The Flaws of Being Human [Caligrace]

[Hudson]

He couldn’t concentrate. His notes told him little about his lectures. His lectures told him little about the content of the textbooks. And the textbooks -- god, the textbooks -- did nothing but deliver him jumbled sentences and stray numbers. Jensen needed to pass his latest labs or he’d fail the course and have to repeat the connecting courses. He’d set himself back by another semester, if not more. So as he sat at the lab table, the minutes and hours ticking away, he did his best to focus on the material in front of him and not the memories lingering in his mind. Like how her arm looked. Like how red her hair was. Like how blonde contrasted so sharply with red. Jensen slammed his hands down onto the top of the lab table and then let out a loud groan. The sharp echo of his palms on the metal tabletop snapped him out of his reverie, but did nothing to clear the thoughts that lingered just beneath the surface. To get to the point, Jensen couldn’t get Longslade out of his mind.

When the clock struck eight, Jensen admitted to himself that he’d wasted his time. He’d managed to finish five of eight agar plates, so that left him with three more plates to complete. When he finished, he had to label and identify shown characteristics of the sampled microorganisms, and then he had to come up with an interactive presentation. He had a lot of work left, and he’d spent hours struggling to get the cultures to develop just so. His course, a focus on environmental microbiology, explored the life of microorganisms on an everyday level. Jensen could have spent more than a semester harping over the importance of such a subject, but that had been before Longslade. He hadn’t known anything more than school and work, a dead-end job he’d relinquished the moment he’d been selected for such a prestigious position. And then came life after Longslade. He struggled to get by, struggled in ways that he hadn’t struggled before.

Jensen took care in cleaning up his work station. He hurriedly gathered his books and shoved them into his new backpack, a bag he’d gotten to try and erase more memories from the night vampires stormed the facility. He had yet to get a new laptop or tablet, which meant he split time between the computer lab, in addition to his dorm room, the cafeteria, the classrooms, and the labs. He no longer had a life beyond Harper Rock West University. Longslade had killed that opportunity.

He turned the lights off in the lab and then he made sure he locked the door, his final two actions before he left the darkened facility and went out onto the streets of Harper Rock. Newborough had little to offer for college students, beyond the sports bar directly outside of the university grounds. The district contained a lot of office buildings and factories, as the university were an afterthought, or vice versa. With his bag hanging off one shoulder, his fingers wrapped around that single strap to hold it in place, Jensen made his way toward the trailer park, a different route than usual.

“Hey, man! I’ll see you in class tomorrow, right? My presentation! It’s gonna blow!” Mikey called out from in front of the sports bar, waving his hand just to be sure that Jensen saw him. “Not going back to the dorms tonight?”

“I’ll be there, just to see you crash and burn! And nah, man. I’m going to visit Randy, see how he’s doing. Then I think I might be back. Throw back a few drinks,” he said, pointing in Mikey’s direction. It was a joke that the two often shared. Both of them knew Jensen wasn’t much of a drinker, and getting him to go anywhere outside of his comfort zone took way too much effort. He was a rolling stone, so to speak.

“I’ve got some class notes for him. Do you mind taking them over? I’ll be right back.” Mikey disappeared back into the crowded bar and Jensen had no choice but to swear, look both ways, and cross the intersection.

He’d looked both ways -- damn it, he’d looked both ways -- but the car slammed into drive so fast that Jensen only had a few seconds to react. The car should have swerved to avoid him, but the driver must have had too many drinks, or maybe the driver simply didn’t see his tan-colored henley in the dimly lit section of town. The car barreled down on him and he could only think to throw his hands out, as if that would somehow slow the impact or alert the driver. He’d never broken a bone before, but he knew how it felt then. He knew how it felt several times over. He slammed into the windshield with his shoulder, and the glass shattered. The car came to a sudden halt and he flew off the front and rolled onto the ground. He skidded to a stop several feet away from the car. Slowly, the driver’s door opened.

“****, I’m so,” the driver began, clearly identifying himself as a man. “I’m so. Man.” The driver’s words were broken and slightly slurred, but made sense. He wanted to apologize, and yet he got back into the car. He got back into the car and drove away. He went so fast that dirt on the road sprayed in Jensen’s face and onto his broken body.

