Page 10 of The Cannibal

“Is that why I woke up to funeral flowers?”

“Well, technically, it was our tradition first.” He laughed. “The smell helps wake you up. It’s supposed to guide you to consciousness. But the plain folk saw it and liked it.”

The talk of scents was making my nose burn.

“What’s the smell? It’s making my ears ring.” I shifted, his hands pushing down on my shoulders. It felt nice, a small release.

“Why do you think we call them Mellifluous Hosts?” He hummed. “The blood practically sings.”

I stopped to listen, focusing on the ringing. It faded and intensified depending on the waves it came on. The more I listened, the more I understood. It was like the complex tastes of caviar or a cigar, blood with notes and bases, but a sickly sweetness on top. It didn’t make it any less overwhelming, but it helped to conceptualize it.

He removed his hands from my shoulders and stood by my side, holding his arm out. “Would you like an escort in?”

I stared at his arm, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, tattoos of sparrows and flowers winking at me from the bare skin. So unorthodox, I had to admire his expression.

“You know, I think I would.” I hooked my arm in his and allowed him to escort me into the light of the dazzling room.

The parlor had been rearranged to accommodate a large dining table, silver-covered trays waiting to reveal the night’s meal. I smelled meat, just like I remembered it. The scent of char and smoked items. I wasn’t sure of anything else. The only other scent was the blood.

I looked around. I didn’t see anyone exposed or bleeding. Then my sight was drawn to the cups.

Immediately, I felt a jolt, like a horse refusing a jump. I needed to leave.

“Alina!” The chime of my spritely friend grabbing my other arm.

She was in her signature shade, matching her cheeks and almost making her hair pink in hue under the lighting. “I see you’ve met Sid.”

“Against my will.” I smirked.

He released my arm and nodded to Phoebe before slinking over to the table.

Something cold pressed into my hand. I glanced down to see one of those crystal flutes filled with red.

“What is this?” My eyes lifted to hers, then looked around us. “All of this?”

“A celebration. You do remember how to celebrate, don’t you?” She took a flirty sip from her cup, the blood thick on her lips.

“I remember dying.”

She froze, reluctant to let go of the faint smile. Those green eyes slid back over to me, so cold I thought for a moment that she looked like her brother.

“And now you are reborn anew.” She leaned close to my ear, her breathy words tinged with a metallic tang. “Dying is the easy part. Find your footing before the others see you fumble.”

A shock raced through my spine. I kept my sights ahead.

Despite the callous demeanor, I knew her words to be true.

Sideways glances were common. Expected, even, knowing my past. But now was about more than just survival, it was about adaptation.

I stared down at the cup, the deep crimson painting a bloody reflection of my dear friend, her fangs itching as much as her sneer by my ear as she pulled away, and I was left with the new creature ridiculing me back.

My fingers were freezing, an unshakable shiver in my abdomen. The chill even veiled my face in numbness. There was something deeply wrong, Vipera aside. Whether it was an adjustment to my new reality or the feeling of a long-vacant stomach, I did not know.

Most of these faces were new to me. It was like reading in another language; I could see them, but was unable to translate whether I was in the company of friends or foes. That was until I spotted Rebecca. She was dressed nicely, even with jewelry. I almost didn’t recognize her without her hunting attire. She caught my eye, and all softness faded into the hard expression I was familiar with.

Her facade quickly returned when speaking to someone else.

The company didn’t look like those in the London Nest. It seemed to be working-class folk in clean, formal attire, a variation of people that could never be curated by the type of people I knew the Vipera elite to be.