Envious Of Fire (Kissing With Teeth #2)

17. We Could Be Gods.

—?—

The Devil’s Mouth is a cave hidden in a long-abandoned quarry, and from the roof of its dilapidated entrance hang two thin, sharp stalactites, like vampire fangs.

A bit too nail-on-the-head for Kyle’s taste.

Dry, thorny vegetation cling to the stones as Kyle follows Lazarus through the tunnels. Though his eyes adjust with ease to the darkness, Kyle still moves with caution. The tunnels are ever changing, from narrow passages to wide-open corridors, back and forth, until Kyle is certain he won’t be able to find his way out on his own.

Perhaps that’s the point.

Lazarus makes a sharp turn left, and when Kyle follows, his foot finds the edge of a chasm he hadn’t noticed. Tiny rocks are sent skittering from his shoes, soaring down into the unknown depths. “Clumsy,” says Lazarus, still holding the naked human in his arms. “Another reason you should give in to what you are and feed with purpose. Your agility will never fail you. Nothing will ever catch you by surprise again.”

Kyle doesn’t respond, but from then on, he keeps one hand on the wall, not wanting to prove the vampire right by falling to his early doom.

As they walk down a long tunnel, Kyle begins to hear it—the rhythm of a drum, steady rhythm, deep and booming. Over the drumming echoes a peal of twisted laughter, followed soon by more laughter, several people, then the tinkling of glasses as if in a toast, then a crash of wood and metal with another sharp, chirping squeal of delight. The closer they approach the sounds of the partying, the drum booms heavier, like Kyle’s heartbeats.

Then the tunnel opens to an enormous chamber fortified by old wooden beams and metal supports, like the central hub of a mine, so tall the ceiling is gone, so wide and deep that Kyle can’t yet see the distant walls, with other tunnels that spider out to deeper areas of the cave system. Between large crates and old forgotten equipment and mine carts overflowing with chunks of stone, there are men and women in various states of undress lounging around, dancing, or openly engaging in various acts of intimacy—and Kyle can tell in an instant that not one of them is human. All of them with perfect, straight, long hair. All of them so tall, it makes Kyle feel like a child walking among adults, except they look as if they can’t be bothered to flinch at death. Unnatural eyes. Overgrown, talon-like fingernails and elongated features. Each one notices Kyle at once as he passes by with Lazarus along the path cutting through the shameless revelry, their strange eyes zeroing in on him with interest.

“My family,” says Lazarus, the only introduction Kyle fears he will get of the collection of reveling vampires in this cave, “for now,” he adds just as nonchalantly.

The enormous chamber is like a landfill of collected junk through which Lazarus leads Kyle, between fallen piles of wood beams and metal parts, between piles of treasures and glittering things and junk, between cases of wine and boxes of jewelry and assortments of oddities, wigs, mannequin parts, potted plants in varying degrees of life, until they reach the heart of the room where there sits a campfire. Though there is space for nearly twenty, only two male vampires are by the fire together, one of them seated and naked and lying back, the other, much older in appearance, long nose and pointy chin, bald, standing in a red robe. The two are already staring at Kyle, likely since before he even came into view, made acutely aware of his unfamiliar presence by scent or sound or otherwise, yet neither speak, neither move, they only stare. The giant campfire glows against the strange, unnatural texture of their skin.

Lazarus stops. “Where would you like your pet?”

It’s the one in the red robe who replies, at once becoming animated and merry. “Oh, Lazarus, my precious comrade! This is an unforeseen gift! You have returned him home! Such folly, I was unable to find him amid the toilsome tunnels.” Kyle can’t place his accent. He wonders if it’s not just entirely made up, a role he’s playing, even the lofty way he speaks. “I do fear I had taken too many left paths and ended up where I had begun. No, devils be good, I presumed foolishly he made it out, fled into the hot sands, bested me at our game.” He chirps with laughter, then covers his mouth with his spindly fingers. “We will have more fun together now. I am delighted, yes, so delighted, abundantly. Thank you.”

