by Liz Meldon
Was this how it always felt to feed?
It hadn’t been this way when she consumed human blood. Guilt. Disgust. Self-loathing. They sunk their hooks in deep and refused to let go. But this—Malachi’s blood was freedom.
And it would damn her if she wasn’t careful. She twisted her head out of reach, fully aware that his other hand still clutched at her thigh, his cock like a—huge—steel rod against her backside.
It didn’t surprise her one bit that whatever moment they’d just shared had made him hard.
It surprised her that she wasn’t offended by it.
In fact…
Was that—was that pride?
Malachi breathed her in one last time, his nose in her curls, his hand sliding up her bare thigh, firm as anything, bold as sin. A tremor skittered through her, and she sagged forward, catching herself on one hand when he stepped away.
“We’ll do this every three hours until tomorrow evening,” he informed her, voice gravelly and low, drenched with uncharacteristic restraint. “By then, you should be able to speak to Moira face-to-face without wanting to rip hers off.”
She nodded, unsure of how to feel, what to say.
Aware, acutely, that she was trembling, and not with fear or hunger.
It was desperation—desperation of a different kind.
Seven days of nothingness, and suddenly… a goddamn inferno.
He crossed to the door, shoes clicking with every step, and paused. Slowly, Ella lifted her gaze to him, and something in her chest lurched when he smirked.
“Go shower, little vampire. You look like hell.”
She sat back on her heels, wiping the blood from her chin. “Isn’t that a compliment?”
“Not this time, dearest.” Malachi chuckled, and that wicked sound delved between her thighs as firmly as she imagined his fingers might. “Not this time…”
Chapter Eight
The internet told her that sunset today was at 4:44 p.m.
And Ella waited, pacing a path into her floorboards, back and forth, showered and clean and satiated. She counted down the hours, with Malachi popping in and out every three to break up the time, and then eventually she counted the minutes. Seconds, now. Ten seconds. Six. Four. Three. Two. One.
Her phone’s alarm beeped up at her, and she stabbed at the screen with the pad of her thumb, careful to keep that damn talon out of reach. After a very long, luxurious shower last night, she had tried to trim all her nails back to something reasonable, but within hours they had returned to their former glory, white and sharp. At least they had the decency to look purposeful, like she had gone to a salon and paid someone to inflict them on her. In fact, in the right light, they had an opalesque quality to them that she didn’t hate.
Dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a deep purple cardigan, Ella shoved her phone in her back pocket and marched right up to her bedroom door. While a tremor skittered up her arm, she lacked the telltale physical signs of pulse-pounding anxiety; the only times she had felt anything remotely like that was in Malachi’s presence, and she couldn’t understand why.
Nor did she care to ask. If the guy’s ego inflated just a smidgen more, it would burst.
Nibbling her lower lip, she turned the knob—and opened the door.
A seated Moira toppled into her, collapsing against her knees with a little squeal, a video compilation of cats knocking things off counters streaming on her phone. Even though the sun had dipped below the horizon, the world outside her bedroom had a brightness to it that made her squint, but Ella pushed through, helping her best friend to her feet.
Her eyes welled with bloody tears when she realized she could touch Moira without wanting to eat her. Just as Malachi had said—progress. A dozen hits of his blood had quieted the bloodthirsty beast inside.
“Are you…? What…?” Moira’s wide-eyed gaze swept up and down her figure as she grasped Ella’s shoulders. Wearing a pair of old FHU sweats and one of Ella’s grey workout tees, the hybrid appeared as disheveled as ever, white hair greasy and sticking out of her bun at odd angles.
The best Ella could manage was a nod, so beyond thrilled to be able to hold her again—all the while acutely aware that she couldn’t feel the excitement, the relief, the elation. Sure, logically she knew all three had settled into her unbeating heart, but she wished she could feel the familiar trembling hum of giddy adrenaline. She had become a living example of Telling vs. Showing, and she fucking hated it.
But never mind.
