Helena closed her eyes and focused on not breathing. It wasn’t a problem, precisely. She was dead, after all, and breathing in itself wasn’t necessary, but doing so brought scents to her nose.

Most notably, blood.

Owen had wrapped his cuts carefully after their fight and it was helping, but not enough.

A battle, surrounded by bleeding, dying humans was enough to test even her control. She had taken injuries herself, including a shotgun blast that would have killed a lesser vampire. Her fine white suit was in tatters.

Healing took energy, and energy only came from one source, for a vampire. She needed blood soon, or the frenzy would come instead. Even her legendary control had limits.

Owen always smelled good, and Helena tried unsuccessfully not to listen to his heartbeat as he put the pedal on the floor and kept it that way until the sounds of pursuit finally faded into the background.

“Elle? You holding up?”

The nickname was new, but acceptable.

“Yes,” she replied tightly, and clenched her hand on the panic handle so hard the plastic groaned under her hand. “How far to the safe house?”

She didn’t need an answer. Despite her best efforts and the overwhelming scent of her Hunter ally, she could smell her own perfume growing nearer. Sooner or later she would have to ask how he found her penthouse.

“Almost there,” he told her, and pushed the sleek car even faster. “You hurt?”

“Worse. Hungry.”

He swore, well aware of what exactly that meant. A hungry vampire was deadly. If her control slipped, he could be dead in moments, and there wouldn’t be much she could do to stop herself.

“You have blood at your place?”

She did, and it would help, but drawn blood might not be enough. The edges of frenzy nibbled at her mind, and her control slipped out of her grasp like sand, one grain at a time.

The car purred to a stop, and Helena opened her eyes to see the familiar, reinforced doors of her building’s garage. Most people would never even know there was a penthouse on the top floor of the elegant office building and she worked hard to keep it that way.

“What’s the code?” Owen asked when he saw her eyes open. “If you want to lean over and type it in, I can close my eyes.”

If she touched him, she was going to go for his throat.

The pad glowed blue, silently demanding a response.

“Thirteen thirty-seven,” she said after a precious moment of thought. “zero, thirteen sixty.”

He entered the code and the touchpad beeped cheerfully even as the parking doors slid open smoothly. Deeper into the garage, a second door opened, revealing Helena’s private garage and her small collection of cars.

“That where we’re going?”

“Yes. There are open spots for guests. Take any of them.”

The acrid smell of car fumes helped, and Helena let herself breath them in even though they burned her nose. It was better than blood, and gave her the control she needed to brace for the elevator ride.

She barely noticed when the car turned off, and her door opened. When she opened her eyes again, Owen was opening her door. She held up a hand to keep him from touching her. Cautious in a way she appreciated, he immediately stepped away and out of her space.

As she got out of the car, her eyes lit on a rag her mechanic kept for oil spills. It stank of gasoline and she pressed it over her face quickly.

“Why…?” Owen asked as she led him towards her private elevator, hurried despite herself. There was blood in her refrigerator, and hopefully it would buy her time to go hunting. “Elle?”

Her eyes glowed red when she turned on him, the rag still pressed over her nose and mouth to try and block the smell of a healthy meal standing too damned close. He didn’t step back, but did seem surprised at the obvious break in her iron-clad control.

“Do you have any idea,” she hissed, and felt her fangs drop as she stared at him. He blinked, and showed that same, foolish courage that brought him into her life to begin with. It probably saved his live. If he showed the slightest sign of being food, she might jump him. “How good you smell? How good you always smell? Do you know how hard it is not to drain you dry, here and now?”

She dragged her eyes away from him and pressed her hand to the palm-scanner so hard the glass bowed. Owen watched her cautiously, familiar with vampires, and her, even if he didn’t know what to make of her words.

“How do I help?” he asked when the elevator shot upwards. Helena kept herself out of arms’ reach and tried not to look at him. “What can I do?”

“Don’t touch me,” she advised, and tried to soften it as much as she could. “Stay as far out of reach as possible. As soon as we get inside, go clean up. The third door on the right down the hallway in a bathroom, and there is a first-aid kit under the sink.”

By the time he was done she would, hopefully, have taken the edge off the hunger that kept dragging her attention back to the pulsating vein in his throat.

Her penthouse was quiet, and she toed off her heels even as she went straight to the stash of blood she kept for emergencies. Behind her, Owen made for the bathroom, and she felt some of her tension fade away when she heard the click of the door lock.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The blood was cold, and completely unsatisfying, but it was still blood. Helena sank her fangs into the bag and drained it quickly before moving to another, and another.

By the time Owen came out of the bathroom, now smelling of antiseptic and clean water, there were six empty blood bags on Helena’s black marble countertops. The worst edge of her hunger was blunted, but the empty pit inside her still yawned open as the blood went to replacing the energy she spent during the fight.

“Better?’ he asked, and took a seat across from her. Helena was faintly pleased when he didn’t shy away at the sight of her feeding.

“I need to hunt,” Helena told him frankly, and swept the empty bags into the trash as she finished the one in her hand. “I keep a store here for emergencies, but after a fight, and injuries, it’s not enough.”

That brought him up short. Her need to hunt humans was something they quietly didn’t discuss. No Hunter would be alright with it, but her existence depended on blood, and it was better if it came from a living source.

“Is there anywhere we can go that has more?”

“It’s not about more,” she told him, and dropped the newly empty bag in the trash with the others. “I could drink drawn blood all day and it wouldn’t be enough. Living blood is different.”

“How?”

“Drawn blood… it’s like living on bread and water. It can keep me alive, but it doesn’t have everything I need. Not to finish healing and be ready to fight again.”