“I’m not the one you should be thanking,” he says, then gazes back at Kyle meaningfully.

“Oh?” Salazo tugs his robe tighter around his body, sets his stare upon Kyle once again. The effect is chilling, for as alien as his eyes are. “He is the one who captured my runaway pet?”

That sets Kyle off. “No, I … I didn’t capture him. I wasn’t trying to—” But when Kyle spots the cold look on Lazarus’s face, he falls silent.

“It is superb you did,” Salazo goes on, as if not hearing the protest or else ignoring it outright. “Had you not stopped my pet, he would certainly have fled all the way back home, out of my grasp forever, free … Oh, how so very heartbreaking that would have been!” Even with his eyes glued to Kyle’s, there is a distant terror in them, as if the idea of losing his pet is the worst thought he’s ever had. It passes quickly. “You smell of human.”

“Of human he is not ,” responds Lazarus playfully, perhaps making light of Salazo’s stylistic language. “His name is Kyle. He is vampire, yet rarely drinks blood, starving himself.”

“Why on earth?”

“You will have to ask him yourself.”

Salazo spends hardly three seconds studying Kyle before losing interest and turning back to Lazarus. “Back to his cage, that is where I would be pleased to have my pet, of course. I left him some human food. He will be hungry after his run. Oh! I just remembered he shall taste ever so much sweeter now, with all of that adrenaline in his veins, sweat upon his tasty body …” He claps his hands with glee. “I hope he wakes soon. I thirst .”

Lazarus nods, then asks: “Has Drake returned?”

“Drake has not,” says Salazo absently, staring at his pet.

That concerns Lazarus. “It’s almost morning. Are you sure?”

“I shall take the boy myself.” Salazo drifts to Lazarus, takes the naked, muscular young man into his arms like he weighs nothing, says, “Oh, you adorable creature, you sweet, adorable creature … back to the cage with you, back where you belong.” Like a phantom, bald, beady-eyed Salazo nearly floats away.

Kyle stares, thinking on the young man whose escape he just ruined, the young man he just brought right back into the den of lions, whose nightmare he just aided in extending.

But could he have helped him anyway? Was the young man doomed whether Kyle had intercepted him in the desert or not?

“We have to go,” says Lazarus.

Kyle turns. “Already?”

“Either you come with me or you stay here.” Lazarus gives Kyle a subtle twist of his lips. “But you heard Salazo. He nearly mistook you for a human. Do you think it is above a vampire to consume the blood of another vampire? I was nearly tempted to drain you in your own bedroom myself, you and the tied-down human both. It would have been a satisfactory meal.” He pulls a woolen cloak off the top of an overturned crate, sweeps it over his shoulders, heads off. Kyle glances warily at the lone vampire still lounging by the campfire—who is staring him down like he hasn’t eaten in days—before hurrying off after Lazarus.

After cutting through the room a different way and passing the source of the drumming—a stoic male vampire wearing a kilt and a purple beret in the company of no less than six female vampires, two naked and massaging him, one fully dressed and cuddling his feet, eyes closed as if dreaming, the rest dancing—Kyle finds himself following Lazarus into another set of dark, twisting tunnels. A mere minute later, Lazarus sighs impatiently and says, “You’re holding me back, and if we have any hope of returning before the sun decides to have us for breakfast …”

Suddenly Kyle is pressed to the wall.

Lazarus bites his own palm, covers Kyle’s mouth yet again with it, just like in the bedroom. “Drink,” he commands.

