The apartment Marcus brought me to smelled like stale coffee and old newspapers. His apartment, I realized as he helped me through the door. The place he'd kept paying rent on even after moving into the hospice program, because hope dies hard and nobody wants to admit they're never going home.

"Sit," he ordered, guiding me to a worn couch that had seen better decades.

I sat. Mostly because my legs gave out.

"When did you last eat?" He was already moving toward the kitchen, pulling open cupboards. Looking for what, I had no idea. It wasn't like he kept blood bags next to the cereal.

"I fed yesterday." Had it been yesterday? Time felt slippery, like trying to hold water in cupped hands.

"You need to feed again."

"No."

"Elara—"

"I said no." My voice came out sharper than intended. "Every time I feed from you, it gets worse. You saw what happened with Viktor. I couldn't even fight him. Two hundred years old and I got tossed around like a ragdoll."

Marcus returned with a glass of water I didn't need and wouldn't drink. He set it on the coffee table anyway, then crouched in front of me, bringing us eye-level.

"You also kicked his ass while half-dead. That's got to count for something."

"I got lucky. He underestimated how weak I'd become." I closed my eyes, exhaustion pulling at me like a riptide. "Next time, he won't."

"Then we make sure there isn't a next time."

I laughed, bitter. "How? We can't run forever. He'll find us. He always finds me."

"Let him." Marcus's voice held that stubborn edge I'd come to recognize. The same tone he'd used when he'd volunteered for an experimental treatment everyone said was pointless. "We'll deal with him when he shows up. Right now, I'm more worried about you."

"I'll be fine once I rest."

"Bullshit."

I opened my eyes. He was watching me with that unflinching gaze, the one that saw through every lie I tried to tell.

"You're getting worse," he said quietly. "Don't try to deny it. I've seen enough people dying to recognize the signs."

The word hung between us like a guillotine blade.

Dying.

Vampires didn't die. We were already dead, animated corpses held together by dark magic and stolen blood. We didn't age, didn't sicken, didn't deteriorate.

Except I was.

"I need to call Simone," Marcus said, pulling out his phone.

"No. She can't know—"

"She already knows what you are. And she's the only person who might be able to help." He was already dialing. "Unless you've got another doctor on speed dial who specializes in poisoned vampires?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't argue with logic, even when every instinct screamed to hide, to disappear, to deal with this alone like I'd dealt with everything for two centuries.

Marcus spoke quietly into the phone, his voice too low for me to catch the words. My hearing should have been sharp enough to pick up every syllable. Should have heard Simone's response on the other end of the line, her heartbeat, the rustle of fabric as she moved.

Instead, I heard nothing but Marcus's voice, muffled and distant.

Another thing that was failing.

He ended the call. "She's coming over. She'll bring equipment to take blood samples."

"It's almost dawn."

"She knows. She said to keep you comfortable until she arrives." His mouth twisted. "I told her you're not doing great with the comfortable part."

I wanted to argue, but a wave of dizziness crashed over me. The room tilted sideways, or maybe I did. Marcus caught me before I slid off the couch, his hands warm through my shirt.

Cedar and rain and that earthy warmth that made my throat ache with hunger.

"Easy," he murmured, steadying me. "I've got you."

"You shouldn't." The words came out slurred. "Not safe."

"Probably not. But I've never been great at self-preservation."

He helped me lie down on the couch, grabbing a blanket from somewhere and tucking it around me with surprising gentleness. The gesture was so human, so normal, that something cracked in my chest.

"Marcus—"

"Rest. We'll figure this out when Simone gets here."

I wanted to tell him it was pointless. That whatever was happening to me was beyond figuring out. That he should run while he still could, before I lost control completely and tore out his throat.

But exhaustion dragged me down into darkness before I could form the words.

---

I woke to voices.

"—never seen anything like it. Her cellular structure is breaking down at the molecular level."

Simone. That was Simone's voice, clinical and concerned.

"Can you fix it?"

Marcus. Desperate and trying not to show it.

I tried to open my eyes, but my body wouldn't cooperate. Paralyzed, locked inside my own flesh while they talked about me like I was already a corpse on the examination table.