He tried to get up, but he couldn’t move. He waited for Mikey to come back, but the doors to the sports bar remained closed. Mikey had likely forgotten, probably distracted by the promise of booze or food (or both). Jensen noticed the puddle of blood that pooled beneath him, a combination of blood that ran from his arms, his midsection, and his right leg. There were bones protruding from his flesh. Blood dripping from parted lips. He looked, and felt, like a ragdoll that someone had simply tossed aside.

“Someone,” he cried out, his voice hoarse. He couldn’t move his head to see if anyone responded. In fact, every move sent a jolt of pain directly to his back. “****,” he whispered to himself, “I’m going to ******* die here.” He lay there, half on his backpack and half on the cool asphalt, as he began to drift in and out of consciousness. How many hours had it been since the accident, or had it been minutes? He didn’t know. His head wouldn’t stop throbbing.

[Caligrace]

wearing

“Productivity growth comes not just from making technological improvements but by having managers and entrepreneurs… “

She couldn’t concentrate.

As the lecture continued on, the professor’s voice as captivating as drying paint, she found her gaze shifting every few seconds to the clock above his head. The minutes continued to creep by at a languid pace, and with each tick of the plastic hand, she found herself falling deeper into her comatose state. She hadn’t retained anything that the lecturer had said, her pen poised over the header of her notebook, a single orange dot in place of the words she should have written hours ago. Around her, her classmates had already filled pages with pointless drivel, their pens working furiously, hands cramping as they rushed to soak up every word the monotonous sloth uttered. It amazed her that they’re eyes weren’t completely glazed over, or that they had managed to last the past three hours without drowning in their own drool. Somehow, though, they remained transfixed by the man.

Forcing her gaze from the clock, she focused on Professor Whitaker as he tapped his ruler against the board, underlining the word profit. There was absolutely nothing captivating about him. He wasn’t attractive, with his receding hairline and protruding gut. The wire-frames that outlined his dull gray eyes did nothing to bring out any enthralling features that he might have had, and when he used a single finger to push them up the bridge of his knobbed nose, she nearly groaned. Everything about the man was a walking, breathing cliché, and it appeared that she was the only one to notice. All around her, her fellow classmates remained engrossed, their eyes bright as they focused on the front of the class. No one moved, no one dared to breathe, it seemed, as Professor Whitaker droned on about the importance of productivity, creativity, and monetary value.

It was all asinine information, and yet, the ate it like kibble from his wrinkly, nicotine coated palm.

“Pathetic.” She hadn’t realized she had spoken out-loud until the lecture hall fell into dead silence, and the weight of a hundred student’s glares fell on her. Clearing her throat, she tightened her hold on her pen, the plastic threatening to crack beneath her hold as Professor Whitaker slowly lowered his arm to peer up at her from above those annoyingly cheap wire frames. “Is there a problem, Miss Summers?” His voice rose, if only a slight octave higher, as he turned to provide her his full attention, chubby cheeks turning a rather worrisome shade of red. Had she still been human, she would have cowered beneath the amount of attention as her mind went into overdrive, trying to assess the thoughts written across their faces.

Now, she didn’t need to try.

She could feel the emotions assault her, the annoyance, the boredom, attraction, irritation, fury. Each pummeled her until she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. In a second, she was tossed back to another time, to when she had felt the pressing anger of the lab, the darkness that had crept along her skin. Closing her eyes, she didn’t bother to answer him as she slammed her notebook closed and tucked it into her bag, the strap tight over her shoulder as she finally slid from her chair, the plastic as cold as it had been when she had first taken her seat. Keeping her eyes focused on the red of the exit sign, she made her way down the steps, the sound of her heels echoing off the barren walls. Behind her, she heard him start to sputter, the first sign of any emotion shining through as she pressed her hand to the door.

Only when she had it open, the fresh air reminding her of freedom, did she turn to look at the rest of the class, brow arched. “You know, you can find all of this information in chapters’ three to eight of your textbook. He’s literally just reciting it verbatim. Just think, you could have been getting laid instead of sitting here listening to this garbage.” With that, she stepped through the exit, the door slamming behind her with a finality that had her breathing a sigh of relief. It wasn’t the first time she had made such a grand exit, and she knew that it wouldn’t be her last. Her intelligence knew no bounds, and attending college had become a cover the moment she had become a vampire.

