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"It's not that I don't think they're better than the others. But try to understand – I'm pretty much enslaved to Michel now, aren't I? Or at least one of them." I hold my hand out. It's already starting to tremble, the familiar tension building in my body. The food no longer appeals. "I'm an addict. Nothing more."
"You," he says and comes to me, taking the tray away. "You are a rare gem. You've already been able to block Michel, despite his own very great powers. If Soren got hold of you…"
So Ihavebeen successful in blocking Michel. That thought gives me some comfort. I might be able to plan without worry about him knowing what I'm doing. What have I done to achieve this? Do I only need to will him out of my mind? Can I let him back in just as easily? I decide to try an experiment – later, when I really am in need of his blood, I'll call his name in my mind and see if he responds. It will be good to know for when –when– I go to kill Soren.
"What if Soren got hold of me?"
He stops at the door, tray in hand. "It's not for me to tell you. Talk to Michel." He opens the door. "I expect you'll be needing to feed soon and can ask him then. Like I said, is not my role to tell you these things."
"He won't tell me either," I say, rubbing my aching head. "You're both bastards."
I fight it as long as I can. After standing in the shower with the hot water blasting over me for nearly half an hour, my skin bright red on my shoulders and back, my tears mixed with the water as I weep in despair at my fate. Finally, I towel off and put on a clean nightgown, creeping into bed.
I turn over and roll up in a ball, my wet hair covering my face, my stomach in knots, my muscles aching. I try to do some deep breathing to calm myself, but it's only a momentary distraction from the pain. Then, I try my experiment. I think of him, imagine opening up to him.
Michel, I need you.
There's no response from him – neither in my own mind nor does he come to me. Perhaps he's playing a game of psychic chicken with me as well, trying to force me to bend to his will. I hate him for it.
Michel!
Nothing. I have this sense that he's resisting me. He can hear me – I'm sure of it. He wants to teach me a lesson. I know what Vasily says was probably true – that Michel wanted me to escape this fate, but I can't help but feel he's just as happy to have me as his little blood slave as not. That makes me choke up in anger, this feeling of helplessness. This sense of being trapped, having no escape.
I feel like throwing myself out of a window, and contemplate just that. I roll over, staring at the far window, wondering if it will open. I imagine the plunge, relishing the pain of impact – at least it will end this agony.
The door flies open and I wait to see what he'll do. Has be brought me a vial of his blood as I demanded? I try to resist turning to him out of need, I try to resist this terrible desire for his blood, digging my fingernails into my palms, the pain barely even registering.
"You are sostubborn."
His voice comes from across the room and I finally turn to face him, unable any longer to stop myself from looking to see if he's brought his blood for me.
"Do you have it?" I say, my throat choking when I don't see it in his hands. "I told you to bring a vial of it."
He sits on a bench by the window, the moonlight flooding in and illuminating his wings, which are spread out behind him. His chest is bare and his hands rest on his knees like some Egyptian half-god half-angel seated on a throne.
"You're in no position to tell me to do anything," he says, his voice cool.
I cover my eyes, tears of sickness and frustration welling up despite my best intentions to be strong. I say nothing, trying to avoid him as long as I can.
I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you…
I toss on the bed, gritting my teeth, my hands shaking so badly that I can barely push myself up.
"Are you going to make me come to you?"
"Yes."
"Why?" I say, barely able to stand. I have to grip onto the post at the foot of the bed for support, my knees are so wobbly. "Just to torture me?"
"Because I can."
I struggle to walk across the floor to the window, holding on to the chest of drawers for a moment to control my dizziness.
"Just to show me how powerful you are? Like a pimp and his junkie prostitute?"
"To teach you some humility."
"Humility?" I say, my fists clenching. "By humiliating me?"
