Len stood up rather abruptly. Rans casually popped the closure on the silver rings still piercing his nipples and pulled them out, giving the baubles a careless toss into the tub with the bullets. Then he stretched his back, grimacing a bit as the freshly healed muscles pulled.
“Don’t worry, mate,” he said without turning around. “Your neck is safe unless you offer it voluntarily. I owe you one for this, even if you were as slow as fucking molasses about it.”
There wasn’t very far to go in the tiny bathroom, and Len had fetched up against the vanity after his second step backward. He didn’t lunge for the open door in a panic, though. Instead, he swallowed once and met my eyes.
I tried to plaster a reassuring expression onto my face. “If it helps,” I said, “I’ve done the blood donor routine for him several times, now. Haven’t sprouted fangs or turned into a bat yet.”
Rans turned to pin me with a look of disbelief. “A bat?”
I shrugged.
Len consciously peeled himself away from the sink counter. “You saved Tristan’s life,” he said slowly.
Rans tilted his head, not arguing the point. “He put himself in the path of a bullet to try and protect a stranger. Letting him bleed out would have been rather a shit thing to do.”
“He’s not going to be able to handle this,” Len said in a rush. “I know him. This’ll be too much for him.”
Rans made a considering noise. “I saw the lad was wearing a St. Jude pendant. Religious type, is he?”
Len’s eyes slid closed for a moment as he nodded. “Devout Catholic, yeah. At least, as devout as you can be when you’re a gay man shacking up with his live-in boyfriend. But... this kind of shit? Vampires? Demons?” He paused, as though debating whether to say more. “Jesus. He’s only been out of treatment for five months.”
“Treatment for what?” I asked quietly.
“He was hospitalized for major depressive disorder with acute anxiety,” Len said in a monotone. “He’s still on some pretty heavy duty meds.”
“And yet, he risked his life for someone he didn’t know,” Rans said. “Your lad may be stronger than you think.”
“It’s got nothing to do with strength,” Len snapped. “It’s an illness! Like it matters how brave someone is when they’ve got cancer or an aneurysm!”
“That’s not what he meant,” I said, though I of all people could understand his frustration.
Len seemed to master himself with a slow, deep breath. “Yeah, I know that. Look.” He met Rans’ eyes directly. “You need to make him forget the details of what happened. You can do that, right? Make him think we just went to a bar after an evening out, and maybe the alcohol reacted badly with his meds or something. Do that for me, and I’ll put my jugular on tap out of gratitude.”
“Yes, I can do that,” Rans said. “And what about you?”
Len’s brow furrowed. “What about me?”
“Do you want to forget, as well?” Rans asked patiently.
Len opened his mouth, only to close it again.
“I... no,” he said eventually. “I can’t just forget something like this. It’s too big.”
Rans lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, I assure you. You could.”
Watching the little drama play out, I was caught between the selfish desire for someone else that knew me to actually understand what was going on in my life, and the knowledge of how unfair it was to ask Len to live with this earth-shattering revelation about the nature of our world.
“Len,” I said. “You have to realize—this will change your life forever. God knows, it’s turned mine completely upside down. I’m starting to believe I may never be able to step out of my door without the risk of something happening like what happened tonight. I think... maybe you should let him wipe your memory.”
THIRTEEN
LEN AND I LOOKED at each other for several long seconds. I could see thoughts and misgivings tumbling behind his eyes, along with a certain stubbornness that reminded me a bit too much of looking in a mirror.
“No. I disagree,” he said finally. “If what you say is true—if Tris and I might be in danger somehow, now that we’ve been drawn into this—then one of us needs to know what’s going on. Otherwise we’re just sitting ducks.”
A lump rose in my throat at the idea that I’d pulled them both into the kind of peril that seemed to define my life now. Goddamn it, it was bad enough that I’d dragged Rans down with me—condemning the last vampire on Earth to die whenever my mortal life ended.
Assuming, of course, that he didn’t end up getting himself killed first while trying to protect me from the crisis of the day.
“I’m so sorry, Len,” I blurted.
Len frowned. “For what? The fact that people are trying to kill you and we got caught in the crossfire?”
Rans snorted. “Sometimes she just says shit like that, mate. I usually try to ignore it.”
I glared at him. “Yeah? Well, guess what—not everyone is a suicidally reckless vampire with a martyr complex!”
He returned the look, measure for measure. “Pot. Kettle.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. “I’m not a vampire,” I muttered.
Len had been watching the exchange closely. “Are you human, though, Zorah? And, no, I can’t quite believe I just asked that question out loud, in case you’re wondering.”
I felt something inside me deflate. “I’m... mostly human,” I said, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Apparently, one of my grandparents was a demon, and that means I should never have been conceived, much less born. My existence is proof that the demon in question broke an important peace treaty that ended a supernatural war.”
Len blinked at me.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Rans said. “But suffice to say, there are powerful parties who would prefer that Zorah’s existence be quietly erased, and others who would love to capture her for even less savory reasons.”
“Are there, now?” Len asked. “And what about you, vampire? What’s your angle?”
Rans’ smile was brief and tight. “I have my own
