Chapter II #2
That is, until the tear hits the paper.
A single, vivid bloom of red that rolls down Charlotte’s cheek and lands on the shading at the base of Giada’s throat.
It slides down the page, and just like that, everything is ruined.
She hears Giada’s sudden indrawn breath, loud as breaking glass.
Charlotte closes her eyes and waits for the shock and fear she knows will cloud the air, waits for Giada to lurch up out of the chair and flee.
Waits, and tells herself she will not stop her when she tries to leave, and wonders if it’s true.
She keeps her eyes shut hard as she hears the soft groan of the chair, the cautious pad of Giada’s feet, realizes they’re not heading toward the door.
But toward her.
Charlotte blinks, and finds Giada kneeling, naked, in front of her, the air thick with caution, but also curiosity.
Giada, reaching out to wipe the bloody tear from Charlotte’s cheek, and the touch is enough to break the spell.
Charlotte pulls back sharply, the drawing pad and pencils falling to the floor. “You should go.”
Giada frowns. “Is that what you want?” she asks.
“No. But—” Charlotte falters. “—it isn’t safe for you to stay.”
“Why?” asks Giada.
Because I like you, she almost says. Because I want you. Because there are too many kinds of hunger, and I can’t pick them apart. Because I’m afraid. Because—
“Because I’m hungry.”
Charlotte grimaces as she says it, and for the first time, Giada must be able to see the twin points of her teeth, the way they prick her bottom lip.
“I took you to so many places,” she says, sounding almost amused. “None of them were to your taste.”
So she noticed after all.
“I’m sorry. I just . . .” Charlotte swallows. “I wanted to be with you. I wanted to pretend . . .”
Giada tips her head. “When the girl gave up her soul,” she asks gently, “when the sun lost its heat, and the food lost its taste, how did she live? What did she eat?”
Charlotte’s gaze rolls over Giada, following the veins that thread her wrists, her breasts, her neck. She doesn’t want to say it, but what is the point of lying now?
“Blood.”
The word falls like an anvil, yet Giada doesn’t buckle, or recoil, or retreat. She only nods, as if reaching some private decision, and then, to Charlotte’s shock and horror, she tucks her hair out of the way, offering the smooth slope of her throat.
“Go ahead.”
“No.” Charlotte clenches her teeth. “I can’t.”
Giada pouts, as if Charlotte is a fussy child. “Why not?”
“Because,” she hisses, fighting to ignore the heartbeat drumming through her skin. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Giada meets her gaze. “Then don’t,” she says, as if it is that simple.
But it isn’t.
Is it?
Behind her eyes, she sees herself kneeling on a floor in Margate, three men dead, three hearts dropped into her lap. A warning to always finish what you start. But that was Sabine’s rule, not hers. And if there is a world where she can drink but not kill, then Charlotte wants to find it.
Cautiously, she brings one hand to Giada’s waist, drawing her closer until her mouth comes to rest at the base of Giada’s throat.
Giada shivers then, her pulse fluttering beneath her skin, and Charlotte feels like she’s standing at the edge of a cliff, resisting the urge to lean forward, to fall.
Resisting, until Giada brings a hand to the back of Charlotte’s head, fingers sliding through her curls as she whispers, “It’s okay. I won’t move.”
Charlotte closes her eyes and bites down, as gently as she can.
The soft skin tears like fruit, the blood sun-warm and honey-sweet. Giada tenses, and Charlotte thinks she will cry out, pull back, rip free. But she doesn’t. Instead she softens, rests the weight of herself in Charlotte’s arms as she begins to drink.
Sunlight flares behind her eyes, warmth spreading through her as her own heart begins to beat, slow at first, then faster, harder, and it is so bright, so strong, so wonderful she nearly vanishes.
But then she feels Giada’s head droop against her shoulder, hears her heart begin to slow, and Charlotte does the one thing she never has before, after so many years, so many lives, so many bodies gone slack in her embrace, and scourged from memory, the one thing Sabine told her not to do.
She stops.
Her jaw loosens, and her teeth slide free. A narrow red ribbon pools in Giada’s collar, the skin already knitting in the bite mark’s wake. The heart races in Charlotte’s chest as Giada sighs against her. When her head drifts up, her pupils are wide and glassy.
“See?” she says in a sleepy voice.
Charlotte cups her face, worried she drank too deeply, took too much. “Are you all right?” she asks, searching the air for any sign of pain, or panic, or regret. But Giada just rolls her head on her neck, and smiles.
“Magnifica.”
She stands, too quick, swaying on her feet. But Charlotte is there to steady her. Giada leans against her, hums softly, as if thinking.
“Tell me what you need,” says Charlotte.
“Bed,” she answers sleepily, and Charlotte leads her into the adjacent room, lowers her onto the bed. She turns to go, to let her rest, but Giada’s hand catches hers.
“Come back,” she says, pulling Charlotte down on top of her. Unbuttoning her dress with expert fingers, grazing skin warmed by her own heart, her own pulse echoing behind Charlotte’s ribs as the air around Giada fogs with want.
Giada, spread beneath her, blond bob like a crumpled halo on the pillow, their mouths finding each other in the dark. Giada’s laughter, soft and sighing, cut off as Charlotte kisses her.
Charlotte is so aware of Giada’s softness, how easily she’d bruise, that she keeps one hand braced against the bed while the other traces Giada’s curves the way her pencil did—conducting an artist’s study until the girl beneath her squirms, impatient, and guides her fingers lower, an invitation on her lips.
Charlotte hesitates, not because she doesn’t want this—she does —simply because it is new.
Sabine—she doesn’t want to think about Sabine, not now, not ever, but she can’t help it—Sabine always led and never followed.
She saw pleasure as a thing to control, to give, not take, so Charlotte learned only to receive.
Now, with Giada spread beneath her hands, she isn’t quite sure what to do.
But she has always been an eager student, and Giada shows her what she wants, and how, guides her with her rising breath, her arching back, her pleasure curling thick as smoke as she tightens around Charlotte’s hand, her own teeth raking Charlotte’s shoulder as she comes.
Afterward, Giada rolls toward her in the dark, tucking Charlotte’s curls behind her ears.
Kissing the tip of her nose before her eyes float shut.
And even though the pulse has trailed off in Charlotte’s chest, for the first time in her life she can still hear it, because it is still there, beside her in the bed.