Page 1 of The Blood we Crave

thriteen years ago

PROLOGUE

“Scarlett, wake up.”

The fog of sleep tries to clear my mind, but I fight it, despite my mother’s voice requesting the opposite. I snuggle deeper into her blankets, inhaling the scent of coffee and her bodywash, letting the comforting smell tug me back into my dreams.

I had been dreaming of land made entirely of candy. It was a Willy Wonka masterpiece—grass made of licorice, gumdrop stools, houses built with boards of chocolate, and roads created from hardened sugar.

My stomach twisted with hunger, a familiar craving sweeping through me. I wanted to go back to my dream, where I could devour as many sweets as I liked without having to hear my mother’s constant warnings.

I know she’s right, that all the sugar will rot my teeth one day. She’s always right. However, I can’t bring myself to quit. Not when you love something the way I love candy.

I’m like that with a lot of things.

“Scarlett Lyra Abbott!” I could feel her cold fingers against my arm, chilling me to the bone. But it wasn’t just her touch that had goosebumps skittering across my skin. It was her tone of voice. She never used my full name like that. Not ever.

Urgency. Fear. Panic.

I opened my eyes, knowing somewhere in the pit of my stomach that something was wrong. This was not her stern, wake-up voice for when I didn’t feel like rolling out of bed for lessons or the strict tone she used when I refused to brush my messy curls. This felt different.

My hand digs at my eye, wiping the sleep from my groggy mind as I sit up with a loud yawn. The sun still hasn’t risen; the white beams of light from the moon spear through the bedroom window. It’s far too early, even for my mother, who I hear walking around the house just before the sun makes an appearance, feeding Swirl and Mocha, the two pythons that my mother had kept after receiving them in her lab from an animal rescue shelter. They were both far too malnourished and abused to study, so she brought them home.

I sadly was not allowed to play with them, but sometimes when she wasn’t looking, I ran my fingers along Swirl’s scales, scratching the top of her diamond-shaped head. She was much nicer than Mocha, who tried striking me the one and only time I’d dipped my finger in his cage.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” I whisper, my small voice still masked with sleep despite my open eyes.

“I think there is—”

Creak.

The words die on her lips as the weight of someone’s footfalls presses into the floorboards of the hallway. The Victorian classic I’ve grown up in my entire life has been here since the town was founded, and my mother only remodeled what was necessary. She enjoys preserving the history of the home. I, on the other hand, hate how the doors groan with every breeze and the water takes forever to heat up.

My eyebrows draw together as I look towards her bedroom door. “Mom?”

The fear in my voice frightens me, but not as much as the fear that radiates off my mother. Her hands wrap around my arms, tugging me off the bed with urgency. I think she might be taking me with her to see what’s going on outside the room, but instead, she pulls me towards the closet.

“Scar, I need you to hide, okay?” Her green eyes mirror my own and try to remain calm, but I can see the nerves. “Stay inside the closet, and do not come out until I come to get you, alright? I’m just going to make sure everything is okay. It’s probably just an animal that got inside.”

I feel the material of her clothes touch my back as she pushes me farther into the dark space of the closet. My eyes start to burn with unshed tears, the water blurring my vision as I stare up at my mom.

“But Mom, what about—”

“It’ll be okay, Scarlett. I promise. Just stay here. I’ll be back in a second.”

I can’t explain it. Wouldn’t know where to begin, but I couldfeelthe lie. Even though she probably believed she would be back, that she believed it was just a raccoon or possum that had wandered in through the dog door, I don’t. Something feels wrong. Like I know she won’t be coming back to me, and no matter what I tell myself, that feeling won’t leave me.

My heart begins to ache, dull and persistent, like someone is beating down on the organ with a heavy mallet. She is all I have—it’s us against the world. And it’s that thought alone that has me clutching onto her hand, refusing to let her leave.

I know if I let her go, she won’t be coming back. Tears leak down my cheeks, the salty taste dripping into my mouth.

“Mom, I—” I croak, afraid of my voice, unsure of how to explain to her what I’m feeling. “I’m scared. Don’t—” I choke on the emotion in my throat. “Don’t leave me.”

Her gaze softens as her hand moves to rest on my cheek, holding me gently in her cold hands. I lean into the touch, chasing the comfort that comes from being near her. Chasing the comfort all little girls need from their mothers.

“Don’t be afraid, Scar. Everything will be fine,” she mutters, leaning down to place a kiss on my forehead, “I love you, sweet girl.”

I do not get a chance to tell her to stay. To try and describe what I’m feeling, what I’m actually afraid of. She retreats from the closet, shutting the door until it leaves only a small crack for me to gaze through.

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