new reality

Beau

I couldn't tell how long I had been burning.

Fire scorched down through my chest and blazed through every inch of me, like a colony of fire ants crawling beneath my skin, like venomous snakes tearing at my insides. It was pain beyond anything I could have ever imagined—I would have gladly cut off my arms and legs, cut out my tongue and gouged out my eyes, if just so the fire would have less place to burn.

The pain seemed to seal me in a world all its own, darkness so complete I couldn't see even when my eyes were wide open, silence so all-encompassing I couldn't even hear myself scream. I'd long since closed my eyes to escape the terror—better darkness I brought on myself than the one imposed on me. I couldn't tell if I had stopped screaming.

In moments of lucidity in between the madness, between when the pain whited out all memory and I struggled to remember who I was or why this was happening, I began to wonder if something had gone terribly wrong. Perhaps instead of changing, I was simply eternally damned. I longed for death, of the final cool relief of empty nothingness, of blissful unawareness. Death was my only hope, my only comfort amid the flames.

It was just on the point when any last vestiges of hope were almost extinguished, when I was certain it would never end, that I finally felt something shift. Beneath the pain, a new strength surged up through me. Though the relentless blazing flames inside me had not abated in the least, somehow I felt stronger—I felt like I could endure the pain, if only just. And more importantly, I could think around it.

My hearing returned to me first, and I heard a low voice speaking to me, softly, soothingly. The voice caught often, as though on the verge of tears, and I remembered there was someone being tortured along with me, and that I didn't want her to suffer.

I had a feeling my sight had also returned, and I knew I could have opened my eyes and seen her face. Maybe that would have been enough to pull me through. However, I kept my eyes tightly closed. I didn't want to see her features contorted with agony. Because now I could hear I was still screaming.

Instead, I tried to focus my energy on stopping the screams. I slowed them a little—for entire seconds at a time—but never for long. As my strength grew, so did my capacity for experiencing the pain. I felt the burning in each individual cell, each one separate from the other. The burning in my arms was distinct from the burning in my lungs, in my stomach, in my legs. Each one was its own planet, each one was on fire.

Though my sensitivity grew more pronounced, my strength increased again. At last my thrashing slowed, and I was able to stay quiet more than I screamed. I could endure, even as the fire continued to burn.

At the same time, my head felt like it was expanding, making more room for thought. I heard every comforting word that the voice right next to me spoke, and I took it in, absorbed it. I was able to count each individual breath, each beat of my heart, to keep track of the passing of time. But beyond that, I was able to think about what had happened, and about the future. What was waiting for me when this pain finally ended, what I would have to do. I began to lay the foundations of plans—going through each idea one at a time, weighing each against the other, sifting through them to find the one that would have the greatest possibility of success.

Those only took a little of my new expansive mind. The rest was left over to focus entirely on the pain.

My hearing sharpened, and I heard beyond the gentle murmur of her voice. I heard the hum of electricity—a generator outside. I heard the chirping of birds, and the scrabbling of small animals in the trees and along the forest floor. I could make out each individual, and I could hear the difference between what I thought were squirrels, and slightly larger animals, racoons maybe. Very distantly, I heard the rush of water. A river.

I was sure my eyesight would be getting sharper too, but I still didn't open my eyes. I was getting so I could endure my own pain, but hers was still another story. And more than that, I couldn't bear to look into the beautiful, lovely face of the person I was already plotting to betray.

Another part of my newly spacious brain counted the seconds. Twenty-one thousand nine hundred and one, twenty-one thousand nine hundred and two...

I felt the exact moment when something changed. The fire did something different from before—it began to recede.

I felt it leave my fingertips first, then my toes. I would have rejoiced—except suddenly a new pain I hadn't even contemplated suddenly exploded to life inside me.

My throat was suddenly on fire—a new kind of fire. Dry. Desiccated. Like a yellow, withered plant, a cracked desert. Thirst unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

And then there was a second new pain. The fire retreated from my fingers, then my palms, and wrists. But as it did, it all seemed to concentrate together, intensifying the pain in one place as it all drew straight toward my heart. The fire blazed hotter, my back arched. My heart, which had already been beating far too fast, picked up its tempo, faster and faster, like humming bird wings raising the flames higher with every beat.

