The feeling of my teeth sinking into his neck, how completely wrong it felt to pierce his skin, to hurt him. I know he feels pain just as I do, just as we both feel pleasure.
But as wrong as it felt to do that to him, the taste of his blood, the way it filled me with vitality, is something I can never ignore. Problem is, I don’t know how it really works. Do vampires have preferred others to drink from? It seems vampires usually feed from humans, not other vampires, so why does Solon insist I drink from him?
And what happens next?
Amethyst had said that Solon will get over it, but I saw that rage in his eyes. I’m not sure he will. I don’t think he’ll want anything to do with me anymore.
The thought of never seeing him again hurts.
I know what I
told Amethyst, that I wasn’t in love with him, and that still stands. But when I told her I didn’t even like him, well, that was a bit of a lie. I do like him, a lot, despite the fact that I shouldn’t. He doesn’t really have many good attributes, he’s a liar and a killer. He’s duplicitous, and disloyal to his own species. He’s a wicked beast with wicked ways, and I don’t know that I can trust him.
But despite all that, I’m drawn to him in ways I can’t explain. Oh, I’m sure if I really wanted to, I could blame it on the blood, that I’m literally addicted to him now. I could blame it on the fact that he’s more vampire than I am and extremely adept at compelling others, and as much as he says I’m immune to it, perhaps he’s wrong.
The truth is, I need and crave him on some deep, molecular level. Like the levels in the Veils, this comes from the very bottom, near a hellish dark place inside me made of flames and blood. It’s deeper than the moonlit well that’s always guided me. It’s in the very core of who I am.
Whoever that may be.
And if lose Solon, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself, how I’ll navigate this new world. Like my purse is the anchor to my old life, he’s the anchor to my new one. He’s the one guiding me through it, he said so himself, and sometimes, only sometimes, I catch him looking at me in a way that seems more than just teacher and protégé. Beloved isn’t the right word, despite what Ezra said, but it’s something raw and tender and I’m sure he’d hate it if I ever attributed such soft words to such a hard man.
But you just fucked it all up, I tell myself. Wouldn’t be the first time.
I sigh and finish putting on the rest of my makeup. I’m meeting Elle at my apartment in an hour, and I need to hurry. She doesn’t know I’ve been living in a hotel, so I can’t invite her here, and when I suggested we go somewhere like a bar or café, she was adamant about my place. I think she’s afraid that Solon will show up again if we are elsewhere.
My parents are at work, but even so, I’m not telling them I’m going over. I know they’d have problems with it. But it is the middle of the day, the sun is shining, and they said was that my apartment was lined with protective ruins. It didn’t keep out Solon, of course, but today I wouldn’t mind if he actually showed himself.
I’m being cautious, of course. I figure nothing bad can happen with Elle there, and maybe we can just stay for a few minutes before I convince her to do some day drinking down on the Embarcadero. White wine and oysters are already calling my name.
It takes me a bit with my makeup, really going overboard with the bronzer to combat my skin tone, which seems to be growing more pale by the day, then I put on leggings and another long-sleeved tunic and denim jacket, making sure my lack of tattoos are fully covered again. I hope she doesn’t notice I’m hiding them.
I glance at the ruby necklace on the desk, leaving it where it is.
I haven’t worn it since I took it off. I’m almost afraid to put it back on, in case it never grows warm again.
With time running out, I decide the quickest, though certainly not the best, way to get to my apartment is to head through the Black Sunshine again. I need some extra time anyway to open the windows and make my place look lived in.
I take in a deep breath and concentrate on the space in front of me until the air starts to warp and shimmer. Flames appear out of nowhere, marking the outline of a door. Through the door, the green-blue of San Francisco Bay turns to grey.
I step right through.
Still in the room, only there’s no air, no color, no life.
“Hello?” I say, and I’m surprised to hear my voice, albeit dull. It’s not that there’s no sound in this place, it’s that there’s no echo.
I stare out the window, at the city that had stopped in time, and then I turn around and go out the door.
I remember there’s no need to hurry in here, so though I’m quick by nature now, I don’t panic as I make my way out of the hotel. Or at least, I try not to.
It’s so fucking eerie here. The place is usually bustling with people; now, there’s not a soul to be found. No smell, except a faint burning, perhaps the updraft from Hell. It reminds me of an old movie I saw once on TV late one night, The Langoliers, based on the story by Stephen King. Yup, this definitely feels like a Stephen King novel.
I walk through the empty lobby, the lack of echoes unnerving me, then head out on to the street. I don’t have to run today, but even so the longer I spend in here, the more out of sorts I feel, like my sanity is slowly unspooling. I don’t know how the hell the first vampires spent six months in here, it must have felt like an eternity to them. They probably all went mad.
So I start to run through the black and white world.
Running through the nighttime was one thing, but now that I’m heading down Powell Street, past all the empty cable cars, all the vacant stores, it feels like I’m in the actual apocalypse. It’s so painfully empty.
Of course, I see shadows. Lurking in the spaces between the buildings, along the streetcar lines on Market Street. Spirit-hijackers. They make me run faster.