Hardly a drop's touched my tongue when her hand comes up to grip my shoulder and she whispers "pigeon-rat."

Safe words.

But the taste of her blood is excruciating in its decadence-starlight made liquid. Sprays of color like fireworks burst across my vision as the flavor floods my senses. My jaw flexes, body screaming for more.

But she said the safe words.

My rational self struggles for control, but she's weak in the face of the thirst. The battle's over in a heartbeat. My teeth clamp down into the Crimson's flesh, fangs sinking deep-and in that instant excruciating pain rips through my body, starting at my shoulder and spreading through my bones.

Then I'm twisting away from her in agony, and as we break contact, the pain vanishes. My hand goes up to rub my shoulder-but there's no sign of injury.

Lore tsks at me as I glare over at her, trying to steady my breathing-and still she does nothing about the blood smeared all over her arm or the fresh bite mark. "You can't let yourself get carried away like that, Ash. There are consequences. Now back to the cast. But I think we'll just have to get through the rest of the episode without any more treats. If you can behave yourself until the end, though, I'll give you a nightcap. Here, let me rewind us back to where we got distracted-"

I groan, falling back against the pillows and crossing my arms over my chest. Trying not to breathe too deeply. Trying to ignore my body's instincts. No thoughts but darkness, no feelings bu-

"Oh, no!" Lore leans forward as she presses play and the cast resumes. "I think they might be killing off Theo."

Somehow I manage to keep my composure for the rest of the show. And by that I mean I lay in place, eye occasionally twitching as I do my best not to move a muscle. Just waiting for the ordeal to be over. And all the while, Lore's scent taunts me-the memory of her flavor lingering like a bright spot burned across my vision after glancing at the sun.

As soon as it's over, I start to get up, hand going to the collar.

"What are you doing, Ash? Don't you want your reward?

"No," I lie. "I want to go sleep."

"Ashwyn. Sit back down and drink my blood."

I take a deep, steadying breath-and in doing so draw a powerful dose of her scent into my lungs. My eyes squeeze shut then snap back open again as I turn back to her.

"Fine."

Smiling primly, she proffers up her arm. I take it in my hands-gently at first, in spite of how I might feel about her-meaning to drink of the freshest blood where it wells up from the marks left by my teeth. To allow myself just one more tiny sip, regardless of how much she wants me to drink.

But the taste overcomes me immediately, all the more powerful now for how deeply I've been craving it for the past hour. All sense of self is wiped away as my instincts take over and what's left of my conscious self is consumed by ecstasy. She lets me drink for a shockingly long time, relaxing into the pillows and the downy mattress with a happy sigh.

Then her heartbeat begins to slow, and her hand drifts up to brush across my neck. The collar.

"Stop," she commands, and though I hear her say the word, I don't register the meaning. I just continue to feed. Then she brings her hand up, pressing it to my temple.

"Stop," she says again, and frigid dread wells up like a huge icy stone in my gut. My mother's face flashes before my eyes, contorted, laughing. Images of E.J.'s mutilated body drift in fractal spirals behind her. I roll backward, breathing hard, hands tearing at my hair in blind panic. The images vanish, and the sense of dread begins to dissipate.

"Consequences," says Lore in a sing-song voice, wagging a finger at me.

Reaching behind my neck, I unbuckle the collar and toss it at her before walking out.

When I get back to my room, it's to find Mittens happily asleep in the middle of the bed. My Pygmalion's leather carrying case seems to have suffered some gnawing-on, but otherwise my experiment of leaving her alone in my room for a few hours hasn't gone too poorly. Looks like E.J's off the hook with future babysitting duties. She'll be thrilled.

Dropping onto the bed beside her, I fling up my arm to cover my eyes. I'd been planning on collecting Mittens and clothes for tomorrow and heading upstairs to E.J's, but if I'm honest with myself, I don't think I have an excuse. Infused as I am with Lore's blood, her scent isn't quite the torture it had been before.

Let the next time I sleep there be because she wanted me to, and no other reason but that. Shooting E.J. a message to let her know I'll be fine in my own place for the night, I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Hesitating before the mirror, though, I'm unsure if I really want to wash the taste of Lore's blood from my mouth. It's a conflicted sort of feeling, though. As much as I love the taste-the reminder of the Crimson herself agitates me.

Don't be a creep, Ash. After forcing myself through a thorough brushing, I reach for the mouth wash.

~*~

I have difficulty sleeping that night. Not only has the feeding filled me with energy, but it's altered something about my perception, too. Though I've always had a sense of the dark energy of the dead and the embers of the living all around me, the latter seem brighter tonight. Entrancing, distracting. The more I focus on them, the more enlivened I begin to feel-as if their light and warmth are flowing into me.

After a while I huff in frustration and roll out of bed, dragging on a robe. Then I spend the next few hours out on my balcony with my Pygmalion and vapestem, painting up a storm. When I do finally sleep, it's curled up on the outdoor rug with the sounds of the forest and the sea as a backdrop for my dreams. In the landscape of my unconscious mind, an enormous coral-colored moon sits at the horizon's edge, slowly rising. Bolts of lightning frame it to either side, red as blood. Wings erupt from my back, and I launch into the sky.

