A Bite to Remember

"Lay her on the table."



Vincent scowled at that order from Christian Notte as the man hurried past him into the kitchen and cleared away the empty cups from earlier in the day. Scooping them off the dining table with quick hands, he shoved them at Tiny to put somewhere, then turned back.



"Why aren't you chasing after her attacker?" Vincent asked with sudden fury.



"Marcus went after him. I stayed to see if I can help," the man answered tersely. "Set her on the table."



Vincent hesitated, then moved to the table and lay Jackie gently on it. He'd rather carry her upstairs and put her in bed, but he supposed they had to clean her up first. There seemed to be an awful lot of blood. He frowned over that as he straightened from setting her down. A lot of blood, he noted numbly, his heart sinking.



"Dear God," Tiny whispered, a catch in his voice and his face paling sickly as Christian gently clasped Jackie's chin and turned her head to examine the wound. It wasn't a bite, it was a tear. Her throat had been ripped open with a vicious intent to kill. Vincent couldn't even guess at the amount of blood she'd lost.



He turned away and moved to the sink to grab one of the new tea towels they'd bought for his kitchen. After dampening it, Vincent hurried back to her side and began to wipe ineffectually at the blood. It was on her neck, down her chest, soaking into the white cotton of the t-shirt she wore under her jogging suit.



The sound of Tiny's deep voice made him glance around. The mortal was speaking into the phone.



"I need an ambulance," he said urgently.



Vincent glanced down at Jackie's injury. An ambulance would never get there in time to save her. "Hang up, Tiny."



The giant glanced his way with surprise. "But she?



"Look at her. They can't save her," he said grimly.



"What are you doing?" Christian asked sharply as Vincent began to undo the buttons of his sleeve.



"I'm going to turn her," Vincent said calmly and knew from the man's expression that it wasn't the answer he'd expected.



"Vincent?" Tiny said uncertainly, but didn't move to stop him and did hang up the phone. Vincent supposed that was tacit agreement and was glad. He didn't want to argue with the man, nor did he want to take over his mind to keep Tiny out of the way while he did what he had to do to save Jackie.



"Neil said you saved Stephano's life by turning him," Christian said slowly.



Vincent shrugged indifferently. He didn't care about rules or laws. He cared about Jackie.



"The bleeding has slowed to a trickle," Marguerite said, and Vincent turned to find her bent over Jackie, watching her throat as she moaned and shifted on the table.



"Move, Aunt Marguerite. I have to turn her." Vincent began to roll up his sleeve.



Marguerite ignored him, her gaze remained on Jackie's wound for a moment, then shifted to her face and she asked with bewilderment, "Why is her face covered with blood?"



Vincent peered down at Jackie's face, noting the blood around her mouth, but just repeated, "Move, Aunt Marguerite."



"You are not turning her, Vincent," she said harshly. "If anyone does, it will be me. Now... why is her mouth full of blood?"



Vincent shifted impatiently. "She tried to help me. She bit him."



Marguerite's gaze became sharp. "She bit him?"



Vincent frowned at being bothered with these questions at a time like this. "He had a knife. She bit into his wrist to keep him from using it on me when I first reached them."



They all turned to Jackie as she moaned again, more loudly this time, then she suddenly began to convulse on the table.



"What's happening?" Vincent asked in a panic. He stepped up to the table again, grabbing for Jackie's shoulders to keep her from convulsing right off the table top.



"Could she have got enough blood while biting the killer to be turning?" Christian asked.



"It's possible," Marguerite said slowly. "But I've never seen someone convulse like this during a turning. Not this early on." She frowned. "She's lost a lot of blood, though. That could be why."



"What do we do?" Tiny asked anxiously.



Marguerite hesitated, then ordered, "Grab a bag of blood, Tiny."



The giant rushed to the refrigerator at once, returning with the bag. Marguerite slit it open with a fingernail, then held it over Jackie's mouth. Vincent immediately moved to lift her head so that the liquid would slide down her throat and get to where it needed to be.



"Do you have enough bagged blood here to see her through the turning?"



Vincent frowned and glanced over his shoulder at the question from Christian. It was something he hadn't thought of and he already knew the answer before his aunt said, "No."



Much to his relief, Christian merely nodded and said, "We brought some with us. We had it sent on ahead to the hotel. I'll send Marcus for it when he gets back."



"I'll call Bastien and have him ship more blood out tomorrow to replace it," Marguerite murmured. She added, "We'll need an IV too, if we can find one."



"Why?" Christian asked with surprise.