The fire pulled away from my arms and legs, all its raging power focused to a single point. The beat of my heart was so fast and so powerful it felt like it would grind straight through my ribs. The fire was gone from everything but my chest—the very last combustible object to fuel itself. My heart pounded frantically as the two forces wrestled, my heart, and the fire, as the fire closed in around it like a pack of predators on their prey. For a moment, the inferno rose up in one last, unbearable surge.

My heart stuttered twice. Then it gave one last quiet beat, and was silent.

The pain was gone. For a second I laid where I was, not quite comprehending it. Then I opened my eyes.

A breath of surprise escaped my mouth. I could see—everything. It was all so sharp, so defined. Like going from grainy old film to HD, and then some. I could see each individual ridge of texture on the wood ceiling. I could see dust motes swirling in the air, stirred to a frenzied dance by my sharp intake of breath, and I could see where each particle touched the light, and where they fell into shadow. I could see each individual color in the white light from the long, florescent bulb above, including some eighth color I couldn't put a name to.

I sat up. Something else that took me by surprise—there was no delay from the moment I decided to sit, and when I was in a sitting position. It happened instantaneously. I blinked.

I breathed in a mouthful of air—tasting the broad range of smells and scents. It told me a world of information, almost as much as my new sharp eyes. Inside the room, I could distinguish each kind of wood from another, oak from cherry wood, cherry from mahogany. I could taste what chemicals and what level of pigment had been used in the lacquer. I could distinguish each separate material used in the bedding I was sitting on. And I could smell there was a vampire, right beside me.

I froze where I sat. Then, in another instantaneous movement, I turned my head.

She was there, kneeling beside me on the bed. She sat perfectly still, her ocher eyes watching me, both anxious and wary.

I reacted quickly, before I really had time to think about it. In an instant, I was against the far wall, in a move so fast it must have been a blur, even as everything moving around me remained completely clear. A bare fraction of a second later, my back was bent in a half crouch, facing her, ready to defend myself. My quick vampire's mind instantly assessed the unknown quantity—markedly smaller than I was, certainly, but a much older vampire, more experienced. I would have the advantage of strength, but...

With almost exaggerated slowness, she stepped down from the bed, on the opposite side from where I stood. However, as she did so, she continued to face me, never exposing her back. Her eyes never left mine.

"Beau?" she said, in a gentle, cautious voice. "It's me. Edythe."

Before she'd even finished speaking, rational thought had returned to me. It took me about a sixteenth of a second to process what had happened—I'd gotten startled, and it had triggered some kind of innate defensive reaction. Of course I knew the vampire standing on the other side of the room. Even through my now hazy human memories, I'd know that face anywhere.

Feeling a bit like a dork, I immediately straightened out of my crouch—another blur.

With very deliberate slowness, Edythe walked around the bed, then approached me. She held one hand out toward me, palm up. She stopped uncertainly several feet away.

I tried to practice moving slower, like she did, but it was barely an eighth of a second this time as I closed the distance between us, and I reached out to take her hand.

We stood like that for a moment, just staring into the other's eyes, our hands joined between us. Almost like a handshake, like we were being introduced for the first time—in a weird way, it almost felt like we were. It felt like years had passed in this cabin, years of darkness and pain, and even though she had been here the entire time, it had felt like the pain had separated us.

"Um, hi," I said, in a voice that was my own, yet somehow not my own. Like all the roughness had been smoothed out, leaving behind only silk and honey. My mouth smiled—yet it, too, felt unfamiliar, like it was mine, yet not quite mine. "It feels like it's been a while, huh?"

She smiled a little in return, though her eyes remained wary. "Centuries. Though it was actually a pretty quick change, as these things go. Barely two and a half days."

I turned my eyes to the window, and though the curtains were too dark to let light in, my enhanced sight could make out touches of sunbeams filtering in around the edges. The white light of maybe mid to late afternoon.

"Huh," I said. My eyes turned back to her.

I didn't really need a lot of time to process things. A fraction of a second was more than sufficient. I saw and heard and smelled so much faster than before—at least from what I could remember from my dim human memories. The old memories felt faded, dull, perhaps because everything was so much clearer now, so much more defined. I didn't really need time to process—however, still I stared at her face for one long second, then another second, and another.

