She taught me to kill that night. I had seen death before. From plagues. From old age. From injuries that refused to heal. But I had never seen anyone deliberately take a life until that night.
Lilith hunted with the stealth of a cat. She took me into the city and we walked the streets until she found her prey: a fair-haired young man with ruddy cheeks. I watched, chilled to the bone, as she stalked him, following him until he was alone. She took him swiftly, burying her fangs in his throat, her expression one of ecstacy as she drank his blood, his life.
He was not quite dead when she drew away. "Come," she said. "You must drink."
"No." I couldn't. I wouldn't.
"Hurry, mon ange,"she said. "He will be dead soon, and you must never drink from the dead."
I shook my head,the need inside me struggling with the horror of what she wanted me to do. With what I wanted to do. The smell of blood was all around me. I should have been sickened, repelled, disgusted, and I was all of those things. And yet, overriding every other sensation was a horrible hunger that would not rest. It rode me with whip and spurs, goading me, calling to me, urging me to drink, until, with a sob of despair, I fellon the young man, my hands drawing him toward me. I felt a stabbing pain as my teeth transformed into fangs, and then, hating myself, I drank. And drank. Until Lilith pulled me away.
I turned on her, snarling with rage.
"Enough, mon ange," she admonished sharply.
We hunted the next night, and the next. Sometimes she stalked her prey, sometimes she flirted with the young men she chose, teasing them, taunting them, leading them on, until she tired of the game and closed in for the kill. It excited her, the power she had. Sometimes she let them struggle, laughingat their puny mortal efforts to overpower her when she had the strength of ten.
I craved the blood, the hunt excited me, but I loathed the killing. And I hated her when, years later, she told me the killing was unnecessary.
"You can spare their lives, if you wish," she remarked one evening. "You can even dine on the blood of beasts, should the need arise."
"I don't have to kill?" I stared at her, thinking of the lives I had taken. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"
"I did not think of it," she replied with a shrug, as though the taking of a human life was of no more importance than swatting an insect.
I felt a sickness deep in my soul. I had lost count of the number of people I had killed. I had tried in vain to appease my conscience by telling myself it was necessary, that it was the only way to ease the hunger_that awful, unbearable hunger that would not be refused or denied. Many times I had wished for the courage to end my life, to put an end to the killing, the insatiable hunger, the guilt. And now, as calmly as if she had told me she was going shopping for a new hat, Lilith had informed me that I could have spared all those lives.
Had I been able, I think I would have killed her.
Instead, I resolved to leave her. I was no longer a fledgling, in need of her instruction or her protection. . . .
"What do you think of it?"
Kara gasped, one handgoing to her heart, at the sound of his voice. "Oh, Alexander, you startled me. It's very good. One would almost think you write from personal experience."
"Indeed?"
"I . . . I hope you don't mind. My reading it, I mean."
He lifted one thick black brow. "Rather late to be asking my permission, don't you think?"
"I'm sorry. Please don't be angry with me."
"I'm not angry, Kara. How are you feeling?"
"Better, thank you. How did I get here?"
"You don't remember?"
Kara shook her head. "Everything's sort of fuzzy."
Alex slipped his hands into his pockets. Last night, needing to put some space between them, afraid she would ask questions he couldn't answer, he had taken his rest in the attic. Now, looking at her, he wondered how much to tell her.
"I remember Dr. Barrett..."
"He was keeping you in isolation. Gail said he wouldn't let your grandmother see you, and she was afraid."
Kara nodded.
"I decided to get you out of there."
A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Like the Seventh Cavalry."
Alex shrugged. "Perhaps you'd like to take a bath, wash your hair," he suggested, abruptly changing the subject.
"Very much. And then I've got to go home. My grandmother must be frantic by now."
"You'll find clean towels and a change of clothing in the bathroom."
Rising, Kara crossed the room and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."
Alexander stared after her, wondering what she would say when he told her she couldn't go home. Not now; perhaps not ever.
