Chapter Text
If Miranda weren’t immortal, then surely this girl would have been the death of her.
Her scent – God, her scent. If the girl had an inkling of what it did to steadily chip away at Miranda’s self-control, she’d have had the good sense to run far away by now.
Miranda already regretted hiring her. That damned interview had left Miranda shaken up. Visions of it stuck in her mind and wouldn’t leave, no matter how hard she tried to make them. She kept seeing those big eyes, which oozed sincerity, and the way the girl had been briefly cowed only to come back at full force. Surprisingly strong, and refreshingly willful.
Miranda would be quick to deny it if anyone were to ask – and damn Nigel and his knowing looks – but she was enraptured from that very moment on.
But Miranda could resist. She didn’t get to where she was in life by succumbing to temptation, and she had no use for something as frivolous and ephemeral as a thrall, of all things. Lesser vampires could become slaves to their desires for all she cared, but Miranda was stronger than that. She could sustain herself on Vintage and animal blood alone. The sophisticated way of feeding.
The safer route, something inside her whispered.
She didn’t care how delectable a certain brunette’s blood may be, or how much it called to her. She didn’t care about flushed skin, the image of a soft body writhing underneath her as she –
No, Miranda didn’t need that, and she certainly did not crave it. Ridiculous.
She refused to have such a bond, to be tethered, to have that dependence take hold of her once the first drop of fresh blood hit her tongue. It filled Miranda with disdain to think of the vampires who relied on mortals for sustenance. Once their thirst was sated, vampires would lose their ability to want for anything else, and Miranda hated the idea of needing, of being at the mercy of another. Thrall bonds were even worse.
Fresh blood was supposedly healthier, natural – according to who? The self-proclaimed ‘vampire specialists’ that grew big-headed with their theories and research, with qualifications that – anyhow, it was laughable, really. Healthy. What could possibly be unhealthy for that which does not live?
It didn’t matter that most of the vampire population required regular intervals of fresh blood to function and to stop the slow progression of aging – Miranda was not most vampires. She was a Born vampire and had never been human like most of the population had. Moreover, she was the editor-in-chief of Runway. She defied the odds and achieved the impossible every day, and this was no different. If she felt any fatigue, well that was just a mental obstacle, now, wasn’t it? Miranda would push past it, ignore it, and be all the stronger for it.
What was it that the last insipid doctor had told her, when Miranda was practically strong-armed into a ‘necessary check-up’? Heart problems? According to most of the world, she didn’t have a heart – and that sentiment was partially true, of course, just not in the way they presumed. The heart inside of her still existed, yet it did not beat. So how the hell could she possibly develop ‘heart problems’ for a useless organ that nestled inside of her like a parasite? It was completely absurd. And what the hell could a Made vampire know about those who were Born, anyhow?
No, she’d continue to have her assistants deliver her daily ‘rare, extra bloody’ Smith & Wollensky, and she’d continue to drink her Vintage in the evenings while she looked over the Book. Supposed ‘dire health consequences’ be damned.
Miranda was about to call for the said Smith & Wollensky when a shadow fell over her desk, disrupting her focus. She curled her lip and did not bother looking up at the man.
“To what do I owe this… pleasure?” Miranda wrinkled her nose.
Irv gave her a tight smile that far more resembled a grimace, “Have you taken her as thrall yet?”
Miranda leaned back in her chair, languid, making a point to brush off an imaginary piece of lint from the elbow of her Armani suit. In the most disinterested tone she could muster, “Has age diminished your memory that much? The agreed upon terms state that I would take my second assistant as a thrall when, and if, she has proven herself competent enough to keep the position.”
She looked up then, “I hardly think that two weeks of employment counts as ‘competent’, but perhaps competency only consists of clocking in on day-one in your sector.”
Irv scowled, “And you just love using that little loophole, don’t you? Well, doesn’t matter now, since HR isn’t allowing you to fire this one. So you’ll need to claim her, and you need to do it soon.”
Miranda tensed. “When, exactly, was that delightful decision made?”
“Just this morning,” Irv smirked, “during the board meeting.”
“And I was left out of this impromptu board meeting, why?” Miranda said through gritted teeth, tightening her grip on the armrests of her chair.