Kyle tries to fight Lazarus off, but his efforts are laughable, his feeble protests muffled and quashed out by Lazarus’s power as the blood seeps into his opened mouth. Blood washes over his tongue like an exotic wine he wouldn’t dare confess he has craved since first tasting it days ago. After just one brief note of hesitation, he gives in to the frenzy. It’s with delirious need that Kyle holds Lazarus’s sliced hand to his face, sucking greedily, drinking with desperate satisfaction. Was he thirsty already and just didn’t know it? Or is this an ancient thirst he’s carried in him for decades, now awakened in full force? Through his veins surges an electric warmth that makes him feel powerful, huge, capable of anything at all. Whatever fog lived in his mind is at once swept away, every thought made vibrant and clear.

He has needed this blood. That is his first stroke of clarity. Why, indeed, has he starved himself all these years? This is the greatest feeling he has ever known. How could this be wrong?

The hand is gone from Kyle’s mouth, and at once, he wants it back, but Lazarus’s cold eyes find Kyle’s instead of the hand. “That is about three times as much as I fed you in a weakened state in your house. Now you shall keep up with little effort,” says Lazarus. “See this as part of what I wished to show you—how it feels to be a god among gods.”

With that, Lazarus speeds away.

Kyle shouts, “Wait!” then charges after him.

At once, the ground flies beneath his feet, as if they barely touch the floor, propelled by something deep inside him. It’s exhilarating and scary, the electricity in his muscles. Kyle feels unreal. It’s someone else’s body. Someone else’s legs. His heart pounds happily in his chest, yet each scrape of his feet against the cave floor is heard perfectly, every breath taking flight from his lips, every wisp of air sweeping past his ears, every echo of these sounds that somehow find their way back to him.

This is what it’s like to be a god.

The next thing Kyle knows is the wall of the cave—as he slams into it face-first.

“Ha!” cries Lazarus as Kyle falls back, bewildered, blinking tears out of his eyes. “Be careful, eager boy. You will drill a new tunnel into the stone with that strength.”

“What the actual fuck?” mutters Kyle, dizzy, staring down at his hands for some reason. Even after crashing into the wall, he sees both of his hands in crisp, perfect detail.

“You have to listen when you move quickly … listen and take in each breath with purpose. Breath is information. Breath is the space around you, the tunnel ahead of you. See with your air. Now hurry, I don’t have the time to teach you lessons every turn of the cave walls. Some things are best taught to ourselves. Mind your feet, too.”

Then Lazarus is off again.

Kyle hurries on, this time considerably slower. The first thought that enters his head is how little pain lingers from crashing into the wall at such a fast speed. Does that indicate a strength in his body, a weakness of the earth, or a numbness of his nerves in this strangely heightened state?

Is this what being a true vampire feels like?

Painlessness and power?

After what feels like mere seconds in the tunnels, Kyle is at once stopped at the mouth of the cave—a different mouth than the one in which they entered with the two stalactite fangs. “I’d say under an hour,” says Lazarus, squinting into the distance as he performs a quick calculation. “That’s what we’ve got before daybreak, fifty or so minutes.”

“So are we looking for this Drake person?” asks Kyle.

“Keep up.” Then Lazarus rushes over the sand.

Kyle hurries after him. Out here in the open, it’s far easier to navigate, no obstacles, only the dry air and the sand, which at this speed feels as soft as feathers on the soles, fluttering under Kyle with his every light step.

As the earth moves under his feet, the world opening up all around him—the sky, the distant mountains, the air—Kyle lets out a sudden, overjoyed laugh. He can’t stop smiling. Has he ever in his life felt this free before? This capable? Even during all those years with Tristan, he never knew such freedom. He’d even go as far to say that this is the most fun he has ever had in years. He’s like a child again, racing through the grass, yelling at the heavens with delirium, on the brink of giggles.

Nothing will ever compare to this feeling.

He doesn’t want it to end.

Kyle is quicker to react this time when he notices Lazarus come to a stop. It is behind a ledge of rock that they now lurk, over which they peer at the edge of a city.

Kyle blinks, amazed. Which city did they travel to so fast? They were miles from any sign of life just moments ago, he had thought. “Where are we?”

