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)
“What?” He snaps this word out and it’s true. I’m making him nervous.
I suck in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. He watches me do this, his brow furrowing again. Then I look around, spy a shallow wooden dish filled with sponges, and walk through the water towards it. I pick up a large sponge that looks like it was harvested directly from the ocean floor this morning and didn’t come from a mall store filled with skincare products.
There is a cake of soap too. And I take that with me as I walk back over to Paul. He doesn’t say anything, just accepts the cake of soap in his palm when I offer it. Then I dip the sponge in the water, rub it against the soap, and look up into Paul’s eyes. “Turn around. I’ll wash them for you.”
He clenches his jaw, but then relaxes it and does as I ask.
Now that I can see them up close, I realize the skin around his emerging wing bones is very red, so I am careful when I touch the sponge to the scabs. He flinches when this happens. Just his skin, though. The way a horse might flinch when bitten by a fly. But he doesn’t protest or tell me to stop.
I dip the sponge in water, apply more soap, and gently rub the scabs until they melt away and begin to bleed. Not a lot, and it’s mostly mixed with water, so I’m able to control my urges. But the desire to lick him is still fairly strong.
“Well?” Paul breaks our silence. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
I continue to gently clean his wounds—which is a good word for what these wing bones look like—as I answer him. “I don’t know why I’m here. It just happened.”
“Where do you come from?”
“The future.”
He looks over his shoulder at me. “How far in the future?”
“Couple thousand years, maybe?”
“Am I there, in your future? Do you know me?”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
My answer makes him chuckle. “Are we not friends?”
“We are not.”
“Are we enemies?”
“We’re…” I sigh. “I’m not sure.”
“Why are you serving me then?”
“Serving you?”
“Cleaning my back like a slave.”
“I don’t think it was my idea.”
This makes him go quiet and this quiet lasts for nearly a minute. I simply continue to gently wash the wounds until finally, I have to stop when he turns to face me.
The cut where he bit his lip has already healed, but just the memory of the blood when I look at his mouth is enough to make the cravings start.
He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around my wrists—not tightly, but definitely with intention. My gaze slides up to meet his.
“What did I do to you? To make you hate me?”
I shrug. “I’m not really sure.”
“What are you?”
I shrug again. Just one shoulder this time. “I don’t know.”
“A Black witch?”
“Definitely that. But not just that.”
“Did I make you?”
“I… you… well… yeah.” I let out a breath. “I guess you did. You made me when you made Ryet.”
“Who is this Ryet?”
“Your scion. And I am his food.”
Paul is staring at me with a stoic face, his eyes brightening and then dulling, a dark shade of red. And when they do this, all I can think about is his blood. And how much I want it. And how if he were to turn around again, I could simply lean forward and swipe my tongue against his wounds.
“You’re hungry, Syrsee? For my blood?” His voice is different now. More congenial, less angry. More intentional, less confused. This is the Paul I know. The confident one. A monster who takes almost nothing seriously.
But still, all I’m really thinking about is his blood and how much I want to lick him. It takes every bit of self-control I have not to reach out and pull him towards me, begging for it. I hate myself for this. I do. But I’m out of control. This is not a want. This is a need.
“Would you like some?”
I can only nod my head as I press my lips together. Because if I open my mouth right now—
“Drink, Syrsee. Can you hear me? Drink. Just drink.”
The hallucination fades and I’m on the floor of Ryet’s cabin bathroom. He’s got one arm under me, his upper body leaning over me, and the purple and gold mist is still thick like a curtain. But then he’s holding his palm to my mouth and all I can think about is the blood.
11 - Josep
A new nation. A new race. A new destiny.
They are making a noise upstairs. Lots of noises, actually. Loud thumping ones from the music, sharp cracking ones from the firearms, and other, smaller, more desperate noises that come from the hunger they are now feeling.
Of course, I know the world above my bunker is filled with halfbreeds. And I’ve been perfectly OK with this since Lucia started collecting them, but that’s because I never thought I’d actually have to deal with them myself. Not like this.