Irv puffed up, clearly pleased for whatever the hell was about to come out of his mouth, “Since it concerns you and your worsening condition, the board has decided to intervene on your behalf. Purely out of worry for your health, of course.”
Worsening condition. Miranda could just about light the man on fire.
“Are you that concerned about this year’s Blood Moon that you’d resort to petty intricacies on thralls? I admit, I’m used to seeing such desperation from you – often, in fact – but you’ve outdone yourself this time,” Miranda replied coolly.
Irv hissed at her with dilating eyes, pinpricks of red flashing in them.
Miranda bit down on a responding hiss. She leaned forward and kept her nails dug into her chair so that she didn’t launch herself across her desk. “You’ll listen to me, and you’ll listen to me well.”
Her voice was calm, smooth, severe. It expelled power. It was Suggestion.
Swaying, Irv was hit hard by her hypnosis. He stood ramrod straight with dull eyes, awaiting her command.
“I don’t care that you’re the director of the board. I don’t care who you are at all,” Miranda said slowly, enunciating each word. “If you ever bare your teeth at me again, I will ensure your fangs are torn out, so that you’ll have no choice but to drink from blood bags for the rest of your miserable existence.”
Miranda dropped her compulsion swiftly, not bothering to give a smooth comedown. He deserved to feel the rush of nauseating dizziness that came as a result.
Irv blinked rapidly and twitched, breaking out of the trance. He shook in poorly concealed rage, but Miranda was certain that he knew better than to challenge her use of Suggestion, as he was pathetically outmatched. “You’ll take the girl as your thrall and you’ll do it before All Hallow’s Eve. That’s final.”
He had some nerve, giving her orders immediately after her compulsion. Miranda clenched her jaw and gave a curt nod. Irv’s eyes flashed red a few more times – she’d overlook the disrespect, as it was an uncontrollable physiological reaction – before he stormed out of her office.
The new girl watched the man leave, then looked over at Miranda’s office curiously.
Miranda felt the beginnings of a headache.
☆ ★
In the Closet, Miranda rifled through scrap fabrics, searching for pieces that could be restitched, rebuilt into something new. It was a stress-relieving task she did only sparingly. A holdover from her early days as a designer.
Miranda was comparing two tops when a bat flew into the room, uncoordinated and going much too fast. It went off-kilter, nearly getting tangled in the accessories rack it barreled through, then went careening over at her like a kamikaze pilot.
“What on earth—”
The bat crash landed into Miranda, fell onto the floor in a heap, then exploded into a cloud of purple smoke. Nigel materialized next to her, rubbing his thigh with a wince. “You’d think that after all these years I’d get better at the whole flying thing.”
“You’d think that after all these years you’d know better than to test my patience,” Miranda snapped.
“Yeah, yeah,” Nigel rolled his eyes. The audacity of this man--! “Stake me another time, will you? We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
Miranda wanted to wring his neck. The next time he came bumbling in like a – well, like a bat out of hell, she supposed – she’d be sure to grab him and throw him into her Prada bag for the rest of eternity.
“What do you think you’re doing, flying around the office like that? What if one of the humans,” Miranda was disgusted to even have the word in her mouth, “saw you? I’d rather not have another call placed to an exterminator.”
“Relax, M,” Nigel said exasperatedly, “everyone’s cleared out for the night. I just needed to stretch my wings. God knows it gets stuffy during the day, surrounded by all the blood pumping.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Miranda replied icily, “some of us have more self-control than that. It’s unfortunate that I’m privy to the countless number of ‘boy-toy models’ you talk about sinking your teeth into.” Nigel, like her, was Born, and yet he indulged himself far too frequently for her tastes.
Nigel scoffed. “Oh really? Let’s talk about the new girl, hm?” He moved to rummage through some of the bins himself. “Aren’t you supposed to be taking sips off her by now? Why are you resisting so much? I know it can’t be because she doesn’t appeal to you – I don’t swing that way, but even in those hideous clothes she manages to be utterly mouthwatering—"
“She does not appeal to me,” Miranda asserted. How dare Nigel comment on her second assistant in such a way? Her irritation stemmed from his disrespect and had nothing to do with possessive instinct or any other such nonsense. Her own far more scathing remarks towards the girl notwithstanding.