Shaking her head, she brushed her fingers through the mass of red as she made her way across the campus, her steps hurried as she dropped her hand into her bag to free her phone. Once the device was palmed, she brought up the GPS, her wide eyes scanning the map with a sincerity that usually amused anyone that bared witness to it. For all of her intelligence, her mind couldn’t seem to make room for something as basic as directions, and she found herself continuously lost, even when she followed the same path home night after night. Keying in the address to their apartment complex, she pressed submit, only to stumble when an error message lit up the screen. “No, no. No, you can’t do this to me, not again,” she complained as she knocked the phone against her palm.

It’s okay.
It’s fine.
I can make it home.
I have no reason to stress.
I mean, I do this every night.
Just turn left here, now take a right…
… ****.

She didn’t know when she had started walking again, but as she rounded an unfamiliar corner, her eyes narrowed in on the street sign, she realized she hadn’t a clue where she was. Nothing looked the same to her. The campus had widened into a nearly deserted street, the sound of cheer rising from a bar just down the beaten path. Taking a breath, she tightened her hold on her bag, the weight of her books barely felt against her side as she made her way across the sidewalk, her mind racing. It shouldn’t be this hard. She could call a number of people, and they’d be able to get her home – but she hated that thought. She hated having to reach out every time she found herself alone and, damnit, scared.

Her panic threatened to choke her as she continued to walk, each step leading her closer to… well, she didn’t know. How could she know? Her phone wasn’t working. Even now, as she slammed it against her palm again, the screen only flickered before another error message popped up before the entire device shut down. With a soft sigh of frustration, she shoved the useless cell back into her bag and crossed her arms over her chest as she focused on the building’s signs. She’d only managed a few feet when the scent of blood permeated the air and paired with the sound of squealing tires and shattering bones. She didn’t stop to process what she was doing, nor did she bother to acknowledge that this could be a trap set out by the soldiers that had taken over the streets. Instead, she took off in a run, her heels easily navigating the cracks and crevices of the sidewalk until she rounded the corner – and stopped.

Her first thought wasn’t for the broken body on the asphalt, but for the car that was driving away, it’s license plate lit up by the taillights. It took a second to process the numbers and file them away for a later date. The driver wouldn’t get away with this, with running someone ov— “Jesus Christ,” she snapped as her gaze finally dropped to the man on the ground. Rushing to his side, she dropped to her knees in the blood pooling around his form like a halo, and closed her eyes. The hunger beat at her as the scent intensified, and she found herself fighting the urge to run her hand through the crimson fluid and lick it from her palms. Focus, Caligrace!

“We need to stop meeting like this,” she chuckled, the sound strained as she pushed the hunger aside and kneeled over him, her palm cupping the side of his head. "I have to say, handsome, if you just wanted to see me again, you could have called. This is a little extreme,” she continued to speak, even as her eyes critically scanned every inch of him. He wasn’t going to survive this. It didn’t take her superior intelligence to determine that. His wounds were too severe, his body in too many pieces. She had to make a choice – and she only had minutes to do so.

[Hudson]

His eyes opened. His eyes closed. When they reopened, they reopened to a familiar voice, and he wondered if he’d stepped backward in time, if somehow he’d been thrust back into the Longslade facility just to die there. He’d been left to die there. He couldn’t make out what the woman said, just that she looked familiar, just that he’d seen her there. Hadn’t she been there, at the facility? His mind seemed to work entirely too slow, and he loathed the fact that he couldn’t recall whether they’d met at Longslade or somewhere else. Maybe they’d been lab partners. Maybe they’d met at a bar. Jensen just couldn’t remember, and maybe it had something to do with the blood pouring from a wound on his head, a wound he hadn’t even noticed until then. Again, he tried to move, but his back spasmed and he let out a sharp hiss of pain. Tears trickled from his eyes and down the side of his face in zigzag patterns, ending near his hairline. Such short routes for such a powerful show of weakness. He felt helpless.

“I know you,” he spoke, his words shaky.

Think about anything but how you look.

Think about anything but how you feel.

The ambulance probably wouldn’t get there in time. His hopes for survival were slim to none. And yet he wanted her to try. He wanted someone to try. He had so much left to do in his life. He had so much left to say. Red hair, vibrant as could be. Lush lips moving for words he hadn’t understood. And he was going to die in front of her, like an asshole. She’d spend the rest of her life with a scar on her mind. That guy, she’d think. That night, she’d recall. And nothing more. Not a name. Not a face. A vague memory.