“Sorry,” she murmured, “for everything. I just—”
“Oh my god, shut up.” Moira yanked her into a bone-crushing hug, and Ella gripped her back just as fiercely, face buried in her friend’s neck. This time when she heard the whoosh of blood through veins, the thump-thump of a hybrid heart, her body only responded with lukewarm interest. Positively full to the brim on demon blood, Ella found the closeness tolerable, even if her mouth did water a little. Her fangs poked out her gums but didn’t stab at her lip—more progress.
They held each other for an eternity. Moira shook, her breath hitched: a vision of normal human emotion. Ella’s body stayed still and dead in her arms, but bloody tears trickled down her cheeks, her heart happy for the first time all week. Malachi may have elicited something from her that she still didn’t understand, but the sheer joy of hugging her best friend and soulmate was unmistakable.
When they finally did peel apart, Ella’s cheeks were sticky and wet, the blood slowly drying and caking across her skin.
“Ugh, I’m so gross now.” She wiped at her face, red smeared across her palms, wilting just a little under Moira’s bright-eyed scrutiny. “I cry blood, and everything in my fucking bedroom is stained red, and I—”
“You look beautiful,” her bestie insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. Moira lifted the hem of her baggy grey tee and started wiping down Ella’s face, cleaning her like a mama cat cleans her kitten. Gripping Ella’s chin firmly, she even had the audacity to lick the shirt and really dig in on a troublesome spot by the bridge of her nose. When she finally stepped back, her smile made Ella’s dead heart even happier. “And you look like you, Ella. Seriously. I know this is a huge, scary change. I know how it feels to have your body flip you the bird and suddenly everything’s different. But… You still look like you.” She pursed her lips for a moment, then chuckled. “I mean, maybe a bit more angular.”
Ella snorted. “A bit?”
One of the first changes Ella had noticed when she finally examined herself in the mirror was her skin tone. The biracial beauty she had proudly sported her whole life had dulled, replaced by depressing drabness, lacking in human vitality and vibrance, save for the few stubborn freckles that refused to extinguish. With the proper contouring and foundation, she suspected she could fix it, maybe find some semblance of her old self.
What she couldn’t fix was the sharp line of her jaw, the point of her chin, the severe rise of her cheekbones, her collarbones jutting out as they never had before. Ella still wasn’t sure if that was just a vampire thing, or if it came from the fact that she had shed at least thirty pounds during the week she’d refused to eat.
Outside of all that, however, Moira was right. Excluding a few of the more obvious changes, Ella still looked like Ella. Her hair hadn’t fallen out. Her eyes hadn’t changed color, though the whites were slightly more bloodshot than usual. Her skin, despite its lack of a human glow, still possessed the same tawny undertones it always had. If there was nothing else she could take comfort in with this whole fucked-up situation, at least her friends would recognize her out on the street.
If she ever made it back to the street, of course.
The threat of spending the rest of her newfound immortal life inside her bedroom, inside an invisible house, chilled her to the bone.
“I’m sure you don’t feel the same,” Moira murmured after another quick perusal, gently entwining her fingers through Ella’s. No comment on the talons. She appreciated that. Shaking her head,
Ella pushed her mountain of curls back over her shoulders.
“I kind of don’t feel much of anything, actually.”
“Cordelia says some of your more human feelings will come back in time, along with a few of the old aches and pains,” Moira told her, giving her hand a little squeeze. “Overall, the more you feed and adjust, the better, I guess.”
Finally, an iota of good news. “Like… I know I am happy to see you and hug you without attacking you—” They exchanged a quick smile, the one reserved just for them. “—but my insides feel… nothing, you know?”
And cue the bloody tears. She tugged her hand away to catch them before they fell, cursing under her breath. Without a word, Moira moved in again, armed with her T-shirt to do some damage control.
“This is a victory,” she said firmly, wiping under Ella’s eyes one last time. “I know it doesn’t feel like one, but last week we couldn’t spend more than thirty seconds together without…” She cleared her throat. “Anyway. This is good. You and me—it’s a win. And we’ll just take it one step at a time, okay?”
Ella nodded with a sniffle. “Okay.”
“We’re all here for you.”