Nigel only smirked, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” He fished out a season’s old Dior top with frayed edges – “Ooh, I think we could make something out of this.”
Miranda begrudgingly murmured her agreement despite her annoyance.
“You’ll have to feed eventually,” Nigel started up again, “If you’re really so hellbent on ‘resisting temptation’ for the blushing maiden, why not drink from Emily? God knows she’d fall over for the chance, and you wouldn’t even have to make her a true thrall, either. I’m sure finding out La Priestly is a creature of the night wouldn’t dial back her hero worship one bit.”
Miranda pursed her lips. He must have knocked out some brain cells during his crash landing.
“As if I’d drink from anything that squawks that much. It would be like drinking from you in your bat form, with all your flying…performance issues.”
Nigel gave her a bored look, “Very funny.”
“Yes, because I’m widely known for my comedic endeavors.” Miranda snatched the Dior piece from his hands and inspected it more closely. She took note of what pieces of jewelry might compliment it, once she turned it into something worth looking at.
“Comi-tragedy, maybe.” Nigel hummed. “But really, you need to drink from a human, and soon. And if you want to stop aging, you’ll need a thrall.”
As if she cared about such a thing. Thrall bonds, unlike regular feeding, were the only thing that could stop the aging process. It took decades for a vampire to age at the equivalent of one human year, and Born vampires aged even slower. Miranda had never taken a thrall, while Nigel had taken several in the past, and he only appeared marginally younger than her. It mattered very little to the both of them, but Nigel never failed to bring it up in his efforts to sway her.
At any rate, thralls were often used as a stand-in for a mate, which made it all the more humiliating that Miranda was being forced by the board to take one. To be forced into such an intimate bond was as good as an arranged marriage by her standards.
Oh, she’d had much to say about that, but it did little good. The Board had absurdly pointed out that she had ‘gotten herself into this mess by going so long without human blood,’ and that at this point, ‘the only option left to restore health is through a thrall bond’.
Nigel broke her from her thoughts, “You know what they say: self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting,” he recited in a sing-song tone.
Miranda chose to ignore the implication of that. “You’re off by a century, at least.”
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Nigel’s smile fell from his face, “As much as I’d love to continue this lovely parley, I did come here for a reason.”
Miranda stiffened, sure that he must have picked up some important information. Nigel loved to be a bat on the wall, so to speak. He would latch himself onto whatever fixture he could hang from, then lovingly nose his way into whatever discussion he could eavesdrop on. He enjoyed flattening himself in the elevator ducks the most; mortals and vampires alike used the things as echo chambers of mindless chatter. It was exactly why she did not allow anyone inside the elevator with her.
Even if it was a trivial use of time that could be better spent on actual work, she couldn’t complain much. Nigel essentially took it upon himself to be her informant.
“We already know that Irv’s been fixated on traditionalism as of late,” Nigel began, “and from what I heard this morning in the elevator, Irv is pushing to do the Dragoon ritual on All Hallow’s Eve.” Nigel rolled his eyes again at the phrase and muttered to himself, ‘pretentious old bats, can’t just call it Halloween like everyone else.’
Miranda fussed with the long chain of her necklace. It was a startling aspect. She knew that Irv was obsessed with ancient vampiric traditions, however controversial, but this was something else. She had been around for far longer than Irv – one of the Made – yet she did not recall ever hearing of such a ritual.
Nigel frowned. “I was hoping you knew what that ritual was, but I suppose not.” The uncertainty was unsettling. “It concerns me even more that he’s also pushing for humans to be present – every staff member in Elias-Clarke, to be exact.”
And every one of the ancient vampire rituals, to their knowledge, consisted of mass amounts of bloodletting.
“Not just that,” Nigel continued, looking a bit shaken himself, “Irv is said to have extended an invitation to Jacqueline Follet.”
Miranda’s expression darkened. “During the blood moon.”
“During the blood moon,” Nigel confirmed.
A brief silence fell over them. An unknown, ancient ritual taking place under the most powerful moon there was while in the presence of humans. It did not bode well.