“Few will be on the streets at this hour,” says Lazarus, “and fewer will be awake.”

“Is this Flagstaff? This can’t possibly be Flagstaff.”

“The name doesn’t matter. Only what’s in it. We will have to utilize our stealth. We can’t be seen. Or at least I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

“You’re human in appearance. I am not.”

“Oh.” Kyle frowns. “And Drake …?”

“He’s like you. That’s why he plays the role of our bait.”

“Bait?”

“To lure out our dinner.” Lazarus glances at the sky. “He should’ve been back by now. Something’s wrong.”

The prickling presences of so many people in that nearby city flood Kyle’s brain, even from this distance. He hasn’t felt so overwhelmed by his Reach since last weekend when he was in Las Vegas. Is this secondary ability of his made even more powerful by the blood? Or has it simply sharpened due to his state of mind?

“Let’s move,” orders Lazarus, then hops the ledge of rock and speeds toward the city.

Kyle is like glue upon Lazarus’s heels. Seconds later, they are in front of some closed fast food joint, the parking lot dark, backs against a grey sedan parked by the curb. Another minute later, they’re under an overpass, nestled by a stone column, out of sight, a gas station in view. Then the two of them are flying through the shadows between buildings on a college campus.

Despite a sickening sense of urgency building inside him with each passing second they spend outside under the looming sky, Kyle feels exhilarated as he keeps up with Lazarus, dodging obstacles with expert focus, flying up and down steps on the pathways, whizzing around corners in the semidarkness.

“You’re nimble,” observes Lazarus as they come to a stop within a thicket of trees on the edge of campus. “A natural.”

“I played football as a human,” says Kyle, as if that explains everything.

When Lazarus continues on, it’s slower and more cautious now, as if they’re zeroing in on their target at last. Kyle mirrors his caution, following behind him in front of a short dormitory building lined with trees and narrow patches of grass lit warmly with lampposts. It isn’t along the path Lazarus walks, but right next to the building, blending in with the pale stone, now and then stopping and narrowing his eyes.

Then he sighs, sounding annoyed, and turns. “He’s busy .”

Kyle lifts an eyebrow. “You’re communicating with him?”

“No. I’m listening.” He nods at Kyle. “Try it yourself. Go. Listen beyond the wall. Do you hear the blood?”

Kyle doesn’t ask what he means. He just closes his eyes and trusts the request, centering himself and trying his best to listen for what he presumes Lazarus means to be pulses.

But it isn’t what he hears that captures him. It’s the four fully-awake humans his Reach finds. Their minds swirl with delirious glee, yet their thoughts are disconnected, as if floating in space. Kyle tries to make sense of it, but whenever he thinks he has a grasp on one of them, it slips away, like their minds are children that keep running off toward the playground, sugared up and too giddy to pay attention to anything. Are they drunk? No, Kyle has felt the emotions of many intoxicated individuals at the bar. This is a different kind of influence that moves their emotions. Are drugs involved? Are they high? Far more likely.

Then he feels a fifth presence.

Entirely separate from the other four.

A light and flirty flair, thin and detached, curious, playfully aloof—yet entirely distinct and in control.

The moment Kyle senses it, it’s gone.

When Kyle opens his eyes and turns to say something, he discovers Lazarus gone as well. He pushes away from the wall, looking for him, listening.

Then, a distant hiss of words: “What the fuck, Drake?”

Kyle turns toward the sound, hurries across the grass, stops at the front of the building. Lazarus stands there, jaw clenched, as he towers over a young human male who looks less terrified of Lazarus and more entirely amused by his presence. Blond hair tinged with pink highlights, like a half-assed dye job that has faded over weeks, uneven, short in places, messy in others, buzzed up the sides, yet with some bangs tucked behind the ear. Slender build, head cocked, mellow eyes lined with dark black eyeliner and a stud piercing over one eyebrow. He leans against the doorframe to the dormitory building with his arms crossed wearing a denim jacket, the collar popped over the back of his neck, with several colorful patches spread across the shoulders and back, as well as a prominent purple skull and crossbones on the chest. His toned legs fill out a mismatched pair of distressed denim jeans, his look completed with a set of high-top sneakers, shoelaces undone. Kyle’s first impression of Drake is that he’s never seen anyone like him before—a total one-of-a-kind.