“I know you,” he repeated, trying to work through the fuzziness in his mind. Where did he know her from? What was her name? His back throbbed in time with his heartbeat, the erratic heartbeat that threatened to snatch him from the world. Every beat pushed more and more blood from his body, taking him closer and closer to death. Broken arms. A broken right leg. Ribs protruding from his midsection. He looked like a poorly put together puzzle. But he couldn’t see those things. He told himself he couldn’t feel those things. Eventually, he was right. The cold won over the hot and he seemed to calm.

“Do I look okay?” He sounded tired, his words slightly slurred, but he pushed onward. “Grace,” he finally produced. “Grace something. That’s you, right? I like your hair. Looks like a sunset.” He grinned, but the motion pulled at the wound on his head. “You won’t leave me here, right? You won’t let me die here. Just stay here, okay?” He sounded so desperate and he didn’t care. It didn’t phase him at all. No disgust. No embarrassment. He didn’t want to die there alone.

He’d imagined himself dying old. He’d have a wife and four kids, three boys and one girl. He’d be a scientist. He’d be the one to wipe out disease. He’d be the one to cure the world of some ailment, of multiple ailments. He’d do the right thing, whenever possible, wherever possible. He’d be a grandpa. He’d be a great grandpa. And instead, he found himself dying, draped over the asphalt like a fallen angel on the earth. His life had been plucked from his grasp. His number had been called.

“Just stay here,” he added, once more.

[Karla]

+ WEARING +

Stepping from the curb, the buxom Texan swept her gaze across the sight before her and scrunched her nose up in pure distaste. “Keep an eye on her, Karla. Make sure she stays out of trouble, Karla. Give her whatever the **** she needs, Karla. Damn, mami, you make my life a living hell, you know that?” Her voice was as rich as chocolate and smooth as honey as she navigated her way across the asphalt, slender fingers snagging her cell from her bra. “You were meant to be home over an hour ago, and here you are, ******* with some road-kill. I thought you were supposed to be classy,” she snapped as the pads of her thumbs flew across her screen.

The text took all of five seconds to send, and once she had reported back to her mistress, she dropped the phone back against the silken smooth skin of her breast and the lace of her bra. I could be getting fucked, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t roll from her tongue. She opened her mouth, rose-red lips primed for the first word of the complaint, but she only choked. The words lodged in her throat until she snapped her jaw together, teeth grinding together until she wore the enamel down. **** this, she practically growled within her own mind as the intoxicating blue of her glare focused on the mass of destroyed flesh and bone at her feet. With a scoff, she toed the side of his skull with her heel, her hands moving to carefully ensure her tunic didn’t dare touch the bloodied ground.

“What do you need me to do? I have plans,” she huffed, the boredom evident in her tone as she dismissed the gurgling pile of death to focus on the redhead as she felt a strong grip on her ankle. The icy touch of the vampire’s skin against her own had her hissing in a sharp breath as eyes the color of fire glared up at her from beneath thick lashes. “What? Either turn him or put a bullet between his eyes. I’m tired of hearing his whining.” Her words were as frozen as the grip that tightened on the tanned ankle, and she hid her wince as she felt the vampire’s manicure dig into her flesh. She could see the fight in her eyes – she wanted to kill her. While she should have felt fear, she only felt satisfaction as the redhead slowly unlocked her grasp to allow the blood to flow back into her calf.

[Caligrace]

The warmth of his blood dampened the hem of her skirt as she leaned across his prone form, fingers gently brushing through his hair. He was fighting death. She could see it in the way he forced his eyes open, in the tightening of his jaw, and the spark in his gaze. He didn’t want to die. It was there in front of her, all of the signs she needed, but she couldn’t bring herself to sink her teeth into her skin, to peel back the flesh and puncture the vein to offer him eternal life. Curling her fingers, she forced her nails into her palm, the manicured tips digging into her flesh with a force that centered her.

What if she was wrong?
What if he hated her?
What if she failed?
What if she killed him?
What if, what if, what if…

The risk outweighed the reward, didn’t it? He was handsome, strong, and he had proven to be fierce. There was a war within his eyes, an intelligence that threatened to battle her own, and she wanted him. She could practically taste the power on her tongue and feel the connection rush through her blood stream. He was everything she desired, everything she craved, and he was everything she wasn’t. She was pulled from her mental battle when he began to speak, voice wet with the blood that gathered in his lungs. She could hear the rattle of death in each breath he took, and as his lips pulled back, she focused on the crimson that stained his teeth. “You know me, handsome. I’m not someone you’d likely forget,” she grinned, despite the knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

You need to make a choice, girl. You have minutes left.
Seconds.

