I felt so much more than I’d ever felt before. The cold tile beneath my toes, I could make out every miniscule ripple in it. I could feel the coolness radiating out of the marble basin before me, could say what every single product Bran kept in her bathtub was, even without looking at them. Nothing was overpowering, but at the same time, it was all almost too much.
“Will it always be like this?” I asked her, lifting up my hand and staring down at it. I could see every tiny hair on my skin, every imperfection, the tiny cut on my thumb that I’d made on a piece of paper yesterday…
As I watched, the tiny cut, miniscule really, began to knit itself together.
“Always,” said Kane, taking my hand in her own. She wordlessly pulled me into an embrace, tugging my back to her front and folding her arms about me so that she held me to her in a comforting enfoldment. She buried her nose in my hair, closed her eyes, and I leaned back against her, watching our reflection in the mirror.
Yes, I looked grotesque, the dried blood flaking off my skin, my fangs long and frightening. But as I watched us, our embrace, reflected off the glass, I breathed out slowly.
At peace.
Fangs are frightening because we are taught from a young age to fear all that is sharp.
But there was nothing sharp in that moment.
And, as Kane held me with a fervent tenderness, I knew that I feared nothing.
I opened my mouth to speak, but fell silent when I heard a soft knock. It sounded as if that knock came from right beside me, but I knew that was impossible. It was only Kane and myself in the bathroom, a profound stillness shrouding us in silence.
No, it must have come from the door to Bran’s living quarters.
Kane stiffened a little, turning her head. “Wait here,” she murmured to me, and then she took a clean, white towel that was hanging, neatly folded, on a bar by the door. She wrapped it around her wrist, and then strode from the room.
I closed the bathroom door until there was only a crack, and I listened. But I didn’t even need to do that.
For I knew, instantly, that it was Gwen at the door when Kane opened it.
I exhaled, astonished, as my stomach contracted inside of me, as if I hadn’t eaten in days and I’d just walked past my favorite restaurant, inhaling everything that was good in the world.
“I’m sorry…” Gwen was saying. “I was just worried…”
I picked up a larger towel and wrapped it around myself. And then I was prowling out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and into the living quarters…
Gwen fell silent when she saw me, her gaze shifting from Kane to me in a heartbeat.
The smile that was on her lips faded away to nothingness.
She stared at me, open-mouthed.
But Gwen had always been incapable of staying quiet for very long.
“Um…” she cleared her throat. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” I answered, then cleared my throat, too. “I’m sorry, I must look a fright. I’m a vampire, so.” I gestured to my blood-stained face. “That…requires a little blood.”
“A…little…” There was a nervous bit of laughter, then Gwen looked away, obviously uncomfortable. “So, um…I don’t mean to bother you right after your wedding and everything, but it was getting late, and I just came by to see if you needed um…” She breathed out and then met my gaze again, grimacing just a little. “If you needed a snack?”
If it had been anyone else in the universe, at the moment in time, that joke probably would have fallen a little flat. But it was Gwen, who had just walked in to find her best friend naked, covered in blood and sporting long fangs…and she was taking it all in pretty phenomenal stride.
So I don’t think either of us could help it—but we started laughing.
For her part, Kane’s right brow was raised in bemusement, and there was a soft smile on her face as she shut the door behind Gwen.
Breathless, I managed to stop laughing long enough to gesture Gwen to come further into the room. But then I stopped, the laughter fading away.
The closer Gwen drew to me, the more I noticed her. It’s a little hard to describe, but this is how I remember that first moment seeing Gwen after changing:
She just seemed bigger somehow, more in focus.
And every step she took closer to me, the louder and louder the blood sang in her veins.
Gwen stopped, about five feet from me, the laughter fading from her, too, as she frowned a little at me.
“Um…Rose?” she managed. She shifted from one foot to the other nervously.
Gwen had already changed for the dance. She was wearing a fluffy black party dress that remained me of the eighties. Her hair was teased a little and up in a very high ponytail, and she wore chunky pink bangles on her wrists. Her makeup was very grunge-meets-eighties, and she’d drawn a little pink star on her cheek. My best friend looked beautiful, and I hated the expression she gave me then.
For there was a small flicker of fear that passed over her face when she gazed at me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
I sounded a little breathless, even to myself.
“Oh…nothing,” she said carefully, then she bit her lip. “It’s just…um…you’re looking at me like I’m a plate of cupcakes or something.”
I shook my head a little, trying to shake the feeling of starvation that was unfurling in my belly, tugging at every single one of my internal organs, it seemed. Kane came to stand beside me, put her arm around my waist and squeezed just a little.
“In the beginning, the feelings of…of hunger can be a little overwhelming,” she murmured into my ear. “But it helps to remember that this is your best friend. She’s willingly offering you a bit of blood to drink. Try not to be overwhelmed by how much you can scent her blood…put the humanity back into it if you can, my darling.”
I closed my eyes tightly, took a few short, small breaths, nodding. “Yes,” I told her, voice soft, and I opened my eyes again. I gave a small smile to Gwen, who didn’t return it for a long moment, but then—thankfully—did, her ruby red mouth curling up a little at the corners.