Edythe's face had always seemed the one thing in this world that epitomized perfection. I'd spent more hours than I could count staring at it, or at least wishing I was. But now, with my sharper, far enhanced eyesight, I saw I had never fully appreciated it. She wasn't just perfect—every feature was a masterpiece.

"You're beautiful," I marveled. However, my tone was more surprised than complimentary. I almost winced—what a stupid thing to say. Like looking up and announcing, Oh look, the sky is blue. As a human, I couldn't remember ever saying those words aloud. Apparently, in at least one respect, my old human self had had better sense.

Edythe looked startled. She gave a hesitant half-smile, but didn't look like she knew how to respond.

Our hands were still joined, yet her touch wasn't at all like I remembered. Where before her skin had felt icy, hard as granite, now we were the same, and her small hand felt almost soft in mine. But one thing was the same—an electric current seemed to pulse up and down my arm. I wanted to touch her face, and the moment the thought crossed my mind, my hand was suddenly there, cradling her cheek.

I stroked the side of her face once in wonder, trying to remember my new strength and be gentle, and she lifted her own hand to place over mine. Her eyes were soft, though still cautious as she studied my every movement.

My eyes flickered down to her lips, and I wondered how it would be now, now that my senses were so much more powerful, so much more alive. This time I didn't let myself move with my new unnatural speed—I leaned down very slowly, trying to read in her eyes if she was okay with this. She stared back up at me, and didn't pull away. I saw her gaze flicker down once to my mouth, too. I thought I saw the same hunger there as I suddenly felt.

I closed the distance. It was different from anything I had ever felt before—I felt everything. The way her arms wound around my neck, and her fingers slid through my hair. Her mouth opened, and I felt her breath against my face. She took a step back, pulling me a step with her, and I felt when the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed. Her arms pulled me forward slightly.

A strange surge of euphoria coursed through me. All this time, I'd been afraid of what I'd be when I woke up. I'd wondered if I would be a monster, if I would be myself anymore—if I would feel about Edythe the same way. But the only difference I could see was that, if anything, all my feelings were stronger, sharper and more distinct. It wasn't any sacrifice to have waited until now for our honeymoon.

Honeymoon.

Flickers of dim human memory flashed through my mind. A phone, clutched to my ear, a soft, gentle voice on the other end. My own figure bent with defeat, sitting on the edge of the bed as my resolve formed. And suddenly everything that was glowing and beautiful turned to darkness.

Jules. Jules was in danger.

I remembered with perfectly clarity the plan I had begun to form while I was burning. I couldn't be doing this—this wasn't part of the plan. The fire hadn't changed me fundamentally, and I was so relieved I could have cried—but Edythe couldn't be allowed to know that. Edythe had to see the new me, the new me that was going to betray her.

As a weak human, I don't know if I could have willed myself to do it—or even had enough clarity of thought to remember anything outside Edythe. But now I had a strength unlike any I had ever had, in more ways than one, so I instantly locked up all my limbs, going as still as a statue, and I opened my eyes.

Edythe felt immediately when my movement ceased. She pulled back slowly, and she was panting slightly. "What's wrong?" she murmured. Her eyes peered up into mine, trying to study my expression.

A sudden anxiety flickered in the depths of her eyes, and her gaze dropped. Her hands released my neck, sliding over my shoulders before they reluctantly fell to her sides.

I let go of her, and took a step back to give her some space, where she still stood right up against the edge of the bed.

"What is it?" she asked softly. Her voice was a little steadier now.

I shook my head, then forced a smile—I didn't have to feign the distance in my eyes as I looked at her, or the strain in my jaw as I forced my mouth to turn up at the corners. The distance was real—and it would remain so, until she knew the truth, if she ever did. I didn't know what Sulpicia would want from me once she had me. There were no guarantee I would ever come back—which was why I had to bear the responsibility of all this myself, and I couldn't tell Edythe anything. Because if I did, she wouldn't let me go.

"Nothing," I said. "It's just kind of different, that's all. My attention's kind of divided." I reached up to touch my neck—where my throat felt like the sun over a scorched desert. There had been so much to absorb, so much to see and feel, that I'd been able to keep it at bay for now. But as I let my thoughts turn to the aching burn in my throat, it seemed to rise up like a savage roaring beast, impossible to ignore.

Understanding washed across Edythe's face. "Of course. We should go hunting immediately." She reached over and took my hand in hers. She sighed. "Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't bring it up sooner."

