The Representative looked at Shamira, her eyes filled with questions. “I do not know. This has never happened to my knowledge, so there is no precedent. The few incarnations of Shadow Wing that I have researched were all well over two centuries old when they came into their power. With you, it is as if –”
“What?” Shamira felt her skin crawling. “As if what?”
“As if the last Moon Dragon was waiting for you. Because he certainly is not wasting any time.”
“And what good am I to him now? He wants to possess a cripple? Do they make those little pet wheelchairs for dragons?”
“He does not possess,” the Representative replied, ignoring Shamira’s self-pity. “He grants power. You will always be you.”
Shamira’s face fell. She pushed the wheels of her chair and she lurched into motion. “What if I don’t want to be me anymore?” she said as she rolled away. Then Clara got in her way.
“Then you don’t want to be the person I’m in love with. So where does that leave me?”
Shamira could not meet her gaze. “That’s not fair.”
“Nothing about this is fair,” Clara said, her voice choking, “but that doesn’t change how I feel. I want you to live and I want you to be happy and I want you to get better, and I’m willing to fight for all of that. But I can’t do it if you won’t try.”
Shane nodded. “We’re all willing to do whatever we can. The rest is up to you.”
“I . . . thanks,” Shamira replied, feeling a bit embarrassed by all this now. “I’m going to go check on Kira and Arthur.” When Clara got behind the wheelchair and started to push, Shamira tried to object.
“Shut up and let me help you,” the shaman sniffed, then proceeded to maneuver the chair down the hall. She smiled a little when she heard her lover call her a “pushy bitch” under her breath, since they both knew Clara could hear it.
When they got to the medical station, Tabitha was yucking it up with her patients. The laughter paused when Shamira appeared and the participants looked guilty.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please,” Shamira said, giving strength to her voice that she did not feel.
“I just found it amusing,” Tabitha started, glancing at Arthur, “that someone who is so interested in being a blood donor to a vampire can also be afraid of needles.”
Shamira’s mouth curved up involuntarily. “Seriously?”
Arthur blushed beat red. “I don’t know. They’re just so . . . icky.”
“Yes, I order the especially icky brands as well,” Tabitha grinned. “He almost passed out when I was taking samples.”
“I know that you’re a doctor in the normal world, but –” Shamira paused. “How do you know what you’re testing for?”
“Shane actually has lent me a number of scrolls and tomes that belong to some of the greatest apothecaries in magical history. And Mysti-pedia has its own version of WebMd, which I’ve become very –” The medic stopped and looked at Shamira, trying not to grimace. “– very familiar with in the last week.”
“That’s me. Always the problem child,” Shamira said, trying to find some humor however grim in her situation. “How long until the tests are done?”
“I should be able to have a complete bloodwork done in the next day or so. Apparently there is a lab in Atlanta that caters to magical creatures, so I’ll send samples there in a bit.”
“Why not just take them yourself?” Shamira asked.
“I have to avoid being seen in Atlanta for a while. I haven’t even been dead as long as you, and I was somewhat well known. The police are still looking for my killer, by the way.” This Tabitha said with a smirk which Shamira was able to return.
“Someone killed you?” Kira asked. “That’s horrible. Did you get a good look at him?”
For the first time in a while, Shamira was actually able to laugh.
Shamira felt obliged to play hostess for a while, allowing Clara to push her around the house and give her human guests the grand tour. It took a while.
“This place is huge!” Arthur said.
“Yet it’s getting crowded. We have twenty-one of Shane’s house . . . well, twenty-two if you count Jeremiah.”
“Jeremiah?” Kira asked.
“He’s a poltergeist, so he doesn’t really take up space. Neither does Coramen for that matter. Most of the time anyway,” Clara rectified.
“Okay, I haven’t been around much since she was brought in,” Shamira said. “She’s only four inches tall. How –”
Clara grinned. “She can grow. Only for an hour at a time, but she can become human sized. And is she ever stacked. She’d got these Dolly Parton boobs, and they’re natural!”
“Sounds great,” Shamira replied. “I’m glad she found a place here. Top or bottom?”
