Amaliya woke up with a start. Confused by the furnishings in the dimly lit room, it took her a

few moments to collect her thoughts and remember where she was. She was squeezed into the

narrow space between the bed and wall, covered by a scratchy blanket. On the bed lay Pete. His

eyes were closed. He did not seem to have moved since she ordered him to sleep hours before. If

not for his steady breathing and occasional snort, she could almost believe he was dead.

Beyond the bed was the big window with its ugly curtains. Light was seeping in around the

edges of the thick fabric, where a sunbeam played along the top of the air-conditioning unit

under the window. She had remembered to put the “Do Not Disturb” on the door before the sun

rose. She had also barricaded the door with the cheap table and chairs that had been tucked into a

corner of the room. Rubbing her eyes, she felt the crusty remains of her tears and frowned.

After Pete had fallen under her spell, she had sat in a chair watching him until she began to

feel heavy and sleepy. At last, she had showered. She had then curled up in the corner of the

room, afraid to lie on the bed beside him. If he woke up and saw her, it could cause trouble

quickly. She could imagine him screaming and someone busting in the door. The sun would pour

in and she would be set on fire.

If she could actually catch on fire.

Could she?

Well, considering that she could leap long distances, manhandle big men like nothing, and

bespell someone to do her bidding, catching on fire seemed about the right sort of payback. It all

had to balance out somehow, didn't it?

Sliding to her feet, she tugged her panties down over her butt so they weren't hitched up

anymore, then stretched. She felt lethargic, almost drugged, but she had woken up for a reason.

Leaning over, she checked Pete's pulse. A tight pull of desire slipped through her as she felt

Pete's pulse beating under her fingers. Drawing back, she licked her lips and tried not to think of

his delicious skin.

A narrow band of light cut across the carpet not too far from the bed. She gazed at it fearfully.

A part of her desperately wanted to reach out to touch the sunbeam and watch the tiny motes

play over her skin.

Or watch her skin burst into flame.

She wondered which would happen.

Rubbing her stomach, her gaze slid to Pete again. He had been so sweet and passionate last

night, and for what? It had gotten so fucked up so fast. He had said such wonderful things to her,

things she had craved her whole life to hear and then it had all gone to hell.

She cast a dark look at the mirror and stuck her tongue out at the emptiness of it. She had not

even thought about the mirror last night when they had entered the room. It had betrayed her and

that horrible look on Pete's face when he saw he alone inhabited the reflection was something she

would never forget.

The long strip of sunlight beckoned to her.

Seriously, would she really get burned? Was it possible?

Of course, she had crawled out of her own grave, slaughtered a room full of innocents, and

thrown her Dad across his living room. At this point, anything seemed possible.

Slowly, she stepped toward the swatch of sunlight and watched it flicker as the curtain

swayed in the currents of the air conditioning.

“I won't know if I don't try,” she mused, then took another step forward.

She could now feel the heat of the sun pressing against the glass of the window tucked behind

the ugly curtains. Timidly, she edged toward the wavering line of sunlight. Sinking to her knees,

her fingers twitched with anticipation. Just her fingertips. That was all. She would just slide the

very tips of her fingers into the sunbeam and see what happened.

“How bad could it hurt?” she pondered. “After all, I've already been killed.”

After taking what she now knew was an unnecessary deep breath, she slid her fingers into the

light.

A second ticked by and nothing happened.

“Ha!” She grinned triumphantly.

Searing, terrible pain made her cry out as her fingers blackened and cracked. Falling back, she

grabbed her wounded hand close to her and shoved herself backward with her feet. The pain was

nearly unbearable as she pushed herself back to the vanity.

“Dammit,” she hissed through gritted teeth. She tried to fight off the waves of agony flowing

up her hand. “Heal, dammit,” she muttered, and willed it to happen. She could almost feel her

chilled blood churning through her veins sluggishly, trying to heal her. She had noticed as she

was falling asleep in the early hours of the morning that her heart was barely beating, and now

she felt as if it was completely stilled.

“Heal,” she urged in an agonized voice. Slowly, the blackened skin started to peel and ooze.

Biting her bottom lip, she grimaced as the crisped flesh fell off and fresh new skin knitted itself

into existence. It was not until the skin was pink and smooth once more that the pain at last

subsided.

The hunger hit her in a wave of desperate need. It knocked her back and left her gasping as it

churned to life inside of her. In a split second, she was on the bed and crouched over Pete. She

could feel her veins contracting, yearning for blood to flow through them again. Her gut

clenched and her mouth ached as her long teeth descended. She needed to feed now, and Pete's

heartbeat sang in her ears.

“Sorry,” she whispered and, without hesitation, she fed.