"We've used it while turning others. It comes in quite handy," Aunt Marguerite explained.



"How many times have you overseen a turning?" Christian asked curiously.



"Four times over the last three years," she said with a shrug.



"Four?" he asked with surprise.



"My children's mates," she explained. "Then there were a couple others in the seven hundred years I've lived," Marguerite added with a shrug. "We can do this, but we need blood and an IV."



"We'll find an IV too," Christian assured her, then fell silent as Marguerite removed the now-empty bag and Vincent eased Jackie back onto the table. They all crowded closer around the table, watching her pale, still face.



"The convulsions have stopped," Tiny said with hope.



Vincent nodded slowly, then glanced from Jackie to his aunt as she moved to the head of the table and used her thumbs to pull Jackie's eyelids up to peer at her pupils. Vincent didn't see anything, but she must have, for she nodded with satisfaction and straightened. "It's beginning. You'd better move her upstairs, Vincent. Do you have any rope?"



"Rope?" he asked with confusion.



"She'll need to be tied down for a bit so she doesn't hurt herself," Marguerite explained.



"We'll get that too. I? Christian paused as the door leading out to the pool opened and the blond Marcus entered the kitchen, a grim expression on his face. When Christian raised an eyebrow in question, Marcus shook his head.



Vincent knew what that meant. The saboteur had got away. He felt a moment's bitter rage that the attacker had escaped, but then let it go, more concerned with Jackie.



"Take her upstairs, Argeneau," Christian said grimly. He gestured Marcus closer as he said, "I need you to go get a couple things, Marcus."



Vincent didn't listen to the rest. Instead, he scooped Jackie up into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen. Just before he left the room he saw Tiny try to follow and Marguerite stop him. He heard her begin to murmur low and soothing words to the giant, then Vincent was out of the kitchen and on his way upstairs.



Jackie was completely still in his arms as he carried her and he fretted over whether she really was turning or not. Aunt Marguerite could have made a mistake. She might not have got enough blood from the saboteur to facilitate the turn.



But then Vincent had barely laid Jackie in her bed before she began to moan. Soon after that she began to shift restlessly on the bed. Oddly enough, this reassured him. This is how Marguerite had described the turn to him. It was why Stephano's stillness had so disturbed her. The turning was a painful process, not something they slept through peacefully unless well drugged.



By the time his aunt joined him in the bedroom, Jackie was moaning continuously and loudly and writhing on the bed.



Marguerite frowned as she approached. "This is quick. I wonder if she got more blood from biting the attacker than we thought."



"What does that mean?" Vincent asked anxiously.



"Nothing," Marguerite reassured him, then glanced toward the door with a frown. "I hope Christian is quick."



"Did Christian go with Marcus?" Vincent asked.



"No. He felt it inadvisable to leave us here alone with the saboteur still out there and Jackie as she is. He's checking the garage for rope."



Vincent frowned, not at all comfortable with the idea of tying Jackie down. He changed his mind several moments later when she began to thrash, her body bending and twisting, arms and legs whipping viciously this way and that as she began to scream in pain. Vincent and Marguerite were struggling to try to hold her still and keep her from hurting herself when Tiny came rushing into the room.



"What's happening?! Why is she screaming?!" Tiny cried with alarm, rushing to the bed.



"It's the change," Marguerite said soothingly, then glanced toward the door with relief as Christian hurried in.



"I found some rope," he announced, which was unnecessary since they could see the rope dangling from his hand as he hurried to the bed.



It took all four of them twenty minutes to get Jackie tied down. Once it was done, Marguerite led Tiny out of the room, murmuring reassurances. Christian followed, silent and grim and Vincent had to wonder if the man had ever seen a turning before. He himself hadn't and hoped never to see it again. Jackie seemed to be in agony. He tried to reassure himself by repeating the mantra that when it finished, she would be immortal like him and they could be true life mates, but it didn't seem to help much. He hated to see her suffer so.



Suddenly weary, Vincent pulled the dressing table chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. There was nothing he could do to ease her way, but he would endure it with her. Jackie was his now. Forever. As long as she agreed to it, he added wryly. She was his true life mate. He just had to make her see it.



Vincent spent the rest of the night and all the next morning trying to figure out a way to do that as he watched over Jackie. Marguerite spent most of that time keeping him company, leaving the room every hour or so to retrieve another bag of blood from the kitchen. They took turns changing the bags until she retired to her own room to take a short nap at midmorning. Vincent was nodding off in the chair when she returned at noon with a fresh bag of blood in hand.



