By Nell Stark and Trinity Tam

SPREAD THE INFECTION...

I frowned hard at page 172, trying to bully my brain into focusing on the material. I had an exam next Monday and wasn’t remotely prepared, but it was impossible to concentrate. Alexa had left half an hour ago, after bringing over Chinese take-out for dinner. She sat at the desk and I perched on the bed, and we kept the door open lest one of us get carried away. Our conversation had been stilted, even when she had moved to the bed and offered me a shoulder rub. I had allowed that, but my inability to relax had made her attempts fruitless.

I craved her blood. I craved her body. At least tomorrow, I’d be able to have the former. My throat ached sharply, nostalgic for her taste.

A knock at my door yanked me out of my brooding. Maybe Alexa had come back for some reason. The thought both thrilled and frightened me. But when I looked through the keyhole, I saw the Consortium’s receptionist. Why hadn’t she just called up?

“Hello,” I said politely, swinging the door wide open. “What can I—”

She walked right in, kicked the door shut with one of her stilettos, and grabbed the collar of my shirt.

“We haven’t been properly introduced,” she murmured, mere inches from my mouth. Her breath tasted like cinnamon. “I’m Giselle.” And then she kissed me.

I tried not to react, but my body betrayed my mind. Giselle kissed as though she were as starving for passion as I was. Twin flames of need twisted in my gut. To fuck. To drink. Yes.

Only when the backs of my legs hit the bed did I regain enough sense to tear my lips away. I grasped her upper arms firmly but gently and held her as far from me as I could. “No.” But my voice was a pant of desire, devoid of any authority.

She relaxed in my grip, and I let go, believing that she was going to honor my request. Instead, she pulled aside her shirt collar and, with one long, pink-tinted fingernail, drew a furrow just below the bone. I had one split second in which to register just how persistent she was being, before the sight and smell of blood assaulted me. The tiny red ribbon beckoned, but I forced my feet to remain where they were. I was struggling so hard against my thirst, that I didn’t even register her grip on my hand. But when her tongue touched my fingertip, a jolt shot down my spine.

“I see how thirsty you are, Valentine,” she said, ending each sentence with a twirl of her warm tongue around my finger. “Every day. You’re suffering. Denying yourself. You really shouldn’t.”

She sucked hard and I moaned. I couldn’t help it. I was wet. Blood was dripping down her chest. She wanted me to take her. I needed to take.

...to be continued...

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