along his wrist. Where the nail cut, blood welled up.
It looked black in the darkness. But Poppy found her eyes fixing on its liquid beading in fascination. Her lips parted and her breath came faster.
"Come on," James said, and held his wrist in front of her. The next second Poppy had pounced and fixed her mouth on it as if she were trying to save him from a snakebite.
It was so natural, so easy. This is what she'd needed when she was dispatching Phil to get Popsicles and cranberry juice. This sweet, heady stuff was the real thing and nothing else was like it. Poppy sucked avidly.
It was all good: the closeness, the rich, dark-red taste; the strength and vitality that flooded through her, warming her to her fingertips. But best, better than any mere sensation, was the touch of James's mind. It made her giddy with pleasure.
How could she ever have mistrusted him? It seemed ridiculous now that she could feel, directly, how he felt about her. She would never know any one the way she knew James.
I'm sorry, she thought to him, and felt her thought accepted, forgiven, cherished. Held gently by the cra dling of James's mind.
It wasn't your fault, he told her.
Poppy's mind seemed to be clearing with every sec ond that went by. It was like waking up out of a deep and uncomfortable sleep. I don't ever want this to end, she thought, not really directing it at James, just thinking it.
But she felt a reaction in him-and then felt him bury the reaction quickly. Not quickly enough. Poppy had sensed it.
Vampires don't do this to each other.
Poppy was shocked. They would never have this glory again after she changed? She wouldn't believe that; she refused. There must be a way....
Again, she felt the beginning of a reaction in James, but just as she was chasing it, he gently pulled his wrist back. "You'd better not take any more to night," he said, and his real-world voice sounded strange to Poppy's ears. It wasn't as much James as his mental voice, and now she couldn't really feel him properly. They were two separate beings. The isolation was awful.
How could she survive if she could never touch his mind again? If she had to use words, which suddenly seemed as clumsy as smoke signals for communica tion? If she could never feel him fully, his whole being open to her?
It was cruel and unfair and all vampires must be idiots if they settled for anything less.
Before she could open her mouth to begin the clumsy process of verbally explaining this to James, the door moved. Phillip looked around it.
"Come on in," James said. "We've got a lot to talk about."
Phil was staring at Poppy. "Are you . . ." He stopped and swallowed before finishing in a husky whisper. "Better?"
It didn't take telepathy to sense his disgust. He glanced at her mouth, and then quickly away. Poppy realized what he must be seeing. A stain as if she'd been eating berries. She rubbed at her lips with the back of her hand.
What she wanted to say was, it isn't disgusting. It's part of Nature. It's a way of giving life, pure life. It's secret and beautiful. It's all right.
What she said was, "Don't knock it till you've tried it."
Phillip's face convulsed in horror. And the weird thing was that on this subject James was in perfect agreement with him. Poppy could sense it-James thought sharing blood was dark and evil, too. He was filled with guilt. Poppy heaved a long, exasperated sigh, and added, "Boys. "
"You're better," Phil said, cracking a faint smile.
"I guess I was pretty bizarre before," Poppy said. "Sorry."
"Pretty is not the word. ,,
'qt wasn't her fault," James said shortly to Phil. "She was dying-and hallucinating, sort of. Not enough blood to the brain."
Poppy shook her head. "I don't get it. You didn't take that much blood from me the last time. How could I not have enough blood to the brain?"
"It's not that," James said. "The two kinds of blood react against each other-they fight each other. Look, if you want a scientific explanation, it's
It looked black in the darkness. But Poppy found her eyes fixing on its liquid beading in fascination. Her lips parted and her breath came faster.
"Come on," James said, and held his wrist in front of her. The next second Poppy had pounced and fixed her mouth on it as if she were trying to save him from a snakebite.
It was so natural, so easy. This is what she'd needed when she was dispatching Phil to get Popsicles and cranberry juice. This sweet, heady stuff was the real thing and nothing else was like it. Poppy sucked avidly.
It was all good: the closeness, the rich, dark-red taste; the strength and vitality that flooded through her, warming her to her fingertips. But best, better than any mere sensation, was the touch of James's mind. It made her giddy with pleasure.
How could she ever have mistrusted him? It seemed ridiculous now that she could feel, directly, how he felt about her. She would never know any one the way she knew James.
I'm sorry, she thought to him, and felt her thought accepted, forgiven, cherished. Held gently by the cra dling of James's mind.
It wasn't your fault, he told her.
Poppy's mind seemed to be clearing with every sec ond that went by. It was like waking up out of a deep and uncomfortable sleep. I don't ever want this to end, she thought, not really directing it at James, just thinking it.
But she felt a reaction in him-and then felt him bury the reaction quickly. Not quickly enough. Poppy had sensed it.
Vampires don't do this to each other.
Poppy was shocked. They would never have this glory again after she changed? She wouldn't believe that; she refused. There must be a way....
Again, she felt the beginning of a reaction in James, but just as she was chasing it, he gently pulled his wrist back. "You'd better not take any more to night," he said, and his real-world voice sounded strange to Poppy's ears. It wasn't as much James as his mental voice, and now she couldn't really feel him properly. They were two separate beings. The isolation was awful.
How could she survive if she could never touch his mind again? If she had to use words, which suddenly seemed as clumsy as smoke signals for communica tion? If she could never feel him fully, his whole being open to her?
It was cruel and unfair and all vampires must be idiots if they settled for anything less.
Before she could open her mouth to begin the clumsy process of verbally explaining this to James, the door moved. Phillip looked around it.
"Come on in," James said. "We've got a lot to talk about."
Phil was staring at Poppy. "Are you . . ." He stopped and swallowed before finishing in a husky whisper. "Better?"
It didn't take telepathy to sense his disgust. He glanced at her mouth, and then quickly away. Poppy realized what he must be seeing. A stain as if she'd been eating berries. She rubbed at her lips with the back of her hand.
What she wanted to say was, it isn't disgusting. It's part of Nature. It's a way of giving life, pure life. It's secret and beautiful. It's all right.
What she said was, "Don't knock it till you've tried it."
Phillip's face convulsed in horror. And the weird thing was that on this subject James was in perfect agreement with him. Poppy could sense it-James thought sharing blood was dark and evil, too. He was filled with guilt. Poppy heaved a long, exasperated sigh, and added, "Boys. "
"You're better," Phil said, cracking a faint smile.
"I guess I was pretty bizarre before," Poppy said. "Sorry."
"Pretty is not the word. ,,
'qt wasn't her fault," James said shortly to Phil. "She was dying-and hallucinating, sort of. Not enough blood to the brain."
Poppy shook her head. "I don't get it. You didn't take that much blood from me the last time. How could I not have enough blood to the brain?"
"It's not that," James said. "The two kinds of blood react against each other-they fight each other. Look, if you want a scientific explanation, it's
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