Blood and Wine - Margot Scott Page 0,47

he says, glancing between both versions of me, not sure which one to run to.

In a flurry of movement, he grabs Edward’s head and rips it off his shoulders, then shoves my father’s disparate parts to the floor. He cradles my body in his lap on the bed.

“I can’t lose you like this,” he says over me. “Not to him.”

I sway in place. Everything hurts, yet so much of me is already gone.

“How did he come back?” I ask.

“He must’ve drank my venom last night when he realized I was coming for him,” Will says, glowering at the heaps of meat on the floor. “This was his insurance policy.”

“She doesn’t have much time, William,” my grandmother says. “Make your choice.”

He scowls. “What choice is that, Katherine? You already know what’s going to happen, so why don’t you just fucking tell me.”

“Will?” I feel my edges fading. He reaches for me, and I fall straight through his hands—back into my body.

I cough and splutter. My vision is blurred, like somebody’s placed a strip of gauze over my eyes. Will presses his forehead to mine.

“Listen to me, Mariah. If I drain you fully, you’ll die and become a ghost. But if I let you die with Edward’s venom in your system, there’s a chance you’ll come back...like me. You have to tell me what you want, or I’m going to choose for you, and it’s going to be a selfish choice, because I’d rather you hate me forever as a vampire than be forced to live without you.”

What’s left of me is fast slipping away, like the last few grains of sand in the neck of an hourglass. Becoming a vampire wouldn’t just mean turning it over. It would mean shattering the hourglass completely and tossing the shards into the desert.

Infinite grains of sand as far as the eye can see.

Will’s right about it being no choice at all. My fate was sealed the moment we met in the vineyard.

“Let me die,” I whisper.

And then, I’m gone.

Chapter Nineteen

Mariah

I dream that I am small. Maybe five or six years old. Sitting on my grandpa’s shoulders. We’re at Assateague State Park with my mom and her friend Kim. I squeal excitedly as a brown-and-black pony clomps across the packed sand. I ask where Will is, but nobody hears me. I ask again, where’s Will? They tell me he’s not here yet, and I start to cry.

I dream that I’m fourteen, getting my braces removed. My teeth feel like a string of pearls when I run my tongue over them. The dental hygenist hands me a mirror and I smile at my reflection. Then I notice that my teeth are all sharp, each one capped with a fang. My lips are bleeding. So is my tongue. I ask the hygienist if Will is here yet, and she says no.

I dream that it’s prom night. I never went to prom, so I know I’m dreaming. Plus, I’m wearing the red beaded dress Edward gave me for my birthday. My boyfriend—who happens to look just like Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell—is trying to convince me to go all the way with him tonight. I tell him I’m waiting. He asks what I’m waiting for, and I say, I’m waiting for Will.

All this time, I’ve been waiting for Will.

Now he waits for me.

Chapter Twenty

Mariah

Dying isn’t the hard part. It’s coming back to life that’s the real bitch. I’m there for all of it, every millisecond my body spends repairing itself, building itself anew.

Stronger. Faster. More powerful.

I feel about a thousand years old by the time I’m ready to open my eyes again.

The room I’m in is familiar. Yellow walls, white linens, a big armoire in the corner. It looks like my mom’s room in the guesthouse, but the furniture is arranged differently.

Will is seated in a chair beside the bed with his eyes closed. My mother sits at the foot of my bed.

“He’s looking for you in the twilight realm,” my mom says. “He wants to be there to greet you in case your transition failed.”

I’m quite certain the transition didn’t fail. My canines feel sharper, though they aren’t long and terrifying like Will’s were in the midst of his bloodlust. Maybe that only happens when a vampire is turned on, or hungry. I have so much to learn about my new self.

I sit upright to stretch. Someone—most likely Will—has dressed me in my mom’s old Fleetwood Mac tee shirt.

I reach for my mother’s hand and