Page 91 of By the Pint

“Dima, please,” I pleaded pathetically, without even a clue of what I was asking him for.

He summoned my pile of clothing from the desk and my room key-card, and they soared into my arms with too much force, making me stumble backwards a little.

“Dima …” I wanted to reach out. Stroke his jaw, feel the press of his cold lips against mine. I wanted to throw my clothes onto the carpet and run into his embrace. Ring downstairs and tell Killian to fuck off.

But …

Part of me was curious. Why did Killian come? And was it time? Had he decided he didn’t need Dima’s secrets after all, or perhaps he’d travelled all this way to take over, and get it out of him himself? Maybe he reckoned he could do a better job than me. Maybe he thought he would be helping.

I’d been practicing my thought control. Locking them up, making sure they were inaccessible. Dima could still break into them, though. Still open that locker. But I got the distinct feeling Dima would always be able to break into them. That he’d always be able to find the key. No matter how well I protected it.

I doubted Killian could do the same. He wasn’t Dima. He was … just Killian.

It was a great opportunity to test my theory.

“Mosquito,” I said, in barely a whisper.

In a second, Dima closed the gap between us. He pressed his forehead to my cheek. I almost dropped my armful of clothing to wrap myself around him.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He dragged his nose along my jaw and buried it below my ear. After a few moments, he said, “Off you go, then. Back to your master.”

The door to his suite opened, revealing the dark, empty corridor beyond. Dima placed a flattened palm on the small of my back and that simple dismissal caused a tidal wave of emotion to swell inside me.

Don’t cry, Casey. Don’t you fucking cry,I told myself, not even caring if Dima overheard.Killian’s probably going to turn you. This is what you wanted.

Dima’s hand didn’t leave my spine until I was in the corridor, buck naked, holding a pile of my own clothes. The hall lights flickered on, and without another word, his door closed. An echoing bang fired along the space. Like a gunshot in thewoods. Like every other living thing had been stunned into silence.

I chanced one last look towards Dima’s door — I knew he was watching me through the peephole — and went into my own darkened room. The door swung shut, and I fell to my knees, finally letting my sob burst free.

What was I doing? I’d wanted this more than anything. For the longest time it had been my ultimate dream. Was still my ultimate dream, there was no point in denying it. The heart wanted what the heart wanted. It wanted immortality. It wanted to live a thousand lives, earn a thousand riches, watch the world twist and develop.

I had made my peace with all the things I’d lose. My family, my fame, my enviable tan, my memories. Because I would be getting so much more. More power and strength, yes, but also just more time. Without the fear of wasting the days that I had. Because the older I got, the quicker they raced away from me. The faster they slipped through my fingers.

It was like trying to catch a whisper.

With immortality, I wouldn’t have to chase it. I’d have enough time to enjoy everything. Experience everything I’d yet to experience.

Like love.

If I had immortality, it would mean …

It would mean a thousand lifetimes with Dima.

A million different days to prove how much I lo—

Don’t think it!he said into my mind, but he was still in his room. I could hear him through walls now? Through steel lined walls? What did this mean?Please don’t think it. I don’t think I can handle it. You know that’s not how turning works. You won’t be you. You won’t remember me. It can take decades for you to even become autonomously conscious. And after then, who knows what you will be like. You might be a differentperson altogether. You might become your average cookie-cutter vampire. Blood thirsty, bored, angry at the universe. There’s a reason the stereotyped vampire exists. Most of us are not interested in relationships. We care only about ourselves and our bellies. We destroy lives and families. We don’t build them. Athanasia Apathy, that’s what they call it. Life and living will no longer matter.

I paused.You can hear my thoughts?I didn’t give myself time to digest his words.

Apparently so.

Through the metal wall?

It would seem.

Shit,I said.

Indeed,Dima replied.

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