Monday dawned cold and overcast, the sky like a slab of gray metal pressing down on the campus. Kara had barely slept. Even with her eyes closed, the browser tabs she'd left open burned in her mind: hematophagia, light sensitivity, immortality.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her own hands. Human hands — fragile, threaded with warm, pulsing blood. The same blood that, according to her theories, fueled Alice's existence.
The decision was made. Doubt was a torture worse than the truth, no matter how terrifying that truth might be. She needed proof. An instinctive reaction Alice couldn't hide behind her usual stoicism.
Kara pulled on her thickest hoodie, shoved her hands into her pockets, and felt the cold metal of the small Swiss Army knife she used to sharpen her drawing pencils. The object felt impossibly heavy.
She went to the side staircase of the Arts building, an isolated spot where the wind funneled sharply, and where she'd noticed Alice often passed before afternoon classes, avoiding the crowds of the main hallway.
She waited twenty minutes. The cold bit into her cheeks, but her hands were slick with sweat inside her pockets.
Then she appeared.
Alice emerged at the base of the stairs, ascending with that unnatural lightness, as if gravity were a suggestion rather than a law. The wind tangled her black hair, her gaze lowered, lost in thought.
Kara inhaled deeply, trying to calm the heart hammering against her ribs like a prisoner desperate to escape.
"Hi, Alice," Kara called out. Her voice came out slightly higher than usual.
Alice stopped midway up the steps. She lifted her face, and for a fraction of a second Kara caught a flash of something — relief? But the mask of indifference slid back into place almost instantly.
"Kara…" Alice climbed the remaining steps and stopped at a careful distance, about a meter away. "You should be in class. Or somewhere warm. You're shaking."
"I'm fine," Kara lied. The trembling had nothing to do with the cold. It was pure adrenaline.
"Are you sure?" Alice tilted her head slightly, dark eyes scanning Kara's face. "Your heart is racing."
That was the trigger.
She can hear it.
"I just… ran to get here," Kara lied again. "I needed to see you."
Alice sighed, glancing toward the bare trees.
"Kara, we've talked about this. Getting close to me isn't wise."
"Yeah, you say that a lot." Kara took a step forward, closing the distance. Alice didn't retreat, but her body stiffened.
Kara slid her right hand into her pocket. Her fingers found the small blade, already open. This was it. No turning back.
Pretending to fumble, she made a sharp movement inside the pocket, feeling the sting as the blade sliced into the side of her palm. She yanked her hand out as if her jacket zipper had caught.
"Ow!" she exclaimed — this pain was real.
Blood welled instantly, vivid and bright against the pale skin of her palm. The metallic, warm, almost sweet scent rose into the cold air at once.
Alice's reaction was immediate and terrifying.
Her body froze. All motion ceased.
She stopped blinking.
She stopped pretending to breathe.
Alice's eyes, moments ago a deep brown, locked onto Kara's hand with predatory intensity. Her pupils dilated until they swallowed the iris entirely, turning her gaze into twin wells of absolute hunger.
Kara saw Alice's nostrils flare slightly as she inhaled the scent. Saw the muscles in her neck tense, like an animal poised to strike.
"What did you do?" Alice's voice was no longer velvet-soft. It was a low snarl, vibrating deep in her throat, charged with a tension that made Kara's knees weaken.
Kara didn't hide her hand. She extended it slightly toward Alice, an insane, deliberate invitation. Blood ran down her wrist, dripping onto the stone steps.
"It was an accident," Kara said softly. "I cut myself on my knife. I think it's deep."
Alice took a step forward. It wasn't a conscious decision — it was gravitational. As if she were fighting an invisible current. Her face twisted, caught between overwhelming desire and horror.
"Get that away from me…" Alice whispered, her voice breaking. "Hide that blood. Now."
"Why?" Kara challenged, fear tangled with morbid fascination. "It's just a cut, Alice. Are you afraid of blood?"
