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the one thing I felt repulsed to think about.
    “How long can I go without blood?” I mumbled.
    Lysander seemed to perk up, hearing me mention the “b” word. “You’re young; you will probably need to feed every night for a little while. When you get older, you can go days and even weeks without it.”
    “And what happens if I don’t f-ff-feed?” Just the sound of that word made my stomach turn. I imagined drinking warm cupful’s of thick, gelatinous, half-coagulated blood.
    A sickeningly sweet taste gnawed at the back of my throat.
    “Consider it a kind of paralysis.” Lysander said matter-of-factly. “If you don’t feed, your body will simply shut down, and you will go into a comatose-like state, unable to move, leaving you at the mercy of the elements and whoever may find you.”
    I took a slow deep breath to try and calm my body down. Hunger relentlessly nagged at me, but I didn’t want to accept that I needed to drink blood to stop it. My stomach ached with emptiness as my mind flashed to images of the blood I had drunk earlier.
    Tingles and small prickles danced across my skin like the sensation of a limb waking from sleep. The tingles echoed the feeling I had during my transformation. It hinted that a more uncomfortable feeling would soon follow. My skin felt as if it were drying, becoming tight and itchy. I rested my forehead in my hands, closing my eyes as my mind played out the only scenario that would end this feeling. 
    Lysander sat beside me like a statue, as if waiting for me to say something.
    How can I do this? How can I live like this? I can’t drink blood .
    The aching in my stomach wouldn’t stop. My throat dried with each breath I took. A slow burning accompanied the sickeningly sweet taste clinging to my throat.
    There has to be some way out of this. I don’t want to drink blood .
    I remembered how quickly my pain was quenched with the sweet-tasting blood I had drunk from my attacker.
    No, I can’t do that .
    My body knew I needed blood. It teased me with the pain, as well as the memories of pleasure.
    No, I mustn’t. I can’t do this. I don’t want to be a monster .
    My mind showed me more of the lightheaded ecstasy I’d felt earlier; when Lysander had forced the wounded arm to my mouth and made me drink. The need building inside of me was overwhelming.
     Finally, after reaching the limits of my endurance, I gave in to the unrelenting torment. The desire for blood had taken over. I could no longer concentrate on anything else.
    I let out a defeated sigh. “I’m hungry. I need something, food or drink, just something.”
    Lysander smiled widely, letting the sharp tips of his teeth show below his lips; perhaps he knew that my need for blood would overcome my rational judgment.
    “I had a feeling you would be thirsty. You will need to learn to hunt.”
    “Hunt?” It sounded so terrible. Hunting … people. “You mean I will have to kill someone?”
    It bothered me how nonchalantly he spoke of hunting, feeding, and blood. I knew the answer to the question. I would have to do this—hunt—at some point.
    He glanced down at a watch around his left arm. A frown turned the corners of his lips. “It looks like it’s too late for that tonight. The sun will be up soon, and we will have to wait until nightfall for your first real meal.”
    The moment I had to do it… could I? Would I be able to kill someone and drink their blood? No! There had to be another way.
    I’d never intentionally hurt anyone or given a thought to killing. What rational person does? I remembered the man’s arm that Lysander had held up to my mouth.
    Did I kill that man?
    My stomach churned with sudden guilt; a terrible, sickening pit of bile threatened to rise up my throat. Lysander must have sensed this. He placed a hand on my knee, grabbing my attention. I looked up, meeting his eyes. A wave of calm rolled through me, dampening my nerves.
    His face was peaceful, serene, and almost angelic. His beautiful