Masquerade (Blue Bloods 2)

"I have taught you the words from the sacred language that would induce it," Lawrence said. "I will be going to the club tonight. When I return, I will trust that you have performed what is necessary."

Her grandfather departed soon after that, leaving Schuyler upstairs in her room. I don't want to, she thought stubbornly. I don't want to do it with a stranger. I don't want to do it with someone I don't know. I'm not desperate! Or am I?

Then, almost as if drawn by the call, someone knocked on Schuyler's bedroom door.

"What is it, Hattie?" Schuyler asked.

The door opened. "It's not Hattie, it's me," Oliver said, slouching in the doorway.

"I didn't hear the front door open. What are you doing here?" Schuyler asked defensively.

"Your grandfather told me you wanted me to come over," Oliver explained.

Ah. So Lawrence had performed a call of his own. Only, this one merely involved the use of a telephone. Very clever, grandfather, Schuyler thought.

Oliver walked over to sit on the footlocker across from Schuyler's bed. He looked at her pensively. "I was thinking...if you still want to do it, we can."

"You mean?"

"Yeah."

"Here?" Schuyler asked, looking around at her room, at her Evanescence posters, the pink Barbie dream house, the row of Playbill covers--Rent, Avenue Q, The Boy from Oz--taped on her wall during the time when Cordelia regularly took her to Broadway musicals. It was still a childish bedroom and painted Mountain Dew yellow. It didn't look like the lair of a vampire.

"As good a place as any," Oliver shrugged. "Besides, it'll save me the cost of a hotel room."

"You're sure about this?" Schuyler asked, reaching for his hand.

"Yes." Oliver exhaled. "I know what's going to happen to you if you don't, and between you and me, I'd prefer it if you weren't a vegetable. I hate vegetables," he joked. "Especially broccoli...So how do we..." Oliver said. "Should I stand? Or..." He stood up and looked around. He was so much taller than she was.

"No, sit down," Schuyler said, pushing him gently by the shoulders onto her bed. "This way I can reach down." She stood between his legs. He looked up at her. She thought he had never looked so handsome, or so vulnerable.

Oliver closed his eyes. "Be gentle."

Schuyler leaned down, kissed the hollow at the base of his neck, and then, ever so gently, she elongated her fangs and stuck them in.

Oliver whistled between his teeth, as if in pain. "Should I stop?"

"No...go on..." he said, waving a hand.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No...It feels...good, actually," he whispered. He put a hand on her head and guided her to his neck again.

Schuyler closed her eyes and sank her fangs back into his neck. As she did so, her senses heightened, and his mind became open to her. The blood memory came flashing out. It was just as Bliss had said: she was devouring his soul, his very being...and, what was this? His mind was an open book to her now, his blood mixing with hers, reviving hers...and she could read every thought he'd ever had in his life...could access every memory.

Oliver was in love with her.

He had been in love with her all along. Ever since they'd met. For years and years and years.

She had long suspected this but had repressed it. But now it was confirmed. She couldn't deny it.

Oh, Ollie. I shouldn't have done this. Schuyler despaired. The Sacred Kiss would only increase his love, not dispel it.

Now they were bound to each other in a new and more complicated way.

This was more than she'd bargained for. Their friendship would be jeopardized, she knew that now. There was no going back from here. They would only be able to go forward. As vampire and familiar. Entwined by an ancient ritual of blood.

She finished. She was satiated. She withdrew her fangs and felt the life-giving energy flow through her body. It was as if she had ingested twenty-four gallons of high-octane coffee. Her cheeks flushed with color, and her eyes sparkled.