The process didn't appear to be working. I'd never changed someone, so I didn't know exactly what I was supposed to be feeling. There was no blood tie forming, though, no bond I could notice. All I felt was light-headed from lack of blood, and Cyrus seemed to fade faster and faster. His chest no longer moved with breath. His face turned blue.

What mistake had I made? My blood should have made him a vampire, the way his had made me when our blood had exchanged in the morgue.

Exchanged! Carrie, how could you be so stupid?

I needed to drink his blood—if there was any left—to complete the process. I just hoped it worked out of order. Pressing my lips to one of the gaping wounds on his chest, I gently touched my tongue to the gory, exposed muscle there. We'd accidentally exchanged blood when he'd turned me, so little I hadn't even noticed it. A few drops now had to do the trick. I sucked against the wound and a hot trickle slipped past my lips.

The change was immediate, unpleasant and violent.

Cyrus's body bucked against the floor. Pain ripped through my chest, my head, my heart. I think I screamed. White-hot light flashed behind my eyes, and I collapsed on top of Cyrus's dead, yet somehow curiously alive, body.

A familiar, yet different channel opened in my head. It was Cyrus, and he was filled with hate, even as he drifted between the worlds of the living and dead.

He was my fledgling.

I was his sire.

Chapter Eleven
Fools Rush In

As much as Max hated being cooped up in the Prancing Pony Motor Inn, he was relieved that so far, the Oracle hadn't messed with Bella.

In fact, Bella seemed to actually enjoy their captivity. During the day she slept at his side, except for the few times she'd sneaked away to buy food from the gas station across the road. At night, she took almost domestic pleasure in caring for him, propping pillows beneath his injured knee and warming bags of blood in hot water from the tap.

"I think the diet of Twinkies and chips is agreeing with you," he said with a laugh when she brought him his breakfast on the third night.

She smiled and helped him sit up, fluffing the pillows behind his back as she did. "Perhaps. Perhaps I am just a nice person and you never gave me credit for that."

He shook his head. "You're not a nice person."

She slapped his injured knee lightly, and he yelped.

"Not nice at all," he grumbled, taking the bag of blood from her and biting off a corner.

He took a few long swallows and carefully lowered the bag, pinching off the opening between his fingers. Motel staff, no matter how low-rent the establishment, didn't tend to appreciate blood on their bedding. And Bella. didn't have to look so damn disgusted when he ate.