Page 35 of Blood Lovers (American Vampires #1)

Let it shine.

I am in a grand room —something like a palace, I think—sitting on a luxurious couch upholstered in a soft rosy velvet. Syrsee is to my left and on the other side of her is Paul. We are feeding off her. And every time I draw in blood, I can feel him.

The vampire Paul.

He lifts his head up, black blood dripping off his sharp teeth, and he smiles a bloody smile at me. All around us, the purple appears and I know this isn’t real, but I also know that it is.

“Drink.” It is a command. And Paul doesn’t even wait to see if I will comply. He simply lowers his mouth back down to Syrsee, latching on again. This makes Syrsee moan and writhe against me, her hand reaching between my legs.

I push her off and get up, walking around the room. The mist parts as I pass through it, swirling up into the air like ink in water. A cramp overtakes me, a craving—but not for him. It’s for her now—and I double over from the pain.

It’s over. I’m done. He’s gotten his way and he’s used Syrsee to get it.

I watch Paul as he sucks on Syrsee’s neck. I’m in the purple, but I know I’m also not in the purple.

And just as I think those words, I’m waking up in the tower room at Paul’s compound in Montana.

The three of us are on the bed. Me, then Syrsee, then Paul. All tangled together. Feeding and being fed on. Syrsee is moaning like she’s in the middle of sex. Like she’s about to come. Paul reaches up, yanks on a chain attached to the wall behind him, and Syrsee’s hand comes free. He does that to the other hand too, then he takes it and rubs it up and down my upper thigh.

I want to push him away. Push her hand away too.

But I don’t.

Because I can’t.

I. Can’t .

And if I can’t, then… what am I? I’m out of control, that’s what I am.

None of this is in my control and when this thought hits me, it’s an instantaneous relief. Because I’m not making this decision.

And if I’m not in control, then I can give in.

And why not?

Why not enjoy her?

She was a gift, after all.

Why not enjoy him too?

We are real.

All of this is real.

So I give in, and I give up, and I drink…

But as soon as I give in , they are all there to remind me

Jane, Charlie, Nancy, and Susan. Just like they were the last time I saw them in real life. At church, singing that song.

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine…

Then everything is on fire. The altar, the pews, even the windows. And them, of course.

But they never stop singing.

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine…

I walk into the fire, the flames licking up my legs. I walk straight up to my wife and take her in my arms. Her hair is on fire but she laughs, her cheeks bright pink, her eyes reflecting the inferno around us. I twirl her around and we dance, laughing and burning. Flames crawl up the walls and the kids never… stop… singing.

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine…

My back is itching like crazy and I pause the dance so I can scratch it. But my fingers are no longer fingers, they are claws. And they pull the skin away from my back.

I can feel the bumps back there. Right where the wings should be.

And will be. Soon.

I look down into Jane’s eyes. They are all black now. Because she’s dead. Has been dead for sixty-five years. But they are glassy too, like mirrors, and I can see myself in them.

The monster I will become.

I push her away and turn to the kids. “Run! Get the fuck out of here! Run !”

But they don’t. They just stand there and burn.

I look at Jane. “Go, Jane! Go! Get out of here!”

But she doesn’t either.

And they never will. Because this has already happened. The purple around me is deep and dark. They are dead and that’s what I want to be too.

I walk into the flames with them. They are covered in flickering yellow, blackened now, charred and ready to crumble.

“Take me!” I look up at the cross over the altar and beg. “Just take me!”

But the man on the cross isn’t Jesus, it’s Paul. And he looks me in the eyes when he delivers my fate—a fate that I already know, but he says it anyway. And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.

I turn, but the church is gone and there’s nothing left. Just cinders. Smoldering embers of what used to be my life.

A forest appears in front of me as I turn my back on the crime scene and then the dirt opens up. Calling me to it. Commanding me to climb in and cover myself.

I don’t want to, but I know I will. I even take a step.

“Ryet!” I look over and find Syrsee standing at the edge of the trees to my right. For a moment I can’t tell if she’s just part of my nightmare, or if she’s really here. Rather, if she is past, present, or future. Because the purple seems to have been replaced with the color of death.

But then a lavender mist builds up from her feet, swirling around her, ink and water. “Don’t. Don’t go. Please .” She’s real and in the present.

“Why? Why should I stop now? And why do you care? You did this to me! You did this !” I am growling these words out. Snarling them when she disappears.

She was never really there.

“No one is, Ryet.” I turn again and find Paul walking towards me from a thick darkness. “No one is ever there for you but me.”

He stops a few paces away, smiles, then offers me his hand.

I do not take it.

I turn and I run.

But really, I don’t.

I just lean into Syrsee’s neck, because I am in the tower room, at Paul’s compound, and I am on the bed with the girl I thought I wanted and the monster I love to hate.

But I suck her blood anyway.

And she moans as if she likes it. In fact, she does more than moan. She angles herself into me, her hand coming up the back of my head to grab my hair. The loose chain on her cuffed wrist makes a little clinking sound.

Then I feel Paul, his hand covering hers. They are both pushing me into her neck, urging me to gorge myself on her blood.

And that song is still playing. My kids still singing.

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine…

I force my mouth off of Syrsee, her blood spilling out of me like an overflowing glass of wine. I cough, and she begins to cry.

But I’m not sure if it’s because I’m pulling away or if she just doesn’t want to be here.

“Shhhh.” Paul is leaning over Syrsee’s body, one hand smoothing the hair away from my face. “This was her choice, Ryet. Don’t diminish her part in all this. Now look at me.”

I turn my head and find Paul’s blurry face. His cold-as-ice eyes.

He’s grinning.

I’m reliving the worst day of my life and Syrsee is being fed on like a fucking carcass, and this asshole has the nerve to grin .

“Can you feel it? Can you feel the changes, Ryet?”

“I feel sick.” I try to push him away, maybe even attempt to get up, but there isn’t a chance in hell of that. The whole room spins. I wouldn’t be able to walk to the door if my life depended on it.

“It’s OK, Ryet.” Paul is crooning at me, so pleased with himself. With this outcome. With his dream of our future together. “You just need to drink me now, blood lover. And then you’ll be juuuust fine.”

I think I say no. Well, I would like to think I say no.

But the only thing I actually know is that my teeth are sinking into his skin. And then that blood of his—that elixir that I crave so much, but have been denied so often—is falling down my throat.

In the same moment, Paul brings my wrist up to his mouth and begins taking all this blood back. It is this exchange that makes a vampire. And this is what seals my fate. It wasn’t me drinking Syrsee. It was me drinking Syrsee, and her drinking Paul, and Paul drinking me.

This is how you transfer evil.

This is how you create more darkness.

A circle. A cycle. A ring. A wheel.

We are all turning now.

Syrsee writhes underneath us. Neither of us are feeding on her, so the blood lust is probably wearing off. But we are both leaning on her and there’s no way she can escape.

I want to resist it. I do.

But I can’t.

Because my kids are still fucking singing about their shining fucking hearts and Paul’s blood is flooding into my mouth and all I want to do is devour him.

Him . Not her.

Paul.