I stood rigidly, though I managed a half-shrug with one shoulder. "I guess I got kind of distracted."

Edythe shook her head in disbelief.

Pulling casually from her hand, I crossed the room, to where I had left the jacket from Archie draped across my duffel. I drew it over my arms, tugging at the collar to pull it into place. I felt the slight weight of the cell phone in my pocket.

"Okay," I said. "Let's go hunting."

The clear afternoon sky was beginning to dim into early evening as we raced through the forest. Edythe was telling me how to hunt, but there wasn't much to it. All I had to do was stop and listen to my surroundings, and with my superior hearing I could make out their beating hearts from a long way off if I concentrated. And when the wind was blowing right, I also had my sense of smell. Of all my improved senses, it was all the new scents which fascinated me the most, even more than the super speed of being able to keep up with Edythe, or the power in my legs to jump a hundred yards in a single spring—it was like gaining a new sense altogether, with access to a world of information I'd never known existed.

Once prey was located...well, the rest would be instinctual, at least according to Edythe.

It was a good thing my brain was now capable of multitasking, or I wouldn't have been able to appreciate any of the new sensations I was feeling, or hear a word Edythe was saying. Because, though my face was perfectly smooth, beneath everything else a rising panic was beginning to stir in my stomach. I kept looking ahead, kept going over the various bits of plans I had formed, and I couldn't push away the sense that this wasn't going to work. Edythe would never just let me walk away, no matter what I said, how convincing I was.

This wasn't going to work—and Jules was going to die.

However, as with Joss, I knew dwelling on the impossibility of it was not going to help anyone. I forced myself to shut out all the doubts, the horror of how much I might hurt Edythe, and focused on it all as simply a logical problem. I still had all my human memories right now, even if they were dim and grainy, and I tried to focus once again on all the considerations I had already gone over, trying to see clearly which would be most likely to succeed. Where Edythe's greatest weakness when it came to me lay.

As before while I was burning, the old passage from Frankenstein rose hazily in my mind.

"And she, who in all probability was to become a thinking and reasoning animal, might refuse to comply with a compact made before her creation..."

That was one piece of the game, the strategy. My thoughts flashed back to other human memories—an expression cold and unyielding as she stood in the shadow of a wall beside an open window, a miserable ride on a motorcycle back through the rain filled with dread, only to be met with understanding. Sitting across a lunch table, a sudden screech of chair legs back against the floor, a flash of terror followed by resignation. Sitting before a movie screen in the darkness, heat rising on my skin, Edythe sitting on a bed, whispering hesitantly of an option she would not have allowed before...

I saw the answer. The avenue of attack that just might work—the weakness I might strike at.

Revulsion rose up my throat like a poison, a violent sickness. Could I really do such a thing to the person I loved most in all the world? Take everything I knew about who she was, what she feared and what she had always tried to do, and turn it into a weapon to level at her?

I forced the thought away, and instead replaced the image of what I was about to do with another image—one of Edythe, lying at Sulpicia's feet, broken. What would happen if I didn't succeed. And I thought of Jules.

Slowly, I felt my resolve solidify. I took a silent, steadying breath.

I remembered what Edythe had said to me, after she had left me so long ago back in that forest, and later come back. How she'd had to construct a new reality in my mind, one where she didn't really love me. Now, it was my turn—my turn to construct a new reality in her mind. And it just had to stick long enough for me to get away.

Little by little, the words began to come to me, the actions, the gestures. A new reality.

As a human, I'd never been a good liar. The blood in my face always gave me away, or my cracking voice. But my face was never going to turn red again, and I was the one person in the world capable of lying to Edythe. And I was going to do it.

My panic slowly subsided, replaced by total calm. Even the horrific guilt no longer wormed itself into my consciousness—my thoughts were filled with nothing but concentration. I knew what had to happen, and it would. I would make sure of it. For Edythe's sake as well as Jules.

I felt Edythe glance at me. "I think this is far enough. I'm sure we'll be fine out here."

I slowed to a stop at the same time she did.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "You look so serious." Though the corner of her mouth was curled up in amusement, her eyes were wary, worried.

I let myself continue to stare straight ahead, not looking at her, as though I couldn't hear her. I counted the seconds—one, two, three, four.