Drake’s playful eyes flick to Kyle at once. “Laz, you made a new friend?” He nods approvingly. “Honestly didn’t think you were still capable. Not a bad one, either. Cute face.”

“It’s nearly morning,” clips Lazarus like a scolding father.

“What’s your name?” Drake saunters over to Kyle, much to Lazarus’s chagrin. “I’m Drake. Real name, not a stage name. People always think I’m in a band or something.”

“Everyone is waiting,” states Lazarus from the door. “You were supposed to have returned with dinner hours ago.”

“I guess I spent too much time chatting with our dinner,” says Drake, his eyes still on Kyle, taking him in. His smile gives an impression of both sweetness and cunning, lips curled at one corner, even when straight-faced, like he’s always hiding some inner joke. “They’re all liberal arts majors, and boy, can those freaks party . Expected them to pass out hours ago after we got home from the bar, but then one of them slips a molly …”

Lazarus is not impressed. “If we don’t head back now—”

“I’m not that big a fan of casual drug use per se, but when a hot college boy kisses you and tongues a tiny colorful pill past your lips and you find yourself halfway to paradise …” Drake lets out a giggly sigh, shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. Then he winks. “Ever been halfway to paradise, doll?”

“His name’s Kyle,” says Lazarus, “and I didn’t bring him here to be flirted with. I brought him here to—”

“—teach him our ways?” finishes Drake, then leans toward Kyle, voice lowered, lips curled cutely. “Is it working? Are you, like, totally drinking the vampire Kool-Aid?”

The next instant, Drake is slammed against the wall, with a maddened Lazarus upon him, fingers digging into his denim jacket. “I will ask one more time. Is our dinner secured? Or do I have to again return home empty-handed because my brother can’t do his one fucking job?”

Drake, entirely unfazed by the show of aggression, turns his bored gaze back onto Kyle. “Has Laz been treating you better than he treats me?”

Kyle blinks, peering back and forth between them in shock. “You two are brothers? Like, actual brothers?”

“Can you not tell?” asks Drake with humor. “Practically mirror images … except for his generally horrifying appearance. He’s the total life of the party every Halloween.” Lazarus grips his jacket tighter. Drake frowns. “Hey, hey, I got this at a thrift store in town, it’s a one-of-a-kind, watch it!”

Lazarus nearly growls. “Dinner, Drake. Where is dinner?”

“I think you and your fellow orgy entourage can skip a night or two, can’t you? I’m lucky to drink a single person’s worth of blood a week, if that, and I look fine. About the same as your new friend here, judging by his humanlike appearance. By the way,” he asks as he glances at Kyle again, “are you single?”

Lazarus’s fury grows as he lifts Drake off the ground, still pressed to the wall, like it is now he who weighs nothing at all. “Go back inside now,” demands Lazarus, “and handle your four new liberal arts friends before that sun rises.”

“That’s so rude. Don’t you want to get to know them first? One’s Maya Patel and she’s—get this—a cultural anthropology major who is a competitive gamer.” Lazarus grips him tighter, growling. “Then there’s Alex Nguyen, a philosophy and ethics major who was just telling me at the bar earlier how his shelves are filled with works by Camus, Kant, and Nietzsche …”

“And my mouth is about to be filled with its blood,” snaps Lazarus, baring his fangs—a sight that even causes Kyle to step back, “regardless of its fucking major or its fucking name.”

