Hotter Than Hell(149)

Alette continued. “Some of our kind give free rein to it. They revel in it. It makes them strong, but often leaves them vulnerable. If you try to ignore it, it will consume you. You’ll lose that part of yourself that is yours.”



In her bones, in the tracks of her bloodless veins, Emma knew Alette was right, and this was what she feared: that she wasn’t strong, that she wouldn’t control it. That she would lose her self, her soul to the thing. Her eyes ached with tears that didn’t fall.



How did Alette control it? How did she manage to sit so calm and dignified, with the creature writhing inside of her, desperate for power? Emma felt sure she wouldn’t last long enough to develop that beautiful self-possession.



“Oh my dear, hush there.” Alette moved to her side and gathered her in her arms. She’d seen Emma’s anguish and now sought to wrap her in comfort. Emma clung to her, pressing her face against the cool silk of her jacket, holding tight to her arms. For just a moment, she let herself be a child, protected within the older woman’s embrace. “I can’t teach you everything. Some steps you must take alone. I can take care of you if you like—keep you here, watch you always, hold the creature at bay and bring you cups of blood. But I don’t think you’d be happy.”



“I don’t know that I’ll ever be happy. I don’t think I can do this.”



“The power is a tool you use to get what you need. It should not control you.”



Not much of the night remained. Emma felt dawn tugging at her nerves—another new sensation to catalog with the rest. The promise of sunlight was a weariness that settled over her and drove her underground, to a bed in a sealed, windowless room. At least she didn’t need a coffin. Small comfort.



“Come,” Alette said, urging her to her feet. “Sleep for now. Vanquish this beast another night.”





Her mind was still her own, and she still dreamed. The fluttering, disjointed scenes took place in daylight. Already, the sunlit world of her dreaming memories had begun to look odd to her, unreal and uncertain, as if these things could never really have happened.



At dusk, she woke and told herself all kinds of platitudes: she had to get back on the horse, if at first you don’t succeed…But it came down to wanting to see Chris again. She wanted to apologize.



She found his phone number and called him, half hoping he wouldn’t answer, so she could leave a message and not have to face him.



But he picked up. “Hi.”



“Hi, Chris?”



“Emma?” He sounded surprised. And why wouldn’t he be? “Hey. Are you okay?”



Her anxiety vanished, and she was glad that she’d called. “I’m okay. I just wanted to say I’m so sorry about last night. I got scared. I freaked. I know you’ll probably laugh in my face, but I want to see you again.”



I’d like to try again, an unspoken desire she couldn’t quite give voice to.



“I wouldn’t laugh. I was just worried about you. I thought maybe I’d done something wrong.”



“No, no, of course you didn’t. It’s just…I guess since this was my first time out since I was sick, my first time being with anyone since then…I got scared, like I said.”



“I don’t know. It seemed like you were really into it.” He chuckled nervously. “You were really hot.”



“I was into it.” She wasn’t sure this was going to sound awkward-endearing or just awkward. She tried to put that lust, that power that she’d felt last night, into her voice. Like maybe she could touch him over the phone. She held that image in her mind. “I’d like to see you again.”



The meaning behind the words said, I need you.



Somehow, he heard that. She could tell by the catch in his breath, an added huskiness in his voice. “Okay. Why don’t you come over.”



“I’ll be right there.” She shut the phone off, not giving him a chance to change his mind, not letting herself doubt.





Emma could screw this up again. There was a gnawing in her belly, an anxious thought that kept saying, this isn’t right. I’m using him, and he doesn’t deserve that. She was starting to think of that voice as the old Emma. The Emma who could walk in daylight and never would again.



The new Emma, the voice she had to listen to now, felt like she was about to win a race. She had the power here, and she was buzzed on it. Almost drunk. The new Emma didn’t miss alcohol because she didn’t need it.



It felt good. Everything she moved toward felt so physically, fundamentally good. All she had to do was let go of doubt and revel in it.