Page 89 of Blood Moon
Julian tried to move closer. “Mira, please don’t,” he said, eyes burning into me, but he couldn’t see how I was already turning into stone. “This is so much bigger than you. I know you want to simplify it, to make yourself feel like you have an answer by taking the blame, but trust me when I tell you it’s so much more complicated.”
At that, I decided I no longer wanted to discuss matters of fate. It would only turn my sadness into anger; already, I felt it simmer in my chest. “You said you’re a vampire and a wolf?” I asked. His existence was perhaps part of one of the largest pivotal moments in their history—and maybe because of that, they were that much more sensitive to my bloodline. It was only a guess.
He seemed taken by my redirect but adjusted accordingly. “We prefer Blood Lycans, but yes. That is correct.” He grabbed another granola bar, and I grabbed one, too, along with a bottle of water.
I pulled my knees to my chest while I ate. “How does it work … being a hybrid?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you need to drink blood to survive?”
“No, not exactly. It took a while for us to narrow down how blood worked in our diet. The babies would drink it, and it would help them grow faster and stronger, but they got the same benefit from milk, too. The more the baby grows, the more we wean the blood from their diet.” Julian averted his gaze. “Now, after childhood, we drink blood for two reasons: pleasure and recovery.”Pleasure.I drew in a stilted breath and hurried to take another bite of my granola bar.
“Why don’t you have fangs?”
“It’s a magic trick, Bells,” he said, and hearing him call me that didn’t elicit the same vulgar reaction it once had. “I hide them, see?” He smiled. A flash, and his teeth were points, vampiric. Another flash, and they were normal. It was fascinating. Julian sat up a little. “Can I ask you a question?”
I nodded.
“Earlier, before the crash, you mentioned your mother told you about the vampire and the wolf who fell in love. How did she know that?”
“I …” I hadn’t considered how pivotal the storyline was to Julian’s species. “Honestly, I thought she made it up. When she’d tell me the legends of Timber Plains, I figured she exaggerated the story for theatrical effect. Everyone in this town tells it differently, you know? But she never got around to telling me the ending.”
“It didn’t end well for them.” He said it like the words were a fist. Like they were a knife.
“Why?”
“Not all the vampires who agreed to peace mated with the wolves. Many of them were against interspecial relations, but due to the conditions of the treaty, they continued to live beside them, until one day, in the still of the night, a small coven went back on their word. They led the Elites straight to us, causing a war that’s lasted for centuries. It’s been vampires against werewolves against Blood Lycans since before I was born.”
“Why hasn’t it ended yet?”
“Sometimes vengeance doesn’t have a timeline.” It was a line worth contemplating. One to be chewed and digested. I sat with it in silence, except for the pitter-patter of water around.
In the dimness, I noticed Julian’s shirt and shorts seeped with water. “Are you going to sit in those clothes?”
“They’ll be damp in no time.”
“There’s nothing else in there?” The bag was big, items still stuck inside.
“There’s another shirt, but …” he looked at his arm. “It’s probably not worth it to put it on.”
“I can help.”
He twitched, a wince in his face as he moved. “No, you don’t have to dress me.”
“Julian,come on.” I scooted closer. “You saved my life. Twice. Let me do this for you. Plus, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have a broken arm in the first place.”
“Please,” he mumbled. “Stop taking all the blame.”
I swallowed, yanked the bag to me before he could get to it. He watched me with pensive eyes as I dug around and pulled out a faded blue shirt. I set the bag aside and gradually closed the distance between the two of us, holding my breath as if it would stop my anxiety.
He stared at me blankly, and I stared back, lips folding as I sat on my knees in front of him. “What’s the best way to do this?” I measured Julian. The shirt he wore seemed plastered to his body from how drenched it was.
One glance down, and he sighed. “Just rip it,” he said, and I furrowed my brows before pressing my fingers to the collar to tug and tear. A problem arose. His shirt was much harder to rip while wet, the water making it heavier and difficult to cut through.
At my third try, Julian touched my hand, and I flinched before realizing he wanted to get my attention. “Here.” He raised the collar to his mouth, and I backed away. In a flicker, his canines extended, turning into sharp daggers. Like hot wax, his teeth sliced through the collar, and then he released it, offering it over to me to finish the job.
Shock hit me first as I stared, mesmerized. He grinned.