“Federico studies linguistics,” Drake carries on underneath Lazarus’s threat, “which you can greatly benefit from to expand your vocabulary beyond words like ‘fucking’ this and ‘fucking’ that. Also, he’s shockingly well-endowed for a guy with braces and no social game. He let me cop a feel. I did ask first.”

Lazarus drops his brother at once and steps back, changing his tack. “Just get the blood,” he states as Drake smoothes out his clothes, “and we can make it back before sunrise.”

“But you could use a tan,” says Drake. His brother doesn’t indulge him with a response. After one last sigh and a glance at Kyle, Drake finally gives in. “So how about it, hot stuff? Wanna come inside for a quick phlebotomy study sesh?”

Kyle dreads learning what such a “study sesh” entails.

But after Drake turns to head back inside, Lazarus gestures at Kyle to follow him, then heads off himself, perhaps to hide his inhuman appearance among the trees again. Kyle thrusts his hands into his pockets and follows Drake into the building. He passes through a lobby, into a smaller lounge, then down a long and brightly-lit hallway to a dorm room with its door propped open. It’s inside that Kyle places names to faces—Alex, Maya, Federico, and a fourth whose name wasn’t shared. All four have since passed out, two of them on a bed, one on the floor next to them, and the fourth halfway to the closet, body lying akimbo on the rough, unpleasant carpet.

Perhaps it doesn’t matter what their names and majors are. To Lazarus and the others at the Devil’s Mouth, these are just food, these are just blood, these are just its .

“Which one should I do first?” asks Drake. “Any will do.”

Kyle glances at him. “What?”

“We’ll start with Federico.” He steps over Maya, crouches down in front of the one Kyle figures is the linguistics major, lets out a weary sigh. Then he fetches a backpack from nearby, presumably his own, and peels it open. But it isn’t schoolbooks he pulls out—it’s a bunch of medical supplies, including tubes, needles, and rubber gloves, a set of which he calmly puts on. “On a normal night, I’d bring these four lucky blood donors with me so they can be fed on directly by my thirsty aunts and uncles, then returned back here long before they wake. No, the folk you likely met back in our cozy cave are not my actual aunts and uncles, I’m just being sentimental.” Drake pushes up one of the sleeves of Federico’s shirt, fastens a rubbery strap around the student’s upper arm forming a tourniquet. “But seeing as we’re out of night, I gotta do it another way: extracting their alcohol-filled blood and bringing it back with me like it was my plan all along. Call me Nurse Drake. Just kidding, don’t.” He produces a double-ended needle, jabs one end into the rubber stopper of a collection tube, gently taps on the student’s arm to find the vein. “Not my aunts’ and uncles’ preferred method to feast, since most are hundreds of years old and used to the old way: straight from the jugular and sucking out more than a fair share, then disposing of the body. But I find my methods to be humane. Also, no one dies. That’s a plus.” He rubs an alcohol swab over the vein, then inserts the needle with a sigh, rolls his eyes over to Kyle. “Whenever I do it this way, they say I’m ‘bringing home the special red wine’, like I’m a delivery bartender, it’s a whole thing, a whole shtick.”

Drake fills one vial, replaces it with another, continues to draw blood. Each filled vial goes into a small cooler by his side, nestled into his backpack. Kyle watches, absentminded. “I’m a bartender,” he murmurs.

“Really? That makes one of us.” Drake chuckles. Kyle can’t quite crack a smile yet, too sickened by the whole scene. Drake seems to notice. “This making you queasy? When was the last time you’ve been to the doctor?”

“Not since I was alive.”

“Who says we’re not still alive? You breathe, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You eat and sleep, too. We’re not dead. We’re far from it. I take about 200 milliliters, by the way.” He replaces the filled vial with the next. “Each thingy holds 10. So I fill twenty per person. I would take more, but they’re drunk, and I don’t want to leave them feeling too shitty when they wake up, since they’ll probably be dehydrated from all of the alcohol. It’s still risky, but I think they’ll be fine. Also, Maya has a big test in the morning, poor girl. Stress really gets to her.”

