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Andy was turned when she was twenty six—at least a hundred and seventy-two years ago.
She could hardly remember anything from her past life. All she knew was that she had been born Andrea, and her parents used to call her Andy. She’d had several surnames since then.
In this endeavor, she was a Sachs—a name she had acquired during her time in Ohio. What great folks that state had. Andy had been adopted by a Richard and an Alice. They were the one who bestowed the last name upon her, in fact, and she carried it with her as she made her way to New York.
It was not unusual for her kind to seek refuge among humans, although Andy took a little offense at having to be the one to find shelter, instead of it being the other way around.
Why couldn’t humans seek a vampire’s help?
Miranda certainly had the same question in mind.
“Have you been drinking from someone else?” was only one of the many questions Miranda often threw her way.
It was adorable and, frankly, a little concerning. Andy should have known Miranda would find out about her true form. When people said that nothing got past Miranda, they knew exactly what they were talking about.
It was a little funny, too, how Miranda had broached the subject. Andy had arrived to the office looking severely lethargic—the long nights she spent waiting for the book were stripping her of the time she needed to hunt—and Miranda had casually dragged her into her office’s private bathroom, pulling on the lapel of her blazer and baring her neck for Andy to bite on.
Andy remembered the surge of panic that had flooded her, and how her gums had ached with a painful burn as her fangs emerged. Her body had buzzed, her pupils dilating impossibly wide as she watched Miranda’s pulse thrum violently against her throat.
“What are you doing?” Andy had asked.
Miranda had furrowed her brows, probably wondering why Andy wasn’t doing exactly what she had wanted her to do.
“Drink,” Miranda had insisted.
A growl had left Andy’s throat as she took a step back. “What are you doing?” she had repeated, her voice booming in the confined space.
Miranda hadn’t flinched. She hadn’t even batted an eye. She had simply looked at Andy and rolled her eyes.
“You’re obviously hungry. I am helping you.”
Andy had raked her mind then. She tried to recall whether she had ever mentioned about her true form to Miranda in passing. She no longer breathed, but she felt as though the air was being sucked right out of her lungs. Her head had grown hazy, blinded by the intoxicating scent of Miranda in the tiny room.
She had to get out, and as she had tried to run for the door, Miranda already beat her to it, her frame blocking the exit with a terrifying determination.
“Why don’t you want me to help you?” Miranda had asked, frustration apparent in her expression.
“You’re not supposed to know.”
Miranda had taken that as an offense, as she told Andy later on. She held Andy by the hand and pulled her close, stretching her arm, twisting it slightly so her wrist was bared, and pointed directly at Andy’s lips.
“I have known for a while,” Miranda reasoned. “I know enough to assume that if you don’t drink anything in the next few hours, you will get sick.” she added, her voice softening.
Andy looked at Miranda and at the wrist still presented to her like a gift. Her chest ached, and her fangs desperately needed to pierce through skin. She took Miranda’s wrist and pulled the older woman flush against her body, groaning as the editor’s scent flooded her senses like an electric current. She leaned in closer, feeling Miranda shudder against her. She nosed the curve of Miranda’s jaw and inhaled, suppressing a whimper as she heard Miranda’s sharp intake of air.
“Are you sure?” Andy had asked, placing a soft kiss right where Miranda’s pulse fluttered frantically.
Miranda had swallowed and stammered, and her scent suddenly spiked. Fear. Andy had smelled fear.
“You won’t kill me,” Miranda stated, and it sounded more of an assertion than a question. Andy had the mind to laugh, her lips brushing softly against Miranda’s skin.
Andy had darted her tongue out, feeling her control slipping away as she licked at Miranda’s beating pulse.
“You are so brave, Miranda,” Andy had said. “Offering yourself to me like this when you know I could bleed you dry? What a brave girl.”
Miranda shook, her recklessness finally catching up to her. But in all the months Andy had worked at Runway—for Miranda, she had learned that the editor refused to be anything less than accomplished—she started things and she finished them, regardless of the consequences. So, even though Miranda’s body was starting to tremble against Andy’s hold, Andy knew Miranda wouldn’t back down.
As stubborn as she was brave.
Andy placed one hand around Miranda’s waist, fingers splaying against the small of her back, while her other hand guided Miranda’s waist closer to her.
“This won’t hurt,” Andy had assured, pulling away just enough to place a soft kiss on Miranda’s cheek before she leaned down and bared her fangs.
Andy had always wondered about Miranda’s taste. Humans tended to differ in taste far more than they did in scent. She had always imagined Miranda would taste sweeter, like most people her age.
Miranda gasped the moment Andy’s fangs finally pricked her skin, thrashing against Andy’s hold as if her body had been set on fire. She wriggled and let out a low groan as Andy took her first sip.