"I don't know. I'd need to understand what's causing it first." Papers rustled. "These blood samples—Marcus, what exactly has she been feeding on?"

A pause. Too long.

"Me," he said finally.

"Exclusively?"

"For the past two months, yeah."

"And before that?"

"Blood bags, mostly. She was trying to avoid hunting."

Simone made a thoughtful sound. "Her blood work from three months ago showed normal vampire markers. Accelerated healing, enhanced cellular regeneration, the usual supernatural physiology. But these new samples..." She trailed off.

"What?"

"Her vampire cells are dying. It's like something is attacking them, breaking down the very thing that makes her immortal."

My heart—did I even have a working heart anymore?—lurched in my chest.

"Attacking them how?"

"I'm not sure. But the concentration is highest in her bone marrow. The same place your cancer originated."

Silence. Heavy and suffocating.

Then Marcus, very quietly: "You think I did this to her."

"I think her feeding on you triggered something. A reaction we didn't anticipate." Simone's voice gentled. "Marcus, your body has been fighting cancer for years. Your immune system is primed to attack rapidly-reproducing cells. And vampire physiology is built on accelerated cellular regeneration—"

"So her vampire cells are absorbing my cancer-fighting mutation." Marcus finished the thought, his voice hollow. "She's essentially given herself cancer by feeding on me."

"That's my working theory, yes."

I wanted to scream, to tell them they were wrong, but my body still wouldn't respond. Trapped in the dark behind my own eyes while they discussed my death sentence.

"How do we fix it?" Marcus asked.

"I don't know if we can."

"Bullshit. There has to be a way."

"Marcus—"

"No." His voice turned sharp. "I didn't survive cancer just to kill the woman who saved me. There's a solution. We just have to find it."

Simone sighed. "I'll run more tests. See if I can isolate the compound and find a way to neutralize it. But Marcus, you need to prepare yourself—"

"Don't."

"She's deteriorating rapidly. Even if we find a solution, we might not have time to implement it."

"Then we work faster."

I felt pressure on my hand. Marcus, holding it, his skin warm against my cold flesh.

"She doesn't have much time left," Simone said quietly. "Days, maybe. A week at most."

"Then we use every second."

The darkness pulled at me again, dragging me back down. I fought it, desperate to stay conscious, to tell them I could hear every word.

But the dark was stronger.

---

The next time I woke, it was to hunger.

Not the manageable thirst I'd learned to control over two centuries. This was the monster, the predator, the thing I'd spent lifetimes suppressing.

This was the beast that wanted to feed and fuck and kill, in whatever order opportunity presented.

I lunged before conscious thought could stop me.

Marcus barely dodged, rolling off the chair he'd pulled up beside the couch. I was on my feet—when had I gotten this fast again?—and following, my body moving with the supernatural speed I'd thought I'd lost.

"Elara!" His back hit the wall. "Elara, stop!"

I couldn't.

The hunger had teeth, claws, a mind of its own. It smelled his blood, hot and vital and so close, and it wanted.

I wanted.

My hand closed around his throat, pinning him to the wall. He didn't fight back, didn't try to escape. Just looked at me with those green eyes, steady and unafraid.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "I know you're in there."

"Marcus." His name came out as a growl, barely human. "Run."

"No."

"I'll kill you."

"You won't."

"You don't know that." My fingers tightened. His pulse jumped under my palm, quick and tempting. "I can't control it."

"Yes, you can." He raised his hand slowly, carefully, and touched my face. His palm warm against my cheek. "You're stronger than this."

"I'm not." The words broke on a sob. "I'm so hungry."

"I know. But you won't hurt me. You've had a hundred chances and you never have."

"This is different." I could feel my fangs extending, my body preparing to feed. "Please, Marcus. Please run."

"Not a chance."

His scent surrounded me, filled my lungs, made my mouth water. Cedar and rain and that earthy warmth that called to every predatory instinct I possessed.

I leaned in, close enough that my lips brushed his throat. Felt his pulse against my mouth, rapid and alive.

One bite. That's all it would take.

"Do it," he whispered.

"What?"

"Feed. You need it. Take what you need."

"It'll kill you."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But if you don't feed, you'll die. And I'd rather risk it than watch that happen."

