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But then, as it happened with me, he comes back into control, and the red fades, and the way he drinks from me turns tender and beautiful.
I love you, I think. The blood is love.
After he finishes, we wipe ourselves off and the both of us look at each other, our eyes bright and shining, and he’s taking me in his arms, kissing me so deeply that it pulls at the strings around my heart.
My hands skim over his hard chest, his carved abs, reaching down between the waistband of his boxer briefs, and—
A knock at the door.
I gasp and we pull apart and I’m trying to smell the air to get a sense of who it is. Room service?
“Who is that?” I ask.
He gives me a wary look. “It’s your mother. I told her to bring you some clothes.”
“My mother!” I squeak. Oh, this won’t be good, not with Solon here.
I hurry over to the door, holding my towel tight around me and open it.
My mother looks at me, tears in her eyes, her face contorting, then she glances down at my chest, and my arm. The white towel is speckled with blood and the cut on my arm is still healing itself.
“I am never going to get used to this,” she says with a shake of her head.
I open the door and she comes in, just in time to see Solon emerge from the bathroom. At least he’s put on his pants.
“Absolon,” she says to him, giving him a frosty look.
“Elaine,” is his clipped response.
They stare at each other for a long minute, both of them tense, hackles raised, moons glowing in my mother’s eyes, a deadly look of contempt in Solon’s.
Then my mother sighs and hands me a garbage bag full of my clothes.
“Here,” she says. Suddenly she throws her arms around me and hugs me so tight I can barely breathe. I glance at Solon over her shoulder and he looks away.
“I’ll get some coffee, give you two your privacy,” he says, throwing on his white shirt and slipping out of the room so fast that neither of us can say anything.
“Oh my baby,” she says to me, still holding tight. I feel her tears on my neck. “How are you? Has he hurt you?”
“Mom,” I tell her, pulling back, stronger than she’s used to. Her arms drop away. I hold her by the shoulders. “I’m fine. I really am. He hasn’t hurt me, he never would.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t even know how you can stand to be in the same room as that thing.”
“He is not a thing,” I say sharply. “He is mine.”
Even if he doesn’t know it yet.
She stares at me, eyes glistening as she looks me over. “You’ve changed so much, sweetie. You’re…you were always so beautiful, but now you’re…you’re one of them.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“It means you’re beyond beautiful, sweetie. Out of this world.” She takes in a deep, shaky breath, putting her hand to my cheek for a moment, then quickly taking it away when she feels how cold I am. “It suits you.”
“You didn’t bring your slayer blade, did you?” I ask, suddenly struck with the thought.
“No. Solon told me not to.”
“He was right. You’d probably try to kill him again.”
She sighs, placing her hands in her face for a moment. “No. I don’t want to kill him, I swore I wouldn’t.”
“That’s what you said last time when you had your little arrangement. Remember? You killed my parents and he gave you their whereabouts.”
She swallows audibly. “I know…I don’t like it, I hate it, and I hate him, but I know you need him. You need him more than you need us. We can’t protect you anymore. We heard about what happened with Atlas.”
Then my mother starts talking about Elle and how she’s still listed as missing and I start crying all over again because the pain is still so fresh and real, as is the guilt, this big dark anvil inside me.
Eventually I dry off my tears and then slip into some of the clothes she brought, a pair of striped wide-leg pants with an elastic waist and a crop top, not exactly my style anymore, but it’s better than a towel.
Then Solon is knocking at the door and he comes in holding two coffees. He hands one to my mother first. “For you,” he says.
She gives him the once-over, her skin visibly prickling at being so close to him. She snatches it from him and takes a few steps back. “Thank you,” she says coldly.
Then he hands me my coffee, giving me a smile that makes my heart sing. “And for you, my dear.”
My mother lets out a snort of contempt and I give her a dirty look.
She just shrugs. “Look at the two of you,” she says disdainfully.
