Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Your grandmother put a spell on him, didn’t she?”
I huff out air. “Well, if she did, I wouldn’t know. I didn’t grow up with her, as you can see.” I wave my hand at the dorm room.
“I think she did. I think she was there that night when I made him. I think she got to him before I did.”
“OK.”
“And I think you can undo what she did.”
“Is that why you want me? So I can undo some stupid spell?”
He turns his hand around so the back of his fingers can slowly slide down my cheek. Then he leans in and I realize I’m waiting for it. So when his lips touch mine, I’m not surprised and I don’t pull away.
He whispers, “I want you because you belong to me.”
Then he pulls back and my lips are tingling from his soft kiss and my mind is spinning from his careful words.
“Why would you want him to know that?”
“That I killed them?”
I nod.
“Because it’s coming between us. And his memory of them is coming back. I can’t take those memories away again until he actually has them. So he’s going to have a hard time soon, Syrsee. He’s going to see his wife’s face. He’s going to miss her that same way he did the night of their funerals. He’s going to weep for his children.”
“I don’t understand what you’re doing. You want him to know that you killed them, but you don’t want him to remember them?”
“That’s exactly right. He needs to know all the truth about me. That’s the only way this works.”
All these words are spinning around in my head, trying to fit together in some coherent way. But it’s very contradictory. He hides his lies behind truth, that much I get.
But why?
“You’re going to wake up now, Syrsee. And he’s going to wake up as well. He won’t remember what I told him about you. I promise you that. You can have this time to decide. He’s going to be better, but not well. He will need more blood.”
“How much more?”
“You will be feeding him for a long time, my girl. Little sips here and there, like last night, are fine. If you don’t mind feeding him all day long. But if you just let him drink from your throat, he will be able to go a day or two without needing more.”
So that’s it.
I’m a feeder. I’m not a prisoner somewhere, no one is keeping me in a cage, and I’m not even afraid, but I am a feeder.
It’s just… I’m feeding a man I happen to like.
“Wow.” I look up at Paul, who is smiling down at me with a tender look in his eyes. “That’s some trick you did there.”
“Not a trick. You did this, not me.”
And he’s right. I did.
“Now, when he wakes up, you need to explain this to him.”
“You just said I have time!”
“You do. But not much. He needs to feed and this is urgent. So you need to make him drink. He’s going to protest. He might even walk out.” My heart skips when he says this. “But he will come back. And you can always find him in the dreams. All you have to do is look.”
I just… stare at the dorm room for a long moment. Then I say, “What if I don’t feed him? He’ll die?”
“He will. But don’t worry. You will feed him.”
Paul disappears, the dorm room fades, and I slowly open my eyes and find myself looking up at Ryet’s cottage ceiling.
I turn my head and find that the other side of the bed is empty. Then I sit up, scared, and still too confused to process the conversation in my dream—then realize he’s in the shower.
The relief washes over me.
Then, almost as fast, it recedes and the questions start pouring in.
Now what?
Do I stay and let him drink my blood?
Do I leave while he’s in the shower? Just get in my truck, drive my sixty-seven miles, and try to forget everything that just happened?
Call Zusi and Tristin and ask for help?
I don’t know. The only thing I do know is that I want to get the fuck out of this cottage. I don’t want to be here anymore.
I get out of bed—still fully dressed, boots on—and walk over to the door. I’m just reaching for the doorknob when the bathroom door opens and when I turn, Ryet emerges, naked to the waist, wearing jeans and with boots on his feet, still kinda dripping, and towel-drying his hair so he doesn’t see me right away.
I step away from the door. “Hey. You’re feeling better, huh?”
He lowers the towel and grins. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just really needed a shower.”
“I need one too.” I point at his bathroom. “And that’s a really clean, new bathroom, but I’m not showering in there.” I say all this like we’re just a fun couple who banters. And he’s not a vampire and I’m not his food.