My hand was shaking now, the hunger warring with what was left of my humanity. "I can't."

"You can. I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"Too late."

He tilted his head, exposing his throat completely. Offering himself like a sacrifice.

The hunger surged, demanding I take what he offered. But underneath it, something else. Something that looked at this man who'd spent months letting me feed from him, who'd trusted me with his dying body, who'd just told me he'd rather die than lose me—

Something that loved him.

The realization hit like a stake through the heart.

I loved him.

Loved this mortal man with his dark humor and his quiet strength and his stubborn refusal to give up on me.

And love was stronger than hunger.

I pulled back, releasing his throat, stumbling away until I hit the opposite wall. My fangs retracted slowly, the hunger still clawing at my control but no longer overwhelming it.

"Elara—"

"Don't." I slid down the wall, ending up on the floor with my knees pulled to my chest. "Don't come near me."

He ignored the warning, crossing the room and crouching in front of me. Not touching, but close enough that I could feel his warmth.

"You stopped," he said.

"Barely."

"But you did. That's what matters."

I laughed, the sound broken. "For how long? Next time I might not be able to."

"Then we make sure there isn't a next time."

"How?" I looked up at him, vision blurring with tears I shouldn't be able to cry. "How do we fix this, Marcus? I'm dying and you're the poison and I can't—" My voice cracked. "I can't feed from anyone else. I've tried. It doesn't work anymore. Only you."

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then: "Simone called while you were out. She has an idea."

"What kind of idea?"

"The kind you're not going to like."

"I already hate it."

"You haven't heard it yet."

"I don't need to. If it involves you doing something stupid and self-sacrificing—"

"It involves you doing something stupid and self-sacrificing, actually."

That stopped me.

Marcus sat down properly, leaning against the wall beside me. Our shoulders touched, and I didn't have the strength to move away.

"She thinks the mutation is attacking your vampire cells like cancer," he said. "Targeting anything that regenerates too quickly."

"I got that part from eavesdropping on your conversation earlier."

"You were awake?"

"Paralyzed, but conscious. It was delightful."

He made a sound that might have been a laugh. "Well, Simone's been researching. She thinks traditional chemotherapy might slow the progression."

I turned to stare at him. "Chemotherapy."

"Yeah."

"You want to give me cancer treatment for my vampire cancer."

"Simone wants to. I'm just the messenger."

"That's insane."

"Probably. But it might buy us time to find a real solution." He met my eyes. "The chemo would suppress your cellular regeneration, make you weaker in the short term. Almost human, she said. But it could stop the mutation from spreading while we figure out how to reverse it."

Almost human.

The words echoed in my head, tantalizing and terrifying.

"How long would I have to endure it?"

"As long as it takes."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"Then we try something else."

I wanted to argue. To point out all the ways this could go wrong, all the reasons it was a terrible idea.

But I was so tired.

Tired of fighting. Tired of dying. Tired of watching the fear in Marcus's eyes every time I lost control.

"When?" I asked.

"Tomorrow. Simone's setting up equipment at the hospice. Somewhere private where we won't be interrupted."

"Viktor—"

"Fuck Viktor. Let him come. We'll deal with him if he shows up."

I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall. "This is going to be awful, isn't it?"

"Probably. Chemo usually is."

"You sound like you have experience."

"Two rounds before I volunteered for your program. It was hell."

"And you're suggesting I go through it voluntarily."

"I'm suggesting you do whatever it takes to survive." His hand found mine, fingers lacing together. "Because I'm not ready to lose you yet."

The tears came then, hot and impossible. I'd thought I'd lost the ability to cry decades ago, but apparently dying brought back all sorts of human functions.

"I'm scared," I whispered.

"I know."

"What if it doesn't work?"

"Then we'll figure out something else."

"What if there is nothing else?"

Marcus squeezed my hand. "There's always something else. You just have to be stubborn enough to find it."

I laughed through the tears. "You're using my own words against me."

"They're good words."

We sat there in silence, shoulders touching, hands clasped. The sky outside was starting to lighten, dawn creeping closer.

I should have been terrified of the sun. Should have been scrambling for shelter.

But I was too weak to care.

And maybe that was the most terrifying thing of all.