Page 141 of Dead Beat

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Tripp’s lip jutted out, but he obliged her, plucking the Yale sailing team cap from his head. His dirty blond hair shone copper.

Red hair, freckles. There was no denying it. “You’re feeding on her.”

Tripp’s jaw dropped. He looked like a cartoon of a bewildered puppy. “I’m not!”

“You’ve seen how exhausted she is.”

“You’re all exhausted!”

“But you’re not.”

“That’s different.”

“You’re healthy, happy, full of life. Dawes’s life.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I would never hurt Dawes. I would never want her to be unhappy.”

“It’s not what you want, Tripp. It’s what you are.”

“I never bit her. I wouldn’t do that.”

“But you drank those blood pouches she prepared so thoughtfully for you. You ate up all her love and care. Kittscher didn’t need to bite his victims either.”

Dawes hadn’t nourished Tripp with desperation or fear. That wasn’t what he was hungry for. He longed for attention, affection, warmth—the things he hadn’t had enough of in life—and Dawes liked nothing better than someone to take care of. She would give and give until she dropped. Maybe she’d only finished her dissertation because she’d found a new vampire to drain her soul away.

“I didn’t know,” he pleaded. “I didn’t mean to.”

But you didn’t have to want to hurt someone to do it, to use someone up, kill a dream, change a life. “I know, Tripp. But you find a way to stop. Or I’ll stop you.”

Tripp looked at her, his eyes calculating. “But what happens if you don’t survive? Who will stop me then?”

A chill skittered over Alex. It was too easy to forget Tripp was a predator.

She made herself hold his gaze. “Then Darlington will. Or Turner. Whoever makes it will add you to their list of chores. So find a way to stop hurting her.”

“I will,” he said, nodding fiercely. “I promise I will.”

If only people kept promises as easily as they made them.

They finished the dishes together in silence. At some point, Alex realized Tripp was crying, and she handed him a tissue.

“Splash a little water on your face,” she said. “So she won’t see.”

“Thanks,” he said.

But she stopped him before he could push through the door to the dining room. She wanted to hear what the others were saying.

“What happens if she doesn’t make it?” Practical Turner. It was a reasonable question.

“She’ll make it,” Dawes replied angrily.

“I’m her second,” Darlington said. “If we fail, we fail together.”

Someone—Dawes, Alex suspected—slammed her hand against the table. “Stop talking that way.”