"If you bite me," you said, after another ten minutes of silent trudging through the thinning trees, "how bad would it hurt?"

He stopped so abruptly you almost walked into his back.

"Would I turn?" you added quickly. "Into — into one of you?"

He turned around. Stared at you. His mouth opened slightly, closed, opened again.

"Would you turn?" he repeated, his voice dropping into a low, breathless whisper. "No, darling. You wouldn't turn. To make a spawn, a vampire has to drain you to the brink of death and force you to drink their blood. A single sip, a taste, does nothing but steal a bit of energy. You'd feel lightheaded. Drowsy. Perhaps a touch euphoric."

"And the hurt?"

"The initial prick is a sharp little shock." He was watching your face. "But vampire saliva carries a numbing magic. If you stay still, it becomes... less like a wound and more like a very intense dream."

Your heart was doing something stupid. He could hear it. You knew because his hands curled into fists.

"Do you promise to get me home?" Your voice came out small. Sheepish. Terrified. "I-if I do... as a thank you?"

He stared at you.

"I just want to get home safely," you whispered, pulling his jacket tighter around your shoulders like armor. "That's all I want."