Unbound

Being mortal means keeping control. Over centuries a few glaistigs had tried to stay human, to not kill, to not fuck. Eavan knew about them from journals and letters Nyx had hidden away. They’d all failed or were simply killed by their matriarchs. “Culling the weak, Eavan.” Nyx had stalked her as she lectured and punched her when Eavan admitted to seeing the forbidden texts. “Is that what I need to do with you?” Eavan forced away the memory of Nyx’s fists and said, “I want to be mortal, Muriel.”

“That doesn’t mean refusing both sex and blood, Ev,” Muriel said. “Just have one to take the edge off. Too many rules and hang-ups will be your downfall…sooner than later if you keep stalking him.”

“If I can’t live by my own rules…”

“Friendship is like a commitment.” Muriel tilted her head and gave Eavan her best disarming look.

Eavan laughed at her best friend’s faux innocence. “It is, but it’s not enough for me.”

They’d been having the same discussion for several years. Muriel had a host of partners. To her, it was like shoe shopping: there were many choices for many moods. It wasn’t an emotional thing or a cruelty thing. It did mean, though, that their occasional boundary pushing stopped short of sex.

Teasing set aside then, Muriel took the bottle of Middleton from the counter. “The junk Brennan’s peddling ruins even virgin blood.”

“Virgin?”

“As pure as you.” Muriel took two clean glasses, added a couple cubes, and poured the whiskey.

Eavan shuddered. The idea of an innocent—especially one who had her will stolen by Daniel’s zombie mix—being sold to a sadist was more revolting than normal. “He’s a sick bastard.”

“So kill him,” Muriel said. A drink in each hand, she hopped up on the counter. Neither drink spilled. She kicked her feet in the air like a child on a swing and held out a glass. It was hard to remember that Muriel was a monster; she looked like a hand-crafted doll, one of those delicate pieces of art that belonged safely on a shelf.

Eavan took the whiskey. “No. I’m not going to sacrifice myself over him.”

Muriel snorted. Now that the flirting was out of the way, she could relax into her less charming habits. “Some sacrifice…It’s not like you’d be throwing yourself on a sword, Evvie.”

“No, I’d just be throwing away my humanity.”

“Humanity’s overrated.” Muriel warmed to the old argument. She’d been Other for more than a century now and saw nothing wrong with it. “Humanity means dying.”

Humanity meant a lot of things. It meant ethics, joy in the brevity of life, compassion…and yes, dying. Dying didn’t seem as oppressive as the alternative. At least for me. Muriel wouldn’t understand though: vampires didn’t grow cloven hooves when they stopped being human. They didn’t have tendrils of hair that writhed like serpents or need to sate not one but two depraved appetites.

“No. Humanity is wonderful,” Eavan insisted. “It’s what I am. Daniel isn’t going to steal mine.”

“So maybe you should stop trying to save the girls he gives the zombie powder to?” Muriel’s voice grew cold. “Something’s going to break, Ev. You keep pushing and he’ll push back, or your family will find out what you’re doing…You’re walking a foolish path taunting Brennan.”

“I’m handling it.”

“You think Nyx would agree?” Muriel put a hand on Eavan’s wrist. “Your grandmother finds out you’re taking risks without any safety nets, and she’ll be livid. You need to kill him or back off.”

“Just a little bit longer, Muriel? I need to find a way to get him to stop. I can’t just let him sell those girls…I can’t…” Eavan leaned her head back on the cabinet behind her, putting a bit of artificial distance between her and Muriel.

“If Nyx comes calling, you know I can’t cover for you.” Muriel’s expression was gentle, but the words were anything but reassuring. “I won’t.”

“I know.” Eavan closed her eyes. Thinking about her matriarch’s reaction was the last thing she wanted to do, but it was sobering. “But until then?”

Muriel took her hand away. The only sound in the kitchen was the soft slide of feet on the stone floor as Muriel walked away. Eavan didn’t follow, didn’t open her eyes. She waited.

Ice clicked together in Eavan’s now empty glass. The splash of whiskey followed. “For now, yes,” Muriel whispered, “but not forever.”

Eavan opened her eyes and accepted her glass.

Then Muriel added, “But the next time you go to the club, I’m coming, too.”

Before Eavan could object, Muriel raised the hand not holding the bottle. Perfectly tinted nails and understated rings flashed through the air. “No invitation, no help. Either you hunt or you don’t, Evvie. Either you persist at this I-want-to-be-mortal nonsense or you accept your heritage. This half-assed thing is going to stop.”

“But—”