~*~

My first class the next day is also the smallest-Reaper Life Basics. Three Reapers made it through the night of the Gate Ceremony: the tall, pale woman, a young man with copper hair and beard, and a stocky, soft-featured person with spiky blue-black hair and stylish silver glasses.

The classroom Boon directs me to is much larger than it needs to be, given the class size-though it's one of the rooms that's tucked into the lower back of the building where there are no windows. The walls are decorated with elaborate paintings depicting bodies in varying states of decay-all enshrined amongst a colorful riot of mushrooms, flowers and greenery.

In the seat behind the desk sits an enormous skeleton, one that can only have come from a shifter halfway transformed into something like a bear. Fresh pink flowers peak out from its eye sockets. Once all of us have selected and taken our seats, the skeleton gets up and walks over to the whiteboard, plucking a marker up in its bony claws.

"The professor will be here shortly," It scrawls across the board. Then it ambles back to the desk and sits promptly back down.

"Good morning all," Professor Rhoric greets us as he strolls into the classroom several minutes later with a coffee in hand, long white scarf trailing through the air behind him. "Since there's just the four of you, I think we can drop the customary pretentiousness and grandstanding." Setting the coffee down on his desk, he waves over at the bear-man skeleton before turning to face us, half-sitting on the edge of his desk. "Let us start with your most pressing questions." He takes a sip of his coffee, eyes roving over our faces. "From the packet you received on acceptance, you know the absolute basics for each type. You've already had your first experiences with blood. So what is it you'd most like to know at this point about what it is to be a Reaper?"

Three of us-myself, the copperhead, and black hair-shift uncomfortably, but the pale one's hand shoots up immediately.

"Yes, Miss Finley?"

"How long, exactly, can we go without drinking blood? What happens if we don't drink it for a long time?

His lips twist in a small frown, but he nods. "A very good question. You have about fourty-eight before you begin to experience the first symptoms of blood withdrawal, double before they start to become debilitating. The first thing you'll contend with is the thirst, of course-which can be very unpleasant all on its own," he pauses to take another drink of coffee, crossing his legs as he leans further back onto the desk.

"From there, the brain fog sets in. You lose coordination as your body weakens. By day seven to nine, your thirst will be all you have left. You won't be able to think of anything else. By days twelve to fifteen, the hallucinations begin. Your body will go into a state similar to hibernation after about three weeks, and if you’re awakened you'll spring automatically on anyone who comes within range. At that point, you've got a few more weeks before you're dead."

"But we can survive without food, so long as we have blood?"

Professor Rhoric nods, swallowing more coffee. "Indefinitely-though again, there are side effects. You'll lose weight of course, but more than anything else you'll lose your mind, devolving to a state of feral, predatory madness."

After a moment of silence, the dark-haired student raises their hand.

"I'm sorry if this is a stupid question," they hedge.

"Stupid questions are the best!" booms the professor, his coffee splashing a bit as he slaps the desk with his free hand. "Ask without shame."

The student clears their throat. "Um, alright. Has any Reaper ever achieved true resurrection?"

"Oh, that's not a stupid question at all, Mx. LoVor. I'm a little disappointed, but I'll forgive you. I joke, though." He pauses again for more coffee before leaving the mug on the desk to pace in front of it. The skeleton taps the desktop rhythmically with one extended claw. "No true resurrection to purportedly occur has ever been verified with any kind of reliability. All happened too long ago, and most are so shrouded in legend that many doubt they ever happened at all. It's also worth noting that none of these supposed resurrections were accomplished by Reapers, but always by Crimson Reaper hybrids. Which are momentously rare, by the way.

I shift uneasily in my seat, considering a question of my own-Has there ever been a Stormstruck Reaper before? Maybe there hasn't ever been one, and that's why no one's heard of one that could truly resurrect someone.

"Oh," says LoVor, that single syllable so hollow with disappointment it almost brings a tear to my eye. What's with me today? Everyone's emotions feel so...loud.

The next to raise their hand is copper-hair.

"How long before we learn how to bind long-term thralls?" he asks, eyeing the skeleton.

Professor Rhoric laughs. "It's one of the highest level skills, so a while. You'll learn that in Advanced Technique and Methodology-that'll be year five."

"Ah, I see." More disappointment.

The questioning goes on for a while, and most of the answers are ones I've already gotten from either E.J. or Kundu. When the others finally run out of things to ask, Professor Rhoric produces a small pile of rabbit skeletons from a desk drawer and we practice making them perform increasingly complex tasks. By the end of the class we've got the desks pushed aside to make a dance floor for our waltzing rabbits as Rhoric's Companion plays a jaunty tune and his thrall taps along on the desk.

After all that I'm dying for some lunch-but just as I go to walk out the door behind the others, the professor calls my name.

"Ms. Fleetwood, could you stay behind a moment? I'd just like a word."