Page 23 of Watch Me Turn
"I don't see the problem with that," he says as he absently strokes my calf. "It sounds like I'm a superhero or something. How do we die?"
"The whole garlic thing is a myth. Crosses do nothing. A lot of the folklore about vamps is bullshit designed to make humans feel safer, but unfortunately some of it's true."
"What about stakes?"
"Those work. Through the heart, and you're done. Decapitation too. Oh, and silver burns like hell, so stay away from that. It doesn't matter though. Once you fully turn, you'll be harder to catch and tougher to hold down." I pause and jab him playfully in the chest. "But that's not the only stuff that hurts. It's the emotional pain that'll get you. Silver to the skin is nothing compared to the pain of watching a loved one die. And they all will. One by one."
He's quiet for a moment, processing. "You're talking about family? Friends?"
"Yes." I study the freckles on my knees, and my hair falls forward, obscuring my face like a protective curtain. "I'm sorry, Angel. That's the price for immortality. It's the cruelty of it. You'll see incredible things. Watch the world change and grow around you. Experience a life you never thought possible. But eventually you'll outlive every human you've ever loved."
He reaches out to move my hair from my face. "Is that how it's been for you? How old are you?"
"Sixty-five years total. Forty-three years vampire. My parents died a few years ago. Eventually my sisters...my human ones...their kids... They'll all be gone too, and I'll still be the same old Sophia." I square my shoulders. "Anyway, it was my choice. I chose this life, and I'm so sorry that you didn't."
"Well...you look damn good for sixty," he says with a playful smirk, and I can't help but offer a polite laugh.
"I'm serious, Angel. I'm sorry that you had this done to you. I don't know what kind of person you are outside of all this, besides a pain in the ass obviously, but if it's any consolation, I think something this big should be a choice."
He's quiet for a long moment, staring at nothing. Then, "Thanks. My old life never quite fit anyway. I've always just been a vessel for my father. All he ever wanted was to mold me into his perfect little heir to launder his money and give him grandkids he could indoctrinate. I was sleepwalking through a life I didn't choose, and I hated every fucking second of it."
"What did you want instead?"
He laughs bitterly. "I don't know. Something different. Something that was mine, not his. I never really thought about it before. My life was always planned for me. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is my way out."
"Maybe."
He stares at his hands, turning them over like he's seeing them for the first time. "Maybe this is a crazy thing to say, but I think I was always supposed to be a vampire. Being here with you is the most at peace I've ever felt. All this pain, the weakness I feel. It's worth it."
I grip his bicep. "You won't stay weak for long. Soon you'll be stronger, faster, more dangerous than any human alive."
His eyes light up. "What else?"
"Dios mío, the blood. It's incredible. You think tasting a little bit of macadamia nut in that watered-down stuff is good? Just wait. Soon you'll be able to taste like you've never tasted before. With a single sip, you'll know what the donor has recently eaten. What they've been drinking. If they've gotten high, you'll get high too. No hangover. No comedown."
He leans in. "Do different people taste different?"
"Uh-huh, and you'll taste their distinctive flavor. Two humans can eat the same diet and you'll get the same 'notes,'but they'll taste totally unique. It's a person's history and experiences that season the blood with individuality."
He runs his fingers over the place on his neck where I bit him. "What about me? How do I taste?"
The memory causes my tongue to dart out, and I lick my lips on instinct. "You were like nothing I've ever had before. Your blood is complex. Kinda sweet and tangy but also rich and earthy. You're delicious."
"I guess I heal fast too?" he says, his cheeks flushed as he searches for evidence of the wound.
"Yeah, you'll heal fast, but that's not why there's no trace. It's because I healed you with my venom."
"Venom? Was that what you did to your hand before? When you were making the mixture for my fever?"
"May I?" I reach for his arm, and he nods and stretches it toward me.
When my fangs descend and I lean in to sniff his wrist, his eyes widen. He flinches as I drag my teeth along his flesh and leave two bloody train-track marks along his muscle-corded forearm.
Then, without breaking eye contact, I slide my tongue along each scratch and pull away so I can watch his face fill with wonder as the skin knots together and any sign of trauma disappears without a trace.
"Holy shit," he gasps.
"Pretty slick, right?" I lick my index finger and hold it up to the light. "But healing's just the party trick. The real magic? It's basically supernatural ecstasy in liquid form. One kiss, and humans get completely drunk on us—they'll spend hours, sometimes days, replaying that moment in their heads, dreaming about us, craving another hit. Makes it easy to keep feeding from the same person without too much resistance."