“So…how do we do this totally awkward, we’re-never-going-to-discuss-this-again thing?” she asked a little too cheerfully, trying to play off the fear that I could still noticeably scent from her.
Kane moved the towel briskly over her wrist and removed it, gazing down at the wound that was now devoid of dried blood, the flecks of it evident in the towel that she crumpled up neatly and set by the bedroom door. She casually—and quickly—pulled down her shirtsleeve and jacket sleeve over the wound.
“The wrist is best,” said Kane, “since you’re friends.”
Gwen and I glanced at one another, and there was a small bit of nervous laughter between us.
“So, um…I’ll just stand here, and she’ll…um…bite me? I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before, and this is just so squicky,” said Gwen, taking a deep breath.
“You don’t have to—” I began, but Gwen raised a single finger.
“Shush. I don’t have to, but I’m gonna, because I love you, but seriously we’re never going to talk about this again until we’re old and gray and everything, right?”
I inhaled deeply in surprise.
I was never going to be old and gray.
That…was going to take some getting used to.
“Yeah,” I answered her, and Kane nodded in apology.
“I’m sorry about this, Gwen,” she began, but Gwen also raised a finger to Kane.
“Shush,” she told the vampire, then—with her particular brand of absolutely-no-nonsense—Gwen rolled up the sleeve of her black dress and held her wrist out to me, a little as if she was donating blood at the blood bank.
She turned away, grimaced and closed her eyes tightly.
“Let’s get this over with. I hate needles, so I think I’m gonna hate fangs, too.”
I glanced to Kane, and she nodded, gesturing to Gwen.
“J
ust…bite,” she said with a little shrug. A sad expression evolved over her features. “There’s an instinct to this. You’ll know what to do. Just…listen when I tell you to stop.”
“Of course,” I murmured, and then I lifted Gwen’s wrist up. It was almost surreal how sharply I felt and heard and smelled everything in that moment. Gwen’s wrist was almost hot to the touch in comparison to Kane’s warmth now. I could smell the scent of her shampoo, of the hand soap she’d used, of the five cans of hairspray she’d put in her hair. I could feel her pulse racing, just under her fingertips, could feel her shaking, just a little, out of nervousness and anticipation for the sting of the bite.
But, most of all, I scented the sweet blood that sang, just beneath the surface of her skin.
And I needed it.
It was all a rush of motion as I lowered my head, as my fangs sank into the tender skin of her wrist. I could hear Gwen’s hiss of breath and of pain as my fangs sank into her soft flesh, but then everything else in the world faded away, because of the blossom of blood that unfurled in my mouth.
And I began to drink.
Red. Red everywhere, the sweet sustenance of life. I swallowed and swallowed it, the trickle of it over my tongue positively electric and euphoric and everything I’d never known I needed. I kept swallowing, kept sucking at the wound in her wrist, the wound I’d put there, and I could feel the red unfurling inside of me now like a riotous garden of roses, all blossoming at once in my belly. It was sublime, the taste, the sensation of this blood entering me, and all I could think about was drinking more of it, more and more and more as the taste of it filled me, as I realized how starving I’d been, and I could not drink fast enough to satisfy the hunger, and—
“Rose.”
I swallowed greedily.
“Rose.”
I felt strong fingers at my shoulder, curling into my skin, and then and only then did I open my eyes.
Gwen stood beside me, pale and grimacing.
The wound on her wrist was ugly. I stared down at it, panting, and realized there were spatters of blood on the floor beneath us. Blood still dripped from the jagged wound I’d bitten into her flesh, and that was equally surreal, I realized, staring down at it.
I had caused this in my friend.
Any frenzy or starvation inside of me ended abruptly at that realization.
“I’m…I’m sorry, Gwen,” I stammered, and I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth, inhaling the scent of the blood and trying to stay focused. I let go of Gwen’s hand, and she glanced down at the wound.
She looked like she might faint.
“Did she get enough?” Gwen asked Kane and Kane nodded as she let go of my shoulder.
“Yes, thank you, Gwen,” said Kane gently. “Are you all right?”
“Eh…I give blood all the time, so. This was kind of like that, right?” She glanced at me uncertainly, and she still looked pale and unsure and a little bit like she might sag at any second, falling onto the floor.
“Yeah,” I nodded, holding the towel tightly to me. And then I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Gwen.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said, and gave a weak smile. “Like, seriously, we’ll never mention this again.”
But, of course, it became an inside joke and we mentioned it all the time. But, at the moment, it didn’t seem at all like a joke. It seemed, instead, rather nightmarish, and I felt morbid and self-conscious and a little bit self-hateful as I stared in anguish at my best friend. But she saw the look, shook her head, and then she held her arms open to me.
If she’d treated me like something she was afraid of—if she’d shied away from me, as I stepped into her embrace, I don’t know how I’d ever be able to live with myself. But Gwen was right. What was a little extra pointy teeth between friends? My best friend’s bravery and willingness to love me, even when I’d transformed pretty extremely, was the stuff of legends, and as Gwen hugged me tightly, I sagged against her in relief.
