on the phone.”
• • •
Miranda didn’t remember the first human she had killed as a vampire. She’d been in the grip of her transformation to Thirdborn and the whole day was a blur. She knew it was a woman who had killed her own baby, and afterward the Queen had given the woman’s husband an anonymous donation to help him move on. She knew that gift for what it was: blood money. She didn’t know how else to atone.
It was, as David had said, depressingly easy to find another one like her.
Once upon a time the combined misery and evil of the human world had assaulted Miranda’s mind as men had assaulted her body, and since then she had stayed away from minds like theirs, feeding only on perfectly average women, those who were healthy and wouldn’t suffer for it.
She no longer had that privilege.
“Slowly, beloved,” David murmured in her ear. “Don’t make yourself sick.”
Her Prime’s hand pressed against her back, reassuringly strong, as she pressed against the body she had pinned to the wall. Blood flowed freely from the four perfectly round holes she had punched in the woman’s throat, and this part, at least, was familiar. Prime and Queen both kept a hard hold over the human’s mind, stilling her struggles. She might feel some pain, but essentially her mind was already asleep and would not awaken. It was a kindness the human didn’t deserve; she had scammed dozens of elderly people out of their savings, leaving them penniless and often homeless.
Miranda paused and looked over at her husband, who was watching her, his eyes still black, desire there that should have disgusted or at least frightened her. The first time she’d seen his eyes change she had been afraid, but now . . . the intense emotion and power that brought about the blackness affected her in a very different way than it had before. She gestured for him to come to her, to wrap his arm around her waist and hold her, whispering encouragement into her ear. Being so close to him set her skin on fire, made her want him so badly . . . but more important, his added power helped her keep the human from fighting without losing her own focus. She didn’t want to make anyone suffer.
This was it: the point of no return. Her heartbeat fell into sync with the human’s, signaling that if she didn’t want to cause permanent damage, she had to stop.
She didn’t stop. She couldn’t. It was too late to go back to what she had been before. She had accepted all of this, knowingly or not, the minute she lay down with David and bared her throat to his teeth.
She had read that when people died, as in hospital rooms, it was a quiet, gentle thing, a sigh out, eyes drifting shut, machines flatlining the only loud sounds in the room.
To her kind, it was a little different.
The woman’s death erupted from her as if her soul were exploding out of her body in its desperation to win free of her life. Perhaps her soul went somewhere and perhaps it didn’t, but her death, that last burst of energy, rushed out through her veins and into the Queen’s mouth—it filled her body, her mind, with the deep, hell-dark energy of the woman’s last moment. Miranda drank it in, shut her eyes, and standing there with blood still trickling from her mouth, the Queen was at last renewed.
She gripped the woman’s shoulders and kept her where she was until the last drop of blood had hit Miranda’s tongue, and with a hard swallow, she finally let the human drop to the concrete in a lifeless heap.
She was crying, but she had no idea whether it was from sorrow or joy; relief, sweet and hot and black shot through with red, surged through her, her cells washed in that darkness, carrying healing and an almost sexual enjoyment through her body. Her vision sharpened again, sounds became clearer.
Her shields were restored to their normal strength. She hadn’t even realized they were wobbling until that moment. No wonder she had felt so horrible, if her empathy
• • •
Miranda didn’t remember the first human she had killed as a vampire. She’d been in the grip of her transformation to Thirdborn and the whole day was a blur. She knew it was a woman who had killed her own baby, and afterward the Queen had given the woman’s husband an anonymous donation to help him move on. She knew that gift for what it was: blood money. She didn’t know how else to atone.
It was, as David had said, depressingly easy to find another one like her.
Once upon a time the combined misery and evil of the human world had assaulted Miranda’s mind as men had assaulted her body, and since then she had stayed away from minds like theirs, feeding only on perfectly average women, those who were healthy and wouldn’t suffer for it.
She no longer had that privilege.
“Slowly, beloved,” David murmured in her ear. “Don’t make yourself sick.”
Her Prime’s hand pressed against her back, reassuringly strong, as she pressed against the body she had pinned to the wall. Blood flowed freely from the four perfectly round holes she had punched in the woman’s throat, and this part, at least, was familiar. Prime and Queen both kept a hard hold over the human’s mind, stilling her struggles. She might feel some pain, but essentially her mind was already asleep and would not awaken. It was a kindness the human didn’t deserve; she had scammed dozens of elderly people out of their savings, leaving them penniless and often homeless.
Miranda paused and looked over at her husband, who was watching her, his eyes still black, desire there that should have disgusted or at least frightened her. The first time she’d seen his eyes change she had been afraid, but now . . . the intense emotion and power that brought about the blackness affected her in a very different way than it had before. She gestured for him to come to her, to wrap his arm around her waist and hold her, whispering encouragement into her ear. Being so close to him set her skin on fire, made her want him so badly . . . but more important, his added power helped her keep the human from fighting without losing her own focus. She didn’t want to make anyone suffer.
This was it: the point of no return. Her heartbeat fell into sync with the human’s, signaling that if she didn’t want to cause permanent damage, she had to stop.
She didn’t stop. She couldn’t. It was too late to go back to what she had been before. She had accepted all of this, knowingly or not, the minute she lay down with David and bared her throat to his teeth.
She had read that when people died, as in hospital rooms, it was a quiet, gentle thing, a sigh out, eyes drifting shut, machines flatlining the only loud sounds in the room.
To her kind, it was a little different.
The woman’s death erupted from her as if her soul were exploding out of her body in its desperation to win free of her life. Perhaps her soul went somewhere and perhaps it didn’t, but her death, that last burst of energy, rushed out through her veins and into the Queen’s mouth—it filled her body, her mind, with the deep, hell-dark energy of the woman’s last moment. Miranda drank it in, shut her eyes, and standing there with blood still trickling from her mouth, the Queen was at last renewed.
She gripped the woman’s shoulders and kept her where she was until the last drop of blood had hit Miranda’s tongue, and with a hard swallow, she finally let the human drop to the concrete in a lifeless heap.
She was crying, but she had no idea whether it was from sorrow or joy; relief, sweet and hot and black shot through with red, surged through her, her cells washed in that darkness, carrying healing and an almost sexual enjoyment through her body. Her vision sharpened again, sounds became clearer.
Her shields were restored to their normal strength. She hadn’t even realized they were wobbling until that moment. No wonder she had felt so horrible, if her empathy
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