Finally, I turned my eyes back to her, though I only let my eyes linger on her for a moment before falling away again. "Just thinking," I said. "It's nothing."

Edythe continued to watch me with some concern. "You'll feel a bit better once you've hunted," she assured me. She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "You know, a part of me had hoped that when you were changed, I'd finally be able to hear your thoughts. I suppose I should have known better."

I nearly gave an involuntary shiver at the thought—if that had happened, this entire situation really would have been hopeless.

I closed my eyes, as she had told me to do, and focused on my sense of hearing. It seemed to spread out from me in a wide field, missing nothing. I heard her light, even breathing, and the rustling of leaves in the trees. I heard the whisper of birds preening their feathers in the treetops and their fluttering heartbeats, and even the click of ant feet as they climbed in a line up the bark of a nearby tree. I found with concentration, I could push my hearing even further, and I ranged outward, searching for what I knew she meant me to find. The beating hearts of animals larger than birds—prey.

I heard the rush of water—the Gunnison River Edythe had mentioned before. I listened carefully, memorizing its location, before I ranged elsewhere. At last, I picked up the sound I was looking for—the thudding of heavy hearts, pumping thick streams of blood.

I felt the venom fill my mouth, burning on my tongue like a blazing inferno, scorching down my throat.

"To the north," I said. "A touch west."

Edythe was approving. "Yes, good. Now, wait for a bit of a breeze, and...what do you smell?"

Her scent was the closest, and the most powerful. The unusual fragrance of honey and sunlight. Though it was distracting, I forced myself to concentrate, and I soon registered the earthy smells of rot and moss. I took in the resin in the evergreens nearby, and the oddly nutty aroma of small rodents cowering beneath tree roots. However, the breeze brought me more, from the northwest. A stronger smell than the others.

I wrinkled my nose.

Edythe smiled a little. "Yes, not the tastiest prey. It takes a little getting used to."

"Herbivores?" I guessed.

"Elk," she said, nodding. "Five of them."

"I don't suppose there are any coyotes around here?" I asked hopefully.

Edythe raised an eyebrow. She eyed me like she'd never seen anyone so strange. "You're burning up with thirst, and you're still able to be picky about your dinner?"

I shrugged. "Anything has to be better than that." I wrinkled my nose again.

"If you're willing to wait, we can go find something else," she said. "If we headed up into the mountains, we might even find some mountain lions."

I hesitated. That would probably be a pretty long trip, and I didn't have time for that. I put a hand to my throat, deciding instead to focus on the burn again. "Never mind, this will do for now."

Edythe smiled, as if she thought I might say that.

I allowed all my other thoughts to fade to the background for the moment, and I followed the scent. While I found I could think clearly around the intense acid blazing in my throat, distract myself focusing on other things more important, it would be easier if the pain wasn't quite so sharp.

I moved through the forest like a ghost, silent, my feet somehow knowing where to step to avoid the cracking of a thousand tiny twigs or the muffled shifting of pine needles. At last the scent turned me down a short incline, and I halted just on the edge of a small clearing. Which was where I saw them.

Edythe had been right, they were elk. I located only three at first, but as my eyes scanned the clearing, I saw the other two Edythe had mentioned in the trees beyond.

For a second, I hesitated. One of the elk in the clearing was a female, and with it an older calf, spots still faintly visible in its fur. The other was a male—maybe the alpha of the herd, or whatever the male leader was called for elk.

It was probably stupid, with everything else that had been going on, but the thought of killing a mom, or worse, her kid, briefly disturbed me. And if I killed the dad, what would happen to the rest of them? Would they know how to fend for themselves, or might it cause them to starve over the winter?

"Beau?" Edythe murmured. She was right beside me, and she spoke so softly there was no chance the elk would hear.

I glanced at her. I couldn't let Edythe know what was going through my head. I was a hardened vampire now. Calloused. The taste of blood was everything.

I shrugged and made a face, as though it were still just the smell of herbivore that was bothering me. Then I focused on the clearing again. I had to do this now—I didn't have time for moral dilemmas.

Instead of the three obvious targets, I turned my eyes to the two in the underbrush. Both females, I thought, and without calves that I could see. Maybe I was being overly sensitive, but I couldn't help it. The biggest thing I could remember killing as a human was a big wolf spider that had crawled into the bathtub once in my old house in Phoenix. I'd been nine years old at the time, and after my mom had finished screaming her head off, I'd taken the body out to the backyard and buried it, and given its spirit a little sendoff.

