Page 47 of We Were Eternal Once

“I am very smart,” Dione says.

And I am not? It burns on my tongue, but I keep it inside. I will not upset your followers. I will be worthy of you by keeping your followers happy.

Dione takes the man’s other wrist and brings it to her lips. She bites tentatively, her gaze trained on his face. He makes no noise, nor does he flinch at the press of her teeth. She drinks deeply, swallowing mouthfuls of his blood. When she’s had her fill she steps away, and the man sways on his feet.

“And now what?” she asks.

“You drank too much at the tavern. You woke up in this alley. You ate something bad, you feel sick and weak. It will fade in a few days.” The man drops to his knees, swaying under the weight of the compulsion and his blood loss. Then he closes his eyes and crumples to the ground, looking every bit like a drunk who crawled into an alley to sleep.

Dione doesn’t speak until we’re nearly back to my home. I want to tell her to leave, that she isn’t welcome, but I cannot. Our home is no longer ours—it’s the Five’s. They come and go as they please.

“Does anyone else know about this?” Dione asks when we are a block from home.

“I don’t know,” I admit. I have not seen the others hunt, just seen the bodies or the nearly dead humans they brought home. The first group drank from glasses, as though the blood were wine.

“Hmm,” Dione says, watching me anew. What does she see now? The strength of your creation? Proof that we were superior, even from the members of the group? Does this solidify your position as leader?

“Does it work on others like us?” she asks.

If this menial thing I learned to do centuries ago is so powerful, what other powers do you keep from me?

Defiled

Within the courtyard, we know peace.

It is not insulated entirely from sound, as the inventions of modern day allow. It is the distance from the rowdy city center and the affluent neighborhood that keeps it so quiet. It is a way to stay hidden, but also a way to become obvious. The faces we pass on the street are familiar, though we don’t know their names. We’ve made a point to remain anonymous.

When a ruckus erupts in the street, it is a cacophony.

You and I are not the only ones dragged from our homes to peer into the night. All down the row, humans wipe sleep from their eyes and turn their attention to the normally quiet street.

Ardashir drags Dione by the arm, uttering a string of curses in a language I do not know. Behind them is Shimon and Theon, their faces contorted with rage. You stiffen next to me, your fists clenched at your side.

“Let her go!” yells Theon, his hand outstretched as if to grab Dione and wrest her from his grip.

“No!” Ardashir growls over his shoulder.

“See reason!” Shimon calls. He hangs back as they lumber toward us, his wide gaze darting from Dione to you and me.

Essemteu appears—from where, I do not know—his hands out to placate Ardashir. “What is the meaning of this?”

“She is a traitor,” Ardashir says, jabbing Dione in the arm with a finger. She hisses at him and slips from his grip.

“Perhaps somewhere quieter,” Essemteu offers.

“They are not to pass into the temple,” Ardashir argues, his head jerking toward Theon and Shimon.

“Be silent,” you say at last, your rage fouling the air. The taste turns my stomach. I’ve only seen you this angry once before, when we nearly died and the sun burned me.

Theon and Shimon stop short. Ardashir is unphased by your wrath.

“She is a traitor!” he repeats.

“Lower your voice,” Essemteu says, looking about the street. More heads poke around corners and over walls. Most of them watch you. Even the humans understand your power, that you are unlike the others. I peer around you, secretly thrilled by the scene.

I hope you show them all the consequences of disrespect.

“Inside,” you say between gritted teeth.