My eyes flick to the door as I try to think of a nice way to say “I doubt that” and get away from her. She chuckles.

“Did it never occur to you that I might want to give you my blood?”

I stare at her. “I...I don’t have enough self-control for that. Not with you.”

“But what if I could help you with that? And I could, you know. Not just as a Crimson, but as a Domedra.”

“You’re an Othersider? I’ve never seen you at any of the clubs.”

She leans back a bit in her chair, examining her fingernails. “I’ve been operating out of my own location for longer than you’ve been in the scene.” Her scarlet gaze snaps back up to me, her hands falling to the arms of her chair.

“Your Umbra is intoxicating. As delicious to me as I think my blood would be to you. And there’s just so much of it. I doubt you even feel what I absorb from you.”

My hands travel up to squeeze my own arms. Lore’s lips twist, brows knitting as she studies my face, then she frowns.

“I’m sorry. I’m making you uncomfortable. Listen, I just want to be around you. I know Beatrice would love it if the three of us spent time together. And I’d be contributing so much more than just blood.”

I edge a bit closer to the exit. “Like what?”

“I told you. I can help you learn control. That’s what you want, isn’t it? It’s what any new Stormstruck wants. What anyone with a craving for human blood would want.”

For a moment, I’m not sure what to say—weighing my options and deciding against tact.

“Alright, I’ll give it a chance. But I’m going to need you to sign a waiver or something first.” I jam my hands into my coat pockets, fingers twisting in the lining. “Also, you’re very intense, and you’re right. It makes me uncomfortable.” The longer I speak, the wider her smile grows. “If you really want to spend time around me, could you maybe not...I don’t know...look and talk to me like I’m a juicy chunk of pork belly or something?”

She puckers her lips, tapping at them with a nail in mock thoughtfulness. “I think I can work on that.”

“You’re not offended?”

She laughs. “No. So when do you want to do our first session? Tonight after dinner?”

I frown. “I was thinking more like this weekend.”

“Hm, you’re sure? You wouldn’t like to get the basics out of the way, get a bit of a handle on things before classes start?”

I take a breath, ready to tell her that’s too soon, but then I hesitate—reconsidering. She’s got a point.

“Alright, fine. My room or yours?”

“Mine,” she says, tone satisfied as she reaches into one of the pockets in the side of her chair. “Here, I want you to have this. I know we live next door to each other, but still.” She shrugs. “You never know. Besides, I don’t take anyone on until I’ve given them my favor first.” Then she extends her arm, pressing something soft into my hands.

“I’ll let you finish up in here,” she says airily, waving for the door to open. “Feel free to join Beatrice and I for breakfast. She’s got her pollen production under control now, all you have to worry about now is the occasional stun-spore. They wear off after a few seconds, though.”

Then she leaves, and I look down into my hands to find a silky handkerchief the color of dark wine. At its center, a rose-like contact sigil is embroidered in golden thread. I scrunch my nose. Suppose a regular paper card wasn’t good enough for her. I hold it up for Boon to scan, then for half a heartbeat I consider tossing it in the trash.

But it’s actually really pretty, so I shove it into one of my pockets instead.

When I finally get my food, coffee, and blood for the morning, I take it all to go. Thankfully, Beatrice and Lore must be sitting outside—giving neither a chance to flag me down.

“Thank the First Ones,” breathes E.J. as I step through her door with my armful of food and drinks. “I was beginning to think I’d have to take your rabbit-fox to my planning sessions.” She looks better than the last time I saw her, but still a bit drained—like someone freshly recovered from an illness. There’s a ring of ashy, pale skin around her neck where the collar had been, but at least it’s not gray anymore.

“I’m sure your students would have loved that,” I say, beginning to unpack my breakfast on her coffee table.

She eyes me expectantly. “So? How did the salve work out?”

“It’s the only thing I can smell to this moment, so pretty well,” I say. “Now to see if I can wash it off enough to properly enjoy my food.” Going over to the nearest bathroom, I scrub at my nose with soap and water until it’s slightly raw, but I only regain about half my sense of smell. Guess it’s a bland breakfast for me, then. With the next breath I take, Lore’s scent—muffled and watered down but unmistakable—fills my lungs.

Fuck. The handkerchief.

Guess I’m doing laundry tonight. Pulling off my coat, I bundle it up into a ball with the pocketed handkerchief at the center.

