28. Living in a Vampire World #2
“I woke up and didn’t feel like myself,” Delia said. “It was as if someone had surgically altered everything about me—except my mind. That part was still intact but sharper, more refined.” Her voice shook. “And I had this horrible need for blood.”
She swallowed. “I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t. The only thing I could think to do was call your mother. Like she would have the answer. Like she could fix it.”
A brittle laugh escaped her. There was nothing humorous about it. It sounded like panic. Like she hated reliving the moment.
“So, in the dead of night, I snuck home. My parents were furious but relieved that I was alive. They’d already called the police to report me missing.
” She rubbed her lips together as if she could still feel the weight of that moment.
“I told them I’d been out with friends. That we’d gotten drunk.
That I was afraid to come home and get in trouble.
I hoped that would explain the sunglasses I was wearing inside. ”
Her voice dropped. “It took everything in me not to sink my teeth into them. The urge was like nothing I’d ever known.” Her eyes glistened. “And I hated myself for it. I kept thinking I would wake up from this nightmare.”
Oh, could I relate. At least I’d never had the urge to suck my parents’ blood. So there was that. Though I had thought I was going to let my husband suck the life out of me.
That was its own special problem.
“But the nightmare only got worse,” Delia continued. “My entire life was shattered. Your mother”—her voice wavered—“was my only saving grace. Her name suited her perfectly. She believed me. Even though I hardly believed it myself. Never did I think vampires could be real.”
Yep, I knew that feeling too.
Delia swallowed hard. “She came to Seattle, and we made a plan. One that involved me moving back to Walla Walla. Back then, it was easier to live off campus, so we rented an apartment together.”
“But you didn’t actually return to Whitman,” Julian said, not bothering to hide the accusation in his voice.
Delia’s eyes narrowed. “You’re correct. I couldn’t attend school in my condition. At least not in those first few years. So Grace became my teacher. My savior.”
Delia leaned forward. “She taught me everything she was learning. She took a job at a local blood bank—stole blood when she could, or gave me her own when she had to. But her generosity didn’t stop there; she began researching my condition. She refused to believe it was permanent.”
I sat stunned, listening to the story about my mother. Stealing blood. Hiding a vampire in her apartment. I felt like I knew nothing about the woman who, all my life, had been my hero.
Delia’s gaze softened. “She knew there had to be a scientific explanation for all of it.”
I had thought the exact same thing about vampirism. I’d even found the evidence to back it up. But apparently, I wasn’t the first Hart to do so.
“Your mother truly was a genius,” Delia said fondly.
“Grace was smarter than half of our professors combined. She was even the one who figured out how to fabricate my Whitman credentials. She said it wasn’t really cheating—that I’d earned the degree.
After all, I’d taken every course she had. Just from home.”
My eyes widened. “I had no idea my mom was such a rebel.”
“She wasn’t a rebel,” Delia said softly. “She was a revolutionary. A crusader, even. But above all, she was a loyal friend. The very best of humankind.”
I used to believe that without question. Now all I could see were the gaps. Everything left unanswered. The secrets that felt too close to lies.
Delia seemed to sense my shift in attitude. “Nicolette, I don’t know what you do or don’t know,” she said gently. “Your mother did keep secrets, yes—but I know this: She loved you more than anything. Her greatest wish was for you to grow up in a better world. One free from debilitating diseases.”
I wanted to believe that.
“Do you know how she developed a cure for you?” I asked. That, more than anything, I needed to understand. And was that cure on her laptop?
Delia leaned back in her chair. “It took years for her to recognize a link between porphyria and what she used to call ‘my little condition.’ As if I just had a virus.”
Not a virus, I thought automatically. A genetic mutation. That much I knew.
“The plasma treatment was a breakthrough,” Delia continued. “It changed everything for me. But Grace believed it was only a first step. She was convinced there was something more.”
Delia hesitated. “I didn’t even know she’d discovered a “permanent” cure until a few years ago.
She told me she’d isolated a plasma protein she’d never encountered before.
One she couldn’t explain—but couldn’t ignore.
I took a series of treatments over a month. I thought I finally had my life back.”
My pulse kicked up. “Did she ever say how she isolated the protein? Or which protein it was?”