The old memory, now hazy and dim, almost made me smile. Maybe some part of me just wanted to hold onto my old human sensitivity—now that I was a killing machine.

I slipped around the edge of the clearing, to come up behind the two females. I focused my gaze on the bigger one. This time, Edythe didn't follow me, instead giving me space to do my thing. I could hear the creature's beating heart loud in my ears, and the rush of blood through its veins. It still didn't smell all that appetizing, but I realized I didn't care. The thought of the taste of something hot and wet in my dry mouth was enough to overcome me.

I crept up behind it, focusing in on the pulsing spot of heat at its center, and coiled my muscles to spring.

The wind suddenly shifted. A strong, steady gust from the east, slightly north. I didn't stop to think—I sprung forward in a blur of speed, but not toward the elk. I was suddenly tearing through the forest, not bothering with stealth, as I tasted the new scent on the air.

My new life so far had been short, but still I'd experienced all kinds of new interesting scents, as my new nose opened me up to a world my human self had never even dreamed of. But this was something else entirely—a scent that made all others feel bland and even foul by comparison, an overpowering aroma so exquisite I instantly knew it was the cure to the horrific blaze in my throat. Only the taste of the blood from that scent could quench the fire, the fire that echoed the blazing pain of my days of burning venom. Now that I knew the way to stop the pain, I had to stop it. My body moved of its own accord, with compulsive, overriding need.

I ripped through the forest, pushing myself faster and faster, as desperation grew. Aspens and oaks whipped by in a flash. Forest animals darted out of my path as they sensed me draw near. I powered forward, running and running—toward the scent.

However, something drew my attention. I wasn't alone. Something was racing up behind me—another predator, tracking me, hunting me.

For a moment I kept running, still enthralled with the thing that would satisfy my ravenous hunger, my blazing thirst, but then my defenses kicked in. Danger, whispered a voice in the back of my mind. And at last, my instincts for self-preservation won out.

I spun around in mid-step to face my assailant. A feral snarl ripped itself from between my teeth, and I coiled, at the ready for the coming fight.

Edythe was there. Her eyes were cautious, her hands out in front of her—though whether to try to calm me, or defend herself against my attack, I wasn't sure. She stared at me, and I stared back at her, my mouth still curled back from my teeth.

The strangeness of the moment was enough to snap me from the thirst-driven madness. I stood there, still as a statue, holding my breath, until I sensed when the wind shifted again, blowing from the west this time. I took a breath and the air was clean. However, the memory of the scent still burned in my nose and mouth. Now that rational thought had returned to me, I knew instinctively what it was—the scent of human.

Horror crashed over me like a tidal wave. For a moment, I had completely lost myself. If that hapless human, whoever he or she was, had been standing right next to me, I would have killed them before I even had a chance to think. And just now, I had nearly attacked Edythe. The very person I was supposed to love more than anything.

I stopped my breathing again. As I remembered the scent it scorched my throat, and I knew if the wind changed back and I got even the hint of it, I would lose myself.

I felt like a fool—I had completely let down my guard. I had thought the burning in my throat was all I had to worry about, that for all my worrying, I had this vampire thing under control. But the vampire instincts were a force all their own, and had decided to teach me how wrong I was. I was fine now, I was myself and I could think clearly—but I could transform from myself to a monster in a moment. All before I had a chance to even think, or decide.

The terror of that fact slithered like a black snake through my mind, settling there. I knew my only option was to get out of here, so far that there would be no chance I would pick up that scent again. Because even as I was thinking clearly now, the monster might come back, and change my mind.

I spun sharply around, and ran southwest. I didn't breathe, just ran, listening to the sounds of birds and rustling branches above. The sense of smell, which had seemed like such a wonder at first, now felt like an enemy.

It wasn't until I heard the rush of water not far off that I finally came to a halt. I figured it had to be safe here, but I kept the air cut off from my lungs, just in case.

I had stopped so fast that Edythe, keeping pace with me, blew past a few paces, then circled around in a moment to stand at my side.

For a second, I didn't dare look at her as a burning shame worked its way up my still blazing throat and down into my stomach. When I finally raised my eyes, I found hers wide with shock.