Andy sighed against Miranda’s throat. Oh, she was so sweet. So dizzyingly sweet, and bitter like a fine wine. God. She tasted like nothing else Andy had ever had.
Miranda only stopped moving when Andy let go of her wrist to cradle the other side of her neck, her fingers tangling in silver hair. Instead of fighting, Miranda turned to making small sounds—sounds that resembled moaning.
“Andrea…”
Andrea. Andrea. Andrea.
She repeated it until Andy finally had her fill, her lips stained red with blood, with a few drops dripping from the corner of her mouth. When Andy pulled back, she didn’t know what kind of reaction would welcome her. Surely, Miranda would have realized by then the absurdity of what she had dragged herself into.
But no, Miranda had looked Andy right in the eye, her mouth agape as she breathed heavily, and giggled. Then, it turned into a laugh—so loud that Andy worried whether her venom, the one she had injected the moment her teeth sank in to make the experience pleasurable for Miranda, was causing a strange side effect on the editor.
“That was,” Miranda’s chest rose. “so good.” And it fell. “Is it always that good?”
Andy blinked, though she didn’t technically have the need to anymore.
“It was good?”
Andy had forgotten what being bitten felt like. She was turned ages ago, and she never bothered to ask her prey for a review when she was finished. She could only imagine it as horrifying.
Miranda beaming at her, however, seemed to say otherwise.
“Whenever you need to drink, just let me know,” Miranda had said before exiting the bathroom, leaving Andy fully sated, bathed in ecstasy, and utterly confused.
Which brought Andy back to her current dilemma.
“What do you mean?” she asked, sitting across from Miranda in the study.
Nights like this one had become the norm for the two of them. Andy didn’t require sleep, so she often crashed at Miranda’s townhouse. She was almost like a guard dog—a guard vampire.
“You haven’t asked to drink for weeks now,” Miranda answered.
Which was true. Andy had figured out some time during their agreement that the reason she had been so insatiably hungry back then was because her body craved something none of her previous preys could offer; though she fed, she was never truly filled.
Miranda’s blood seemed to have neutralized her hunger entirely. A mouthful of Miranda’s blood could last her a month. It was a relief, and apparently… a problem, too.
“It’s because I don’t need to.”
Miranda eyed her suspiciously, her brows furrowing. She often looked that way whenever Andy suggested she go out hunting—worried that she would eventually harm Miranda if she fed off her for too long.
“If you no longer require my services, let me know.”
Andy rolled her eyes, grateful that Miranda chose that exact moment to look down and read through the Book.
“I am not drinking from someone else, Miranda.”
Miranda only hummed in response.
“You know what,” Andy finally relented, standing up and walking over to Miranda.
She knelt at Miranda’s feet, gently taking the Book away from her and placing it on a nearby table. She took hold of Miranda’s wrist and waited for her fangs to emerge, licking at the sharp tips with a quiet anticipation.
Miranda’s free hand weaved through Andy’s hair. As her nails dug into the vampire’s scalp, Andy bit down, feeling the exact moment Miranda tugged harshly on her hair.
God.
What a beautiful agreement they had.
When Andy was finished, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand before looking up. The editor was breathing heavily now, her cheeks flushed. It was always a wonder to Andy how, even though she was the one feeding, Miranda always seemed to be the one to leave the encounter looking recharged, her blue eyes bright and glassy.
Miranda leaned down to capture Andy’s lips in a kiss, tongue grazing playfully over Andy’s fangs.
“I would kill you if I ever tasted someone else’s blood in your mouth.”
Ah. That. Andy had since learned that Miranda could actually taste her own blood in Andy’s mouth whenever she fed, meaning she could taste anyone else’s, too. They had discovered it the second time Miranda offered herself up. Not wanting to rely solely on Miranda, Andy had gone out to hunt when the editor was out for an international trip, leaving Andy the weekend to herself.
It ended badly, to say the least. Andy had never seen Miranda so… enraged.
Andy had to spend a whole month trying to woo the editor back, making sure to bite her whenever she got the chance—during elevator rides, right before run-throughs, and every night when Andy would hand Miranda the Book on the stairwell.
Their relationship had progressed from there, and Andy realized she didn’t need anyone else besides Miranda, no matter how cliche that sounded. She didn’t think she was physically able to anymore anyway.
Leave it to a century old vampire to reshape her entire existence around a human. Her ancestors would surely shame her for being so thoroughly tamed.
“It’s only you, Miranda,” Andy said, if only to assure her, despite knowing that Miranda could already feel it.
They were connected. Miranda and she were bound by blood.
Miranda smiled at her, kissing her once more, her lips tasting faintly of iron and expensive lipstick.