And there would be more fights. Josef knew the covens were rallying against him. Soon enough he would begin targeting them one by one to try and eliminate his most organized opposition. Both she and Owen knew Helena would be among the first he came after.

He mulled that over for a while, and leaned back in his chair, thinking. “How much blood do you need? Do you need to kill?”

She had been planning on it, but didn’t think that would be a good thing to tell him. Still, honesty was good, among allies. “Two liters, give or take. Maybe three.”

Too much blood for most humans to lose safely, but at least she chose her prey carefully. She would pick someone who wouldn’t be missed. It was a kinder death than many could expect with the harsh winter coming in.

There was nothing she could do about her need for blood, but cruelty was a choice. Her fangs were a better death than starvation and cold.

“Could you do with less, if they had a touch of Other?”

Owen was very serious when he spoke, and she tilted her head as she considered it. Others were usually very careful about their blood, but it did tend to be more potent. The right Other could support a vampire with a few mouthfuls a week.

“Maybe,” she admitted, and had an inkling of what he had in mind. “Why?”

If he was going to offer, he had to say it. She wasn’t going to ask.

“I have a touch of Fae,” he replied quietly, but with that same foolish courage almost shining from his skin. “From back before we came over from the Old World. You noticed that I’m stronger and faster than most humans, well, that’s why. How much would you need, if it was me?”

At least now Helena knew why he always smelled so damnned good. Under better circumstances, she would happily accept, but now…

“It’s not safe,” she told him, and considered whether or not she had another spare blood bag in her fridge. It didn’t matter, but it kept her mind off his heartbeat. “My control is barely holding, Owen. The slightest slip and you die with my fangs in your throat.”

“Always knew it would happen sooner or later,” he joked, and stood to come around the counter. She watched him, instincts screaming to take what he was offering. “Elle, I’m a Hunter. You won’t be the first vampire to get a piece of me. Hell, you remember how we met.”

She did remember finding him in her office, hurt and seeking allies where he had no reason to expect any. He took advantage of her distraction to edge closer.

“Let me help, Elle,” he murmured, and Helena closed her eyes, breathing in despite herself. His hands landed on her hips and he lifted her up to sit on the counter, bringing them eye-to-eye. “You’ve got the best control of any vamp I’ve ever seen. You won’t hurt me.”

“You are very sure of yourself, for someone offering their throat to a master vampire,” she pointed out as her resolve began to give way. “Are you doing this so I don’t go hunt?”

“Partly,” he admitted, and she appreciated his honesty, if nothing else. She spread her legs to let him step closer and determinedly willed her fangs to stay hidden. He rested his hands on her hips. “Would you believe that I wouldn’t let anyone but you do this?”

“You would, if you thought it would save a life,” she told him wryly, and leaned forward to scent his throat. His heart picked up a little, but he didn’t tense and did edge farther into her space so she had better access to his skin. “Would you still offer if I promised not to kill tonight?”

“You’re the only vampire I would believe that promise from,” he murmured, and she felt his smile against her hair. She combed her fingers though the short hair at his nape and felt him shiver. “And I’m offering anyway.”

“Owen,” she said, and tugged his hair until he met her eyes, the last threads of her control held in an iron grip. “I might kill you.”

“I know,” he admitted, and pressed their foreheads together. His heartbeat was loud in her ears and so close that her fangs dropped despite herself when he tilted his head to the side. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” she whispered as the last of her control gave way . With a care she usually didn’t bother with, she slipped her fangs into his skin and felt him gasp, but he didn’t move as blood rushed over her tongue.

It was the first time she tasted his blood. She wasn’t prepared for the rush that came with that hint of Other that made him who he was. It was a struggle not to bite deeper, to go for the artery she could feel against her lips, but no. She wanted this remarkable human to live, and for that, she had to be careful not to take more than he could spare.

“Does it always feel like that?” he whispered when she finally pulled away and licked the holes in his neck until they closed up. His pupils were blown and his voice rumbled in his chest. “Like-“

“Like sex?” she purred as energy raced through her veins, one hand still in his hair. His fingers were tight on her hips and she couldn’t imagine letting him go. Not now that she knew how he tasted with her fangs in his throat. “Haven’t you wondered why humans are so eager to be our pets?”

That made him laugh silently, although he was clearly dizzy as well. Helena slid off the counter and helped him to his chair. “Stay put. You need something to eat before you try and walk on your own.”

“Yeah, that would be good,” Owen agreed, and leaned heavily on the counter. “You’ll come back?”

“I’m not going far,” she promised. A few moments later she was pressing a glass of orange juice into his hands and opening the tin of chocolate pralines she kept hidden from her assistants. “Drink. You will feel better after.”

He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her close before going for the juice with his free hand. “I feel strange. Did you thrall me?”

“No,” Helena assured him, and went back to petting his hair. Blood-sharing was usually for bonding among coven-members. She should have warned him that she tended to get particularly affectionate with the rare few who came to her willingly. “You would have to take a bit of my blood for that. Too much, and your mind might not survive.”

“Awe, knew you loved me.” He gave her a half-grin and she nudged the cookies closer pointedly. He took the hint and started working his way through them. “I was right to trust you. I feel worse after a regular blood-draw than I do right now.”

“You seriously downplayed how much Fae is in your blood,” Helena told him frankly, and let herself scent his throat again. He still smelled good, but the raging hunger was gone. “I needed half a liter or so. Maybe less. I’m surprised none of mine have made a pet of you.”

“Never let any of them get close enough,” he admitted and leaned against her as he finished his juice. “We have work to do, but I need a nap. Is this place safe?”

“As safe as anywhere in the city,” Helena promised, and took his hands when he went to stand. Her bed was close, and she didn’t think she could make herself let go of him just yet. “I think we have time for a nap before I call in my Coven.”