Page 2 of Blood

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

I stare out the window of the moving train as if in a daze. Everything whirling by me—the grassy fields, the rippling hills, the small bodies of water glistening in the setting sun, like they’re constructed entirely out of diamonds—is indistinct. I can see them, yes, but I can’t process their meaning in this world characterized by dissonance and chaos.

Mason. Is. Dead.

And he may not be the only one.

The fissure in my chest expands until I fear one half of my heart will take a nosedive straight into my stomach while the other plummets to the floor at my feet.

If Mason’s death is the elephant in the room, then the knowledge that Zeus himself has imprisoned my other mates is the guillotine blade dangling directly above my neck, just waiting to fall and cut flesh.

Anger—white-hot and blistering—cascades through me when I think about what Zeus did to the men I love. He...controlled them. Forced them to stand back and watch as one of their own was murdered in cold blood. I’m assuming Zeus and my conniving sister—or is it stepsister?—took them back to Mount Olympus, but are they okay? Have they been hurt? I know, mentally, that they may never recover from Mason’s death, the same as me. Mason was Vin’s best friend. I can’t even imagine what he’s going through right now.

Actually, I can.

It’s probably similar to the pain reverberating through me at this exact moment, siphoning the breath from my lungs. Breathing is impossible. Thinking is impossible.

I’m pretty sure living is going to be impossible too.

I crave my mates with an intensity that terrifies me. I would give all my earthly possessions to be wrapped in Vin’s strong, protective arms, knowing that no harm will come to me while I’m with him. I would sell my soul to see Jack’s timid smile quickly transform into Hux’s surly, intimidating scowl. I would cut out my own heart to listen to Frankie ramble on about his latest experiment, the excited glint in his eyes belying his monotone voice. I would remove all my limbs to be nestled between Cal and Barret as they promise everything will be okay. I would stab both my eyes out to hear Dimitri snap at me and call me a ridiculous female or whatever insult is percolating in that wicked mind of his.

And I would give up my own life if it meant Mason gained his back.

Tears fester in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Even neck-deep in my grief, I’m a stubborn bitch. It’s been ingrained within me since a young age by Dracula himself that crying is a weakness, and the second you bare your throat to a predator, they’ll swoop in for the kill.

Unbidden, my gaze slides to Alex, sitting across from me on the train.

I’m unsurprised to find his russet-black gaze firmly on me.

Has he even looked away since he whisked me out of that hell house a day ago?

I try to be subtle in my perusal of him, but I’m pretty sure I fail. Epically. Still, he doesn’t call me out on my blatant staring as I take in his disheveled state.

He’s styled his hair into a faux hawk, with a wayward strand caressing his forehead. The piercings in his ears, eyebrow, and lower lip glint in the waning sunlight, commandeering my attention. Like always, he’s wearing a leather jacket and black pants, and the dark red shirt underneath nearly matches the red hue of his eyes. He shifts slightly, and my gaze snags on the skull tattoo etched across the top of his hand. More dark lines crawl up his arm before disappearing into his shirtsleeve.

Alex...

I don’t even know what to think of the necromancer.

When I first met him, he hated me. He blamed me for the death of his brother, and he was right to. I did murder his brother, but only after he tried to rape me. Since then, our relationship has been tenuous at best, a flimsy cord that can be severed at a moment’s notice. Sometimes, I swear he stares at me with heat in his eyes; other times, he regards me with nothing but haughty disdain and a healthy dose of loathing.

I can’t quite read the expression on his face now.

Sympathy?

Pity?

I would prefer the blind hatred.

He clears his throat multiple times, pulling me out of my thoughts. Those piercing, red-black eyes ensnare my own as he absently licks at his lip ring.

“We need a plan for tonight,” he tells me gruffly. Normally, his imperious tone would have me wanting to slap him senseless. Now, I just feel tired.

Tired, weak, and battle worn.

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