Page 13 of The Unraveling

One extra prick, and his lips against my skin as he drinks from me, his mind drowning in the full, warm experience of me.

Dr. Todd gazes off toward the fridge as he says, “I’ll consider it . . .” His brow furrows, something shifting in his eyes. “Oh, Daisy.”

My heart kicks behind my ribs at the sudden sight of her approaching. It wedges itself in my throat, and I gag and cough with the flutter. Panic flares that this might be the time it refuses to settle. I press my hand firmly against the center of my chest as if I can will it to calm.

The mental ledge I was gripping snaps into view, and I grab it again, wondering when I let go.

Daisy’s eyes widen on me, and she slowly lowers into a squat while handing a glass of rich crimson to Victor.

I draw in a deep breath, failing to pull the scent of it in. I can’t smell more than the tang of iron hanging in the air and can’t say for sure it’s coming from the glass when it feels caked in my nose.

“Immortal?” I assume about the blood as he tilts the glass against his lips and sighs after his first gulp.

I lick my lips and lean closer, but when Daisy rests her hand above my breast and gasps loudly, it pulls my own cry of surprise past my lips. She falls onto her rear, palms slapping against the tile.

She gapes at me. “Isla, your heart is beating!”

“It’s beating much too fast,” I clarify.

When I first took her as my familiar—gave her my strong blood so we’d be connected— she was confused that she couldn’t hear or feel my heart. Confused that it still worked despite beating so quietly and infrequently.

Her eyes steady on mine. “Isla, that’s not right.”

Victor releases another satisfied sigh, lowering the half-emptied glass from his mouth. His fingers touch beneath my chin, lifting it. He guides my head toward him and brings the glass to my lips, murmuring, “Drink, my love. It might help dilute or counteract whatever is ravaging our system. I feel a touch better already.”

I let my eyelids fall, lips parting to allow the sweet blood past them. It washes cold and soothing over my tongue, down my raw throat, spreading through my chest to my stomach, which finally relaxes.

“Mm.” I lick my lips, some of the sharp edges of my aches temporarily dulling. “See, we merely needed to feed.”

The sweet, rich taste of the immortal blood is ecstasy again. It hasn’t tasted nearly this good since I was human, drinking Victor’s powerful blood.

Victor has Daisy refill the glass with the rest of the immortal blood we have on hand. It isn’t much—barely hits the rim when she shakes every drop she can from the jar—but it’ll be twice as helpful as the piles of human blood stored on the cold metal rack.

I drink first, in utter bliss as I gulp down mouthfuls while Victor’s tongue darts against the corner of my mouth to collect each escaped droplet.

I’m transported back to our first feed together, when I was a newborn with a bottomless stomach and he couldn’t keep enough human blood in the fridge for me. I insisted on making it my primary staple. Even back then, I could never taste the toxins Victor detailed at length. I loved the flavors of each human. Yes, immortal blood made me feel a surge stronger for a while, but I understood from the euphoria flooding through me with each sip of mortal blood that there’s a reason vampires are absolutely ravenous for humans.

So, I was nervous when one of his former patients came for us to feed on, like my internal observations might be spoken by him as judgment. But he was so full of life as an immortal—a new wife, new friends, a new sports car to replace the one he’d sold for the bottles and bottles of medication that had only slowed his painful death. He simply tilted his head back, mouth too full of excited chatter to utter a single complaint as we dove in.

Despite the lack of mortal blood in his body, the sensation of my fangs sliding into his neck, as well as the blood spilling straight onto my tongue instead of a hard glass that I hated the scrape of my fangs against, was a worthwhile trade-off.

My hesitations vanished with each returning visit of a past, immortal patient. Their mere existence fills my heart as much as my stomach, as I love peeking and seeing Victor’s fangs buried deep in someone’s throat—especially of someone he saved.

Victor has always been more real than my mother’s God. His reach, far more tangible.

A flurry of dark thoughts swoops by. My fangs deep in Bradley’s throat, Victor drinking from the other side. Our first time testing the flavor of his new fledgling. The taste passes over my tongue again: hollow and strange. Thin, like everything good was stripped from it. I was pondering the peculiarity when Victor tore me away.

I felt . . . empty. Like while I drank from him, he stole something from me instead. I was half-deaf with confusion, Victor’s furious screaming—blood and venom spraying against Bradley’s aghast face—muffled in my ears.

What did he do to make Victor so angry? I’ve never seen Victor that way before.

Victor is a well of endless patience, and it was like Bradley found the bottom.

I think of asking Victor about what happened, but the memory washes away with my next gulp of blood.

When his hand circles the glass—hunger still humming through me—I groan and ruefully lower it. His mouth sliding wet against my lips helps vanquish the disappointment. His tongue sweeps over mine, and I steal the bit of blood back with my own before smiling as he pulls away. He closes his eyes as he drinks the rest, but jerks—rigid—as he slowly lowers the empty glass and stares at me.

His fingers fly to his teeth, slipping against the blood coating his canines where his fangs should be.