felt fear flood through her, fear of being alone, of the pain returning. Two turned to Melissa with pleading eyes.

“Why? What is it?”

“I have to. And you have to go back inside.” Apology implicit in the voice, but Melissa offered no explanation. Two looked at her, mute. She wanted to ask for more blood, if Melissa was going to leave her alone, but the vampire seemed agitated and nervous.

“I’ll take you back up to your bedroom, if you want. Then I have to go.”

Two nodded, biting her lower lip, trying to suppress the fear and depression that wanted to engulf her.

Lying in the dark. Hard to breath, hard to think, conscious thought slipping in and out like the tide. Sometimes there was only pain, sometimes she could hear herself sobbing. Chills, nausea, and the maddening craving for the drug. God, all she wanted was to get high. Was it so wrong? Thoughts of Darren, Molly, the drug, the needle. Two wanted to leave this mansion, return to her pimp, beg for his apology and for her ration. But she couldn’t walk. She knew that soon she would try to crawl, crawl back to New York, back to Darren, on her hands and knees. She had no choice.

More howling from the outside, and then quiet. Just the wind, the rustling of leaves, the sound of grass shivering under its assault. Two’s eyes were wide open in the dark, not seeing the room around her. Instead she saw the forest. She heard light, quiet breathing. Gasps from further away. Was this her body? Golden hair at the sides of her vision, hanging in long, loose curls like hers. Yet her chest felt heavier, the breasts larger, the body lankier. She moved across the ground in a manner completely unfamiliar to her. This was not Two.

The pain cut through the vision. Two gasped, moaned, lay back, and again the seeing overtook her. No, not Two. Not her eyes. Not her body. Someone else. Some other.

Ahead, a silhouette, something struggling its way through the forest. Something that Two could barely see was moving in lumbering steps, gasping, weeping, praying in some nameless language to some nameless god. The prayer of the victim. The prayer of the hunted. Two’s hear raced, adrenaline flooding her body, excitement and lust and terrible, terrible hunger. The prey was at hand, the hunt over.

Speed, now, overtaking the victim, warmth flooding through her body as dull excitement awakened between her thighs. Was it always like this? Would she never grow used to this, never lose that throbbing heat? She tasted the man’s sweat, salty, as her teeth and tongue caressed the surface of his neck. He lay there, caught by her powerful arms, unable to move, unable to breathe.

The attack was not a clean bite, not the civilized piercing Theroen’s teeth had made in her own vein, barely noticeable afterward. Two felt her head move forward, felt her jaws clench like powerful machines, felt bone and muscle and cartilage crush between her teeth. A tearing sound, like wet cloth, resistance giving way as she jerked and twisted her head. Two screamed out loud at this sensation, in her bedroom in the mansion.

The blood sprayed, coating her face in warmth. Below her, the man was jerking, seizuring, pain and pleasure overtaking him even as his death throes began. Great draughts of blood, they seemed to never end, pumping and pumping from his ruined throat.

Two closed her eyes, driving this vision away, descending into the pain. The pain was better than this. The pain would help her forget, help her erase this memory of brutal, violent death. Yet these things did not happen. Two could not forget, and in the depths of pain she found she could admit to herself the truth, somehow more bearable amidst this physical assault on her body.

Hadn’t she wanted it? To rip, to tear, to feed? Had not her body peaked as those awful teeth began their assault, as it had with Theroen? As it had with Abraham? Had it not reacted to this horror with pulsing ecstasy, calling for more, calling for the blood?

Had she not loved it?

* * *

Two was sitting up in her bed, pressing against the wall, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around them, shuddering. It took several seconds for the sound of the door opening to register with her. She looked up. Theroen, standing before her, concern and love and sorrow on his face, watching her with his awful composure. Two