“Whatever the damned ritual might be, the name of it does not escape my notice. Dragoon. Oh so coincidentally close to my own moniker.” Miranda felt her nails lengthen to claws, and she struggled not to shred the Dior dress or break the chain of her necklace. “This may be the last thing that pushes me into dismembering the fool.”
“He’d deserve it if he went through with whatever this is. I’d even help you set the body alight.” Nigel sorted through a selection of discarded belts, then tutted when nothing caught his attention.
Miranda took a deep breath. “Forced to acquire a thrall. Dealing with the infuriating new girl with horrid attire and complete disregard for fashion. Jocelyn’s unsurprising disappointment of a run-through, that disaster of a preview that James Holt put on – upcoming designer, I highly doubt it – Roy managing to get himself poisoned with garlic and leaving me stranded with a temporary human replacement.
“And now, I’m burdened with stopping Irv’s plot, in which I will inadvertently save human lives and no doubt have the action mislabeled as an act of heroism. As if I don’t already have to do everything else around here.” Miranda let go of her necklace and raised a hand to her temple. “And all of that, in the middle of the Fall edition of Runway.”
Nigel raised a brow. “Self-pity doesn’t look good on you.”
“It’s not self-pity, it’s mere fact. While you were busy trifling about with your side-hustle of playing private detective, I was solely responsible for the success of the magazine, and now, apparently, with stopping what will no doubt be a literal bloodbath.”
Nigel shook his head slowly and had the audacity to look disappointed. With her. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
“I suppose you’re about to tell me whatever it is you think I ‘don’t get’, so out with it.”
“You’re not alone in this. I’m just as enmeshed in this as you are. I’ll no doubt be aiding you in this stop-Irv-save-lives-all-in-the-span-of-one-night rescue mission. With Jacqueline Follet and her loathsome pack present, to boot.”
Miranda did not reply. She plucked a cerulean wool jacket from the pile and added it to her chosen pieces. She gathered it all in her arms, then turned to face Nigel again.
There was much to do, and so little time to do it.
☆ ★
“Emily,” Miranda called.
There was no movement, and she was already growing impatient.
‘She means you’, Miranda heard Emily whisper shrilly, followed by the sound of an abrupt shuffling, and then the new girl was stumbling like a foal into her office. “Yes, Miranda?”
“Have you gotten the skirts from Calvin Klein over to Karla for the reshoot? Did you have to deal with that useless girl, or was Ivan available?”
The girl nodded and tugged at her fingers in a nervous little gesture, “Yes, I got them. And no, I had to deal – I was assisted by Liz. But she got me the twelve skirts, and I got those over to Karla already, and also, I, um, I got your Smith & Wollensky early, since Emily told me that you sometimes like to have an additional plate stashed away – well not stashed away, but put away in the fridge. In case you get extra, um, hungry. So I got that too…”
Miranda was surprised to find that she was not irritated by the incessant rambling, but intrigued. Much like one would observe an animal at the zoo, fumbling about in its enclosure. “And the lingerie shoot?”
The girl blushed prettily, and Miranda inhaled sharply at the aromatic red that wafted over to her. The bloom of images that it incited. God, the things it did to her.
“I—yes,” The girl swung her hands to clasp them together at her front, “I’ve got the polaroids. Did you want those on your desk?”
“They should have been on my desk already,” Miranda bit out. She crossed her legs to relieve some of the pressure between her thighs.
“Oh! Of course, I’ll just go grab them—”
“No.” Miranda couldn’t have the girl come closer to her. She couldn’t even work with the girl just a few feet away. Not after her reaction to a simple blush.
“Throw out the Smith & Wollensky. Go get me a fresh plate for my lunch, then check the brakes on my car. The twins need costumes for their school play – whatever that is – and then I need you to go across town and find that armoire I saw at the vintage shop last week.” There. That should keep her running around all day, and far from the office.
“Where is— I’ll find it. I’ll just, go do all that now.” The girl turned to go, but Miranda called out to her again before she could scurry too far.
The words floated out of her mouth before she could stop them, “Deliver the Book tonight.”
