Page 57 of The Unraveling

His eyes connect with mine, so soft I have no issue turning to take in Dr. Smith’s heavy expression and tense shoulders.

“Whether his diet loaded the dice against him is uncertain.” Raoul shrugs. “We simply don’t know enough. Vampires with Bradley’s ability are usually discovered by accident . . . and what’s left of them usually arrives at the castle in confiscated vials.”

“What’s Bradley’s blood going to be used for?” I whisper, throat tightening with the potential danger of asking.

But he doesn’t even bat an eye. “Nothing. King Viorel wants to understand it, not use it. It may as well be a biological weapon. Understand?”

I nod, wiping tears from my eyes. “I suppose you don’t know why it killed Dr. Watson immediately, while Isla and Dr. Todd woke up human?”

He gives me a solemn shrug. “The first stage after consuming the cure seems universal across cases, but we have no idea why some wake human while others don’t. Or why symptoms can vary wildly among those who do. Our best guess is that it has something to do with the combination of the specific vampire the blood came from and the vampire who consumed it. But again, we don’t exactly encounter many survivors. Not enough to do more than hazard a guess, at least.”

I bury my face in my hands to hide my twisted expression before I work through enough breaths to ask, “Was it wrong, what Dr. Todd was doing? Feeding on vampires?”

My chest aches against the edge of betrayal from putting the question out there. But I think of all the times it swirled around in my mind when I’d watch them feed on fledglings or fill jar after jar to consume later. Isla said I didn’t have to drink immortal blood if I didn’t want to, but a curious part of me suspected I’d at least try.

“The implication of it being wrong requires a moral stance,” he says simply. “Objectively speaking, where diet is concerned, it does not sustain nearly as much as human blood does and often negatively impacts the severity of a vampire’s thirst.”

“Victor had good reason,” I find myself explaining on his behalf.

Raoul’s lips flatten into a terse smile. “I’m sure he did.” He pats my shin again, gaze hardening with a seriousness I can’t dismiss. “But I hope they won’t be good enough reasons for you.”

I press my lips tight and nod.

Dr. Smith’s low voice escapes roughly. “I told him, time and time again . . .”

Raoul offers a comforting smile. “You did the most you could.”

With his words, Dr. Smith’s eyes turn glossy and he releases the weight in his rigid body to slump against my dresser.

“All right, Daisy. I think it’s time we let you rest. Dr. Smith is needed downstairs with me.” His commanding gaze presses down on me again as he tells me to lie down and get comfortable. I obey, unable to act on my wish to assess Dr. Smith standing behind me as I scoot down on my side and settle my head on my pillow.

Raoul draws the blanket over me, voice feathery soft as he whispers, “It’s vital you have a deep, restful sleep now, Daisy. I know you’re hurting, but this time, sleep will be easy. Let your body recharge so we can avoid burying another one. There is much left to survive, so I ask that you let night darken your mind. Go with it, for a while.”

The blackness of his eyes stretches into a silent, shadowless expanse of dreamland that folds me into it.

Chapter 21

I wake up and gulp back the glass of Dr. Smith’s blood left on my bedside table. My mind is clearer, like I slept for an entire day. The curtains are closed, and the little gold clock on my bedside table tells me I have slept for an entire day—into the next evening, to be exact.

I rub my puffy eyes and stretch, enough energy coursing through my body to allow me to stand without immediately stumbling or clutching my chest. Dragging in a deep breath, I do my best to mentally prepare myself to go downstairs.

When I put my ear to the door, I can’t make out any voices, so I slip out of my room and peek over the banister.

Not a soul stands in the silence.

There’s no quiet chatter or rummaging. Not a single shoe by the front door. No sign that anyone else is home.

My heart thrums in my chest as I take the stairs slowly. It works its way up between my collarbones as I enter Dr. Todd’s study and find the room barren, sanitized of blood and bodies. The dust that lingered even in Dr. Todd’s presence has been scrubbed away, as if the king’s men dismantled the whole place and cleaned it before putting each piece back together.

I gape at the empty shelves once full of notebooks. The papers on his desk are gone. Racks of stored slides have vanished, as if no doctor was ever practicing here at all.

Even his textbooks are absent like they wanted insight into what published information he knew as well.

Tears well in my eyes, and I brush them away as Dr. Smith’s steps trail toward me through the hall.

“It’s a jarring sight,” he says as he leans on the door frame beside me, his cold hand rubbing a circle between my shoulder blades. “I imagine I’ll return to my cabin and find something similar. They were so thorough that they searched nooks and crannies I’m not even sure Victor knew existed.”

“My room?” Clearly, I slept through hours of noise.