(1) (Dead Girl's Dance)
The snarling erupted from a throat too tight, gurgling up from a stomach too firm. Eyes rolled wildly, and while all he saw was the ceiling, Michael could feel the human girls in the corner. They were two brightly burning flames; he was the moth drawn inexorably toward them.
A new, quiet blue flame touched his forehead, and things stilled. Fragments of existing—like the fires in the corner and the urgency in his bones—still couldn't fit together right, but there was a moment of patience. It'll come, the butterfly thought touched his membrane.
His whole body ached, tense with something unbearably sharp, until a pleasant dullness touched his lips and faded into him. The blue fire poured through him to his very toes, and the pieces began to slide into place.
Eve had screamed, he realized, and he tried to remember. What's wrong, Eve? He wanted to ask, but he forgot how.
But he could feel his toes, he remembered. He slowly turned over to look at the girls.
They were shaking, holding each other. Because…
Oh. He licked his lips. Because they taste good.
"Behold," Amelie began. He knew he should be listening, but he couldn't. He was caught in Claire's stare and the pale thudding of her pulse.
Michael learned that fear is something you can taste.
"That's it? It's done." Eager to distract himself from the taste in his mouth—and eager to leave the cage, he turned to the heavy Victorian door.
"Yes," the Founder said. "It's done."
He took a step toward it: the door, his prison guard.
"Michael," Amelie interrupted. "Vampires can be killed, and many know the ways. If you grow careless, you will die, no matter how many laws Morganville holds to protect us from our enemies." She looked at the two girls—Michael refused to follow suit. "Vampires cannot live among humans. It is too difficult, too tempting." Michael recalled the heady flavor of fear. "You understand? They must leave your house. You must have time to learn what you are."
They must leave your house. Michael looked at the girls, and thought of broken Claire sobbing on the doorstep, rebellious Eve wandering the streets with a dark glint in her eyes. No, he could not abandon the one, and he could not live without the other.
"No, this is their home, and it's my home, and it's Shane's home. We're a family. I'm not giving that up."
"Do you know why I stopped you? Why I ordered Sam to stop you? Because your instincts cannot be trusted, Michael, not at this point. You cannot care, because your feelings will hurt them. Do you understand? Were you not moving toward these two girls with the intention of feeding on them?"
"No," he muttered. Knee-jerk reaction. But behind that, he recalled liberation as he rushed toward what he needed.
"Think."
No, no. Surely, he rushed to… embrace them. To embrace Eve, right?
"No."
The movie of minutes prior was playing in his head, muted. Was he…snarling?
"You were." Sam interjected. "I know, Michael. I was there once. And there was no one to stop me."
That dull thudding—he recognized it now—he found the source, and he met her eyes.
Eve.
If hearts could choke, his was gasping for air.
"It won't happen again. I know Michael. He wouldn't have done this if he was going to hurt any of us. He'd die first."
"He did die," Amelie retorted. "The human part of him is gone. What is left is mine."
He flinched.
"Come, Michael. You must need food. I will show you where to go."
No. I need to still be… He struggled to wrap the thought together.
In Eve's eyes, he found the answer.
Me.
"Wait a minute. Please."
He stepped toward Eve and held out his hand.
The fear still hung in the room—he would be sure to stay aware from Claire—but the steadiness in Eve's eyes fought back any fear or temptation of his own.
"I'm sorry. There wasn't any other way." As if on cue, Eve's pulse picked up and it thudded against him. He swallowed. He tried to explain himself, and she accepted him. Or, tried to, at least.
He kissed her, and everything—the pain, loneliness, hunger—all fell into that moment. She took it in, took him in, the way she'd always had.
He pulled back. This time, there was something he needed that he would not ask her to sate.
"I'll be back. Amelie's right. I need to—" Don't make me say it, he thought. Glancing at Amelie, he realized no one was making him do anything.
I'm not caged anymore.
"I need to feed."