Miranda cursed herself. She hadn’t meant to say that, in fact, it was the exact opposite of what needed to happen. And yet she could not bring herself to rescind the request.
“Um.” the girl looked at her blankly, then gave a wobbly smile. “Okay. I will—I’ll make sure to deliver that.”
Miranda turned to face the window, frustrated at her lapse in control. She should have never hired the damned girl, but she did, and now she was dealing with the consequences.
Her attention was drawn back to the whispered debacle taking place right outside her office door.
‘What book?’
‘The Book. My God, do you know nothing?’
‘Well, there’s plenty of books around here, so I don’t really know—'
A series of noises.
‘This is the Book. Now, it is a mockup of everything in the current edition – no, don’t touch it. Now, we deliver it to Miranda’s townhouse every night—'
‘At her – I’m going to her house?!’
‘You’re going to give me an aneurysm by the time this day is through. Scratch that – maybe by the end of this hour.’
Miranda looked heavenward, trying to find the strength.
☆ ★
“Cassidy cheated on her test today.”
“I did not!” an outraged cry from across the table. “If anything, you were the one cheating! And you’ve been copying my homework, for, like, days!”
“You’re such a liar,” Caroline hissed, crushing the metal fork in her hand and snapping it in two. Good Lord.
“You’re such a snitch—”
“Girls. No hissing at the table.” Miranda reprimanded. “And Caroline, really, there’s no need to go breaking utensils. You really must learn to control your strength.”
Caroline grumbled and reluctantly gathered the pieces together. Cassidy snickered but schooled her features once Miranda shot her a reproachful look.
“Drink your food,” Miranda said, biting into her own steak.
Cassidy glared down at the saturated meat before her, then reluctantly cut it with her steak knife. Table manners kept her constrained to human mannerisms. She raised her fork to her mouth, bit into the piece, and sucked the blood out like a dog chewing on a bone. It was incredibly demeaning, and she figured she ought to let her mother know exactly what she thought of the whole ordeal.
“This is so completely stupid.”
Caroline abruptly stopped cleaning the table.
Miranda willed herself to remain calm. “And what, pray tell, is so ‘completely stupid’ about dinner?”
Knowing full well she was pushing it, but having her mother’s temper, Cassidy flung her fork down. “This! Eating – drinking – like a human.” She growled lowly, “It’s embarrassing! I don’t even want to feed at school because everyone else in our grade drinks from blood bags, like normal vampires are supposed to.”
“You’re not everyone else,” Miranda said coolly, “neither of you are. You’re Priestleys. And you should thank your lucky stars that you go to a vampiric private school to begin with. Would you rather go to a human school where you’d have to refrain from lunch entirely, lest the humans catch wind of your very existence?”
Agitated by her mother’s words, and emboldened by her sister’s defense, Caroline jumped in. “Maybe a human school would be less humiliating. We’re already forced to act like humans, since you won’t let us tear into our food.”
“It would be uncouth to give into animalistic mannerisms,” Miranda narrowed her eyes. “And you are hardly forced to act human. There is a difference between a vampire who can control their base instincts and a vampire who is essentially human for all they’re worth.”
“Well, I don’t care. I’m going to drink from a blood bag tomorrow. Maybe I’ll even drink from a donor.” Cassidy raised her chin defiantly and looked straight at her mother.
Miranda withheld the snarl in the back of her throat. Her daughter, drinking from a human donor. Not in her lifetime. “You will do no such thing.”
Cassidy continued to glare at her for a moment, but faltered, then deflated. “I don’t understand. Just because you’re our mother, just because you don’t want to drink from humans—”
“Cassidy,” Miranda warned.
“You might as well just use your Suggestion on us since you command us to do everything you say anyways!” Cassidy shouted. “I don’t want to be you. I don’t want to be like you.” The young vampire was so upset that her fangs poked out, a sign of her turbulent emotions.
Miranda felt the floor drop out from under her. She sucked in harshly and pushed away from the table. “That’s quite enough. We’ll continue this discussion once we’ve all settled down.”
Cassidy pushed out her own chair and bolted up the stairs. Miranda didn’t have the energy to call after her not to run in the house. She looked wearily over at Caroline.
