I had to pin Megan because I knew she was going to jump again. And she did, at the same time that she cried out in shock and pain.

“Sorry!” I said, and I really meant it. This was no superficial vessel I was cutting. I drew the blade from her flesh and held her wrist over the glass. Blood spurted out, pulsing with each beat of her heart. Megan moaned in fear.

“Oh, my god! What did you do?”

“This isn't that bad, I promise.”

“Look at all that blood! It's gushing!”

“There's not that much in the glass.”

“Are you kidding me?”

I held her wrist there until I had a couple of inches of blood. I figured that was enough to do the experiment and not freak her out. I found a thick rubber band on her desk and tied it around her arm above the cut. Then I folded paper towels into a compress.

“Just hold this there. It'll stop bleeding soon.”

She had her phone in her other hand. “Google says I can lose two pints. How much is in there?”

“Not even a cup.”

“Okay. Okay.” She was trying to calm herself down. “Okay.”

She took over for me holding the paper towel against her cut. I picked up the glass and held it up to the light. I couldn't take my eyes off it. The blood inside caught the light and seemed to glow.

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“I'm going to drink this now,” I said.

“Okay,” she breathed.

I brought the glass to my lips and tilted it back. Blood filled my mouth and I swallowed. It was cooler than I was used to because I wasn't getting it straight from a person. But the flavor was still good. Different from Emily. Different from Sidney. But good.

I drained the glass, waiting to get that rush of energy. Of relief. Waiting to feel sated and content.

It didn't happen. Megan's blood was no more satisfying than the rabbit's blood.

“How is it?” said Megan. She sounded disgusted, and yet genuinely curious.

“I don't know,” I said. I licked my lips. “I feel like it's not really working.”

“Working how?”

“I'm still hungry.”

“Do you need more?”

I shook my head.

“There's a thing I maybe should have told you about before,” she said. “I'm diabetic. Type one.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. Do you think that's making a difference?”

I licked my lips again. Then I tilted back the glass and tried to drain out a little more. It was cold now, but it tasted normal. Totally normal.

“I don't think that matters,” I said.

“I didn't think it would, either. I take insulin every day. Otherwise, my blood should be about the same.”

“Right.”

“So does that mean you do have to bite people?”

Did it? I didn't know. I was tempted, very tempted, to bite Megan and find out. Still hungry. My fangs still ached. They were certainly not satisfied.

But I wasn't going to do it. Her blood had given me a little something. I could make it home to Emily.

Megan was starting to bleed through her compress, so I made her a new one. While I was doing that, she said, “What are the side effects of biting people?”

I made myself smile at her. “Eternal enslavement.”

She laughed, and then I think she realized I wasn't kidding.

“Enslavement?”

“Yeah. Emily and Sid, they're stuck with me. I have to feed from them or touch them every day. They can't tolerate being away from me much longer than that. I can't tolerate it, either.”

“You're serious.”

If only Megan knew what it felt like to be separated from one of the girls. To be losing one.

“Dead serious.”

“How did that happen?” she said.

“There's a bond that's created when I bite people.” I struggled with the terminology, but then I settled on, “A psychic bond. I can't not make it, and I can't break it. I don't think it can be broken.”

“And you don't want to bond with people.”

“The bigger problem is that they don't want to bond with me. I mean, Emily and Sidney. They're pissed.”

“How did you end up with them?”

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I gave her a brief rundown of how I'd bonded, first with Emily, and then with Sidney. I said, “This whole time I've been basically psychotic. Today was the first day I had enough self-control to try an experiment.”

“And you picked me?” Megan said, fluttering her eyelashes. “I'm flattered.”

“I guess I thought you were the only one who might not tell my secret.”

“Of course, I wouldn't tell. We're friends, aren't we?”

Her face was so earnest, as she sat there holding the compress to her wrist, that I started to believe that maybe we were friends. After all, she'd allowed me to come to her house, even though her parents likely embarrassed her. And she'd let me cut her open and drink her blood, for crying out loud.

There was something else, too, and this was strange: I kept waiting for her to be Megan. To be all clingy and annoying. But here in her house, when it was just the two of us, she acted so normal. Like a normal, comfortable friend.

Another argument broke out in the living room. Even with my excellent hearing, I couldn't make out a single word. It was unintelligible screaming, like crazed toddlers throwing a tantrum.

Megan sighed and talked over it. “So, what will you do next?”

“I'm going to try some things with Emily. Maybe make a cut without my teeth and try drinking from it directly. I have to find out if the biting is really necessary.”

“Do you think biting is causing the bond?”

“I have no idea.”

“Wouldn't it make more sense to try it on someone you haven't already bonded with? Like, someone who's already bleeding?” She smiled and held up her wrist, as though I'd forgotten.

“I'm sure it would make more sense, except that you and I might bond and that's what I'm trying to avoid.”

“I doubt it. What would be causing it? Magic spit?”

“I don't know, but it's not worth the gamble.”

She was quiet for a minute. I glanced back to the corner where Rosie had been. She must have taken advantage of my lack of attention because she was no longer there. I listened for the tiny heartbeat and found it under Megan's bed.

Megan said, “Is there a reason you don't want to bond with me? Like, is it me, personally?”

“No,” I said carefully. Untruthfully. “It's just that I don't think it would be very fair.”

“Fair to who? What do you mean?”

What was I supposed to say here? “It just seems like maybe you would be a little more emotionally invested than me.”

“Why? Because I'm a girl?”

“No, because you . . .” I pointed from her to myself. “I mean, don't you like me?”

