Page 60 of Blood Lovers

Maybe a dream is just a dream and—

No. It’s just not that simple.

I know the dreamwalks are real. And I know that this man—who a few hours ago was a stranger, then a possibility, then a foregone conclusion as far as I’m concerned—is some kind of feeder hunter and he is dying in front of me.

What am I supposed to do about it?

Is the vampire gonna show up and tell me?

Am I supposed to figure it out by myself?

What? What am I supposed to do?

Why would I care? Shouldn’t I help this process along?

That’s the prudent thing to do, right? Let him die?

I should call up Zusi and Tristin and hand him over. Mission accomplished.

But instead of doing that, I turn to Ryet. “How did you get so sick so fast?”

He’s in the middle of a cough, so it takes him a moment to answer. But when he does, he looks at me like… like… I dunno.

Never mind. I do know. He looks at me like my voice just brightened his day. His eyes are locked on mine and he’s smiling. Even though his chest is making noises that are just not right, he’s smiling at me.

He reaches out and pushes a piece of hair away from my eyes. “I’m fine, OK? It’s fine. I’m just gonna sleep a little. You don’t have to stay. I’ll come by your place later. I bet it’s a whole lot nicer than this dump.”

He’s still smiling. Trying to hold down a cough.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know who I am.

If he was hunting me, he wouldn’t just… let me get away.

So he’s not the problem here. He’s been tricked, like me. So if I walk out, something bad is going to happen to him.

Something bad as in… He’s dying, Syrsee.

“Syrsee?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

I push him back and he doesn’t fight me. He lies down on the bed and immediately his eyes start closing. “You’re not fine, Ryet. But I’m gonna stay with you until you are.”

I think one corner of his mouth might lift up in response. But I might just be imagining it. Because he’s out.

“Ryet?” I shake him a little. “Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t move.

Shit. I get up and pace the room. Then I realize I don’t have my boots on, so I slip my feet inside them because this carpet has ‘no’ written all over it.

What do I do?

I walk over to the window and pull the curtain back. It’s a gray morning. Typical for this far north in January. The roads are clear and wet and a truck passes by as I stand there, conflicted.