“I don’t understand you guys.”

Drake peers up. “What do you mean?”

“You talk so casually about uncles and aunts and their old ways, about disposing bodies, stealing these kids’ blood … and if it wasn’t so late, you’d be taking them back to your lair?”

“Think of it like a library. Borrow a few bodies. Take a sip. Return them on time to avoid the late fees. A victimless crime.”

“There’s nothing ‘victimless’ about this.”

“A necessary evil, then. But is it really that evil? I see it as …” Drake swaps out another vial, observes Federico. “… symbiotic. They had quite a night. Likely won’t remember it, but if they do, boy, the amazing stories they’ll tell …”

Kyle listens to Drake’s heart. “You don’t even believe that.” Drake peers up at Kyle curiously. “You aren’t like Lazarus. You have doubts. You don’t wanna do this. It’s why you’re dragging your feet, why you took your time, hung out with them … You enjoyed playing the role of a college student all night.”

“What’s going on here?” asks Drake with half a chuckle. “You can read my mind?”

“No. Your heart.”

“Oh. Is this a special gift of yours? Not all of us have them, y’know. Some of us never develop one.” He swaps out another vial. “Did Laz happen to mention that you’ll lose that ability if you become like him? Yeah,” he says when Kyle’s face stiffens, “bet he didn’t mention that tidbit. The more blood you drink, that special part of you drowns. But in exchange, your body gets stronger. Your hair and nails, too. It’s why most of them stop bothering to cut their hair. You can shatter a pair of shears on my brother’s hair, no joke. He’s invulnerable.”

“No one’s invulnerable.”

“Just a few more to go. Who should I draw from next?”

“We don’t have to do this.”

“Maybe I should spare Maya completely,” Drake goes on. “She really needs all the brainpower she can get for tomorrow.”

Kyle comes right up to Drake, their faces close. “We don’t have to do this,” he repeats. “There are other ways to live. I’ve gotten by for nearly thirty years without hunting people.”

“Are you single?” His voice turns sweet. “You didn’t say.”

Kyle swallows. “No, I’m not.”

“Are you in love with him? Whoever he is?”

“Who said it’s a he?”

“Your racing heart. Maybe I can read hearts, too.” Drake’s lips curl cutely. Kyle would be lying if he said his heart wasn’t, in fact, fluttering in Drake’s presence, especially this close. “If I may be so bold, I might also say you seem conflicted by the idea of love. My question annoys you. Why’s that? Has someone in your past hurt you beyond forgiveness? Were you betrayed?”

Kyle sees Tristan’s face. Tristan’s smirk. His superior tone of voice mixed with his lofty, carefree one, each and every time he answered another one of Kyle’s questions—always having the answers, Tristan and his misty blue eyes.

“Fuck you,” snaps Kyle, both to the image of Tristan and to Drake’s question.

Drake stares deeply into Kyle’s eyes, unmoved. “You may be able to see into my heart, but I wonder what I’d find if I saw into yours. I wish I could eliminate the memory of that person who ruined the notion of love for you forever.”

Kyle steps back, turns away, stares at a poster on the wall, at the generically happy and sterile stock-image faces on it, the bold collegiate font boasting some lame motivational quote.

“Seems I struck a chord,” murmurs Drake. When Kyle says nothing, he hears Drake sigh. “I’m sorry. Should’ve been more sensitive about the lucky guy you’re with. Maybe some part of you worries whether it’s truly love you’re feeling for him … if you can ever even feel love again … if you can ever trust it, after you were betrayed. Has he even helped you heal from your past love? Has he helped you see through the forest of trauma? I’ve been through a forest of trauma before. Maybe I’m still in it. Maybe we can help each other out of our own forests.”

“Your brother,” says Kyle, quiet and cold, “and all of those random weirdos back at his lair in the desert … they don’t have to end lives to sustain their own.”