“I love you, Gwen,” I told her, gripping her shoulders. Yes, I could still scent her blood, and clearly—but there were other things that were clear to me again.
“I love you, too, honey,” she told me, then gave me a little squeeze. She backed up, and Kane handed her a box of bandages she’d extricated from an ancient first aid kit that Bran must have kept in her bathroom. Gwen nodded toward the duffel bag she’d dropped just inside the door. “I brought you something to wear to the dance…I didn’t think the wedding dress would be spectacularly comfortable for this super scary stand off that I really hope ends in a dance off.”
“Dance off. That…would probably be way better,” I said, grimacing and glancing at the duffel bag.
I swallowed, taking a deep breath, and then licked my lips, licking off the excess blood there. There was one last rush of adrenaline as I swallowed it down, and then I was left with nothing as I stared down at the bag.
Nothing but knowledge of what this night would bring.
If I was lucky, I wouldn’t get hurt. No one else would get hurt. If we were all lucky (extremely lucky, actually), this all would be ended before it even started, Kane would notice a plan as it was put into action and diffuse the situation. The vampires in question who had concocted a plot to kill me would be stopped seamlessly, and the dance would go on and be a lovely night for everyone.
But if we were not lucky?
I could die.
Kane could die.
Lots of people could die.
All I knew was that I was meant to die this evening. That was the only thing I could control, and I had—hopefully—prevented it from happening. But I was highly aware that vampires could still be killed. That I, still, wasn’t perfectly safe.
But we had to move forward.
Together.
I picked up the duffel bag in suddenly cold hands, and I backed toward the bedroom door.
“I’ll just…be a minute,” I told the two of them.
Kane nodded and took her pack of cigarettes—a little crumpled now—out of her pants pocket. With a wry smile, she offered one to a very nervous looking Gwen.
Gwen considered it and took it quickly as I left the room.
In the bathroom, with the door locked, I set the bag down on the counter and let the towel fall away from my form. Like Kane, I was now pale. I’d always been pale—I was a ginger, after all, and “paleness” is kind of our middle name—but now…
Now I looked like a vampire.
I reached up and gingerly traced the outline of a bloodstain on my jaw, watching my fingers move over the dried blood in the mirror. When I glimpsed my expression, I sighed—I looked horrified. I turned the water on, began to scrub at the blood dried on my skin, and as flecks of it washed down the drain, turning the water an ugly color, my face became, thankfully, clean again. I glanced up again at my reflection in the mirror as I gripped the sink basin.
I looked like hell.
I raised a brow at my own reflection, and I smiled a little.
I liked it.
I’d gone through hell to be here, to stand in front of this mirror in Bran’s bathroom, in what was my old rooms, once upon a time.
I’d literally died to be here. I deserved to look a little rough around the edges.
I’d earned it.
I wasn’t going to take a single second for granted. Yes, the night’s events were a mystery to me. Anything could happen, it was extremely perilous…
Death was on the line.
But, right now, I was feeling happy, satisfied, dangerous…and deeply and irrevocably in love.
If there was any moment in my life where I was ready to face just about anything…this was it.
So I winked at my own reflection, and I got ready for the night.
Come what may…I was prepared to face it.
---
Kane knocked on the bathroom door when I was almost done. I unlocked it and ushered her in as I put the last coat of mascara on my eyelashes.
“Sorry, babe, I�
�ll just be a minute,” I told her, then flicked my gaze in the mirror from my lashes to her. She was leaning against the wall, her hands deep in her suit pants pockets. The top several buttons of her dress shirt were undone, and so was the tie, revealing the creamy smoothness of her neck, the soft, subtle curve of her chest…my pulse quickened a little as I replaced the top of the mascara, as I glanced at her expression in the mirror, then.
Her eyes were traveling my length, a sure smile turning up the corners of her mouth, her head to the side, considering.
Her expression revealed that she very much liked what she saw.
Well…the feeling was mutual.
I turned and moved toward Kane, taking slow, measured steps, my hips swaying as I watched her. For her part, Kane’s smile deepened, she ducked her head a little, and she looked at me through her long lashes, a particularly mischievous cast to her expression.
When I reached her, I wrapped my arms about her waist, and I drew her close to me. Though I’d already applied my lipstick, it was the kind that swore up and down (with testimonials!) that it was kiss-proof.
Time to put that to the test…
I slid my fingers over Kane’s sides, over that slight curve up to her breasts, my thumbs tracing over the suddenly hard peaks of her nipples beneath that suit jacket. Her head was to the side a little as she placed the palms of her hands softly, gently, against the curves of my rear, pressing down, drawing me to her just as much as I was pulling her to me.
“You look radiant,” she murmured, voice low. I smiled in return, my heart starting up its familiar staccato beat whenever I gazed into my lover’s—now my wife’s—face.
And I tilted up my chin and I kissed her.
Mint and magic: that was what my Kane tasted like. I smiled against her mouth as I took her in, as I sighed against her, her hands gripping me fiercely now, protectively, possessively. She bit my lower lip, gave a little growl of delight, and I began to melt against her, my heart rising inside of me, my center throbbing pretty much instantaneously.
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