“I suppose you’re of the same opinion as your sister?” Miranda sighed.
Caroline paused, then nodded. “I don’t understand why you control how we feed. Even our school nurse is worried about our health because we aren’t getting the nutrients we need from human blood. And it’s not that I don’t want to be like you either, mom, it’s just –” in an uncharacteristic manner, she wrung her hands. “I’m not just a Priestly, and I’m not just your daughter. I’m me, too.”
☆ ★
Feeling rather morose, Miranda found herself alone in the den an hour later, pouring herself another glass of Vintage. Perhaps it was a bit hypocritical of her to drink the blood-wine, which only contained human blood; animal blood did not oxidize the same and did not mix well with alcohol. The fact that she was technically getting more human blood than her daughters were, and the harsh reminder that it was affecting their health – that it wasn’t just her own health she was ignoring– was a painful prospect.
Would it really be so terrible to allow her daughters to drink from blood bags occasionally, even though she internally rejected the notion? There was a lower risk of dependency if the blood was not taken fresh, directly from the source – but there was still a risk, and Miranda could hardly bear the thought of a Priestly relying on anyone, anything else at all. For her girls to need anyone but her.
“I’m not just a Priestly, and I’m not just your daughter. I’m me, too.”
Miranda swallowed roughly. Maybe – maybe she was being too controlling. She hadn’t thought she’d carried that trait over to motherhood from the other aspects of her life, but clearly, she’d been blind to it. But… wasn’t that the point of family? Of her own little coven? To be a united front, to hold the same values, ideals, goals?
Should she just be content with allowing her daughters to lower themselves in such a way? Letting them fall victim to their own animalistic nature?
“We’re already forced to act like humans.”
She wondered if there was some truth in that. Miranda detested humans, the weaker species, her natural prey. But there were levels of humanity. Yes, she was a predator at her core. But there must be a line somewhere, the line where control rested, where she could tame the animal she was without becoming the handler instead.
How far could she stray from humanity, from succumbing to the animal inside? She was a vampire, not a true beast -- not like the mongrels that roamed the earth, at mercy of the moon. So then how close could she get to humanity while still being a monster? Was it worth it, falling into human behavior, masquerading as one even behind closed doors?
But Miranda was well-versed in masks. She hardly existed without one. She wondered, sometimes, if there was even anything left underneath to salvage. If she only consisted of two extremes, if she was only ever chasing that elusive line where control rested, where it could never be reached.
If all that laid below her mask was a thrashing animal prowling the surface.
A whisper in her head: What would it be like, then, to lose control completely?
“Mom?”
Miranda looked up to see Caroline and Cassidy standing at the entrance of the den. They edged forward, but did not cross the threshold. They were waiting for her approval, she dismally realized.
She opened her arms immediately, to which they both rushed forward to embrace her, clumsily knocking together in their refusal to take turns. She wrapped her arms around both of them as much as she was able.
“I’m sorry,” Cassidy mumbled into her shoulder. Miranda hushed her and ran a hand soothingly through her hair.
She rocked them both lightly, carefully sending out waves of calm through her power of compulsion.
“Can we sleep in our bat forms?” Caroline asked quietly, pulling away with a hopeful blink.
They often preferred sleeping in their bat forms when they were in desperate need of comfort. Miranda felt a pang of regret for being the one to cause such distress.
“Yes, Bobbsey,” Miranda murmured, then found her arms empty as they simultaneously transformed. Through wisps of purple smoke she saw her two little russet bats, flapping in front of her. She motioned for them to follow.
Miranda felt a burst of pride as they flew beside her up the stairs. Coordinated and clever in their navigation, purposeful in their movement. They had come leaps and bounds from their terrible twos – the vampiric developmental phase where newborns would first shift, then subsequently be stuck in their bat forms until they learned how to shift back.
Secretly, Miranda missed those days, when the two were so tiny and completely reliant on their mother for care. She hated that they were starting to not need her quite as much, that one day they would not need her at all. And, she supposed, that was the problem with dependency – the inevitable end of it.