“You are so adorable,” Drake murmurs softly, as if through a dream. “Your virtuousness. The noble tone of voice. It’s very ‘knight in shining armor’, if not too innocent and idealistic. Are you here to save these college kids from the big bad vampire?”

Kyle turns his head. “What if I’m here to save you ?”

Drake’s amused smile falters.

Just then, a groan from the student on the floor next to the closet door. He stirs, lifts his heavy head, squints through a pair of cockeyed glasses. “Are … Are you God …?”

Drake stares down at him, shrugs. “Something like that.”

The guy nods sleepily, drops his head back to the floor.

Drake starts the final vial and lets loose the tourniquet. “It would’ve been fun to crash here, spend some more time with them, pretend to be a college kid until tomorrow night … but seeing as Laz and the morning sun are so impatient …” Drake peers back at Kyle. “Want to help speed things up? I can teach you how to draw blood. You can do Alex’s.”

“No,” says Kyle, sickened.

Drake puts his free hand on Federico’s forehead, then puts his fingers to the guy’s neck, as if checking his pulse. “Most of us don’t kill anymore. We can’t, not nowadays, between all the modern technological advances and cameras and phones … it’s all trickier. I think it’s why Laz harbors so much resentment for the world. My family used to be free to feast as they pleased in the streets. Now they all have to deal with paranormal-obsessed nerds with HD cameras, vlogs … and organized witches with seriously insidious ways of killing us … not to mention the nerds of our kind who pretend to run a vampire government complete with tons of stupid laws none of us follow. Lord Darkadian …? Who put him in power? Did you vote for him? I sure didn’t.”

“It’s Markadian.”

Drake squints at him. “Really? You sure? Darkadian sounds so much cooler. Nah, I’m gonna keep calling him Darkadian.” He pops the last vial into his bag, detaches his equipment from Federico. “Alright, who’s next? Any volunteers? Oh, Alex raised his hand, Alex totally almost kinda just raised his hand.” Drake brings his backpack to one of the students on the bed, starts prepping to draw more blood.

“You’ve let Lazarus run your life,” says Kyle. “I see how it eats at you. How much longer are you gonna let this happen? You can just be a college kid. You can hang out with these guys more than once. Be an actual friend to them and meet up in the commons. Commiserate over professors you hate, write papers at the last minute, spend hours in the library trying not to laugh at your friend making funny faces at you across the table …”

Drake smiles wistfully as he taps for a vein. “You paint such a sweet picture.”

“Are you gonna be a slave to your brother forever?”

Drake stops. “I’ll admit, this hero role you’re playing is kinda low-key hot,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone fight so hard for me since the days Laz and I were just two little boys getting into trouble together. Mom scolding us. Laz sticking up for me … of course, his name wasn’t Lazarus back then. The point is, you don’t really know me, you don’t know what you’re fighting against, and if you stuck around for a few days, you’d realize I’m not as unhappy as you think. None of us are, in fact. Not even this dude-bro I’m sucking blood out of without his written consent. The human body is a total marvel. It easily replaces the blood we take in a matter of weeks. No harm, no foul. Everyone’s happy.”

“Does that include the terrified guy Salazo keeps as a pet?” Kyle leans in close, putting his face in front of Drake’s. “You can rationalize this all you want. What you guys do is wrong.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think my brother was trying to set us up. He knows I’m lonely … and you’re totally my type.” He draws close. Before Kyle can flinch away, Drake plants a kiss right on his lips. “Stick around, hot stuff. See how we live before you judge us so quickly. Laz can hear every single word we’ve been saying, by the way.” He winks. “Another ten or fifteen minutes, we’ll be outta this stuffy dorm. I’m skipping Maya. She needs her blood, on account of her big morning exam and all. See? I have a heart.” He resumes the blood drawing and hums a tune, leaving Kyle more confused than before, heart racing loudly.