You don't love a girl because of beauty. You love her because she sings a song on ly you c an understand....
With the thought came a strong feeling of protectiveness. So this was how James felt about her-she knew at last. As if she were something precious, something to be protected at all costs....
At all costs. No matter what happened to him. Poppy tried to follow the thought deeper into his mind, to find out what it meant. She got an impression of rules-no, laws ...
Poppy, it's bad manners to search somebody's mind when you're not invited. The words were tinged with desperation.
Poppy pulled back mentally. She hadn't meant to pry. She just wanted to help....
I know, James's thought came to her, and with it a rush of warmth and gratitude. Poppy relaxed and simply enjoyed the feeling of oneness with him.
I wish it could last forever, she thought-and just then it stopped. The warmth at her neck disappeared, and James pulled away, straightening.
Poppy made a sound of protest and tried to drag him back. He wouldn't let her.
"No-there's something else we have to do," he whispered. But he didn't do anything else. He just held her, his lips against her forehead. Poppy felt peaceful and languid.
"You didn't tell me it would be like that," she said.
"I didn't know," James said simply. "It never has been before."
They sat together quietly, with James gently stroking her hair.
So strange, Poppy thought. Everything is the same-but everything's different. It was as if she'd pulled herself up on dry land after almost drowning in the ocean. The terror that had been pounding inside her all day was gone, and for the first time in her l ife she felt completely safe.
After another minute or so James shook his head, rousing himself.
"What else do we have to do?" Poppy asked.
For an answer, James lifted his own wrist to his mouth. He made a quick jerking motion with his head, as if tearing a strip of cloth held in his teeth.
When he lowered the wrist, Poppy saw blood.
It was running in a little stream down his arm. So red it almost didn't look real.
Poppy gulped and shook her head.
"It's not that bad," James said softly. "And you have to do it.
Without my blood in you, you won't become a vampire when you die, you'll just die. Like an y other human victim."
And I want to live, Poppy thought. All right, then. Shutting her eyes, she allowed James to guide her head to his wrist.
It didn't taste like blood, or at least not like the blood she'd tasted when she bit her tongue or put a cut finger in her mouth.
It tasted--strange. Rich and potent.
Like some magic elixir, Poppy thought dizzily. And once again she felt the touch of James's mind. Intoxicated with the closeness, she kept drinking.
That's ri ght. You've got to take a lot, James told her. But his mental voice was weaker than it had been. Instantly Poppy felt a surge of alarm.
But what will it do to you?
"I'll be all right," James said aloud. "It's you I'm worried about.
If you don't get enough, you'll be in danger."
Well, he was the expert. And Poppy was happy to let the str ange, heady potion keep flowing into her. She basked in the glow that seemed to be lighting her from the inside out. She felt so tranquil, so calm....
And then, without warning, the calm was shattered. A voice broke into it, a voice full of harsh surprise.
"What are you doing?" the voice said, and Poppy looked up to see Phillip in the doorway.
CHAPTER 6
James moved fast. He picked up the plastic t umbler on th e bedside table and handed it to Poppy. She understood. Feeling giddy and uncoordinated, she took a healthy swig of water and licked her lips to wash any traces of blood away.
"What are you doing?" Phillip repeated, striding into the room.
His eyes were fixed on James, which was good, because Poppy was trying to position herself to hide the side of her neck that James had bitten.
"None of your business," she said, and in the same instant she knew it was a mistake. Phillip, whose middle name was Stability, was looking distinctly unstable tonight.
Mom told him, Poppy thought.
"I mean, we aren't doing anything, " she amended.
It didn't help. Phil was clearly in a mood to see everything in the world as a threat to his siste r. And Poppy couldn't really blame him-he'd walked in on the two of them in a strange embrace on a rumpled hospital bed.
"James was comforting me because I was scared," she said. She didn't even try to explain why James had been cradling her head to his arm. But she glanced at James's arm surreptitiously and saw that the wound there was already closed, the mark fading.
"Everything's all right, you know," James said, standing to fix a mesmerizing silver gaze on Phillip. But Phil hardly gave him a glance. He was staring at Poppy.
It's not working, Poppy thought. Maybe Phil's too mad to be hypnotized. Or too stubborn.
She looked a question at James, which he answered with a barely discernable shake of his head. He didn't know what the problem was, eithe r.
Bu t they both knew what it meant. James was going to have to leave. Poppy felt cheated and frustrated. All she wanted was to talk with James, to revel in their new discovery of each other-and she couldn't. Not with Phil here.
"How come you're here, anyway?" she asked him irritably.
"I drove Mom here. You know she doesn't like driving at night. And I brought this." He swung her boom box up onto the bedside table. "And these." He put a black CD case beside it.
"All your favorite music."
Poppy felt her anger draining away. "That was sweet," she said. She was touched, especially since Phil hadn't said "All your favorite weird music," which was usually how he referred to it. "Thank you."