“Oh, she’s a total bottom. But she can’t be bound with metal, so we have to use organics with her. Non-synthetic ropes or –”
“Uhm, you mean she’s a submissive?” Arthur asked.
“Oh yeah,” Clara replied. “I guess you’re becoming a little more inner-circle, so it’s okay to tell them.”
Shamira looked sheepish. “Everyone in this house has certain . . . sexual needs. Everyone here is a dominant or submissive.”
“So –” Kira paused, blushing a bit herself.
“Ask anything,” Shamira replied.
“Who was your submissive?”
Shamira looked at Clara, who snickered as she looked back. “Uhm, well everyone kind of shares,” she said slowly. “But actually, I’m a sub. More often than not, I’m hers.”
Kira looked confused. “But you’re just so . . . butch.”
“I am not!” Shamira replied indignantly.
“No, I don’t mean not feminine. Not at all or . . . I just mean that . . . well, you’re so strong.”
“It’s okay,” Shamira said. “It took them a while for them to convince me it was okay.”
“So, did you want us to –”
“Our submissives aren’t allowed to play bottom to donors,” Clara interjected. “It’s just a blanket rule to prevent overzealous donors from doing something rash. Dominants can’t play with human submissives without a lot of training. Humans are . . . fragile. At least comparatively.”
“I guess this makes me a little less . . . you know, ‘wow,'” Shamira said.
Kira looked upset. “Listen, if you really want to get rid of us, then just say so. Because we already said we don’t want another vampire.” She looked at Clara. “No offense. Again.”
“Why don’t you donate now?” Clara asked. She glanced at Shamira who would have gone pale if that were still possible. “YOU need to eat more anyway. I really think you’ll feel better afterward.”
“But I can’t –”
“Sharing blood with a willing donor is a gift. Doing it your way, it’s even more of a gift. It doesn’t HAVE to be associated with sex, that’s just the way we’ve always done it around here.” She pushed at the wheelchair again. “C’mon, let’s show ’em the bedroom.”
Shamira was trying to slow the chair and turn her head so she could “discuss” this plan with her friend, but Clara was having none of it. When they finally reached the bedroom door, Shamira was just grumbling and fuming and considering making a break for it . . . as much as she could . . . while Clara let their guests inside.
“My Goddess,” Kira muttered. “It’s bigger than our whole apartment! And that bed!” She ran her hands over the smooth, cool bedspread. Then she burst into the bathroom for a gander.
“Great. If the bathroom is as nice as I think it is, we’ll never see her again,” Arthur chuckled. “If we actually had any money and could buy our own place, half the place would probably be a bathroom.”
“A walk-in shower!” Kira shouted.
“She’s a goner,” her husband replied wistfully, going to extract his wife from her explorations.
“What are you doing?!” Shamira whispered angrily. “You know I’m not ready for this.”
“I know that you’re afraid of this,” Clara said, kneeling and planting a kiss on Shamira’s forehead. “They are your responsibility, now more than ever. If I left it up to you, you’d never be ready again as long as you are in that chair. And as much as neither of us want to think about it, we have no idea how long you will be there. And don’t you dare say ‘forever’ because I don’t believe that.”
“So here’s what you’ve reduced me to. Guilt. They’re here, trying to support you like you supported them when most people they knew had written them off. If you had just broken your relationship off with them like you had planned, they would have seen it as yet another social rejection. This intimacy, through their blood, is the only thing they have left to offer you and they want to give it.”
Shamira actually sunk into her chair and pouted. “You suck.”
That earned her a kiss on the lips. “I know,” Clara whispered across that now-slim divide.
That kiss didn’t make Shamira’s legs work again, but everything from the waist up was on notice. She wondered if she could be satisfied in a relationship if all she could experience was those kisses, because Clara was making a strong case. When Clara kissed her again, Shamira barely noticed she was being moved to the bed. The Native American lay on top of her, stroking her cheeks while their tongues danced again. All the parts of Shamira that could tingle did. So the crippled vampire just lay back in the mind-bogglingly comfortable bed while her lover eased down next to her.