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“I-I—” She sounded like a freaking frog. A really loud frog. “I was…dying.” Her hand fumbled. Reached for her chest. Her shirt had been cut away, and she touched skin. Smooth, unmarred flesh right over her heart.
No, no, that wasn’t possible.
“Breathe, hunter. You’ll still need to breathe,” Pak told her softly.
Well, of course she needed to breathe. Everyone did. She took another hard breath and swallowed and realized that she was thirsty.
Very, very thirsty.
Her teeth began to ache.
“Are you in control?” Pak asked.
Dee could only stare blankly at him. Why am I alive? Did the knife miss my heart? Maybe the wound hadn’t been as deep as she’d thought, but there had been so much blood.
Blood.
The drumming in her ears pounded faster. Louder. Her hand rose higher, brushing over the edge of her bra, and her fingers circled her throat. So dry. It hurt to swallow.
“Drink this.” Pak shoved a black mug into her left hand.
Pak had never led her wrong. Dee lifted the mug, and the liquid, sweet and rich and oh, God, good, slid over her tongue and down her parched throat.
More.
Greedy, desperate, she drained the mug in three swallows. “More!” The taste lingered on her tongue. Pak had been holding out on her. He’d never given her anything like this before and?—
“Maybe we should give her the whole bag.” Jude’s voice. Deep and booming, except maybe he’d been whispering.
Her gaze slanted to him, and she found him holding up one of those bags, kinda like the IV bags you’d see in a hospital, only—this one was filled with red liquid. No, with blood.
Give her the whole bag.
Dee licked her lips and the mug dropped from her hand, shattering onto the floor.
She vomited then because she knew what they’d just given her. What she’d eagerly taken.
“Fuck! Get towels in here!” Shouted to someone, somewhere, then, “Everything is okay, Dee.” Pak, still trying to be reassuring.
No, everything was not okay. Her head fell back even as her tongue skated over her teeth and felt the too-sharp edge of her canines?—
No, Christ, no! “Pak?”
Jude moved toward her, holding that horrible vampire takeout, and Dee shuddered. Her hands came up. Her short nails were turning into claws. “What did he do to me?”
Simon.
The vampire who’d held her in her last moments. The lover she’d stupidly trusted. “What did he do?” But she knew. Oh, dammit, she knew.
Jude lowered his hand. “He said he didn’t do anything.”
“Look at me!” Dee screamed as the voices droned in her head, and the smells blasted her nose. “I’m not human anymore! That bastard changed me.” I’ve become what I hate most.
“Dee.” Pak, calm, trying to talk her down. Only there was no talking down from this.
The blood—so close. She wanted more.
No, no, she was going to be sick again?—