“I know it’s not the best solution,” continues E.J. as I emerge from the bathroom. “But it’s just a temporary bandage. It’ll take a while to formulate something for Lore like the perfume I made for you, but—“

“You don’t need to do that,” I say firmly. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable asking someone I’ve got no relationship with to wear something like that for me. Besides, there might be another solution.”

One of E.J’s eyebrow’s shoots up. “Oh?”

“Yes. Speaking of which, I could use your help drawing up some paperwork, when you’ve got a moment.”

~*~

By the time I find myself following Lore into her room that night, I’m definitely having second thoughts. But I ignore them, taking a deep breath before she opens her door and her concentrated scent—still intermingled with traces of Leon’s—washes over me. At Lore’s insistence, I haven’t reapplied the salve, but thankfully my sense of smell is still a bit dulled from my first use. My muscles tense as I ready myself to step over the threshold.

As per the boundaries we’d negotiated over dinner, the moment I step into her territory, I’m at her command. But the relationship ends outside the confines of her room, and everything stops if one of us says a safe word. Assuming I’m physically capable of stopping when it comes to the feeding part, that is.

But that’s what the waiver’s for.

I’m surprised as I register the differences in her room from mine—she’s completely redecorated it. I blink.

“It’s a good thing you turned out to be a Crimson,” I comment, noting the bed and window dressings and the art—all in the hues of rose petals and fresh blood.

“Isn’t it though? That worked out nicely. Most things do, for me.”

Turning, she disappears for a moment into her closet before returning with something suspended in her hands. A collar of wine-colored leather.

“Kneel before me,” says Lore. “And tilt back your head.” Bending at the waist, she leans forward to fix the collar about my neck. An odd thrill of conflicted emotions and sensations runs down my spine, setting my hair on end. I close my eyes without realizing it, drinking in Lore’s scent like a fine mead as my mouth fills with saliva.

“Now,” she says, drifting over towards her bed and edging onto it. With a flick of her wrist and the press of a button on her bracelet, she sends the chair whirring across the room to rest in its charging station. Sitting up against her pillows, she calls over to the wall screen mounted across from it, which flickers to life. “Come, sit next to me. Let’s watch something together. What do you think? Lhura Lost? I love that one.”

“Uh,” I look from her to the screen. “We’re going to watch an aethercast together?”

She smiles. “For a bit.” Patting the bed with one hand, she beckons me over with the other. “Now sit.”

Padding over to her, I circle around to the unoccupied side of the bed and try to get comfortable, holding my breath at intervals.

“Breath freely, Ash.” Lore coaxes, reaching into the drawer of her bedside table and withdrawing something that looks like a fancy thimble with a needle sticking out the end of it. “Relax,” she says as she pops it onto the end of her pointer finger and presses the tip into the soft flesh of her inner arm. Blood wells up around it, painting a bright line in its wake as she draws it downward.

The full bouquet of her scent saturates the air. I freeze—certain that if I move so much as a pinky, I’ll lose all control.

“I said relax,” insists Lore, letting the blood run down her arm. “Watch the show. For every reasonably insightful or entertaining comment you have about it, I’ll give you a little nip.” She lifts her arm a bit, as if it’s not already clear what she means. My nostrils flare as my eyes fix on the fresh crimson liquid flowing from her scratch.

“You’re evil,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Is it really evil if it’s done in pursuit of a good outcome?”

“Yes!”

“Hm,” the Crimson looks thoughtful, sucking the inside of her cheek. “Ah well,” she shrugs again. “Watch the cast.”

Suppressing a growl, I turn my eyes back to the screen. I shouldn’t say anything about the damn cast. Just get through the night without touching a drop of her blood.

But I do actually watch it, forcing myself to focus on the characters and plot and pretty images rather than the precious blood going steadily to waste just a handspan away. And before I know it, I’ve been sucked in.

“First Born, really?” I rub my forehead, leaning forward as the show’s modern re-imagining of Lhura makes another too-stupid-to-live decision. “I know she’s supposed to be naive at first, but this is just too much.”

“I’d say that merits a few drops,” says Lore.

Fuck.

She extends her bloodied arm out in front of my face, so close I can almost taste it. My nostrils flare. Tiny crackles of Umbral energy ripple across my skin, and in the next instant my lips are pressed to her flesh.