"How is she?" she asked, moving to the bedside to peer down at Jackie.



"Fine. Quiet now," Vincent said as Marguerite removed the empty blood bag in the IV stand beside the bed and replaced it with a fresh, full bag of the red liquid.



Vincent had no idea where Marcus had found the IV stand and didn't care enough to ask. It was enough that he'd found one while fetching the extra blood from the hotel he and Christian had planned to stay in. He supposed the man must have got it from the hospital, or a hospital supply store, but hadn't cared enough to ask.



Vincent hadn't spoken much to either man since Jackie had started to turn. He'd been told they were staying close in case the saboteur returned to finish what he'd started. They seemed to think everyone in the house might now be a target, at least Tiny, Marguerite, and Jackie. It seemed they'd decided his saboteur was determined to hurt him. While Vincent had to admit that was how it looked, he couldn't imagine what he might have done to make anyone hate him so much.



"Thank God she's stopped thrashing and screaming," Marguerite murmured as she finished her work with the IV and threw out the empty blood bag. "I don't think Tiny could handle much more. The poor man is terribly upset. He loves Jackie like a sister and while he's glad she'll live, he's concerned about what all this means and how she'll take that she's turned."



Vincent nodded. "I know. Thank you for keeping him out of here and keeping him busy."



"It was for the best," Marguerite said with a shrug. "He's been cooking up a storm downstairs. He's also eating the food as quickly as he's cooking it. I think he's a comfort eater."



"You're fond of him," Vincent said.



"Yes. Having him around is like having a second daughter."



Vincent blinked at the comment, then gave a short laugh. Six-foot, two-hundred-and-eighty-pound Tiny... a second daughter? He shook his head.



Marguerite returned to Jackie's side and frowned as she brushed a finger lightly down her cheek. "She's much more peaceful now. The worst of it must be over."



"We can hope," Vincent said quietly. "How much longer will she be out?"



Marguerite shook her head. "It's hard to say. In my experience, it usually only takes a day or two, but with Stephano it took three."



"Four," Vincent corrected.



"What?" Marguerite peered at him blankly.



"It's been four days and he still isn't awake... Is he?" Vincent added as he caught the expression on her face.



"I'm sorry," she said on a sigh. "He woke up shortly after Jackie was attacked last night. I meant to tell you, but when I got back here Jackie was screaming and thrashing and I forgot."



"He's awake?" Vincent asked, sitting up with amazement.



Marguerite nodded.



"Has he said who attacked him?"



She shook her head. "His mind was wiped. He can't recall anything about being stabbed, though there are fragments of the episode in his mind, none of them reveal the intruder. I suspect those fragments are why the saboteur felt it necessary to kill him. He probably feared he might pull the memory together eventually. And he might," she added encouragingly. "He's trying to sort it out now."



Vincent sagged back in his chair, his gaze returning to Jackie. For a brief moment he'd hoped Stephano might be able to tell them who his attacker was and this whole ordeal would be over. He was terribly disappointed that his problem persisted. He was hungry, but didn't dare feed.



"Allen Richmond has finished fixing the panel at the gate," she announced.



Vincent nodded with disinterest. Marguerite had mentioned earlier that Christian had made Tiny call the security company about the broken panel first thing that morning. It seemed it was repaired.



"And I ordered pizza. It's here," she added.



"Why?" Vincent asked with bewilderment. "You said Tiny was cooking up a storm."



"I ordered pizza for you," she explained firmly. "Tiny can toss the pizza for all I care, but I put the delivery man in your office for you."



"I'm not? Vincent began to deny he was hungry, but it was a lie. His body continued to need blood whether he wanted it or not. "Thank you, Aunt Marguerite, but I... I can't. What if the saboteur?



"I don't think that's a concern, Vincent. It's the middle of the day," she pointed out. "The saboteur will be home asleep and having sweet dreams about what he thinks he's done. This is probably the safest time for you to feed."



Vincent nodded slowly, seeing the sense in what she said. This probably was the safest time for him to feed. Sighing, he stood and moved toward the door. "I won't be long."



"I already paid him, but you might want to give him a tip," Marguerite said as he slid out of the room.



Vincent didn't run into anyone on the way to his office. After finishing with the delivery man, he slid a twenty-dollar bill into his pocket, then saw him out of the house. After locking the door behind him, he turned to find Tiny in the hall.



"How's Jackie?" the giant asked with concern. The mortal looked horrible: pale, exhausted, and haggard, with anxiety pulling at his bulldog features.



