Page 67 of Property of Mako
Air—I needed air. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs burned as if they were filling with acid. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would explode, only to seize, then slam again with double the force.
And underneath it—blood. Thick, rich, pulsing. It called to me, demanded I tear it out of someone, anyone, to stop the agony.
I curled in on myself, thrashing. My body didn’t feel like my own—it was too strong, too fast, too violent. The air itself seemed sharp, cutting my skin and shredding inside me when I got a gasp of it. Every sound too loud, every scent too thick—everything simply too much.
The tang of iron filled my mouth, and I realized with horror it was blood—his blood—slicking my tongue and teeth.
Hands tried to hold me down. Strong hands. Familiar hands.
“Lyra—fuck—hold her, Crypt!”
Calix’s voice. My mind grasped for it, but my body wasn’t listening. I lashed out. I shoved, and something cracked. Someone grunted in pain.
“Jesus Christ, she doesn’t know her strength yet!” Crypt’s voice snapped, strained.
Who was he talking about?
Oh God. At the back of my mind, a sliver of lucidity flickered—he was talking about me. Yet I couldn’t stop myself—I slammed against restraints—chains? Rope?—I couldn’t tell. They bit into my wrists as I fought them, my body desperate to break free, desperate to feed, desperate to escape the raging fire clawing through every cell.
“No!” I screamed—or thought I did. The sound that tore out was guttural, broken, monstrous. My throat was raw, my teeth aching with need.
The hunger was unbearable. It wasn’t just thirst. It was starvation, bone-deep and endless. Every heartbeat I heard in the room was a drum calling me, every pulse a temptation I couldn’t resist.
“Please,” I begged, sobbing and writhing. “Make it stop—I can’t—I can’t?—”
Calix’s face came into focus above me, his eyes bright, jaw tight with anguish. He held me down with every ounce of his strength, even as my body bucked against him.
“I’ve got you,” he ground out, voice breaking. “You’re mine. You hear me? You’re mine, Lyra. Fight it. Stay with me.”
But the inferno raged on, unrelenting, consuming. My own screams echoed in my skull until they weren’t even mine anymore.
And still—I craved.
Blood.
More.
Always more.
The pain wouldn’t stop. Every nerve was raw, my skin felt flayed from the inside out, my blood boiling until I swore it was tearing me apart.
Then I felt it—hands pressed lightly over my heart, a soothing warmth sliding into me like cool water against the flames. A soft hum, like words I couldn’t understand, flowed through the haze. The agony eased, just a fraction.
My head lolled, eyes finding the source. Dexter. His lips were moving, whispering things in a language that wasn’t English, his face calm, almost serene, as his hands glowed faintly against my skin.
For one blissful moment, the agony dulled. My body trembled, and I thought—I thought maybe I could breathe again.
But then?—
Hunger.
Vicious and unrelenting.
The heat spiked, and my teeth ached so hard I thought they’d shatter. His pulse thundered in my ears. Not just a sound—it was the richest, sweetest lure I had ever known. His blood wasn’t like the others. It was alive in a way that called to the marrow of me.
I snapped.
With a feral snarl, I ripped free of Calix’s grip and launched at Dexter. He didn’t even flinch—his eyes widened in shock as my fangs sank deep into his throat. His blood exploded across my tongue, molten lightning, filling me with a rush so powerful it stole the air from my lungs.
