Page 54 of The Blood we Crave

“What’s it like for you?”

The sound of gum snapping follows the question, the same noise that had been popping in my ear for the entire drive over here. Her inability to settle into silence will be my biggest challenge during the time we spend together.

I chance a look over my shoulder, seeing her lighthearted expression. The shovel resting on her shoulder sways as she follows my lead, looking through all the tombstones.

Little Miss Death and Decay pleasantly trots through tombstones as if they are a field of wildflowers. I suppose it is just further proof that Lyra Abbott is far from the conventional type.

They made some girls to frolic through flowers and others warm, sandy beaches.

But she was made to walk with the dead, to keep the rotting company.

“Is it like a weight off your shoulders? Do you feel relieved? Do you get sexual release from—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” I bite out, keeping my gaze forward and trying to ignore the way her closeness sets me on edge.

“If we are doing this, you’re going to have to treat me like an actual human being, ya know?” she says, walking faster so she is beside me, inclining her head to look at me. “Not a pet. If I ask a question, you can at least tell me you don’t feel comfortable giving an answer.”

I pause my stride, turning my head to peer down at her. So much shorter than me, at least by a foot. So tiny that I could crack her right in half with little effort. And yet she continues to probe me, unafraid of what might happen to her when she pokes at the tender flesh that I don’t allow anyone to see, tempting the button that will cause me to snap and tear her in two.

“That other side of you has sharp teeth, doesn’t she?” I arch an eyebrow. “You better hope you can back up that bite,pet. I can think of fifty ways to get your body.”

Six months ago, she was a pest that I’d let fade into the background. A girl I’d shared one night with long ago, and that was it. But now, she’d killed someone in order to spare my life, had jumped from a cliff to warrant my guidance, and is now following me blindly through a cemetery for her first test of will.

My ghost had come to life, no longer content blending into the shadows of my life to watch me as she had so many times before.

She is present and alive.

And I want nothing more than to kill her all over again.

“There is no other side of me. You make it sound like I have multiple personalities. I’m just tired of you dismissing me like I’m a child and not answering my questions.”

Her footsteps turn into stomps, and a pout paints her lips.

I scoff at the audacity of demanding to be treated as an adult but continuing to act like a toddler. I might actually end my own life before this is all said and done.

The soppy ground squishes beneath my feet, filling the void of silence as I scan the markers. My family’s cemetery isn’t far from our estate, much smaller than most burial grounds, but it’s a private spot away from prying eyes.

Which is exactly what I need for her very first lesson.

Silence.

When we reach the gate, I pull out a set of keys. Only those who hold the last name Pierson and a select few groundskeepers are allowed access. The tall black wrought-iron gates square off about four acres of secluded land riddled with tombstones, memorials, and sculptures. One person, my grandfather, is laid to rest in a small mausoleum-like structure my grandmother will join him in once her time comes.

I hold the gate open, listening to it whine against the hinges, letting her go through first because I am at the very least a gentleman. As she passes me, two things happen.

I feel time slow, just enough for me to notice, but it still slows for just a second. Enough time for the wind to catch her scent. Loose, silken brown hair is swept in the current. The smell of her blows up my nose, forcing me to inhale.

Sticky, sweet cherries.

The other thing I notice is her plump bottom lip is jutted out, pink, tulip-colored lips, warranting my attention. Her eyebrows are pulled together in a deep V. She is pouting, pulling a face like a spoiled little brat.

I decide to throw her a bone, if only to get that look off her face. It is aggravating me, and if she keeps doing it, I’m going to toss her into the lake that sits adjacent to the cemetery.

“Power,”I say as I head towards the furthest end of the cemetery where I know the most empty space lies.

“What?”

“Now, why would I answer your questions if you can’t even remember them yourself?” I prod but continue anyway. “When I kill someone, it feels like power. That’s what it’s like for me. What it gives me.”

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