Megan's eyes widened. Then she bit her bottom lip and looked away. But I could tell she was smiling.

“Oh, god,” she said. “I think I gave you the wrong idea.”

“Huh?”

“I'm sorry, Nate. You're not the one I like. It's Zachary.”

“What?”

“I like Zachary.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“But at school, you're always flirting with me. And talking to me. And feeding me sex muffins.”

Her face got bright red. “They're not sex muffins. They just contain natural aphrodisiacs.”

“Still.”

“I'm sorry. It's just that Zachary is always so focused on his work, it's, like, impossible to get his attention. I guess I thought if I flirted with you I would look more interesting to him. Or make him jealous. I don't know.”

I rubbed my eyebrow in disbelief. Megan hurried to say, “I knew you didn't like me, so I figured I wasn't going to be hurting your feelings. I'm sorry if I did, but I . . .” She laughed sadly. “God, I'm so desperate.”

“You really like him that much?”

“Yes. He's so smart. He's like the smartest guy I know.”

“I'm smart.” I couldn't figure out why I was offended.

“You are,” she said. “For a writer type.”

“Thanks, Megan.”

“I'm sorry. Please don't be mad.”

“I'm not mad. I think it's hilarious. But you might get a better result if you ease off a little. Because you're coming off as---”

“Crazy?”

“Yeah.”

“I am crazy,” she said. “I'm on five different medicines, and only three of them are for diabetes.”

Glass shattered in the living room. Someone had thrown a vase or a drinking glass. Or a rock through a window. Megan's dad's voice raised above the din.

“---this house or I'll burn it down!”

Alarmed, I looked at Megan. She just looked tired.

“Don't worry. He's still a fifth away from lighting things on fire.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” she said, “if you're afraid of bonding with me because you don't want to string me along, don't worry.”

“It's not just that. I'm tired of taking from people and never giving anything back.”

“Well, like I said, I don't think it's going to happen that way. So, here.”

She pulled the paper towel compress off her wrist. Blood still seeped from the wound, but when she unwrapped the rubberband the blood began to flow freely down her arm. She held the paper towel to the stream so it wouldn't drip onto the carpet.

“Hurry,” she said.

She had me. I couldn't really think of any great arguments not to take what she was offering. So I brought her wrist to my mouth and started to drink.

I couldn't enjoy it. I was too focused on trying not to get too much saliva in the wound, in case that was related to bonding, and trying to feel if I was bonding, and whether or not the blood was slaking my hunger. Also, my canines were pressed hard against the outside of her wrist and they ached like crazy. They wanted to bite her so bad, and I had to keep telling them no.

And, in the end, it didn't work. I drank several large, awkward swallows before I ascertained that this was no better than the blood in a glass. Either Megan's diabetic blood was somehow insufficient, or biting was an integral part of the process. I had my bets on the latter. Biting had to be important, or it wouldn't be this constant struggle not to do it.

I helped Megan tie her arm back up and apply a new compress. I was more grateful to her than she probably realized. Mostly I was grateful that I'd gotten through today without bonding to her, and that it wasn't really me she liked, after all. I'm not going to say it wasn't a blow to my ego, because now the number of women who found me sexually attractive was, ironically, zero. But it would make lunch less awkward.

“Are you going to be okay?” I said after the new compress was in place. “Isn't it worse for diabetics to lose blood?”

“Probably, but I'm a pro. If my sugar goes low, I'll be on top of it.”

“Just be careful.”

“I will.”

Heavy feet stomped through the hall toward Megan's room. She and I went silent. Her dad was on the other side of the door. He tried the knob, but it was locked. Quickly, she shoved the bloody glass, the razor blades, and the other incriminating evidence under her bed with poor Rosie. I hadn't even noticed that Megan had locked the door.

Suddenly, her dad banged on the door. Three sharp bangs that made Megan jump. He shouted through the door, some unintelligible garble followed by cursing and barked orders.

“...that sumbitch outta my house or I'll take him out back and beat his ass!”

Megan looked at me. I just shrugged.

“Guess that's my cue,” I said.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“It's okay. Thanks for your help today.” I got to my feet and she did, too. She unlocked the door, but before she could turn the knob her dad was shoving it open. Megan anticipated this and jumped out of the way of the flying door. I got my hand up just in time to keep it from hitting me in the face.

“Ow,” I said. I shook my hand out.

“. . . worse than that, if you don't get the hell out.”

I walked past him and headed toward the front door. “Yes, sir. Leaving, sir.”

I made it to the porch. As I started down the steps, Megan's dad seemed to forget he'd ordered me to leave and started shouting at me, instead, to “get back here.” I ignored him and kept walking. Megan waved goodbye from her bedroom window. I waved back.

Who were the crazy ones, here? It was painful to watch Megan accept as normal what most people would find unbearable. But could she survive any other way?

I also found myself wondering which would be worse: having a dad like Megan's, or having no dad at all, like me? All I had was questions. Megan had answers, but they were crappy ones.

But it had been a productive afternoon. I'd learned all the ways I could waste someone's blood. Biting was where it was at. When I sank my teeth into a warm, beating throat, some kind of alchemy took place that turned human blood into wine, a drug, the source of life itself. Maybe the same alchemy that irrevocably tied my soul up with another soul.

The blood I took from Megan would have kept me sated for a whole day if I'd taken it the traditional way. As it was, all that blood barely took the edge off of my hunger. But it had helped. Maybe I could get away with taking less from Emily. She had so little to lose.

Still, my aching canines, the hunger in my veins, and the thoughts of Emily's blood called me home. I couldn't get there fast enough.