When I didn't say anything, she gingerly reached out and took my wrist.

"I saw it with my own eyes," she murmured slowly, softly, "but I still don't believe it."

My gaze dropped to the forest floor. For the first time, I allowed myself to breathe, and the air was thankfully clean.

I didn't know what to say. I might have killed someone, if Edythe hadn't been there to distract me. But it was far more than that—how could I leave her and wander off on my own when I was like this? What if I crossed a human scent on the way to meet Sulpicia?

Sulpicia wouldn't care about that, said a bitter voice at the back of my mind.

I gave a short, tense shrug, still squinting at the ground. "I just...I couldn't control it. I couldn't think. I just—started moving, and I couldn't stop. I..." I shook my head once, my fingers curled into fists at my side, shaking slightly. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

Edythe was staring at me with incredulity now. "Sorry? You don't need to apologize, Beau. I was the one who was careless—I didn't expect there would be any hikers out here so far north of the park. I should have been more vigilant."

I still didn't look at her, just kept my eyes on the ground.

"That was amazing," she said, and her breathless tone was almost exultant. "Hours old. Hours. Turning away after catching the scent like that in the middle of hunting would have been hard for any of us, but for a young newborn—I don't believe it."

I blinked, and I had to lift my gaze then to see if she was just trying to make me feel better. But her eyes were still wide, with a genuine look of mingled astonishment and excitement.

Some measure of relief flooded through me, seeing no disgust or disappointment in Edythe's eyes. However, she didn't know that I needed to be able to be on my own, with no chance for mistakes. It suddenly occurred to me that in my panic I was playing this unexpected event all wrong. If I was going to construct an entirely new reality, I needed to start now.

The renewed fear still pulsed at the back of my mind—of the new monster inside me I'd just caught a glimpse of. But Edythe was right, I had been in a kind of hunting mode when it happened. If, when I went to find Sulpicia, I didn't try to hunt, just kept up my concentration as I was now, maybe I could prevent my mind from being hijacked by the thirst. Mind over matter, right?

I summoned up the plans I had made, the many scenarios I had concocted and played out in my mind on the way over here. And, taking a deep, silent breath, I glanced back at her once, before I let my eyes drift up to the sky.

"So," I said, in a different voice. A voice trying but not quite succeeding to be casual. "So. That was a human's scent."

Edythe's incredulous smile shrank a little at my tone. Her eyes were wary again. "Yes," she said.

"Huh," I said. "Wow. Night and day, isn't it?"

Edythe nodded slowly, uncertainly. Her smile was still in place, but cautious. "Yes. Vegetarianism isn't the easiest path for a vampire."

I nodded. "Yeah, I knew that." I paused, counting the seconds again to make it look like hesitation, then added, "Guess there are some things you just can't understand until you experience them yourself."

Edythe didn't answer. She was watching me, a touch of tension in her creased eyebrows.

I waited again, then made a show of shrugging, like I was trying to brush it off. "Well, guess we better go find some of those elk again."

"The predators are much better than the herbivores, I promise," she said, her face still tense with worry, her tone consoling. "Mountain lions and bears smell much better than the elk."

I shrugged again. "Elk, mountain lion, it's all the same to me. I don't care."

Edythe glanced at me, and I wondered if she read the double intent in my tone. It sounded like something I would say to reassure her—like I actually didn't care what I ate, so long as we were together. But there lurked an underlying edge, too—like there was no point trying to cheer me up with the promise of mountain lions, with the the lightyears of difference in taste between stinking animals and the intoxicating allure of human blood, which I'd never fully understood until now.

What Edythe ought to do was get in my face—I was the one who had chosen this, and I knew the sacrifices going in. Was I going to mope around, complaining and moaning about it now? I knew Jules, if she wasn't trying to rip my throat out for being a monster now, probably would if she were here. Get over yourself, she would say. You're the one who decided to do this, so deal with it.

But Edythe wasn't going to say any of that. Every subtle barb I made, every hint at my dissatisfaction or unhappiness she took upon herself, blamed herself for. Because she always took on the full weight of the responsibility of her decisions, and because no matter how happy she may be in a single moment with me, the guilt was always there, lurking just beneath the surface.