“I’m not leaving you, doll, take it easy,” she spoke, her words a promise. She wouldn’t leave his side, no matter the choice she made. Swallowing past the lump that formed in her throat, she leaned over him, lips brushing across his cracked cheek. Her lips parted, the offer a second from rolling from her tongue, when the sound of heels against cobblestone had her head snapping up. She knew who it was before the Texan spoke, and her gaze never wavered from the man in front of her. It wasn’t until the woman dared to touch him that she reacted, her fingers tightening on her ankle in a grip that threatened to shatter bone. “Girl, just go get the car. Make sure there’s some blankets. If you have to, hit up the shop. You got the credit card. I’ll need blood, too, so I hope you stocked up on protein.” The command given, she let her hand drop back to her thighs as she heard the sharp growl that vibrated from the thrall’s throat before she disappeared around the corner.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just a gnat,” she chuckled, fingers once again finding their way against his skull. “She’s right, though. I have to make a choice, and I want you, Hudson. I can save you, if you let me. You don’t want to die, do you? Let me save you.” He was intelligent – he knew what she was, what she was offering. She didn’t need to spell it out for him, not when she elongated her fangs to sink them into her own wrist, the red of her blood splashing across the pale skin of her arm.

“Will you let me save you?”

[Hudson]

Roadkill.

That’s all he was anymore. He’d been reduced to someone’s roadkill. And it felt that way. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when his extremities went numb, but they had gone numb. The fact mattered. He knew what it meant when you lost feeling in your limbs, when the body slowly began to shut down, like different sections in a failing power plant. He was that failing power plant. Roadkill. The ***** was right, at least. She could have sugarcoated the entire exchange, and, in some ways, he was glad she didn’t. Her heel nudged at the side of his head, and he let out a groan of mind. She’d ignited a fire in the wound on his scalp, as if she meant to aggravate every injury and send him closer to his death. He should have been angry. He should have been furious. But he lay there and listened to the hum of her voice. Karla. Her name was Karla. And she wanted his redhead companion to put a bullet right through his head. Karla. She’d likened him to a crushed opossum on the side of the road. Karla deserved to be the one lying on the ground, her limbs at odd angles, a nice gash on her head. Karma had gotten things all wrong. Karla deserved to die.

Half of Caligrace’s words went right over his head. He listened to the sound of her voice, the ups and downs, rather than trying to decipher the words. She had a nice voice, he decided. What a shame he’d never get to hear it again -- what a shame she’d go on talking, and he’d never get to hear it again. When he finally forced himself to focus, he heard the words that sent a jolt throughout his whole body. She wanted to save him, as if she were the angel. She wanted to damn him to a life of vampirism, and he knew it. What about his family? What about his friends? What about his ridiculous hopes and dreams? He wanted to pass the semester. He wanted to graduate. He didn’t want humans to fear him. He didn’t want the government to try and exterminate him. And at the end of it all, he just wanted to live. God, he wanted to live. Prayers. Endless prayers. Guidance. So much guidance. But he received no response. He saw no shining light. If Caligrace wanted to save him, then what did he have to lose? Life or death, and he really wanted to choose life.

“Okay,” he said, his voice hoarse. He had no idea what he’d agreed to, if that made any sense. His mind tried everything to rationalize. He pushed aside the fogginess, the darkness at the edges of his vision. He wanted her to be a paramedic. He wanted her to be a doctor. Yet he knew the truth. He wanted to ask her so many questions, but one stood out from among the rest: Will it hurt? The question seemed silly, given his circumstances, but he fell back onto that question, as if by default. Would his blood burn? Would he feel himself dying? Would he see things with new clarity? Would it even take? Was there a chance he’d die anyway?

He didn’t know how the whole process worked, but he couldn’t move himself anymore. He lay there and stared up at her, as if she knew exactly what to do. He had no idea how many others she’d graced with the “gift” of immortality. “What do I need to do?” That’s what being helpless felt like. That’s what it meant to be roadkill. He’d discovered the biggest flaw of being human. Dying.