The question slipped out too quickly—but I needed to know. Did Delia know it was a protein only I seemed to have? Had my mother inadvertently put me in harm’s way?
Julian remained close beside me, silent but alert, as if he, too, were waiting for the answer. Or perhaps he was simply preparing to annihilate her if she already knew. Honestly, it was a toss-up.
“She would never say,” Delia admitted. “That’s why I’ve been frantically looking for her laptop.
I’d hoped she left her research behind. A formula.
Anything.” Her hands trembled. “I can’t go back to that life again.
I want to be human. Please—I need your help.
Did she ever tell you anything? Did she leave you her work?
” The words tumbled out, frantic and raw.
“No,” I said honestly.
I didn’t know exactly what was on my mother’s laptop. But even if I did, I wouldn’t share it—not yet. As much as I loved Delia and felt for her, it was too dangerous. I was at least grateful it appeared my mother had kept the secret of my blood to herself.
Delia’s shoulders sagged. Tears fell freely, landing silently in her lap. “The last few years have been a miracle,” she whispered. “One I never thought I’d have.”
Guilt twisted inside me. I nearly blurted out that I would help her.
That I believed I could figure this out.
That there had to be a cure. A lasting one.
Not to mention, I was deeply interested in what had gone wrong with my mother’s cure.
I wanted to rush Delia over to the lab and run a myriad of tests.
“Why not just take the plasma treatment again? It will give you some normalcy,” I offered.
Delia gripped the arms of the chair so tightly, I thought she might crack them. “I thought that too, so I procured some two days ago.”
I wasn’t even going to ask how she did that.
“And . . . it had no effect. My need for blood keeps growing.”
What? No. No. No.
A cold wave rolled through me. If her genome had shifted after the cure, the plasma therapy might not recognize the mutated receptors anymore. It was like trying to use the wrong key in a lock that had been reshaped.
I whipped my head toward Julian. The ramifications of this could be far-reaching. Did it mean that the plasma therapy might stop working altogether for vampires—or only for those who took the supposed “cure”? Would there eventually be a bunch of bloodthirsty vampires surrounding me?
And what did it mean for Julian, who had received my blood? If my blood had altered his pathways, it could eventually override the stabilizing effect of the plasma. Or worse—neutralize it entirely.
What had I done?
Julian thankfully did the right thing and remained impassive as if this troubling news didn’t bother him. But I knew it had to. He had to be thinking along the same lines as me. He gave me an almost imperceptible smile that said, Don’t give anything away , before turning his sights back on Delia.
“You said you believe Grace was murdered,” he said, not sugarcoating it. “What evidence do you have of that?” His gaze sharpened. “And why did you ask Dr. Sorenson to lie for you?”
“And while we’re asking questions,” I added, unable to help myself, “are you dating my dad?” That was probably entirely unimportant, given what Delia had just told me, but I needed to know for my own peace of mind.
Delia wrinkled her nose, looking genuinely disturbed by the thought. “Absolutely not. I could never stand him. He never put you or your mother first.” She sighed. “I only tolerated him because I thought he might have your mother’s laptop.”
I wasn’t sure why that relieved me so much. Perhaps because at least one thing I believed to be true actually was—Delia hated my dad. Somehow that made the world feel a little more right when everything else was so wrong.
Though I still found it deeply unsettling that she’d probably used some of her vampire charm on him. Even if just subtly.
“Delia,” Julian said, getting back to business, “we need to know precisely what you understand about Grace’s death. And what these plans were that you mentioned.”
Delia inclined her head. “As a scientist, you can imagine how fascinated she was by vampires. Our healing abilities. Our longevity. She believed those traits could be studied—refined—even harnessed for the betterment of humankind.”
Oh, I could imagine. I’d had the same thoughts more than once.
“And let me guess,” Julian spat. “You gave her your blood. And your venom.”
“Of course I did,” Delia replied without hesitation. “After everything she did for me, why wouldn’t I?”
Julian’s jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Because you risked exposing our world,” he hissed.
“It isn’t my world,” Delia shot back, her voice rising. “My world is the human one.”
Julian gave a short, humorless scoff.
I made a mental note to remind him later that he’d given me his blood willingly—and that he wanted to belong in the human world too. Granted, he’d been cautious about how I used it. And I understood why. Now more than ever.