She groaned. “Please just get this over with.”

I nicked my finger on the dagger’s edge. Blood instantly welled. She opened her eyes. “Gods,” she said.

“Just one.” I held out my hand.

She lifted herself onto her elbows, her head tipped back, her short hair bright in the rising sun. She gripped my wrist and lifted her face to my hand, licking my finger like a calf. I shivered. The cut stung, but I loved the feel of her tongue on me. I couldn’t look away from her dark eyes, her mouth on my hand. Then her eyes glazed over. Her fingers slackened around my wrist. She dropped back down, heavy as wood, rigid, and staring.

She lay like that for a long time, long enough that I grew concerned, trying to tell myself that the blue-haired man had tasted my blood and survived, and his brain had seemed addled well before.

Sid’s chest rose and fell with steady breaths. Her lower lip was pink with my blood.

I curled up next to her on the bed. I waited. I breathed in the scent of her smoky perfume. I closed my eyes.

Finally, I felt her stir beside me. She made a soft noise deep in her throat. Her hand reached out and found my thigh. She pulled me close, then turned onto her side to face me, her eyes wide, blinking rapidly. Then she burrowed into my arms and pressed her damp face against my neck.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She nodded. I felt a tear slide down my neck.

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’m so sorry. What can I do? Tell me what to do.”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It hurts inside. It’s because I remembered something I don’t have anymore.”

“But it was real?”

“Yes,” she said. “It was. It used to be real.”

“Can you tell me?”

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” She started to pull away.

“Stay.”