Vincent forced a smile. "She's stopped thrashing and screaming. She's resting much more peacefully. I think the worst is over. Hopefully she'll wake up soon."



Tiny's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank you. I've been worried."



Vincent clapped a hand on his shoulder in understanding. "She'll be fine," he assured him and was relieved to be able to say it. For a while there, Vincent hadn't been sure Jackie would survive the turning. She'd lost so much blood in the attack... But she'd survived the worst of it and should be fine now. He hoped.



"Can I see her?" he asked. "I wanted to come up earlier, but the Italians wouldn't let me."



"The Italians?" Vincent asked, then realized he meant Christian and Marcus. Marguerite had told him that they were in the kitchen, grilling Tiny about everything that had happened in the hopes of figuring things out and stopping the saboteur before someone else got hurt. He didn't doubt for a minute that retribution was part of it too. Stephano was their cousin after all.



As if drawn by the fact that they were talking about them, the kitchen door suddenly opened and Christian and Marcus strode out. Their footsteps slowed as they spotted Vincent.



"How is she?" Christian asked.



"The worst is over," Vincent admitted. "She'll survive."



"Good." Christian nodded at the news, then asked, "Marguerite said you didn't recognize the attacker?"



"No." Vincent felt his shoulders slump with defeat as he admitted that. It had been so dark and everything had happened so fast... Then too, the guy had been dressed all in black and with a half mask over his face from his nose up, leaving only his mouth free to tear into Jackie's throat. "I got a vague impression of size, small and wiry. Other than that..."



Christian nodded again as Vincent's voice trailed off. His gaze slid to Tiny and then back before he said, "We've been up all day, we're going to catch a couple of hours sleep. Dante and Tommaso will watch the house until we get up."



"Dante and... ?" Vincent's question died as the newly repaired buzzer sounded, announcing someone at the gate. Eyebrows rising when Christian nodded, Vincent moved to the panel and asked who it was. He wasn't surprised to hear the names Dante and Tommaso. He pushed the button to open the gate, then turned to catch Tiny peering warily at the two immortals. It made him wonder what threat the men had used to keep Tiny downstairs and away from Jackie.



Vincent turned his gaze to Christian and Marcus. "Dante and Tommaso?"



"My cousins. Twins," Christian explained. "You can trust them."



Since Vincent hadn't determined yet if he trusted Christian, his assurance wasn't worth much, but he let it go.



"Which rooms do you want us to use?" Christian asked.



"The first two on the right are still empty," Vincent announced. "If you're all staying, you'll have to double up."



Christian nodded acceptance, then a knock at the door drew Vincent's attention. Turning, he moved back to open it to reveal a man clad in leather and even larger than Tiny. Vincent managed to hide his startled reaction at his size. Nodding in greeting, he stepped out of the way for him to enter, noting that the second man, his twin, was also large and covered from tip to toe in black leather. Both men had long, black hair.



Vincent closed the door behind them as Christian rattled off a couple of sentences in Italian. He then added in English, "Vincent is in charge until I get up."



Vincent's eyebrows flew up at this announcement, but Christian was already leading Marcus upstairs and the two mountains that were Dante and Tommaso were turning expectantly his way. He didn't have a clue what to say, or what orders to give.



"This is Tiny," he said finally. He asked, "Do you eat?"



They looked young to him. Vincent couldn't say what it was about them that made him think they were young, something about the eyes. He'd gotten good at judging the age of other immortals over the centuries and these two appeared to him to be young enough that they might still eat. Of course, they were big too, like Lucern, and it generally took food as well as blood to keep the muscle mass.



"We eat," Dante said solemnly.



Vincent nodded. "There's pizza in the kitchen."



When the two men simply stared at him, he realized they didn't know where the kitchen was. Turning impatiently, he headed for the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, "Go on up and look in on Jackie if you want, Tiny. Marguerite's there."



Tiny was halfway up the stairs before Vincent finished speaking. He led the twins into the kitchen and then eyed them uncertainly. He didn't know them or their medical status. It was probable they could feed off bagged blood, most immortals could, but just in case he said, "Tiny is mortal. No biting."



Dante and Tommaso exchanged a grimace that suggested they were insulted that he felt he needed to say as much, but both nodded as they moved to sit at the table. Dante dragged the pizza box closer and opened it to inspect the contents. It was still completely intact.



"No anchovies?" Dante asked.



"Sorry," Vincent said, then stared as Tommaso ripped off the lid of the pizza box, lifted out half the pizza, and dropped it on the lid, using it as a makeshift plate. Dante then drew the bottom half of the box fully in front of himself, apparently laying claim to the other half of the pizza.



