Blood Song

dead? For long enough that she had to come get me to make me notice. Another pain hit me in the

chest and I felt my hands clutching the chair arms so hard the cloth began ripping under my grasp.

Dr. Scott kept talking. “Natural y, she’s only now able to manifest because it takes time for the soul to

leave the body, reject the natural transition to the afterlife, and return to Earth. Actual y, the process

normal y takes longer, but Vicki was an extraordinarily gifted person. She was already on a higher

plane of consciousness, so it’s very clear why her return was faster.”

Clear? It didn’t seem clear to me. In fact, I was suddenly having trouble thinking clearly about

anything. The final rays of sunlight behind Dr. Scott had turned that startling bloodred that spoke of

clear sailing tomorrow. I found myself staring at the neck beneath that melon-colored col ar, watching

the pulse beat under his red-tinted skin. I could actual y hear the blood pumping through his veins. My

mouth started watering and my stomach rumbled audibly. I had to fight not to lunge across the distance

between me and the doctor. I dug my fingers into the chair arms and felt them sink down, and down. An

odd squeaking accompanied the sensation, making me twitchy.

Dr. Scott’s eyes widened and he began sweating. The scent of his sudden fear tasted salty on my

tongue. My stomach rumbled again, but I didn’t move. That tiny part of my brain that was stil me dug in

with every ounce of stubborn wil , refusing to give in to the overwhelming craving that had nothing to do

with me, right here and right now. I moved my hands to my legs, forcibly holding them to the chair. I

would not stand.

The last vestiges of glow settled into the ocean and the pale blue of the sky turned to new denim.

Unexpectedly, things in the room grew brighter, as though each piece of furniture had an internal light.

Brightest of al was Dr. Scott himself. He glowed and pulsed with healthy, vibrant life and I absolutely

knew that he would taste as sweet and syrupy as the finest melted Swiss chocolate.

My eyes fol owed him with preternatural clarity as he moved with exquisite slowness to reach for the

telephone extension on the end table next to him.

“Ms. Graves, can you hear me? Are you stil in there?”

“Yesssss.” My voice sounded odd and strained.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” He started punching numbers … misdialed, and had to try

again. But his voice was steady and he was keeping his wits about him. So long as he didn’t run, didn’t

move, I was almost sure I could hold on. Almost.

“Before the attack.”

He swal owed convulsively. I watched his Adam’s apple move, saw the pulse in his throat speed up. I

forced myself to close my eyes, taking deep breaths through my mouth rather than my nose until I was

almost panting. If I didn’t see his pulse, didn’t smel his fear, maybe it would be easier to stay in control.

I needed to do something, because every second frayed that last thread of humanity I was clinging to.

“Heather, I need appropriate nourishment for Ms. Graves. NOW. ” He didn’t sound panicked, but the

tone of his voice left no doubt it was an emergency. I had to admire his self-control. As a bodyguard

I’ve seen men who seemed far tougher than he was crumble in the face of this kind of stress.

I heard him set the phone careful y back in its cradle. “You need to hang on just a few more minutes.

I’m going to stay very stil .”

“I’l try. Staying stil would be good.” Actual y, stil wasn’t good, as far as my stomach was concerned. I

wanted him to run. Wanted him to scream and fal and claw at the carpeting in a futile attempt to get

away. My voice was thready, but oddly, the lisp was mostly gone. And my body wasn’t moving. In fact, I

could feel my fingernails digging through the fabric of my sweats, hard enough to draw blood from my

quivering thighs. The pain centered me, made me feel a little more human.

“Ms. Graves, listen to me. You must eat every four hours without fail, and you wil need to take

particular care to eat just prior to sundown. Right now you’re feeling your sire’s hunger combined with

your own. It makes control ing yourself considerably more … difficult. Do you understand?”

I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure I could. Coherent thought was fading in a haze of overwhelming

need that throbbed in time to the sluggish beat of my abruptly undead heart.

“Ms. Graves, Celia. You need to answer me. Stay with me.”

“Hungry.” The word was an almost-hissing growl, and I could feel the heat of magic fil ing the room.

Stil , I forced my body to stay utterly stil , even though I couldn’t seem to remember why it was so

desperately important.

I heard the door creak open, felt the slight shift of air displaced.

“Don’t come in! Leave the tray just inside the door.”

My head snapped around and I locked the intruder in a stare. She was glowing so bright I couldn’t see

the color of her hair or skin. But her eyes … they were deep blue. And they were mine. Heather

responded like she’d just come upon a cougar or wolf in the wild. I could watch each individual hair on

her arms rise and her muscles twitch. “Sir—” There was fear in her voice. It resonated through my

body like the ringing of a bel . I shuddered; my body jerked as I fought an instinct to lunge for the very

human source of the terror. Her glow was strong, too, and her fear a vibrant thing that was nearly alive

on its own.

“Close your eyes, Heather. Don’t let her entrance you. Just put the tray on the ground and leave.”

She paused and he final y raised his voice. “Do it!”

The blue eyes closed, and my attachment to her faded. I heard the clatter of silverware against china

as she nearly lost her grip. I fol owed her every motion as she set the tray on the carpeting. She

backed out in a sudden movement, the door closing behind her with panicked finality.

I was panting in earnest now, breathing as hard as if I’d done a ten-mile run. I heard movement, knew

the doctor was easing his way out of the enveloping chair. “I want you to stare at the plant in the corner,

Celia. Look at the plant. Tal , lush … alive.” I moved my eyes toward the towering ficus. It was tal and

lush and alive, but it didn’t have Dr. Scott’s pulsing, glorious glow. The bright light of blood. It was

starting to hurt not to move, to chase.

His voice came again, soft and soothing. “I’m going to leave the room now. The food is here. When

you’ve finished, and you’re yourself again, you can cal out and I’l come back in. Do you understand?”

I made a noise that should have been assent. Instead, it was an animal moan. Stil , I held on, feeling

the wet blood on my pants as my nails dug even deeper so that I would not chase. I stared at the plant

even as I heard him move, the scent of his fear like baking bread that I should fol ow to the source.

Only when I heard a door close and the sound of a dead bolt sliding home did I let go and move my

eyes.

I could barely see through the blood vessels that had burst in my eyes. But I could smel . Food. There

was food. I moved in a blur of speed, throwing myself across the room. I ignored the bowl and spoon