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the EEG could. It hadn’t shut up the whole time. Bones must have wanted to smash it more than once by now, with all the bleeps and squawks it made.
    Bones had helped himself to two of the blood bags after Tate—died? Passed out? What was the term for the state Tate was in now, anyway?—even though Bones hated bagged plasma. He’d likened the taste to rotten milk, for an analogy I’d understand when I’d once asked him why he didn’t just eat that instead of biting people. But with what he’d drained into Tate, Bones needed a refill, taste preferences notwithstanding.
    Juan yawned. It was after midnight, and so far, we’d done nothing but watch Tate lie there. Still, no one seemed to want to tear their eyes from the screen.
    “You can all get some sleep, I’ll buzz you when there’s any change,” I suggested. I was used to being awake late. Being half vampire had its quirks.
    Don gave me a tired but firm look. “I think I speak for everyone when I say hell no, I’m staying.”
    There were grunts of agreement. I shrugged, defeated, and turned my attention back to the screen.
    The only warning I had was Bones standing up. Then, suddenly, Tate’s supine body was a seething mass of motion. His eyes were open, every muscle strained against the clamps, and a howl so unearthly feral it rocked me back in my seat came from the speakers.
    “Jesus Christ,” Don muttered, his former slump gone.
    Tate’s scream grew impossibly louder. Through the blur from the frenzied scissoring of Tate’s head as he fought against his restraints, I saw his mouth was open…and fangs were clearly visible as he continued to howl like he’d just come straight from hell.
    Bones had said new vampires woke up with a burning, mindless thirst. That reality was playing out before my eyes. Tate didn’t seem to be aware of where he was, or even who he was. There was nothing left of him in the gaze that scoured the small room he was trapped in.
    Bones had none of my inner panic at seeing my friend in such a condition. He went over to the cooler, drew out a few blood bags, and walked over to Tate.
    I couldn’t hear what he said, because Tate’s screams drowned it out, but I saw Bones’s lips move as he dropped one of the bags right onto Tate’s gaping mouth. Nummy, nummy? my frozen mind supplied. Or, Bottoms up?
    It didn’t matter. Tate didn’t drink from the bag—he tore at it until his face was covered in red and his snapping jaws made him look more like a great white shark than a man. Bones, unperturbed, plucked the plastic remains from Tate’s face, nimbly avoiding hisfingers getting chomped, and then dropped another bag onto Tate’s mouth. It met the same garbage-disposal fate as the first one.
    I glanced away, disturbed. That made no sense, because I’d known what to expect, but hearing it and seeing it were two different things. To my right, I also noticed Juan looking away from the screen. He rubbed his temple.
    “It’s still him.”
    Dave’s voice seemed very soft in the sudden break from Tate’s screams as he slurped. Dave nodded once at the monitor.
    “I know it’s hard to believe from what you’re looking at, but Tate’s still in there. This is only temporary. He’ll be himself soon.”
    God, I wanted to believe that. I knew there was no reason I shouldn’t, except that now, Tate looked more frightening than the most homicidal vampire I’d ever come across. I guess I truly hadn’t been prepared to see my friend this way, even though I’d thought I was.
    It took five bags before the demented gleam left Tate’s eyes. Of course, most of the first two had spilled around his face and shoulders, not in his mouth, since he’d sawed at them so crazily. Now, covered in blood, he finally looked at Bones and seemed to recognize him.
    “It hurts,” were Tate’s first words.
    Tears came to my eyes at the bleak rawness of his voice. There was so much despair leaking out of that short sentence.
    Bones nodded. “It gets