Page 142 of You’re So Vein

“Don’t tell me you’re still denying me.”

“I’ve dreamed of nothing else since the night I tasted you,” he whispers. “But this isn’t right. I wanted to go slow. I wanted—”

“And I wanted to be a mother and win Britain’s Got Talent for my arguing skills, but we don’t always get what we want. We’re doing this to save my parents.” I tug my collar again. “Bite me, vampire.”

He kneels behind my seat, wrapping his arms around me and placing his hands over mine on the controls. “You will lose yourself,” he whispers. “I’ll go quickly.”

He bites down.

I expect pain. Something sharp like an insect bite. But the moment his fangs slide in, the world falls away.

It’s as though he’s found a hidden switch in my veins and flipped it. Heat blooms outward in a slow wave. My breath catches, then rushes out of me in a shiver that makes the helicopter jerk dangerously. My sharp edges soften. Everything loud in my soul quiets. I’m nowhere and everywhere at once, caught in a suspended dream where every good thing I’ve ever experienced folds itself into his bite. I’m seven years old, at the park with Papa. I’m thirteen, and Mamma is telling me how proud she is because I won an art award at school. I’m eighteen, driving away from Argleton to start my new life. I’m sitting in Nevermore Bookshop with my friends, laughing and discussing books. I’m in Augustin’s arms. He’s kissing the top of my head. Desire, wonder, relief, safety. They all converge in that single pulse point from which Augustin drinks.

My thoughts dissolve. I’m dissolving, too, slipping into a warm, bright place with no edges and no expectations and no fear. Just him. Just the sharp, beautiful edge of pain and the rhythm of his mouth against my skin and the bone-deep pleasure that sweeps through me like a tide—

He pulls back.

Air rushes against the wounds. The world snaps back into cold, harsh reality as I grab the controls from Augustin and right the helicopter before we crash into a tree. The absence of him is a cold shock. I still feel the echo of his bite – ghost-bright and sweet. Behind me, he breathes hard.

I want him to bite me again.

I want him to bite me forever.

But we have work to do.

I force myself to focus on keeping Aishwarya hovering above the roof as Augustin knots his vines into a sling. The wind has picked up again, driving the rain into the props and making my job even more difficult. But I’ve flown way worse. No one is shooting at me this time.

I shout instructions back at Augustin as he hunts out the carabiners I keep in a lockbox under my seat. I attach the vines to me using the carabiner and cord, so I can use my weight to belay and let out a little vine at a time.

“Are you ready?” I yell as I shove open the door. Wind and rain tear through the interior, almost rolling us sideways. But I’m too good a pilot to let that happen.

“Absolutely not.” Augustin’s face is miserable as he hangs out the open door. Then he disappears over the edge.

My heart plummets along with him. He freefalls several feet before his vines catch him. They bite into my skin, driving the air from my lungs. I gasp as I fight to keep Aishwarya steady as the vines creak and groan.

Augustin’s face is a picture of misery as he flails beneath the helicopter – I can just see him when he swings the right way. I let out slack on the vines until he’s low enough to reach the roof.

He pumps his legs to swing, and after three tries, he lands on the roof and wraps his arms around Papa. They start talking, arms gesturing wildly. Papa is probably insisting that Mamma go first.

We don’t have time for this. The water must be flowing from further up the valley, because I swear the level is getting higher.

If Augustin falls into the water, his superior strength might keep him alive. But there will be fallen tree branches and debris beneath the surface, and if one of them pierces him in the wrong place, it’s as good as a traditional stake.

And Mamma and Papa aren’t immortal. If we lose them in the water…

That’s not going to happen.

Mamma steadies Augustin as they both wrap the vine sling around Papa. Augustin waves frantically at me and hauls on his end. I operate the helicopter with one hand while I fight to wrap the vines around the seat with the other. If Augustin slips and loses his vine, then at least Papa won’t fall more than a foot or so.

Finally, finally, Papa reaches the skids. I yell instructions to him as he grabs the skid and hauls himself inside, collapsing on the back seat.

“Beta, I’m so happy to see you,” he gasps. “Preeti and the twins got out but by the time Mamma got me outside, it was too late—”

“It’s okay. Climb over to the far seat,” I instruct him. “And put your belt on. I’m going to bring up Mamma now.”

I untangle the vine sling with one hand and toss it out the window. Augustin grabs the vines and loops them around Mamma. My fingers hum with heat as I loop the vines around the seat again. Somehow, Augustin’s magic is keeping the vines steady and strong. Mamma shrieks as the wind whips around her.

Finally, she climbs inside, her favourite salwar kameez torn and soaked, her features taut with fear. She shivers as she joins Papa, who pulls her into his arms. She untangles herself and tosses the vine harness back over the side.