"Maybe I should order more," Vincent muttered, turning to head out of the kitchen.



"Anchovies on two of them," Dante called after him.



Vincent went into the office to place an order for four pizzas, two with everything, including anchovies. He then walked back up the hall and stuck his head into the kitchen.



"Give me a shout when the pizzas get here and I'll come down and pay for them," he instructed, thinking he might as well get in another bite while he could. "I'll be upstairs if you need me."



Dante and Tommaso both grunted in response, their concentration on the pizza they were stuffing into their mouths.



Shaking his head, Vincent headed back upstairs. He hadn't slept since the attack and was tired, but didn't intend to sleep until he was sure Jackie was out of the woods. Marguerite seemed to think she was, but he wouldn't be sure until she opened her beautiful eyes and spoke.



Jackie felt like hell. It was her first conscious thought and was accompanied by a moan as she shifted in bed. Her body was aching and weak. She'd obviously either been beaten black and blue and left to recover, or she was waking up from one hell of a flu.



She barely had that thought when her memory returned and the events of the night before flashed into her mind, harsh and stark. Sucking in a breath, she reached for her throat, almost expecting to find it still torn open and crusted with blood. She didn't feel either. Her skin felt a little raised, but there was no blood, and surprisingly enough, no bandages or pain.



Her gaze slipped to the side and she peered at the man asleep in the chair by her bed. Vincent. He was a dark outline in the faint light. It was obviously nighttime and her room would have been completely black, but the bathroom light had been left on and the door cracked open to allow some of it out. In that bit of light, she could see that his eyes were closed, his head nodding on his chest.



Jackie watched him sleep, recalling his coming to her rescue on the beach. He'd charged in fearlessly, risking himself for her. She smiled softly at the memory as her fingers played over her throat again. Where was the wound? Troubled by its absence, she pushed the blankets aside and eased to a sitting position, shocked at how difficult it was. She was as weak as a baby.



Shifting her legs off the bed, Jackie managed to push herself to her feet, but her legs trembled as she stood and she swayed a bit. Using the wall as a brace, she made her way to the bathroom, glancing back twice to be sure Vincent hadn't awakened and noticed her absence.



She slipped through the cracked open door, then eased it fully closed and moved to the counter in front of the mirror. Jackie stared at herself in amazement, the wound on her neck briefly forgotten. She looked about as bad as she felt, her complexion pallid, her hair lying in lank chunks around her head, her face almost oily-looking with the damp sweat blanketing it.



A small groan slid from her lips at the thought of Vincent having watched over her while she looked like this, then Jackie let that go with a sigh and turned her attention to her neck. Her throat was healed. Not fully. It was badly scarred, but it looked like a months-old injury, and Jackie was positive the attack couldn't have taken place months ago. She couldn't have slept here in this room for months. So what had happened?



You were turned, some part of her mind whispered the answer, but Jackie shook her head. No. Impossible. Surely not?



No, she thought more firmly. If that were the case, she'd be svelte and beautiful like Marguerite, but she was her same old self, carrying fifteen or twenty pounds more than was considered beautiful in Hollywood.



Just the thought of her weight made Jackie realize that she was hungry, starved actually, and terribly thirsty. Turning the tap on, she bent over the sink and scooped some of the cold liquid up in her hands, then lifted it to her mouth to slurp up as much as she could before it ran through her fingers. She did that several times, but hardly managed to get any liquid out of it, certainly not enough to satisfy her raging thirst.



Giving up the attempt to drink from the tap, she instead splashed the water on her face and head, then ran her fingers through her hair to try to return it to some sort of order before turning off the tap. She straightened and moved back to the door.



Vincent was still asleep in the chair, Jackie saw with relief as she opened the door. She'd really rather he not see her this way. Too thirsty to waste time on dressing, she decided the large, bulky t-shirt would have to do while she went below and fetched a glass of water... or ten. She was parched, her mouth unpleasantly cottony and pasty.



Jackie crossed the room on shaky legs and eased the bedroom door open. Much to her relief, the hall was empty. She made her way slowly to the stairs and started down with determination. That determination pooped out before she'd gone halfway. It left Jackie clinging weakly to the rail, wishing she'd woken Vincent up after all.



Sighing, she rested a moment, then forced herself to continue. Jackie was incredibly relieved when she finally reached the hallway's hardwood floor. At least if her legs gave out on her now she wouldn't fall far.