Alice squeezed her eyes shut, jaw clenched, a sound of pain tearing from her throat. When she opened them again, red veins had invaded the whites of her eyes.
She moved so fast Kara never saw it.
Suddenly, Alice was inches away. Her icy hand clamped around Kara's wrist with steel strength, stopping the blood from dripping further.
The contrast, cold fingers against warm, blood-slick skin — sent a violent shock through them both.
"You have no idea what you're doing," Alice hissed, staring at the wound. Her lips were parted, and for the first time Kara clearly saw the tips of elongated fangs brushing her lower lip.
The tension in the air shifted. It stopped being merely dangerous and became charged—sexual, primal. Alice held Kara's wrist as if it were the most precious and most forbidden thing in the world. She seemed torn between sealing the wound… or lifting Kara's hand to her mouth and tasting the blood.
Kara felt Alice's presence against her skin, no breath, just proximity. The scent of Alice —flowers and rain — mingled with the scent of blood, creating something intoxicating.
"Alice…" Kara whispered, her heart pounding painfully. She didn't pull away. She leaned closer.
Alice shuddered violently.
With her free hand, she yanked a dark silk handkerchief from her coat pocket. Her movements were fast but trembling as she pressed the fabric against Kara's palm, covering the red, blocking the scent.
She wrapped both hands around Kara's, holding it tightly. The gesture was protective, but the strength was restraint.
Alice met Kara's eyes. The hunger still burned there, fierce and raw, but beneath it lay a deep, aching sadness.
"You should never play with blood," Alice said hoarsely, her eyes slowly returning to normal, though still far too dark. "Never do this again."
"I needed to know," Kara admitted weakly. "I had to see."
Alice released her wrist abruptly, as if the contact burned. She stepped back three paces, putting physical distance between temptation and hunger.
"I don't know what you thought you'd see," Alice said coldly, adjusting her coat, turning her face away in shame. "Press the wound. Go to the infirmary."
"Alice, wait—"
"Don't follow me." The command was sharp. "Please, Kara. Don't follow me right now."
And without looking back, Alice shot up the stairs, moving with that inhuman speed, fleeing from Kara and from herself.
Kara remained frozen on the steps, clutching Alice's handkerchief against her palm. The fabric carried Alice's scent. The bleeding slowed, but certainty flooded her veins.
There were no more doubts. No more maybes.
Alice was a vampire.
And Kara, insanely, had just offered her blood.
Half an hour later, Kara ran into Natalie in the dorm hallway. Natalie was walking along with a stack of books, humming cheerfully.
"Hey! What happened to your hand?" Natalie asked, noticing the improvised bandage made from the elegant silk cloth.
Kara leaned against the wall, her legs finally giving in under the crash of fading adrenaline.
"I cut myself. A stupid accident."
"With that silk handkerchief? That's totally Wednesday Addams' style," Natalie teased. "You ran into her, didn't you?"
Kara glanced down at the black fabric.
"Yes. We did."
"So?" Natalie grinned, nudging her. "Did it happen? A kiss? A dramatic confession of eternal love in broad daylight?"
Kara looked at her with such seriousness that Natalie's smile faltered.
"No, Nat. But I made a decision."
"What decision?"
"I'm going to talk to her. For real this time. No games. No dodging. I'm putting all my cards on the table."
Natalie's face lit up with relief and excitement.
"Finally! Hallelujah! Go get her! Confess! Tell her you dream about her, that you want gothic babies together! It's about time you admitted you're in love."
Laughing, Natalie headed to their room, convinced her friend was finally about to resolve her romantic tension.
Kara stayed behind in the hallway, clutching her injured hand.
"Yeah… I'm going to confess," she murmured, a nervous, bittersweet smile on her lips.
She was going to confess — but not the way Natalie imagined.
She was going to look Alice in the eyes and say:
I know what you are. And I'm not afraid.
It might be a declaration of love.
But above all, it was a sentence of danger.