Richelle Mead - Bloodlines

“Ah, much neater.” She stepped away and leaned down, retrieving Lee’s knife. It had slid under the love seat in our altercation. Jacqueline took it and effortlessly slashed her wrist, causing deep red blood to well out. Part of my brain didn’t think their blood should look so similar to mine. It should be black. Or acidic.

She placed her bleeding wrist against Lee’s mouth and tipped Lee’s head back so that gravity could help the blood flow. Every horror I’d witnessed tonight had been worse than the last. Death was terrible—but it was also part of nature. This? This was no part of nature’s plan. I was about to witness the world’s greatest sin, the corruption of the soul through black magic to reanimate the dead. It made me feel dirty all over, and I wished I could run away. I didn’t want to see this. I didn’t want to see the guy I’d once regarded as something like a friend suddenly rise up as some perversion of nature.

A touch to my hand made me jump. It was Adrian. His eyes were on Lee and Jacqueline, but his hand had caught hold of mine and squeezed it, even though he was still cuffed. I was surprised at the warmth of his skin. Even though I knew Moroi were as living and warm-blooded as me, my irrational fears always expected them to be cold. Equally surprising was the sudden comfort and connection in that touch. It wasn’t the kind of touch that said, Hey, I’ve got a plan, so hang in there because we’re going to get out of this. It was more like the kind of touch that simply said, You aren’t alone . It was really the only thing he could offer. And in that moment, it was enough.

Then, something strange happened. Or rather, didn’t happen.

Jacqueline’s blood was pouring steadily into Lee’s mouth, and while we didn’t have many documented cases of Strigoi conversions, I knew the basics. The victim’s blood was drained, and then the killing Strigoi fed his or her blood back into the deceased. I didn’t know exactly how long it took to work—it certainly didn’t require all of the Strigoi’s blood—but at some point, Lee should be stirring and getting up as one of the walking dead.

Jacqueline’s cool, smug expression began to change to curiosity and then became outright confusion. She glanced questioningly at Dawn.

“What’s taking so long?” Dawn asked.

“I don’t know,” Jacqueline said, turning back to Lee. With her free hand, she nudged Lee’s shoulder as though that might serve as a wake-up call. Nothing happened.

“Haven’t you done this before?” asked Dawn.

“Of course,” snapped Jacqueline. “It didn’t take nearly this long. He should be up and moving around. Something’s wrong.” I remembered Lee’s words, describing how all his desperate attempts at taking innocent lives hadn’t converted him back. I only knew a little about spirit—and even less about it restoring Strigoi—but something told me there was no force on earth that would ever turn Lee Strigoi again.

Another long minute passed as we watched and waited. At last, disgusted, Jacqueline backed away from the recliner and rolled up her sleeve. She glared at Lee’s motionless body. “Something’s wrong,” she repeated. “And I don’t want to waste any more blood figuring out what it is. Besides, my cut’s already healing.”

I wanted nothing more than for Dawn and Jacqueline to forget I existed, but the next words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. The scientist in me was too caught up in a revelation. “He was restored—and it affected him permanently. The spirit magic left some kind of mark, and now he can’t be turned again.”

Both Strigoi looked at me. I cringed under those red eyes.

“I never believed any of those spirit stories,” said Dawn.

Jacqueline, however, was still clearly puzzled by her failure. “There was something wrong with him, though. I can’t explain it . . . but the whole time, he didn’t feel right. Didn’t taste right.”

“Forget him,” said Dawn. “He had his chance. He got what he wanted, and now I’m moving on.”

I saw my death in her eyes and tried to reach for my cross. “God protect me,” I said, just as she lunged forward.

Against all odds, Adrian was there to stop her—or, well, try to stop her. Mostly, he just got in her way. He didn’t have the speed or reaction time to effectively block her and was especially clumsy with his cuffed hands. I think he’d just seen what I had, that she was going to attack, and had preemptively moved in front of me in some noble but ill-fated attempt at protection.

And ill-fated it was. With one smooth motion, she shoved him aside in a way that looked effortless but knocked him halfway across the room. My breath caught. He hit the floor, and I started to scream. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain against my throat. Without a pause, Dawn had promptly grabbed me and nearly lifted me off my feet to get access to my neck. I mustered another frantic prayer as that pain spread, but within seconds, both prayer and pain disappeared from my brain. They were replaced by a sweet, sweet feeling of contentment and bliss and wonder. I had no thoughts, except that I was suddenly existing in the happiest, most exquisite state imaginable. I wanted more. More, more, more. I wanted to drown in it, to forget myself, to forget everything around me—

“Ugh,” I cried out as I suddenly and unexpectedly hit the floor. Still in that blissful haze, I felt no pain—yet.

Just as quickly as she’d grabbed me, Dawn had dropped and pushed me away. Instinctively, I reached out an arm to break my fall but failed. I was too weak and disoriented and sprawled ungracefully on the carpet. Dawn’s fingers were touching her lips, a look of outrage twisting her already-horrific features.

“What,” she demanded, “was that ?”

My brain wasn’t working properly yet. I’d only had a brief taste of endorphin, but it was still enough to leave me addled. I had no answer for her.

“What’s wrong?” exclaimed Jacqueline, striding forward. She looked from me to Dawn in confusion.

Dawn scowled and then spit onto the floor. It was red from my blood. Disgusting.

“Her blood . . . it was terrible. Inedible. Foul.” She spit again.

Jacqueline’s eyes widened. “Just like the other one. See? I told you.”

“No.” Dawn shook her head. “There’s no way it could be the same. You would never have been able to drink that much of her .” She spit again. “It didn’t just taste weird or bad . . . it was like it’s tainted.” Seeing Jacqueline’s skeptical look, Dawn punched her on the arm. “Don’t believe me? Try her yourself.”

Jacqueline took a step toward me, hesitant. Then Dawn spit again, and I think that somehow convinced the other Strigoi that she wanted no part of me. “I don’t want another mediocre meal. Damn it. This is becoming absurd.” Jacqueline glanced at Adrian, who was standing perfectly still. “At least we’ve still got him.”

“If he’s not ruined too,” Dawn muttered.

My senses were coming back to me, and for half a second, I wondered if there was some insane way we might survive this. Maybe the Strigoi would write us off as bad meals. But no. Even as I allowed myself to hope that, I also knew that even if they didn’t feed off of us, we weren’t going to leave here alive. They had no reason to simply walk off. They’d kill us for sport before they left.

With that same remarkable speed, Jacqueline sprang toward Adrian. “Time to find out.”

I screamed as Jacqueline pinned Adrian against the wall and bit his neck. She only did so for a few seconds, just to get a taste. Jacqueline lifted her head up, pausing and savoring the blood. A slow smile spread over her face, showing her bloody fangs.