A/N: I know it hasn't been TOO long, but it's been a while, so I'll apologize anyway: Sorry! I have excuses for not updating, I promise! School has started, and I have so much homework it's insane. And then last weekend, when I finally had time to update...the power went out. Anyway so chap 9 is finally here. Longest one yet! Enjoy, and (please) review!

Disclaimer: Everything but Emmie is AHAR's.

I return to the conscious world slowly, at a human's pace. Everything is black around me, and for a moment I panic: am I dead? Really, truly dead--in Hell? But then my eyes adjust and I recognize my bedroom; the windows have been covered with blackout curtains to keep out the light.

I sit up on my knees painfully and lick my dry lips, tasting a hint of blood. Because of this the memories of before my blackout--my death--come rushing back. I realize I have yet to take a breath, so I open my mouth and suck in air.

Bad choice. It is like swallowing jagged pieces of glass. Like sucking in water and expecting not to drown. I shut my mouth and double over in pain, and don't try to breathe again until the sensation fades away. The next time I am more careful, taking in a tentative, shallow breath. Why does it hurt so much to bring oxygen into my body?

I press my fingers to my wrist and, curiously, feel no pulse. Then it comes to me: I am dead. Or my body is, at least. I can force myself to breathe, out of human habit; I can will my heart to beat and send blood pumping through my veins--but why pretend? I have become the creature I refused to be with every fiber in my living being.

The taste of blood on my lips also reminds me of another thing: a desire in my gut, rumbling quietly until I bring attention to it, that I know makes my body call for blood. I am hungry.

I sniff the air gently, suddenly sensing I'm not alone in my house. The room smells musty, not like it ever used to--courtesy of the blackout curtains. They aren't mine, but somehow I am grateful for their protection anyway.

I don't need light to see my way around; I know my room by heart. So I will myself off the bed and cross the room to the door, where I immediately head to the bathroom. No matter how much I hate the thing I've become, a part of me needs to see my face.

The first thing I notice is the black. Black eyes, dizzying and cursed in their beauty. I hate them immediately. But I move over so my face isn't split by the crack in the glass anymore.

If Jager can make his eyes green, I should be able to do the same. So I concentrate and will my eyes to change back to their former indigo. It works, and I sigh.

My whole figure is even more stunning with the vampiric blood to erase every invisible flaw. Muscles I never worked out before are curved, strong; my hair cascades down my back in curls, the braid undone; my cheekbones are sharp, but elegantly so. I am perfect, even more than before.

Yet I'm staring at myself, and the reflection isn't bright. Isn't clear. Somehow I know that the longer I am a vampire--forever, of course--the less I will be able to see my reflection. This doesn't sadden me in the least, and I even laugh, a laugh that is more of a low, purring chuckle.

I am restless and feel more empty than one could ever imagine. Empty of energy, of love, of life. I need someone else's life to sate my desire.

Decided, I glide down the stairs and meet the darkness on the first floor. I'm puzzled for a moment--how long was I unconscious for?

I am in the kitchen and for once don't even glance at my liquor stash. Nothing in that cabinet can solve my problem. I want blood.

And suddenly, the sense that I'm not alone returns. But it isn't the familiar feeling my human self would recognize as being watched; I'm not being watched. It is more of a presence I can feel with a sense I never used as a human.

Someone is in my house.

This knowledge angers me, and I can feel my temper raising. Because when I search deeper, I realize who the intruder is.

"Jager!" I hiss, ready to pounce on him and rip his heart out. "I am hungry and very, very angry with you."

He steps out of the darkness, his emerald eyes glittering with something like amusement. "Don't bite my head off," he replies good-naturedly. "I don't taste good."

Yes, you do, I think so he can't hear me. I'm not sure if that thought refers to his lips or his blood, and I don't care.

I growl. He catches my wrists and pulls me to him; even though I am now one of his kind, he is still far stronger than me. His cold touch makes me tense, and I stand rigid in his arms.

"Relax," Jager breathes into my hair. "You need to feed. I'm going to teach you."

The offer tempts me. "I don't want your help," I snap. I'm staring at his neck, wondering what he would do if i bit it. He wouldn't like it, part of me decides sullenly.

"If you don't take my help, you'll die, little leech," he retorts, using the insulting name hunters have for our kind. He tightens his grip on me.

The bloodlust wracks my body and I groan: he is right. "We aren't finished with this," I promise him viciously and bare my fangs for good measure. I hate these fangs. I hate my lifeless body. I hate him.

But I succumb, and let him will me away.

My first thought when I open my eyes is that we are on a street in Boston. I don't know how this comes to me; I just know. "That...was weird." I shove Jager away from me, surprise myself by my sheer strength. My comment refers to the sensation of moving from one place to another in mere seconds.

As soon as I find myself out of Jager's arms, I stumble dizzily, blindly reaching out to grab onto something, anything to keep me from falling...

Strong hands grab my arms and steady me; I moan. "I told you I need to help you feed," he says through gritted teeth.

I finally give in, mumbling, "Okay, okay," as I try to gather my senses.

I am being pulled forward before I realize it, and we enter a bar. Plenty of people here, Jager says in my mind. Find someone, hold onto their mind, and drink. Don't be too obvious.

I nod. I am so starved for blood that I can't feel anger for him anymore.

"Go."

I make my way through the crowd and find a young man my age, scanning his mind carefully. He has just broken up with his longtime girlfriend, but hasn't been here long enough to get more than one beer in him. I smile, showing teeth. Perfect.

"Hello," I purr, sliding up next to him. At the same time I surround his mind with mine, pressing just enough to get what I want, but not enough to hurt him.

He is vulnerable, searching for comfort with hollow bluebell eyes. Easy prey. It only takes a few minutes of talking before he consents to going outside with me, and we stand in the darkness of an alley. I can feel Jager's eyes on my back.

The young man is in my arms, my lips softly grazing his. I move away, towards the throbbing vein in his neck. He doesn't even notice when my fangs pierce his skin, I am controlling him so much. But it doesn't matter. Nothing has ever tasted so good. Thick, sweet, human blood, not as satisfying as Jager's, but he is off-limits anyway.

I know I am in a city, close to crowds of people, but the thought never occurs to me to stop feeding before I kill the man.

By the time I realize this, he is already dead. I pull away, wipe my mouth on a sleeve, and sigh contentedly. I have sated the bloodlust.

I release my prey's mind and drop him carelessly to the ground. I feel strong. In control. "How was that?" I whisper, knowing Jager is near. He emerges from the shadows, smiling.

"I told you you'd be strong."

Strong enough to kill you for doing this to me? I threaten silently.

He gives me a taste of power he holds, not so it hurts me, but only so I can sense his strength. Not quite, fledgling, he chuckles.

I am furious with him, but the intimacy of mind-to-mind conversation is comforting. I hate you.

I know, he replies. But Emmie didn't.

I raise an eyebrow. "I am Emmie," I say aloud.

"Do you really believe that?" he asks of me.

I think about this. Emmie would never have killed anyone. Emmie was the kind of person to be killed. I know for certain suddenly that Emmie did die that morning. Died and won't ever come back. "...No," I say finally. "What happens now?"

"You are called Elyse," I tells me. I think about this.

"Elyse," I whisper, letting the word roll over my tongue. I lick my lips.

Though I still look like her, I am no longer Emmie. Dark gold hair, the illusion of indigo eyes, and a sorrow so deep it hurts. But I am not that mortal any longer.

I grin in the darkness. I like it.