We found another herd of elk, this one a bit larger. Again, there were a couple of calves among them, but I wasn't quite as hesitant as I had been the first time. I kept imagining the nameless hiker—somebody's brother or sister, son or daughter, mother or father. If eating the animals could keep me from attacking humans, I didn't mind the tradeoff. I felt a sudden rush of gratitude toward Carine, for having discovered this way of life.

Of course, those were my real thoughts, the thoughts I couldn't let show—all the while my other thoughts played out in parallel, the thoughts of the character I was beginning to create.

I was a bit more savage than I really needed to be as I struck down my first kill—as though I were angry with it for tasting so bad. I broke the female's neck with my hands, and I got blood all over my shirt as I bent my head to feast on the blood. My teeth sunk easily into her neck. The taste was wrong, but I ignored it—heat rushed through me, soothing the burning ache in my throat.

The elk was a big one—maybe twice as big as me. So once I was done and I let her drained carcass drop, I couldn't believe my throat still burned with the need for more. My senses automatically ranged outward—I heard the stamping feet of the terrified heard, which had been sent scattering from my first attack. However, I paused, and instead of going after them, I turned back to Edythe.

Edythe was standing nearby, leaning casually against a tree, arms folded. She didn't look shocked or appalled at my ferocity, rather a slight smile played on her lips.

"I'm still thirsty," I said, frowning at her as if it were her fault.

"I'm not surprised," she said. "You're still new."

"Are you going to hunt, too?" I asked.

Edythe was still smiling a bit. "Yes, I might as well. I just couldn't help but watch you, that first time. Letting you run right into the center of a herd of elk, along with calves and protective mothers—it goes against the grain. I was paralyzed with anxiety."

I shook my head. "You worry too much."

"I know," she said, sighing. "I guess some old habits die hard. There are quite a few adjustments I'll have to make."

I almost smiled before I caught myself. I had to maintain the sense of distance—I could think of more than one thing at once, but still it took concentration to ensure the correct side was the only one that showed. The decisive moment was rushing upon me—I felt my stomach tighten at the thought, and while perhaps it would have been better to begin now, to forgo any more hunting, I decided to let us put it off just a little longer.

"So," I said. "If we're going to catch them, I guess we better get going." Not that I was worried. Our sense of smell would take us right to them, no matter how far ahead they got.

Edythe shook her head. "We could chase the elk, but I think I smell a herd of mule deer to the northwest. Eleanor might like a good chase, but I prefer stealth."

Edythe took off, and I let myself slip behind her, so I could observe how she hunted.

As we reached the broad open clearing where the deer were leisurely chewing their grass, I crouched down in the underbrush, and picked out a deer for myself, but then turned my eyes to Edythe instead.

I watched her circle around the edge of the clearing, her movements sinuous and silent as a cat. She focused in on a deer near the edge of the field, which was standing a little apart from the rest.

She suddenly sprung in a flash of movement that was at once elegant and fast as lightning. The deer probably didn't even have time register what was happening—it didn't have time to make a sound as Edythe struck it down, and in the next moment, she had retreated back into the cover of the forest with her kill. The remainder of the herd didn't even notice anything was wrong, and continued to chew their grass.

I stared, amazed. If I hadn't been watching, I wouldn't have been any more aware that anything had happened than the deer were. I'd always wondered what it would be like to see Edythe hunt—I'd never realized she could make that a work of art, too.

I glanced down at my own clothes, still covered in blood and dirt, and I realized I still had a lot to learn as far as hunting went.

I tried to mimic Edythe's way, circling around the clearing until I came to a deer standing a little nearer the edge than the others.

For a moment, I remembered what Edythe had once said about her hunting style. How the others had told her her hunt was more like the attack of a lion than a bear. Now that I had seen her hunt myself, I knew how accurate that description was. She didn't charge at her prey with abandon—she stalked silently up behind them, and they were dead before they even knew death was coming.

Strangely, my mind flitted back to that moment in the woods behind my house, when Edythe had left. The words she had said, creating in my mind a new reality. One where she did not really love me. Though the memories were now hazy through my dim human sight, I knew that she had left me the same way she hunted—striking with deadly precision and subtlety.

My eyes stayed on my prey, but my calculating mind raced ahead, compartmentalizing the horror and the guilt, shoving it back so it couldn't interfere. Subtlety. Deadly precision.

This time, I circled around behind my prey, careful, silent, before I sprung.