"Jackie. What are you doing up?" Tiny rushed up the hall from the kitchen and she smiled with relief.



"I was thirsty," Jackie admitted as he reached her.



"And hungry, no doubt," he rumbled, slipping an arm around her to take some of her weight.



Jackie opened her mouth to answer, but instead paused and inhaled deeply as he urged her into his side.



"You smell good," she murmured with surprise.



Tiny glanced at her sharply, obviously as startled by the comment as Jackie was that she'd made it. He frowned. "Are you okay? Your eyes are dilating."



Jackie found herself leaning toward him, inhaling deeply. He smelled so good. Yummy even. She could just bite him.



Startled at the thought, Jackie pulled back and nearly overbalanced. Tiny quickly tightened his hold, keeping her upright, then they both stilled and stared up the hall as the kitchen door opened and a mammoth man stepped out. Fear rippling through her, Jackie immediately stepped closer to Tiny.



"It's okay." Tiny patted her arm. "He's Dante, one of Christian's men."



"Christian?" Jackie asked with bewilderment, then forgot the question as her eyes landed on his throat. With his head turned to look at the big man, Tiny's vein ran taut along his throat and she could actually see it pulsing with warm, life-giving blood.



"Christian is Neil and Stephano's cousin. He's here to help and has brought his men to keep an eye on things and help too," Tiny explained.



It all sounded like "blah, blah, blah blood" to her. Had Tiny said something about blood? Or was that the thought whispering through her own head, Jackie wondered vaguely as she inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent. It was the oddest thing. His scent was making her mouth water as efficiently as the smell of freshly baked pizza. She stared at the pulse beating at the base of his neck, and felt an odd shifting sensation and pressure in her upper jaw.



"Bad!"



Jackie glanced to the side to find the large, dark-haired Dante there. She gasped in surprise when he suddenly scooped her up in his arms and turned toward the kitchen.



"No biting," Dante said firmly as he carried her.



"But I'm hungry," Jackie complained, then blinked in surprise as she realized what she'd said. She was hungry, and thirsty as well, but Tiny shouldn't be associated with that. Perhaps it was because he cooked all the time, she reasoned a little fuzzily.



"Blood, Tommaso," Dante said as he carried Jackie into the kitchen with Tiny trailing them.



Jackie stared with amazement at the second man as he lurched to his feet and moved to the refrigerator. He was an exact replica of the one carrying her. Tall, muscular, and handsome in a dark-eyed, dark-haired, Italian way.



"Are you two?"



"Twins." Dante set her down at the table and Jackie peered into his face as he straightened, her attention narrowing on his eyes. They were not silver-blue like Marguerite and Vincent's. They were black with silver streaks. Definitely vampires then, she decided.



"Open your mouth."



Jackie glanced to the side with a start and found the one called Tommaso standing, patiently waiting with a bag of blood in each hand.



"What are you going to do with that?" she asked warily.



"Open," he insisted, setting one bag on the table.



Jackie hesitated, then opened her mouth.



"Teeth out."



"She won't have control over them yet, Tommaso," Dante pointed out and—much to her amazement—pulled out a pocket knife and used it to jab the end of his own finger. She watched in horrified fascination as a pearl of blood bubbled to the surface, then he ran it back and forth under her nose. Jackie started to shrink away, but paused and inhaled deeply as the tinny scent of blood quivered up her nostrils.



"Oh," Jackie breathed, amazed at how pleasing the scent was, then she blinked in surprise and raised a hand to her closed mouth as she again felt the odd shifting pressure along her upper jaw.



"Open," Tommaso repeated.



Jackie frowned and opened her mouth to ask why, only to find the blood bag suddenly in the way. Worse yet, it appeared to be somehow affixed to her teeth, she realized.



"Just relax. You need this," Tommaso instructed.



Jackie tried to scowl at him over the bag, but was distracted as she realized the bag was shrinking and her aches and cramps had begun to subside. Within moments the bag was empty, and replaced with the second full one. When that too was gone, he took it away and peered at her expectantly. "More?"



Jackie stared, her mind in an uproar as she moved her tongue almost fearfully across her teeth. Something sharp nicked her tongue and she was suddenly off her seat, hurrying toward the only mirrored surface in the room. The toaster.



Jackie stared into the reflective surface and saw silver-green eyes peering back. She blinked, surprised she'd missed that when she'd looked in the mirror upstairs, then reluctantly opened her mouth to reveal her teeth. There they were... Her teeth... But with a difference. A pair of sharp canines were now protruding on either side of her incisors.