Hot Blooded

road. If that weren't alarming enough, its wheels
suddenly swerved toward Mariann. An instant of denial paralyzed him in his
tracks. Why was the driver going so fast? Surely whoever it was had to see her!
But the bike fender twanged as it was clipped. Mariann went flying into the
trees, farther than he would have thought she could, too shocked to cry out.
    His world dimmed sickeningly at the sound of her skull hitting a rock,
knowing at once that it wasn't a mild injury. Back on the road, brakes whined to
a stop.
    No, he thought.
No, no, no
.
    A car door opened. A woman's heels clacked hurriedly.
    "Jesus," muttered Emile. "She isn't calling 911. She's rummaging through the
bike."
    The words meant nothing. Though Bastien had no memory of changing, he knelt
in human form beside Mariann. He was lucky he was in the habit of using his
glamour. Otherwise, he would have lit up the road. Mariann lay sprawled and
awkward behind a screen of weeds, a broken marionette smeared with blood and
dirt. This couldn't be happening, not when he'd finally found her.
    "Yes!" hissed a voice that seemed familiar. A car door slammed. Tires spun.
The Mercedes scattered gravel as it left.
    Bastien tried to breathe.
    "She's gone," Emile said, appearing beside him. "She took Mariann's book. Is
Mariann still alive?"
    Her pulse beat so feebly in her throat that even with his
upyr
senses, Emile had to ask.
    "Yes." Bastien's voice was a croak. He didn't dare touch her pallid cheek.
"Barely."
    Emile sank to his knees and gripped Bastien's shoulder. "Do it," he said.
"Change her. If you wait any longer, there won't be time."
    "I can't." Cold tears trickled down his face. "She's unconscious. She can't
say yes or no. The
Upyr
Code—"
    "Fuck the Code. In all the time I've known you, she's the only woman you've
ever loved. If she wants a choice, she can have it after you save her."
    Bastien lifted her limp, curled hand as if it were glass. For once, her skin
was chillier than his. She did not move as he pressed her fingers to his heart.
"I've never transformed a mortal. I've only watched others do it. If my power
isn't up to it—"
    "Your power is fine. All you need is the will."
    Emile coaxed the hand that cradled Mariann's up to Bastien's mouth. Cold
though it was, the scent of her flesh made him tense with longing. "Drink,
Bastien. Just a little. It will make changing her easier."
    This, too, was forbidden to Bastien's kind: to feed from humans when they had
no chance to resist. He discovered he did not care. Whatever happened, he would
carry a part of her within his being.
    He moaned in anguish as his fangs slid free, praying to he knew not what. Let
her live, he thought.
Let her live
. Within his gentle hold, her wrist
bone was as delicate as a bird's. He pierced the vein and took a single swallow.
She tasted of joy and sorrow, sweet beyond his wildest dreams. Despite
everything, there was pleasure in the act of feeding, a quickening of sense and
flesh. He had to force himself to release her. Her strength was too slight to
risk taking more.
    Emile's eyes glowed in sympathy. "She is inside you," he said huskily. "Use
the bond of blood to make that of flesh."
    Bastien thought her eyelids fluttered, but could not say for sure. Death was
close to her, that he knew, like smoke clinging to his tongue.
    He had no more hesitation, only the certainty one feels in dreams. With a
slow exhalation, he let his physical form dissolve into light, the way all
upyr
did before turning wolf. Then, rather than reach for his beast, he
sent his spirit flowing into Mariann, into the spaces between the molecules that
made her up. By uniting their energies, he would leave behind the essence that
made him immortal—like a yeast, Mariann would have said, that causes a bread to
rise. The melding was unexpectedly sensual, a penetration beyond what solid
bodies could achieve.
    He expected to see visions of angels or stars such as other
upyr
had
reported—though no one knew if these images were real. Whether they were or not,
no visions came to Bastien. What he registered most was her: her broken body,
her struggling mind blurring with his strong one. The ground was hard beneath
them, the leaves a thin, damp mat. Without his presence she would not have felt
anything at all. He had to fight not to lose himself in the link.
    I love you
, he thought at her with all his might.
Let me heal
you. Let me bring you