Page 26 of The Blood we Crave

I lift an eyebrow, sucking my teeth as a sinister chuckle rumbles in my chest. “Still going to follow me around like my little pet though?”

If she’s intent on making herself known to me, then I’ll deal with this the way it should’ve been handled in the first place.

The wind blows her hair in her face, the dark waves behind her crashing against the shore. At any second, it looks like the inky water might swallow her whole.

“I’m not a pet,” she mutters, no weight behind her words. “You just fascinate me, is all.”

Liar. I can practically taste the lie on her lips.

“Welcome to the club. Everyone is fascinated by me.”

Her shoulders deflate, and I can see an argument on her tongue, but I quickly interject. Deciding to take a little pity on her, I play a bit. “I don’t want you to leave me alone, Lyra Abbott.”

My voice is smooth and the way I talk to those who believe they are above me. Those in power who I can manipulate for my own personal gain. One day, I’ll make a phenomenal politician.

I’m full of corrupt motives, and I’ve mastered the art of the chameleon. I can mimic just about any emotion. It will not be long before I have congress eating out of the palm of my hand.

Becoming the man my father never could.

“What do you want?”

Hope flutters in her eyes, the moonlight catching her irises just right. And excitement pools in my stomach, knowing I’m going to suck all the life right out of those pretty jade eyes. Squash every single wicked dream she’s ever had about me, cripple that obsession of hers.

Because while her obsession with me may be strong, my taste for blood is vital.

“I want youdead.”

in the woods somewhere

FIVE

lyra

Lightning splinters in the dark sky, the lilac bolt illuminating our outstretched hands, where a bargain lies along our fingertips. Wind howls between us, brushing my curls into my face, and a burst of saltwater fills my nose.

“I hope this deal is worth your life, pet.” I feel his hand slip from my grasp just as a wave of thunder roars beyond the clouds. The loud rumble seals our arrangement. Secures my fate. There is no backing away from this. Not now.

Thatcher sticks his hands inside his pockets before strolling away from me and towards our group of friends that stands waiting a little further down the beach. I take a moment to feel the weight of what I’ve just done.

There’s no way I would beat him. The mile trek through the high trees in order to reach Black Sands Cove was enough to have my lungs burning. Outrunning him in tag would be impossible. Fog rolls through the forest behind me, meaning visibility during this game would be low. I’d be blind, out of shape, and running for my life. Literally.

I take a breath, heading down the soggy beach soaked with rainwater and high tide. I have no choice, not really. Living with homicidal urges that I have no clue how to stomach is worse than dying. This is my only chance at a normal life.

I need to win. I need him to teach me. To show me how he can endure what his father had created. Because my sanity is hanging by a slender thread that becomes more frayed every second.

Three months ago, when I’d killed that detective in Sage’s house in order to save Thatcher’s life, I woke something up. For years, I lived with this sickness inside of my soul. Every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I could see it, curled in a dark corner, flashing its teeth every once in a while.

But now it’s awake, hissing and hungry for food I don’t know how to make.

I had enjoyed killing that man. The warmth of his blood cascading down my arm in crimson waves. Watching him writhe and choke on the floor just before he released his final breath.

It’s not right for me to feel this way. I know that. It’s wrong, immoral, and there’s nothing okay about it. But I can’t fucking help how I feel.

I would rip it out of me if I knew how, but I don’t, and I don’t know how to live with it.

Thatcher Alexander Pierson is my last hope or my death sentence.

It’s always been that way for us. Never anything in between.

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