“You two are far better than Nigel is at flying, and he’s been around since the Black Plague.” Her two baby bats chittered in response, then hooked themselves onto Miranda’s arms once she reached their room. That, too, would someday change. They would need separate spaces. Even to one another, with the shared connection only twins have, they would grow apart.
Miranda was contemplative as she swaddled them both in the Versace blanket they had since they were newborns. It was infused with her scent, which always seemed to calm them. The two pressed against one another, settling down in the blanket to get comfortable. She laid them down gently in their shared coffin, the smaller one meant for their bat forms.
She stood over them, overwhelmed. She felt so much love for her girls that it hurt. She did not allow herself to feel that way about anything or anyone else. That love she miraculously carried inside of her cold shell was, and would always be, reserved for her daughters alone. And that is why it hurt all the more that they were growing detached from her, would one day be completely untethered. And what would become of them, without them under her wing?
And what would become of her?
Lost in thought, Miranda made her way down the stairs. Part of her longed to stretch her wings herself, but there was no time for such flights of fancy, not anymore, not like in her youth. She couldn’t remember the last time she was even in that form. Despite the freedom of flight, she hated feeling small, being that vulnerable.
It was irrelevant. She’d wasted enough time moping, and she knew the Book would be arriving soon. She resolved to work late into the night. Even though she was fatigued, being a nocturnal creature meant that she would regenerate energy regardless. Far more energy, she admitted, than the animal blood or Vintage could ever bring.
Miranda was halfway to the den when the front door clicked open softly. She melted into the shadows as that persistent aroma drifted to where she hid. Feeling as if she were the one stuck in a trance, she stood vigil in the darkness.
The new Emily – no, Andrea – was hesitant, pausing in the doorway. It briefly reminded Miranda of her daughters, that same lost, timid look that made something in Miranda’s chest ache.
She watched as the girl shifted, turning one way or another, clearly confused as to where to go. Andrea darted her eyes all over the place with a singular focus, before she mumbled, “oh,” and headed towards the door that had been right in front of her face.
“You’re losing it, Sachs,” Andrea said to herself with a small chuckle. She opened the door awkwardly with one hand, nearly sending the dry-cleaning she held clattering to the floor. She hopped on one foot to balance herself, then let out a sigh of relief. Lord.
When Andrea had managed, impressively, to complete the simple task of hanging up the dry cleaning in the foyer closet, she was left holding the Book. She located the side table and placed it down carefully, then looked around the foyer again with wide eyes. “Wow,” she breathed.
It wasn’t the first time someone was impressed by the townhouse, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. But something about that innocent, sincere awe in the girl’s expression made something stir deep inside of Miranda. It was those doe eyes, capturing her once again.
Miranda envisioned this girl as if that were what she was: a doe shrouded in trees. This demure, gentle creature on shaky legs, blissfully unaware of the predator lurking just out of sight. Miranda’s senses heightened until she could only hear the distinct pulse of a heartbeat, the steady thumps that seemed to reverberate through the entire foyer, through her entire being. As if it were calling, Come take me. Come consume me.
Her mouth watered as the girl’s – doe’s – scent enveloped her completely in its warm haze. Miranda could feel her fangs elongating, could feel her muscles straining in her efforts to stay in place. To not pursue. Not yet.
Would this doe like that – to be consumed? What would it be like, Miranda wondered, to have this girl be the willing sort of prey, splayed out before her, beckoning Miranda to take her fill? Miranda envisioned being trusted enough to have such a fragile thing in her jaws. Could envision crushing it, in Miranda’s helpless, monstrous way. A true animal.
Would she like that, if Miranda weren’t careful? If there were no restraint, if the predator were to take this beautiful creature and ruin it forever, claim it as her own? The image caused the animal inside of Miranda to tremble, to rise dangerously to the surface.
Andrea turned to leave, and Miranda willed herself not to give chase. She watched as the girl, clumsy slip of a thing, bumped her knee against the banister and swore under her breath. Miranda continued to watch as the girl opened the door, and she continued to watch as the doe pranced away, taking its terribly alluring scent along with it.
Miranda exhaled shakily.
Yes, this girl would be the death of her, and she dreaded the day of the killing blow.
Not yet, she thought, but soon.