room for anyone else.
By day, Michael and I strode down the Til inghast school hal ways impervious to everyone but ourselves; I felt powerful in a way I’d never experienced. By night, we flew through the skies like gods. Like the vampires that I guessed we were. We surrendered to each other. And to the blood.
“Come on,” I urged Michael. Where he used to push me along, I now dared him to fol ow me. The darkness had fil ed me with a recklessness I’d never before experienced. I now acted with abandon—without concern for anyone other than Michael.
He didn’t move.
“Come on,” I said again.
“Are you sure there’s no one inside?” Michael didn’t sound convinced.
“Positive. I can’t sense anyone.” Ever since I’d submitted to my powers, my skil s had grown. I could scan a building or a room to discover how many people were present. With certainty, I knew the charming little townhouse, which dated from the eighteen hundreds, was empty.
Without waiting for Michael’s agreement, I slid open the third-floor window and flew inside. Narrowly missing a stack of boxes, I landed hard on the rickety wooden floor. Another thud ensued, and I knew Michael had fol owed. My eyes adjusted to the pitch-blackness and I saw a clear path to the attic staircase. I took Michael’s hand and led him downstairs.
We’d broken into Rose’s, the nicest restaurant in town, the one that al the undergrads dragged their moms and dads to on parents’ weekend. It was our two-month anniversary, and Michael wanted to celebrate with a real y special dinner even though my parents had grounded me indefinitely.
He had scouted out the restaurant during the day to crystal ize his plan.
After we got to the ground floor, he directed me to a private room that contained a table for two, as wel as a fireplace, a few scattered club chairs, and a couch upholstered in ivory damask. He seated me in one of the chairs and lit the silver candelabras at the table’s center and on the mantel. After which he disappeared into the kitchen.
Within a few minutes, Michael returned bearing a large waiter’s tray. Delicious aromas wafted from the silver- lidded plates on top. With a flourish, he unfolded a linen napkin and laid it in my lap. Then he placed before me a vase brimming with the restaurant’s signature variegated red roses.
Final y, he brought the two plates to the table. In a grand gesture, he lifted the lids simultaneously, revealing lobster with asparagus and risotto, dishes that he’d ordered earlier that day. My favorite.
Before he sat down, he knelt next to me and whispered in my ear, “Happy anniversary.” We tucked into dinner, talking and laughing—even giggling—as if we were any normal couple. But al the while, we knew that it was only playacting. Michael and I were anything but normal.
After we finished the last bites of a molten chocolate cake, I stood up and stretched out my hand to Michael. He rose, and I led him to the couch facing the fireplace. We hadn’t dared light a fire—the chimney smoke would be a giveaway—but we had no need. We could see each other wel enough in the dim candlelight; we were used to much less light.
I lay down on the couch and motioned for him to join me. Lowering himself down, he molded his body to mine. Our lips rested up against each other, and for a long moment, we just breathed each other’s breath. Through his breath, I experienced every aspect of his day as if I’d been with him the entire time. He did the same. We had no need for words.
Then I kissed him. At first, the sensation was simple, pure pleasure. My lips, his lips, our lips, our tongues. In time, the bloodlust began to build, the same urge we first experienced at the fateful Fal Dance. But we no longer fought it. We yielded to its power.
I ran my tongue along his teeth at the same moment he ran his tongue against mine. Tiny droplets emerged on the tips of our tongue, and our blood mingled. Intense waves of physical delight washed over us. Then, like a slow burn that becomes more intense over time, the images came. I saw Michael and myself with wide swaths of light at our backs and letters of light emblazoned on our chests. I saw us flying through places and times I could not identify or comprehend. I saw us battling and helping and fighting and saving. Much as I didn’t understand who or what we were, I didn’t comprehend many of the images; indeed most of them seemed vaguely futuristic. Yet I reveled in them.
The visions and the pleasure slowly receded. I lay in Michael’s arms, peaceful and content; we never discussed the images, and we rarely talked about our natures. But I knew that, from the instant I awoke until nightfal of the next day, I would wait for this moment. I lived in—and for—it. As did Michael. We had become addicted to each other’s blood.
Chapter Twenty-six
The next night, I stared at the clock. The hands seemed frozen at 11:50. I prayed and prayed for them to move. I desperately wanted that minute hand to hit the eleven and the twelve. Only then, only at midnight, could I rise from my bed and fly out to meet Michael. I didn’t think I could hold off the craving—for Michael and the blood —a minute past twelve.
My countdown had started as soon as I woke up that morning. Every day progressed that way now. As I got ready for school, as I sat in class, as I walked alone down the hal ways trying hard to ignore the hateful stares, as I sat at dinner with my parents, I thought about my upcoming night with Michael. Knowing that the sweet release was only hours away made the daytime misery of school bearable.
The clock’s hands final y joined at the twelve. Midnight. I wanted to leap from my bed, but instead I peeled back my quilt quietly, careful not to rustle the sheets. After I lowered my feet to the floor, I stuffed the bed with a blanket and then tiptoed across the notoriously creaky floorboards. I careful y modulated every step I took and every move I made to minimize noise; I didn’t want to risk awakening my sleeping parents.
I made it across the floor to my window with only a modicum of sound. Then I paused to listen for any stirrings from my parents. The house was silent.
Bit by bit, I opened the window. Even my gentle efforts caused the ancient window sash to groan. I winced and forced myself to wait a moment before pushing it up the rest of the way. Part of me wondered why I cared so much about my parents catching me. Most of the time I didn’t, which was probably one reason I’d never mentioned to Michael that conversation between our parents that I had overheard. My powers had grown such that my mom and dad couldn’t stop me from meeting Michael, no matter what tactic they tried. Yet, I guessed that enough of the old
