Page 26 of Thirsty
When he turned back, he hurried down the alleyway, but Lorenzo kept pace easily. He let out a low, menacing growl, and Charlie jumped, his frame tightening. Lorenzo could almost feel the gooseflesh of his skin. This time, Charlie didn’t bother looking for the danger—he broke into a run.
Lorenzo descended upon him. He grabbed Charlie’s jacket and threw him against the wall face-first, keeping him pinned there with only a fist in his back. Charlie screamed, fighting uselessly against him. His lips didn’t move—dream paralysis, most likely—but Lorenzo could tell he was trying to beg for his life.
He snarled, baring his fangs, and fisted his other hand in Charlie’s hair. He yanked his head to the side and leaned close, ready to take a deep, painful bite—one that would surely jolt Charlie awake, and with a deep, abiding fear of vampires.
And then he realized—he didn’t just want Charlie scared of vampires. He wanted him scared ofhim.
He needed Charlie to leave him alone.
So before he bit, he spun Charlie around to face him and shoved him back against the wall.
A gasp broke out of Charlie’s throat when he saw who’d been hunting him. His eyes were wide with fear. Lorenzo’s fangs were still out, his lips curled in a menacing snarl, andhe knew his eyes were burning red. He growled a low, deadly warning, and pushed closer to Charlie, trapping him in place. He buried his hand in Charlie’s hair and yanked, baring his neck, licked his teeth, and leaned in.
Charlie shivered and pressed closer to him.
Lorenzo froze. But Charlie didn’t stop—he ran his hands up Lorenzo’s arms and dug his nails into his shoulders and the curve of his back. Charlie’s heart was still beating a mile a minute, his blood pumping hot under his skin; but where before he’d been stiff with fear, straining to get away, now he pressed into Lorenzo, pushing back, away from the wall, chasing every place they could be crushed together. His eyes had fluttered closed, and his breaths were fevered, frantic—each one rushing past Lorenzo’s ear as a hot, hungry sound.
And Lorenzo realized too late that the rest of the dream had shifted too—the air was boiling, the angles of the world seeming to liquefy around them so that they were pitched even closer together. There was music, bass-heavy and drugging, and blood-red flowers bloomed all over the walls around them, lichen and soft, springy moss.
The dream swayed, and Lorenzo pressed more firmly against Charlie, seeking his footing. Charlie pulled him close.Yes, he breathed out.
Lorenzofeltit, his low, hot whisper, and swallowed back a coarse reply. He didn’t need to breathe here—he didn’t need to breathe at all—but he was gasping anyway, for sanity, for mercy. Charlie’s jugular was fluttering, the skin there slick and hot, and it wasn’t even why he’d come here, and—the scent of Charlie’s sweat was making him delirious. Confused, overwhelmed, he leaned his forehead against Charlie’s.
Charlie opened his eyes and looked up at him. His gazedropped to Lorenzo’s lips, to his fangs, and his pupils dilated. He wrapped a hand around the back of Lorenzo’s neck.
Lorenzo surged awake in his own bed, out of the ether and Charlie’s mind, covered in sweat.
He was still panting.
From: [email protected]
Date: March 3, 9:52 PM
Subject: Ghost in the Slack
Dear Wise Old Crone,
I think my workplace Slack is haunted. No one in the company has died recently, but for the last few months this weird, unclaimed profile has been showing up in our channels, sending all-caps messages and then vanishing. Sometimes the messages are just nonsense or warmed-over dril tweets, but sometimes they make the screen flash brightly, causing us to fall unconscious and wake up covered in blood or...worse. Also, the ghost profile seems to have access to our private DMs, because sometimes he’ll show up during all-team meetings and start spreading gossip that he couldn’t possibly know otherwise. But lately he’s been talking a lot about pay disparities, and I think he’s trying to unionize everyone. How can we stop corporate from exorcising him?
Sincerely,
Don’t Salt and Burn
From: [email protected]
Date: April 30, 10:03 AM
Subject: “Faked” Allergy
Dear Crone,
My girlfriend “Alex” is a faerie, and as you may know, faeries are allergic to honey. (Apparently this dates back to some kind of long-standing feud between faeries and bees, but honestly I kind of zone out anytime Alex starts talking about her ancestral backstory.) My mom does not believe that Alex is actually allergic to honey. She keeps slipping it into everything she cooks for us when we come to visit, I guess in an attempt to “prove” that Alex is just making up her allergy, for attention or whatever? So far this hasn’t caused any harm, because Alex can smell it before she eats anything, so she just puts down whatever my mom’s been expectantly waiting for her to eat, and the worst that’s happened is some awkwardness at the dinner table and a fight on the drive home. But a few weeks ago I learned that my family on my mother’s side is descended from this ancient druidic cult that worshipped bees, and when I told Alex about this, her fangs emerged and her skin turned hard and brittle, like one of those beaches made of rocks instead of sand. What can I do to mediate this conflict?
Sincerely,
