The phone screen lights up. I unlock it and open my contacts. Scrolling through the names, I hover over hers, waiting for a better idea that never comes.
Turned vampires don’t ask questions. They don’t congregate in groups, and they don’t compare notes—except with their maker. It’s a maker’s responsibility to care for their progeny, and they usually take it seriously. Unless, of course, they’re a vampire who hates what they are...
“Bloody hell,” I mutter, pressing on her name and bracing myself.
I listen to the ringing absently, half hoping she won’t pick up.
“Alistair, to what do I owe this unexpected surprise?” Her voice sounds the same. Posh and cool. The disdain dripping from the words wouldn’t be obvious to everyone, but I know her. The bitter anger that lurks beneath the surface when she thinks of me and my choices is as familiar to me as the back of my hand.
“I can’t keep blood down,” I say, coming right out with it. The sooner she refuses to tell me anything; the sooner I can explore other options.But there are no other options.
Her delicate intake of breath is the only sign she heard me atall. There’s a clink of fine china, and I picture her setting her cup of tea down on the saucer. Gritting my teeth, I wait. And wait. And wait.
“Mum?”
“What have you done?” Her cold indifference is gone, replaced with the white-hot fury I’ve only seen on the rare occasions she allowed her vampiric nature to surface.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “Why do you assume I’ve done something?”
“Answer my question, Alistair, have you bitten a lover?”
I freeze. A strange tingling sensation runs down the back of my neck. Mum sounds... scared.
“I-I have,” I admit, swallowing around the growing lump in my boiling throat. “Only a couple of times, though. It wasn’t a big?—”
“You’ve doomed yourself,” she hisses. “More comprehensively than I ever expected. First, you insisted on becoming a monster, now you’ve created a blood circle. Tell me, Alistair, is your marked safe? You must always keep them in your sight.”
“Slow down, Mum, you’re not making sense. What’s a blood circle?”
“A blood circle is what happens when foolish vampires bite for pleasure. The bite can be harmless, but when deep attachment or emotion is present, a blood circle forms.”
“And what happens then?”
“You will be linked to that person—your marked—and only able to consume their blood. Any attempts to seek sustenance elsewhere will fail.”
My heart begins to race. “Is this why I’ve been struggling to control myself? My anger?—”
“Will only grow worse. If you fail to feed regularly from your marked, you’ll lose all control, then desiccate.”
“How long does it last?” I demand, grasping for options,anything to redirect the creepy, hopeless way she’s talking to me. “If I wait long enough, it will wear off, right?”
“It won’t wear off, son. A blood circle is broken only by death, yours or theirs; it doesn’t matter which comes first, you die either way.”
Mum laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound.
Oddly enough, it reminds me of my phone call with Ciprian. As soon as his snarky face pops into my head, my heart skips a beat. I bit him too. The night I was stabbed. That blood saved my life, but if Mum is right, it shouldn’t have. I had already formed the blood circle with Celine at that point.
“I bit someone else,” I tell her. “After the first person, but not during sex.” I wince, not wanting to have this intimate conversation with her. “That blood was fine.”
“Blood circles are not limited to one marked. In rare circumstances, vampires have reported adding to their sources, but only if they’re able to form a genuine attachment. The circle thrives on emotion, yours and theirs.” She says the words as if they disgust her to her core, as if she doesn’t think I am capable of—or deserve—such feeling.
“Why?” I demand, my hand trembling around the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me this? As my maker, it was your responsibility to explain, yet you refused.”
“Vampires shouldn’t exist,” she snaps. “You gave me no choice but to turn you, therefore I kept the grotesque knowledge my maker told me to myself. It was what you deserved for forcing my hand.”
Her need for revenge overshadowed any maternal feeling she had for me. Familiar anger and sadness war inside my chest, even as my mind races.
“Why tell me now?” I ask, my voice flat and emotionless.