* * *

The second time Amaliya woke, the room was dark with only an edging of light around the

window. Pete still lay on the bed, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

His pale skin and waxy looks frightened her. She knew she had taken far too much of his blood.

To her disgust, she wanted to take more. She was growing hungry; the need was beginning to

claw at her. How she had managed to tear away from his throat, she wasn't too sure. Through the

red haze of her feeding, she had managed to grasp hold of her desire not to destroy Pete. She had

pulled herself away from the killing droughts she had desperately wanted to take.

Climbing to her feet, she stood next to the bed, pale in the darkness in her tank top and

panties. Her black hair fell over one shoulder in a tumble of waves. She rubbed her brow with

one hand. He looked so quiet and so sweet lying there. His words from the night before still

whispered through her, stirring the false hopes of a normal life.

“Shit,” she muttered and turned away. She needed to get the hell out of here.

Grabbing her bag, she headed into the small bathroom. She was anxious to get away now that

the sun was setting. Pete needed medical attention. She would have to call 911 and get the hell

out of the motel as fast as she could. Besides, she needed to feed again. The great need gnawed at

her insides and she knew instinctively that it would only grow more demanding.

The shower was quick and to the point. Fifteen minutes later, she sat on the toilet, combing

out her wet hair. She noticed the lack of split ends with a dull wonder and examined her much

longer nails. They were sharp and strong. Her hands almost did not look like hers, except for the

badly chipped nail polish. As she drew the comb through her hair over and over again, she

wondered what she looked like now. Pete had looked at her as if she was gorgeous, while her

family had regarded her with fear. Did she look radically different? Maybe a better version of

herself? There was no way to know.

“Fucking mirror,” she growled under her breath.

With a heavy sigh, she shoved the comb in the bag along with the rest of her clothes. Not

caring to arrange it neatly, she shoved stuff around until the bag closed right. Pete's phone rang.

She had a feeling her time was nearly up.

Walking to where he lay, she stared at him, feeling the throb of her hunger deep inside. Her

heart was beating slowly in her chest, her veins felt hollow, but she could hold off her hunger a

bit longer. Sweeping her hair back from her face, she leaned over him, trying not to look at the

two pale wounds on his neck. They looked like bug bites. She wondered if there was something

inside of her saliva that had stopped the bleeding and promoted healing.

“Pete,” she whispered.

To her surprise, his eyelids quivered.

Steadying herself with one hand, she moved a little closer. “Pete.”

His thick eyelashes fluttered as he slowly opened his eyes.

It hurt her to see the fear there.

“I'm leaving. Your phone is right here,” she said and shoved the small device into one of his

hands. “Call 911.”

“What did you...do to me?” he managed to whisper through pale lips.

The dark powering churning in her gut flowed into her limbs and she could feel her eyes

beginning to burn. This was the force she had felt last night when she had commanded him to

sleep. Looking at him intently, she willed that power into him.

“You got sick. You never saw me. You came here to rest. You never saw me,” she ordered

him in a voice that was raw and thick with her new ability.

“I...got...sick,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she answered with a sad smile. “You did. Call 911 when I leave. The second that door

shuts forget about me. Understand?”

She could literally feel her power overwhelming him, her desire pushing into his mind,

reshaping his memory.

He nodded mutely, gazing at her through his eyelashes as if she were a goddess.

Tears threatening, she leaned over and kissed his lips. “Bye, Pete.”

Standing up, she heaved her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. She could feel his

gaze on her and turned to look at him. Despite his fear, she could see a sliver of yearning in his

eyes as he strained to watch her go. In his gaze, she could see her great beauty and presence. She

self-consciously ran a hand over the peach and white vintage skirt that swung around the tops of

her knees. A white tank top with the word “Bitch” in gold studs and cowboy boots topped off the

outfit. Snatching her cowboy hat off the dresser, she sighed sadly.

But she couldn't lie to herself. She wouldn't have come back here for Pete and stayed. It was a

wonderful sentiment on his part, even if he had asked her, she would have said no. Spooner,

Texas was not the world where she wanted to live. The terrible thing was she had never known

what world she had wanted to live in. She had just known she didn't belong.

Desperate to get out of the room, she shoved the table and chairs back to their spots. She

moved to open the door.

“Amaliya,” Pete's voice rasped.

She turned toward him and saw his hand was reaching toward her. His expression was full of

desire and fear.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “For what...you are.”

“Me, too. Me, too.” She yanked the door open before she burst into tears and stepped out

slowly. Looking both ways, she saw the parking lot was empty of people. Turning, she saw

Pete's gaze was still fastened to her. “Forget me, then call 911.”

He nodded slowly, mesmerized.

She slammed the door shut.