by Emma Meade
***
Who’s Tasha? I wondered.
Snapshots fired. Fair hair, a girlish giggle, a seductive wink. The picture refused to come into focus.
I stirred, stretched my limbs. Arms and legs so feathery light, I checked to make sure I still had a body. My eyes met those of my maker. In the dark apartment, his skin shone like a beacon. I glanced down at my hands. They gleamed, as perfect as ice and ivory.
A dim memory of Eli sweeping me off my feet surfaced, running with me in his arms past dying and dead humans, flying by the booth where the body of the blonde girl—my friend in another life—sat, growing stiffer by the second.
What would they do with her? People might come looking for her, for me.
I mulled it over, tracing my lips with my tongue, lapping up the drying blood, and realized I didn’t care. My body sang. Energy radiated through my veins. I craned my neck to the right, and saw colours in the dark of night beyond the high glass windows, shades of luminous grey and deep black I’d never been privy to before.
“I’m thirsty,” I said, turning back to Eli.
He pressed a warm kiss to my forehead. “I’ve got just the thing.”
He pulled me to my feet. I followed him to the bar on the other side of the room, marvelling at my graceful walk. I slipped out of the strappy sandals. The ground, softer than feathers beneath my feet, both tickled and soothed me. I treaded barefoot across the wooden floor in elegant, dancing steps.
Eli poured whiskey over ice cubes. They crackled and sang. He bit his wrist. A thin stream of blood mixed with the amber liquid. He shook the glass and handed it to me.
Saliva pooled in my mouth. Teeth shifted, making room. I licked my aching, tender new fangs and brought the glass closer to my lips. My eyes rolled back in my head.
Goodbye Tasha, farewell Jesse of yesterday.
I knocked the cocktail back.
Eli poured himself a drink. He touched his glass to mine. “There’s my girl.”
I’m not your girl. I smiled, my new teeth pressing against my lips.
“The sun will be up soon,” he said, strolling to the window, admiring the navy sky and the lights of the city glittering below.
“Yes, I can sense it,” I murmured, my eyes moving from the window to the heavy burgundy curtains hanging at either end. Thick material, guaranteed to keep the day out.
“I never get tired of this view,” Eli said.
“It’s spectacular.” Even more so in the morning sunshine, I imagined. Eli wouldn’t have to.
I closed my hand around the whiskey glass. Crushed it with the barest of pressure. It splintered into hundreds of tiny shards, digging into my skin.
Eli turned. “You don’t know your own strength yet. Here, let me.” He handed me his drink and bent his mouth to my bleeding hand.
I forced myself to hold still as his tongue mopped up my blood. “Mmm, there. All better.”
I managed a grateful smile.
He nodded at the whiskey in my hand. “You drink that. I’ll make myself another.”
How kind of you.
My thoughts drifted to the dark stairwell outside the apartment. When it was done, I could hide there until nightfall, sneak out the exit and be on my way anywhere I desired.
New power glowed in every cell. Eli had gifted me with his strength, new life and endless possibilities. Freedom from the drudgery of an ordinary existence, from the burden of ties and commitments, but he hadn’t afforded me the choice.
Big mistake.
“Oh, Jesse,” he sighed. “Aren’t you glad you walked into my club tonight? I should have thanked your friend Tasha when I had the chance.” He laughed.
My smile faded.
“You haven’t thanked me yet, Jesse,” Eli said, his voice soft behind me.
I looked out at the horizon. Though I couldn’t yet see a change in the sky, my sensitive new skin felt the first glimmer of the coming day.
“Don’t worry, Eli. I’m going to show you just how thankful I am.”
The End
About the Author
Emma Meade lives in rainy Ireland. She loves reading and writing supernatural fiction.
Also by Emma Meade
Night Sighs
Under the Desert Moon
The Awakening & Other Stories
Find Emma on her blog: Emma's Ramblings on Supernatural Fiction emmameade.com
emmameadebooks.com