Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Tristin scoffs. “Is that a real question? He’s a vampire, Syrsee. A baby one, but still. He’s more powerful than he realizes. He has no idea what he is or what he can do. There is no way we could take him if he didn’t want to come. He would just… kill us all. And he wouldn’t even have to make a decision to do this. It would just happen. It would be instinct. We need him to want to cooperate.”
“And that’s where I come in.” I force this to come out neutral, but that’s not how I feel. I resent this entire conversation.
“Yes.” Tristin smiles, happy and content that I am seeing things his way. The Guild way. He walks over to the door and opens it for me. I get up and I’m just about to walk through it when he asks one final question. “What should I tell Zusi?”
I close my eyes, forcing myself to remain calm. Then I open them and look at Tristin one final time. “Tell her… goodbye.”
Then I walk out.
7 - Ryet
A pretty shitty ride so far.
There is a gold mist surrounding my feet by the time Syrsee arrives home in the truck. It’s my hunger manifesting as color. I guess. I don’t really know what it is, but it comes with the cravings when they get bad and right now, they’re bad.
When I meet Syrsee at the truck, it’s not the bags of groceries I want to grab, it’s her. I want to push her up against the door and drink before we do anything else. Before I even say hello.
I force myself not to do this. I force myself to smile, remain calm, and let her load up my arms with paper grocery bags.
Then I carry it all into the cabin with her trailing behind me.
She doesn’t say much, but I don’t care. I am not even capable of having a conversation right now. It takes every bit of willpower to not attack her and drink.
For a moment I think she will insist on putting everything away before she feeds me. But she lets out a breath and turns to face me. “You’re hungry.”
I can’t even speak so I just nod.
“It’s weird, but I can feel it. And it’s pretty overwhelming right now, isn’t it?”
I nod again.
“OK.” She steels herself, leaning against the counter with hands grabbing at the edges. “Do it. Quick.”
I’m next to her before I even make a decision to do this. And a moment later, her blood is rushing into my mouth. I lose myself—everything goes gold and purple—but then Syrsee is grabbing my hand, pulling it off her breast.
“Ryet—”
I ease back, eyes closed, mouth dripping. “Sorry. I didn’t realize—” But that’s all I get out. Because I’m drinking her again.
I’m not sure how much time passes—seconds? Minutes? Years? All I know is that when I open my eyes, I’m on the couch and I can hear the shower going in the bedroom where I put Syrsee’s things. I don’t even know how I got here. But I don’t really care, either.
It takes several more minutes before I can open my eyes and keep them open for more than a few seconds. It’s like a drug, this blood. It sends me somewhere else, but not really. I’ve never done heroin, of course. But I’ve seen the addicts on the streets with needles sticking out of their arms, their eyes rolled up, their minds in some other place.
That’s how I feel after I drink. But it’s getting worse, not better. The more I do this, the more it affects me. It makes me slow, in both mind and body, and I don’t like it. Because if I’m slow, I’m not paying attention. And I feel an overwhelming need to pay attention.
Like maybe my life depends on it?
If I could die, it might.
Can I die?
I don’t know.
My back is itching like crazy so I take off my shirt and reach around, scratching. But as soon as I do that there is blood under my fingernails and the hard knobs of bone have finally broken through the skin.
I lean forward, looking over my shoulder, trying to see it. I get a little glimpse, but not much. Not enough. So I walk over to the mirror near the front door and stand with my back to it.
The little knobs are white, which surprises me for some reason. I was expecting black webs, like Paul’s. But it’s not that far along and I actually think this is just bone. It’s good and bloody, though. Kinda gross, actually.
“Oh, my God.” I turn and find Syrsee watching me from the open bedroom door. She’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a maroon t-shirt that she must’ve picked up during her trip to town. Her long, dark hair is still wet. “Your wings.”