Page 99 of A Study of Blood and Ichor

“Sascha! Sascha!”

Over and over, she screamed and thrashed while attempting to rip the IV out of her arm. And every time, Vain would go to her side and press two fingers to her temple to subdue her into an unconscious state again. It was the only time he had ever allowed himself to use his power on her mind, and he silently hoped she might one day forgive him for it.

Not only had the demon’s ichor brought her to the brink of turning into a monster herself, but I remembered the tortured look in Ava’s eyes when the simulacrum had slung all of those horrible taunting insults at her. I wondered if those dark memories were still haunting her in her fitful sleep.

Sometimes in the night, I would crawl under the covers behind her and hold her in my arms as the chills wracked her body so hard that her teeth chattered. I didn’t know if it helped her or if she was even aware of my presence, but it made me feel better knowing she was safe. Our skin touching and our breaths mingling was enough for me. And when I wasn’t with her, every second apart felt too far, too long.

I couldn’t remember feeling that way about anyone in my whole miserable life. No one had come close to the way this woman made me feel—except for maybe Vain.

She had changed us both, for better or for worse.

Ava was ours. She would never be just mine. A part of her would always belong to Vain. And I didn’t mind. Maybe it was due to the fact that Vain felt more like an extension of myself than anything—the darker side of me that resided deep inside my own soul. We would care for her until the day I no longer could, until there was nothing left of me but the demon that remained.

“Sir, you need to rest,” Alastair said to Vain the night he returned from helping Dru get back to her family. But Vain and I had refused sleep. We barely even ate since neither of us had the stomach for it. I couldn't have felt more useless sitting there, waiting for Ava to wake—or turn.

It was worse for Vain, the powerlessness he felt, his crushing guilt sat like a cold stone in our chest. It was almost too much for me to bear.

The thought of living without Vain had become a foreign concept to me, and the thought of living without Ava had become similarly incomprehensible.

Did that make me pathetic?

You know I love how pathetic and needy you are.

“You’re not helping,” I grumbled aloud at him as I ran my hands over my arms and let the longer front ends of my hair hang over my eyes to shadow my expression, not that anyone could see. Vain could mock me all he wanted but it didn’t change the fact that he felt the same way about her as I did.

I wanted her to wake up. I needed to look into her eyes and hold her in my arms and tell her she was okay. I would never forget how she had looked through Vain, right into my soul, as she slammed her fists against his chest, her pain and betrayal painted on her features after he’d laid out the hard truth that neither of us had told her after all this time. Whenever she woke, I could only hope she might forgive me.

I hoped she could forgive us.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Ava

Ihad known the risks, but I had taken them anyway.

Having a dangerous fascination with demons myself, I understood how humans became so easily entranced by them. But even in all my years of study, I had never fully understood the obsession a mortal could develop with demon ichor, especially consuming it to the point where it would turn them into a monster worse than the demon themselves.

When consumed in excess, a demon’s ichor could turn even the most gentlehearted human into a blood crazed killer—a vampyr which craved and feasted on demon ichor and human blood for survival. Once turned, they became ravenous, too quick and cunning, insatiable and destructive, and far too feral and unpredictable to be kept alive, making them rare but deadly predators to both mortals and demons alike.

The laws forbidding the consumption of ichor were clear, and I’d always understood them. But being under the influence of a demon’s blood, I finally understood the extent of the hunger—the obsession. The full-body craving and the primal need to sate myself to the point of overindulgence was unlike anything I had experienced before. The desire for more—for power—felt all-consuming.

I swam in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of where I was or how long I’d been out. There were moments when I could have sworn I woke with a warm body pressed against my back while the room spun around me. Dampened, mumbled voices cut in and out through my half-lucid state and my nightmares. Sometimes when my eyelids twitched to flutter open, I could have sworn Rory’s dark figure sat across from me, watching me intently. Other times, Vain’s smooth, low voice whispered to me from afar in words too hushed for me to make out.

I desperately wanted to reach out to them, to lift my hand up or call out their names. But my limbs felt like they were encased in stone, my tongue leaden in my mouth. I had no choice but to lie there in the dark with nothing but the terrors of my mind, waiting for fate to decide my consequence.

In my nightmares, I saw her face. In the void, I heard her screams. Never had they felt so tangible before. So real. And I was doomed to re-live the memory of Sascha dying over and over. The scent of sulfur in the air, the dark, hollow eyes of the demon that stared back at me, wearing her face, warping her smile into a sinister thing. There was no escaping the painful visions my unconscious mind subjected me to. If the ichor didn’t destroy me, then surely my lingering guilt would tear me apart in the end.

A piercing chill shot through my chest, and I sprung up, gasping and sputtering for air. The sheets around me were cold and wet. Sweat ran down my temples, my arms, every inch of me. A numb ache rushed through my body, and my throat felt raw when I swallowed.

Rory darted to my side, his panicked eyes sweeping over me. As I violently shook, he held down my arms, his hands hard and soothing. I hadn’t even noticed I’d been clawing at myself until I looked down and noticed the lines of scratches marring my pale arms and the scrapes over my chest leading up towards my neck. There was an IV sticking out of my forearm that shifted uncomfortably under my skin whenever I moved.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Ava, look at me,” Rory said, taking my face between his hands. He pushed the sweat-slicked strands of hair clinging to my skin out of my face, brushing them behind my ears. His touch was ice cold and soothed my fevered skin. “You’re okay,” he repeated, over and over. “I’m here, Ava.”

I threw my arms around him and clung to him tightly. He stroked one hand down my back, the other cradling my head as he rocked us, all the while holding me close.

My throat, my teeth, my bones all ached. Even my blood felt heavy in my veins as the withdrawal from the ichor lingered.

“It hurts.” The words sounded foreign as I strained to get them out.

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