Page 8 of The Unraveling

Motioning with his other hand to the chair across from him, he clears his throat and says, “Please, sit.”

I drag myself to it, using the desk for support as I lower into the leather chair.

His lips press into a flat line as he mulls me over. “You’re clearly unwell tonight, Isla.”

“More than usual,” I whisper.

His eyes narrow. “What’s different?”

Each syllable takes more effort than the one before it. “I’m just so weak, Dr. Todd. Cold. Everything hurts, and something feels wrong. So very wrong.”

His teary eyes hold mine as he nods. “Unfortunately, there’s only so much my blood can do to mitigate the cancer poisoning yours. It helps, yes, but it’s not the antidote that immortality is. I’ll turn you soon, but since you’re terminal, I still want to ensure enough of my blood is in your system to increase the chance of my venom working when I bite you.”

“Okay.” I sigh, tears streaking my cheeks. My stomach cinches tighter. “I’m so hungry.”

Dr. Todd frowns. I wait for him to rise and retrieve a crystal glass from the kitchen like I know he will, but instead, he stares despondently ‌toward the hall as‌ if it’s miles away. His eyes dart to mine, smile falling short of reaching his eyes.

“Why don’t I treat you straight from my vein?” He sounds out of breath as he adds, “It’s stronger that way. More . . . personal.”

I sniffle hard, unable to manage a nod as the ‌sourness of my own blood trickles down my throat. The thought of my lips pressing against his wrist has my weak heart fluttering. I cough from the feel of it at the base of my throat.

Dr. Todd’s fingers fumble at the cuff of his dress shirt before he brings his wrist to his lips. He pauses, holding it against his dull teeth while staring at me. Plastering on an assuring smile, he lowers his wrist and glances around the neat surface of his desk before pulling a drawer open and finding a little steel dagger.

My tongue runs across my lips as I think of his vein opening, wanting the flow straight from the source rather than from the crystal glass he usually provides.

His grip falters, and he adjusts his fingers as he sets the blade against his wrist. As he slices deep into himself, he jolts and gasps in pain—eyes flying wide to mine.

“Oh—!” His chest heaves, the wound gushing as he rushes his wrist toward me.

I dash forward, mouth salivating, and cover the wound with my lips to lap him up.

The familiar flavor of iron—of pennies—like my own human blood, makes me wrench free and stare up at him. It immediately curdles in my stomach, tasting nothing like the rich sweetness I’ve drunk from him day after day for nearly two weeks of treatment now.

His ragged breaths strangle him as he drags his wrist back, a streak of blood following across the desk. He circles his fingers around his wrist and grips the still-bleeding wound.

“Are you all right?” The words scrape up my raw throat. I lick the blood from my lips and ache for the many flavors I once tasted. For a moment, I’m adrift at sea until I spot something familiar in the way he looks at me, something I can cling to and get my head above water. “Love?”

His wide eyes shift from the blood gushing between his fingers and back to me. “It . . . It’s not healing!”

My brow furrows, then lifts. “Victor, love, we haven’t fed. Of course you’re not⁠—”

He gags and coughs, blood spraying across the desk in thick, glistening drops. A strangled sound leaves him, horror twisting his face.

We stare at one another, the dread torrential.

“Isla!” he chokes out. “Isla! We’ve been poisoned!”

I shake my head, losing grip of whatever solid shape of reality I had my aching fingers around. “I’m here for my treatment, Dr. Todd . . .”

His gaze tightens on mine, steady despite the panic. “Isla, my love, you finished your treatment thirty years ago.”

Oh . . . Well, yes . . . Of course. “Then it’s the thirst . . .”

He collapses across the desk with a thud and groans. “We’ve been poisoned.”

My jaw lowers. “Poisoned? What could poison us?”

Victor sobs into the desk, fingers smearing crimson across the wood as he gropes around. “Everything, Dr. Smith. Can’t you see? The patients are endless and I can’t treat them! It’s in the food we eat. In the air! We are dying with every breath, and the rich don’t care.”