?

I sat up, shaking him off when he tried to help.

“I don’t need your help. Oh, God, what happened to me? What did you do?”

I looked down at my body, which was virtually exposed. I was still wearing the rag which used to be my dress. I was filthy, blood-covered. But there were no wounds. No bruises. I had healed completely. I closed the dress as well as I could, even though he had seen me with it hanging open.

There was a bucket next to the bed, and I made the mistake of looking into it. “What is that?” I asked, recoiling.

“You were sick for a long time. Hours.”

“That came out of me?”

“Blood, mostly. Your blood. The blood that was inside you after you got hurt. Your body rejected it during the sickness.”

“The sickness?”

“It happens to all of us when we turn.”

I wanted to reject the idea. Like there was a door I could close, and I would never have to consider it ever again—being like him. A vampire. No, that wasn’t possible. And yet I had sucked the blood from his wrist and liked it. I had wanted more. I wanted more right now and here, in fact. If he had offered me some, I would’ve taken it. My tongue slid over my dry lips.

And he knew why. He was watching with an expression of sympathy.