“I didn’t know what we were doing a lot of the time,” she protested. “I didn’t even—”
There was a rustling sound at the door, cutting off her words. A girl’s hand snaked through the plastic flap, a dozen silver rings on her fingers and fresh glossy green polish on her nails. She was holding a wooden bowl. A bowl filled so full of red liquid that setting it down caused some to spatter over the floorboards, sinking into the grooves of the wood. The scent of it was iron and basements and losing baby teeth so her big-girl teeth could come in. It was skinned knees and Gavriel’s mouth on hers. It was smeared walls and staring eyes.
Tana scrambled to her feet.
Blood.
For a long moment, she and Aidan looked at the bowl. Tana felt hypnotized by the sight of it. The slick redness was as dark and deep as a pool of melted garnets.
If she drank it, she would turn into a monster. She let herself imagine that for a moment, imagining her new monster body and monster eyes and monster thirst. She imagined Midnight and Winter, Rufus and Christobel and Zara opening the door to the room and finding a monster-girl inside.
And if she didn’t drink and Aidan did, he would die and wake again—newly turned, ravenous, and alone with her.
“See?” An unfamiliar girl’s voice came from the other side of the door. Probably Christobel or Zara. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt. We didn’t want to have to lock you up. We donated that blood, all of us together, pulled it out of our veins with needles. And now we can’t go to the clubs tonight, but see? We’re worthy. Drink it and you can come out of the little room. Drink it and we’ll all be friends again.”
Thicker than water. That’s what people said about blood. It looked it, too, viscous and syrupy. Tana could imagine the silky texture of it on her tongue, the warm saltiness, how it would stain her lips and teeth.
“Maybe we should,” Aidan said, his voice going low, seductive and seduced. He took a step toward it. “We could do it together, like a suicide pact. Except we’ll never die, Tana.”
Walking quickly across the floor, her heart hammering, she picked up the bowl and flung it as hard as she could against the wall. The wood cracked, two halves bouncing off the floor where they fell. Bits of plaster rained after it.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Aidan said, in a tone of pure astonished frustration. He walked toward the wall as though drawn.
Tana slumped, sliding down to the floor, where she sat staring at the blood painting the wall. The stain seemed to make a shape like a great bird, feathers dripping down as it flew up into the sky.
She couldn’t quite believe she’d done it, either.
“I’m not going to get any better.” His voice rose, staring at the red. “I’m so Cold, Tana, and I am only going to get Colder.”
She slammed her hand against the floor, trying to focus her thoughts. “Gavriel let you drink his blood, right? Back at the Last Stop. And it helped. All we need is more.”
He laughed, but not as though he thought it was funny. Not as though he thought it was a possibility, either. “The most precious stuff in Coldtown and you’re going to just ask for some… like you’re borrowing a cup of sugar?” He reached out a hand to the wall, streaked with blood. “Give up. I came knowing I was going to be a vampire. What’s the point of waiting? We’re not going to be fine, Tana. We’re never going to be fine ever again.”
She wondered what it was like to bite someone. She thought about the expression on Gavriel’s face when he’d sunk his teeth into Aidan, the way his mouth had moved on Aidan’s throat and his fingers had dug into Aidan’s skin. It was as though some serene frenzy had come over him. He looked transcendent, a dreamer not yet awakened.
Her stomach clenched just thinking about it, a combination of desire and dread that made her wonder if it was a symptom of the infection. She shouldn’t find the memory of that anything but horrific. But putting aside what she should feel, oh yeah, she got why Aidan might be embarrassed at the memory of drinking from Gavriel’s wrist.
That thought wouldn’t leave her head as she watched Aidan brush his fingers over the wall and bring them—painted red now—to his mouth.
“Aidan,” she said softly, hopelessly, just before he licked them clean, one by one.
He made a sound in the back of his throat and knelt down, pressing his lips to the wall, laving it with his tongue. Already, he seemed inhuman, a creature feeding instead of a boy she’d known.
Tana inched away, putting as much distance between them as the small room would allow. A shaky breath escaped her mouth, sounding like a sob.
“Okay!” she shouted, her voice coming unsteadily. “Midnight, are you out there? Okay, he did it. He caved. You can let us out now. You can let him out.”