Page 40 of Fangs

I stop, the words catching in my throat.

“Was what?” His voice drops, dangerous and low. “Tell me, Lucille. What did my bite feel like?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you are a vampire.

You are a vampire!

You bit me. You drank my blood. And you didn’t tell me. You didn’t warn me. You just—”

“I tried to warn you.” He is in front of me now, close enough that I can feel the cold radiating from his skin. “I told you to stay away. I told you to leave this place. I told you I was a monster.”

“You didn’t tell me you were a vampire!”

“I was cursed. Trapped. Weaker than shadow. I could not—” He stops, jaw tightening. “That is not the point. The point is you tried to kill yourself.”

“I thought it was a dream!”

“A dream.” He laughs, but there is no humor in it. “You are going to stand here and tell me that a dream felt like that? The shadows? The bite? The—” He stops, eyes searching mine. “The kiss?”

My face heats. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Liar.” He reaches out. His fingers catch my chin, tilting my face up. His touch is cold, yet it sends a shiver of heat through my body. “You know exactly what I am talking about.”

I pull away from his grip. “You are a vampire. You lied to me. You kept secrets. You—”

“I did not keep secrets. I kept you safe.” He steps back, running a hand through his silver hair. “And now you are angry at me because I did not tell you the truth about what I am? Fine. I will tell you everything. Ask me your questions.”

I blink, thrown by the sudden shift. “What?”

“Ask me,” he repeats. “Anything. I will answer.”

I open my mouth, then close it. Where do I even start?

“You walk during the day,” I manage. “I saw you. The masters—they walk during the day.”

“Vampires can walk during the day.” He shrugs. “The older they are, the more tolerance they have for the sun. Baby vampires burn. Old ones can survive. An Original—the first of their kind—can walk in the sun without issue.”

I process this. “What kills you? Silver?”

A derisive snort. “No.”

“Garlic?”

“Hell no.”

“A stake through the heart?”

“Only if they are young vampires. Like Thomas.” His eyes flicker with something dark. “Not an Original like me.”

“Then what kills you?” I demand. “What actually kills a vampire?”

He is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is flat. “I cannot be killed. That is why they cursed me instead.”

I stare at him. “Cursed you? The portrait?”

“The portrait is a mirror.” His voice drops. “A prison. They locked my power and essence inside the frame. I was too weak to take my own body. I could only control a small fraction of my true nature—cursed to be ethereal. Alive only in shadows and dreams and wind and nightmares.”

He steps closer. This time I do not retreat. “But you, Lucille.” His voice softens. “Your presence alone awakened a dormant primal power in the shadows. You changed me. And when I bit you, I tasted it. You are magical, Lucille.”