instruction. "She is in your power now. You can do whatever you wish."
"But how do I... you know."
"Think only of her blood. Listen. Can you not hear it flowing like sweet honey through her veins?"
Grigori took the woman in his arms, ran his fingertips ever so lightly over her cheek, down the length of her neck.
"Smell the blood," Grigori said, and he felt his own fangs lengthen as he bent over the woman. Her head fell back, exposing the tender skin of her throat. "You must always be gentle," he said, his voice changing, growing deeper, rougher as the hunger within him stirred to life. "Human flesh is so very fragile."
The woman made a small sound of pleasure as Grigori's mouth closed over her throat, his fangs piercing the skin. He took only a sip, and then he thrust the woman into Ramsey's arms. "She is yours. Take her."
Ramsey stared at the woman, at the single drop of crimson sparkling on her throat. "What about... how do you know her blood is... don't you worry about disease?"
"You would know if her blood was unclean."
Ramsey nodded. Feeling as awkward and self-conscious as a boy on his first date, he gathered the woman into his embrace. She didn't resist. Pliant as a rag doll, she allowed him to hold her. She smelled of soap and perfume and cheap brandy. And blood. It called to him like a Siren's song: loud, insistent. Irresistible. He felt an ache in his gums as his fangs lengthened.
With a low growl, he sank his fangs into the warm tender skin of her throat, felt the thick richness of her blood fill his mouth.
"Gently," Grigori admonished. "It can be a pleasant experience for her, as well, if you choose to make it so."
Ramsey drank, disgusted by what he was doing, yet compelled to take more and more, overcome with the warmth of it, the way it eased the pain that had clawed at him. He drank her memories, her strength, her dreams. The sound of her heartbeat echoed in his ears. How had he ever thought such an act repulsive? Her life filled him until he felt drunk with it And still he wanted more. Wanted it all.
"Enough, Ramsey. Enough!"
Dazed, drugged with blood and a sense of unlimited power, Ramsey lifted his head, his lips drawn back in a silent snarl. The woman was his. He would not share her.
"Enough," Grigori said again.
Ramsey looked down at the woman in his arms. Her heartbeat was faint, her face pale. She stared up at him through vacant eyes.
"What have I done?" he moaned. "What have I done?"
"Only what you had to do."
"Is she... will she die?"
"No."
Horror-stricken, Ramsey shoved the woman into Chiavari's arms and backed away. He dragged a hand over his mouth, grimaced when he saw the blood there. The thrill he had felt earlier was gone, replaced by a sense of horror and self-disgust. "I can't do this."
"You can, and you will. Abstaining will only make the pain worse. Waiting, trying to fight it, will only make it harder for you to control the Hunger. And when you are out of control, people will die."
"How have you stood it for so long?" Ramsey asked bitterly. "How have you stood the separateness, the aloneness?"
Grigori took a deep breath and loosed it in a long, slow sigh. "Being Vampyre is not for the weak. There are drawbacks, but they grow fewer as the years pass. And the advantages far outweigh them."
"Advantages!" Ramsey scoffed. "What advantages?"
"Think, Ramsey. Think of all the things I have seen, the changes in the world, the inventions. I have powers you cannot imagine. As for the other, the loneliness, the separateness..." He shrugged. "One can get used to anything."
"Easy for you to say."
"Ramsey, I could have killed you years ago. But I did not because I have always admired your tenacity, your will to live. Do not disappoint me now."
Ramsey gestured at the woman in Chiavari's arms. "Will she be all right?"
"She will be fine."
"I..."Ramsey looked away, embarrassed by the need that had driven him to Chiavari. "Thanks for your help."
Grigori nodded. "Give yourself time, Ramsey. Call me if you need me."
Ramsey grunted softly. Going to Chiavari for help had been one of the most difficult things he had ever done, not only because it had pricked his pride to ask the man for help, but because it had meant seeing Marisa again, having her see what he had become.