[Caligrace]

She was held prisoner by this single moment, by the question that hung between them, the plea. She wanted to break through the paralyzing fear that held her captive, to act without his permission. As she waited for him to answer her, she curled her fingers against his chest, the cotton of his shirt wrapped in her fist. Answer me, she wanted to scream. Let me in, she wanted to plea, but she remained quiet. She didn’t speak, she didn’t move a single muscle. When the headlights of a passing car illuminated her features, only to quickly turn in the opposite direction, she didn’t flinch. She remained focused on his face, she kept studying the lines of his jaw, the length of his lashes, the softness of his lips. You have to choose, Hudson. You have to choose me.

Is this what Freyja felt, when she had stood over her shattered form? Had she thought to help her make it until the sun rose, or had she pleaded with whomever would listen to let her live? Had she even given her a choice? Thinking back on it now, she found herself unable to remember. For as strong as her mind was, as brilliant as she was, she couldn’t remember her own death. Was it selfish for her to be sitting there, skin soaked in his blood, and think upon her own demise? She didn’t know – and so, she pushed the thought from her mind, locked it within a steel cage for another night, another time, another death. For now, her focus was on the man before her, his life fading fast. He only had seconds left to live, and she could see the debate within his dulling eyes. Reaching a hand out, she brushed her fingers along his jaw, her thumb barely grazing his lower lip as she tried to keep her emotions in check.

He’s going to deny you.
He’s going to die.
You can’t save him.

No sooner had the harrowed voice whispered across her ear, than she saw his lips move, his own voice like music to her ears. It didn’t matter to her that it was cracked and wet with his blood, he had spoken. She didn’t waste another second as she brought her wrist once more to her lips, the wound having already begun to heal in those few short moments that he had balanced on the precipice between life and death. Ripping through her skin, she hid the quick flash of pain across her features before she dropped her arm and allowed the wound to touch his lips. “You just need to drink, doll. I’ll take care of the rest. I promise,” she whispered, her free hand moving to brush through his hair. “You don’t need to worry about a thing. I’ve got you. It won’t hurt, I’m certain of it. Once you’ve fed, we’ll get you back to my place. You can rest then.” Too late, she realized she had begun to ramble, and so she bit into her tongue as her gaze swept across his pale features,

“All you have to do is drink.”

[Hudson]

He blinked, the action much slower than he’d intended, than he’d remembered. He stared up at her, and all he could think of was the fact that he knew her, yes, and she had such fiery, vibrant hair. All he could think of was how her fingers brushed through his hair. How it felt to feel something, anything. No, he could remember. He could remember the way his sisters’ voices sounded as they argued. He remembered their laughter, their tears. He remembered his father’s booming voice as the man announced his promotion. He remembered so many things. And he saw her vibrant hair.

He’d asked what he needed to do, and he knew then that he couldn’t turn back, not when turning back meant surrendering his life. He wasn’t as selfish as he felt, not as selfish as his decision seemed. What about his sisters? What about his father? What about his grandparents? What about the future people he meant to help, meant to save? He would have made no difference. His life would have been a mere blip on the radar. And death scared him. The idea. The process. His thoughts circled around and around, every single one on repeat. In the end, he returned to the present, to her vibrant red hair, to her luscious lips, to her life. She didn’t lack life. He saw it in her eyes. He heard it in her words. She’d given him a chance and he’d reached out, ready, willing.

His lips brushed against her open wound. He’d tasted blood before. Through busted lips and bitten tongue, through numerous paper cuts. Yet nothing tasted as her blood tasted. Her blood carried life, just as his blood carried life, but her blood had something more, held something greater. He imagined the blood cells. He imagined the mitochondria. He imagined the role genetics played. God, her hair. The gentle slope of her nose. He could survive. He could thrive. Vampires weren’t monsters. They weren’t. They couldn’t be. He decided that. As his mouth closed around the bloody wound, he knew. Nothing about him would change. Nothing about him would give in to any darker tendencies. He’d carry on, live exactly as he lived then. He’d be just as lively, just as vibrant. He’d be Jensen James Hanson, even if he surrendered to vampirism.

He continued feeding, even after he should have stopped. He imagined the cells in his body, how each one must have reacted to the foreign substance, to her red blood. She saved him. When she could have walked away, she stayed. When she could have deemed him roadkill, she deemed him worth something. She wasn’t like Karla.

Drink.

And he drank.