“I can’t wait to be one with you,” Miranda said softly.
Andy wanted to argue that they already were. But even she was excited to see what was to come once Miranda was finally turned.
“Soon,” Andy promised.
She almost had the mind to laugh. So many things had changed since Miranda first offered herself up as a meal.
Brave, brave girl.
When it finally happened, it was years later. She had long left Runway to pursue a new identity elsewhere in the world. This time, she’d let go of Sachs and taken Priestly instead—adopting Miranda’s name upon the older woman’s insistence.
That decision alone had been difficult. It was a struggle to explain to Miranda that she needed to travel, that settling in one place for too long could prove dangerous for her. It was only when she promised the editor she would return to her twice every month that Miranda finally relented.
“Are you sure about this?” Andy asked, laying down on the bed beside Miranda.
Miranda had changed through the years. Her beautiful face had gained lines and wrinkles, her hair had thinned, and her color had paled, but she still looked at Andy the exact same way—burning with a possessiveness that had never once waned.
Andy often wondered if Miranda held on to her out of a pride she was famously unwilling to surrender, or she carried a devotion to Andy that mirrored the younger woman’s own.
That realization had come easily to Andy over time. Love was a funny thing for an undying creature. The word itself wasn’t enough to explain what she felt for Miranda.
Andy was devoted to her. Helplessly.
“Do I not want to die?” Miranda asked, a small laugh escaping her despite a voice heavy with exhaustion.
Andy smiled softly, reaching out to push a stray of hair off Miranda’s forehead. A faint rhythmic beeping echoed from a distance—a reminder that they were only borrowing time.
“This is going to be a very long and lonely life, Miranda.”
Miranda looked at her. Her eyes, now barely seeing, mapping every curve of Andy’s face. “That’s precisely why I want it. I cannot leave you to live a long and lonely life on your own. I wouldn’t survive it.”
Andy had half a mind to laugh. As if what she felt would even matter once Miranda had long since crossed into the afterlife. The mere thought made Andy’s hollow chest ache with a quiet fury.
“You’ve always been so stubborn,” she murmured.
Miranda’s wrinkled lips twitched, and for a second, Andy caught the radiance Miranda used to carry when she was younger.
“You did call me your brave girl,” Miranda teased weakly.
Andy rolled her eyes, though the smile on her face betrayed her. She leaned in, listening to the dull beating of Miranda’s heart. How Andy adored her; how she wanted to rip her own chest open to offer her unbeating heart for Miranda to feast on; how she wanted to live a life with her forever.
“You’re going to get stuck with me until eternity,” Andy tried to warn.
Miranda feigned a gasp, coughing from the exertion. “What troublesome life I’m about to live.”
Andy laughed softly. With what little restraint she had left to abandon, she pressed a soft kiss to the side of Miranda’s neck, right where her pulse flickered. The events of the past decades played like a film in the back of her mind, her body buzzing with an overflowing reverence for the only human she had ever willingly surrendered herself to.
The bite was brief—Miranda already had enough venom coursing through her blood that it didn’t take much more to complete the change. Yet it was horrifying at first: watching the last remnants of life leave Miranda’s fragile frame, forced to endure the silence as that faint thumping of her heart finally stopped.
Andy waited. She was used to waiting. Her endless existence had afforded nothing else, so she stayed. Hours stretched into days, and days into weeks. She remained glued to Miranda’s side, even when the suffocating stillness made it feel as though nothing was bound to happen.
Miranda’s body remained limp and lifeless, testing every thread of Andy’s control as she fought not to spiral into full-blown panic.
Until, finally, the moment she had been desperately praying for arrived.
Miranda slowly opened her eyes—unfocused at first, her gaze wandering as she tried to make sense of the room. Her complexion, already pale, had turned sheet white. The lines etched into her skin had smoothed out; not entirely gone, but softened. Her hair had regained its lush, voluminous thickness, looking just as striking as it had the day Andy first met her.
Miranda looked exactly as she did the very first time Andy had tasted her blood.
Andy, who had no physical need for breath, suddenly felt a craving for air.
“Miranda?” Andy called out, her voice barely a whisper.
Miranda winced, blinking once, then twice. “Andrea?”
Andy sat up, waiting. “I’m right here.”
Miranda’s eyes finally locked onto hers, her blue irises now rimmed with a ring of crimson. She was breathtaking. She reached out a hand to Andy, her fingers weaving gently through her hair.
“Are we the same now?” Miranda asked.
Andy couldn’t suppress the giggle she let out, taking Miranda by surprise. She caught the hand resting in her hair and brought it to her lips, pressing a kiss into the center of the older woman’s palm.
“We always were,” Andy said softly. “We were always one and the same, Miranda.”