“Thank you.” She managed to blink back her tears this time; Moira’s shirt didn’t look like it could soak up any more blood. The hybrid redid her bun, lips pressed together in a stiff line, looking very much like she was holding back. In fact, Ella swore her five-beats-per-minute heart actually picked up to a record seven thump-thumps.
“Just say it,” she said softly, offering a tired smile when Moira sighed.
“Is it true? Has he been… feeding you?”
Ella shrugged, knowing she ought to feel shame, embarrassment, maybe even guilt. Inside, it was the same old nothing. “Better than human blood. I just couldn’t come to terms with it. I couldn’t… I couldn’t eat people.”
“I imagine it’s unsettling,” Moira said cautiously, “but… Malachi?”
The implication screamed back at her: the chaos demon was no good, and a week and a half ago Ella would have stuck him with another steak knife if he so much as brushed up against her. Now… Well, things were different now, and not by her doing.
“He says it doesn’t hurt him.” Which was key. She couldn’t imagine the human blood Cordelia acquired for her had been given willingly. “And it tastes fine, I guess, and I feel better. So… Whatever, sure, he’ll do, you know?”
“Your compliments move me.”
Both women flinched at the drawl of velvet steel from the top of the nearby staircase. How Ella had managed to miss such a hulking figure confounded her, but there he was, chaos, in the flesh, leaning against the bannister with crossed arms and a smirk. Still sporting the full black getup she had seen him in a few hours ago, a mischievous darkness glinted in his icy blue gaze.
A darkness that finally made her feel again. Ella swallowed thickly, her body acutely aware of his presence. The hairs on her arms stood on end. Heat flared between her thighs. Her mouth watered, her need spiked, and it wasn’t just the hunger driving her anymore. All that nothingness melted away whenever Malachi came knocking, his presence, the hum of his chaotic aura, doing something dangerous and wonderful to her.
He made her feel.
And in Ella’s books, that counted for something.
“We need to build up her tolerance,” Malachi mused as he pushed off the thin metal railing and strolled toward them. “Continued feedings at regular intervals is key. She won’t last long until she’s over that hill.”
Moira squared her shoulders. “Okay. She can feed from me, then.”
“I might hurt you,” Ella said, brows furrowing. She couldn’t stand the thought; this new body had strength, but it was wild and unpredictable. Ella would never forgive herself if she lost control with Moira. Malachi, however, seemed totally unfazed at the thought.
“I’m more concerned about her hurting you,” he remarked when their eyes met. Moira’s expression hardened, her gaze fiery as she rounded on the spot to glare. The chaos demon held up his hands, wearing the smirk that Ella knew—and he probably did as well—always ruffled her bestie’s feathers. “Your angel light is designed to protect you, defend you. That’s its sole purpose. If she drinks too much, or gets too aggressive, you could instinctively hurt her—or worse.”
Moira cleared her throat, arms folded defiantly. “Fine. Alaric, then?”
“Whatever human blood he has left in those veins could elicit the same response, and we still don’t know the full breadth of his power.” Malachi smoothed a hand down his button-up, every inch of him oozing haughty bastard. “I’ll continue to feed her myself.”
“Severus can do it—”
“Is there something fundamentally wrong with my blood?” His eyes narrowed. “Does it not meet your rigid standards?”
Moira sucked in her cheeks for a moment, scowling. “It’s not your blood, per se, but—”
“Ah. Perhaps with me, then.” The chaos demon chuckled coolly. “Are these your truest feelings, sister mine?”
The asshole might make Ella feel again, but it wasn’t all happy, sexy, sunshine-and-roses feelings. Frustration gathered in her core, ripening with every second the pair stood arguing at one another and ignoring her completely.
“Can we get back on topic?” Ella snapped, hands in tight little fists on her hips. “And stop talking about me like I’m not even here?”
A sheepish look crossed Moira’s angelic features, and she drifted toward her with a sigh. “Sorry, honey, I’m just trying to do what’s best for you.”
“I know.” The hybrid had been protective of her from the moment Ella entered this secret supernatural society, and that protectiveness had flared exponentially the night Malachi waltzed out of the hell-gate and into their lives. Still, none of this was happening to Moira. This was happening to her. Her bestie may have been able to empathize, but it was Ella’s body, Ella’s hunger, Ella’s life—she called the shots, no matter what a certain chaos demon thought. “Look, if it isn’t hurting him, or me, then I’ll just keep feeding from Malachi. It’s the simplest solution to this fucked-up situation.”
Malachi rolled his eyes, busying himself with his nails. “What great honor you bestow upon me, little vampire.”
Little vampire. The nickname ought to make her bristle, so why did her entire body seem to catch on fire every time he said it?
Moira jumped to her defense as though it had made her bristle, snapping back at the chaos demon, her tone cutting—her words too, probably, if Ella had heard them. In that moment, however, the world tipped to one side. Or maybe she did, because no one else listed sharply to the left, her feet carrying her a few steps closer to her best friend. The steady thump-thump of Moira’s heart spiked, pounding like thunder, and the underside of her arms shimmered with a tantalizing array of bright blue veins. Ella blinked furiously to shake it off, but her fangs had already extended and her mouth swam with saliva.
Frowning, Moira faced her. “Ella? You okay?”
She flinched back when her bestie reached out to steady her, trying to retreat, only for her treacherous feet to shuffle closer. Hunger howled in her gut, appearing just as suddenly as everything else, and panic made her throat tight.
“She’s hungry.” Malachi consulted an antique gold pocket watch he’d pulled out of nowhere. “It’s been about three hours.”
He snapped the contraption shut, then swept toward her like an oncoming storm, a black sheet of tempestuous rain capable of drowning all in his path. Still battling with her body, Ella shambled to the side, a protest on the tip of her tongue. She could handle this. She was fine. All the blood he had given her had to count for something, and she would never overcome this stupid test of will if she didn’t try.
“She’ll be back once she’s fed,” Malachi said—a statement of fact, not a question. Apparently Ella had no choice in the matter, not when he locked a huge hand around her forearm and hauled her toward her bedroom.
“Wait!”
Moira charged after them, her hands already starting to pulse with angelic light. It was an assault, same as before; Ella attempted to withstand it, to look directly at it, but it was like looking straight into the sun during an eclipse. If she stared too long, it would burn her eyes out. Chin quivering, defeated tears on the horizon, she looked away, back to her dark, cozy bedroom—a vampire’s den.
“I have a process,” Malachi argued, thrusting Ella through the doorway but still holding her. Numbly, her gaze went from his iron first around her wrist to his pinched expression. A part of her wanted to demand he let go—now—and yet a very small, oddly logical voice whispered that this was for the best. Because without meaning to, Ella’s feet were still trying to carry her back to Moira, fangs out, belly screaming.
“Malachi, look—”
“Normally her sire would do this, but the fucking coward fled when we found her,” the chaos demon growled. “She needs to be satiated, then weaned. I estimate feedings every three hours throughout the weekend. On Monday, every four hours. Tuesday, every five. We’ll come to a point where it will be once a day, then once a week, then eventually at her leisure. This will help her, Moira.”
Her eyes narrowed as they slid from Ella to Malachi. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
“You bloody women are driving me mad.” Malachi scoffed, thrusting Ella deeper into the bedroom when she lunged for Moira, a growl clawing up her throat. “I am capable of the occasional bit of altruism, you know.”
Moira offered a cold, noticeably fake laugh. “Right.”
“Did I not assist on the raid of Seraphim Securities, at great risk to my well-being? Did I not put myself in harm’s way to rescue your beloved, my brother?”
“Yeah, you did.” Moira nodded, her heart a steady, enticing drumbeat that Ella couldn’t fight a second longer. The great big block of chaos demon between them was the sole reason she hadn’t ripped into her best friend’s throat. Moira, however, seemed not to notice her struggle, glowering at Malachi like he was something she’d just scraped off her shoe. “Funny how wiping out all the demon mob bosses in Farrow’s Hollow just happened to work in your favor, right?”