Page 13 of Blood Lust

“Oz,” I say, struggling to describe this exactly, feeling like my grasp on reality is fading. “I think I’m still thirsty. I feel… I feel like there’s someone else in here, and she wants more to eat.”

His eyes widen for a second, but he tries to hide it. “You didn’t merge with her?”

Merge? Well, that sounds terrifying.

Is that what she had meant by ‘become?’

“When a vampire is born, we gain another sense of self,” he explains. “It merges with our existing selves and helps us govern our new instincts and abilities. This is most unusual.” The sound of warning in his voice sits heavy on my mind. Shame washes over me as I realize I fought her. She is the epitome of my every fear.

“I don’t know why it didn’t happen with you, but one thing at a time. I will go get you some more blood.”

Oz returns a few minutes later with pouches that look like donor blood. My stomach doesn’t even turn over when he offers them to me. I am so hungry that I drink the blood quickly. After the third pouch, I finally feel full. The raw part of me settles back down with a purr, satisfied for now. At least the woman didn’t insist on prowling through me as she did before. Still, the sensation is incredibly odd, like an extra mind inside me.

“The sun will be rising soon,” Oz told me. “I’ll let you get some rest. At sundown, I’ll come to get you and introduce you to the rest of the coven, and we can start trying to get that memory of yours working again.”

“Thank you,” I say. “For saving me, for turning me, for guiding me through this.” I didn’t know much, but I knew he didn’t have to do any of the things he’d done for me. He could’ve just let me die and rot in that lake. I would never be able to repay him.

“You’re welcome,” his smile is sincere. “See you at sundown, little bird,” he added before leaving the room. I cut the light off and crawl back under the quilt, tuck myself in, and try to remember something about myself.

Anything.

Sleep washes over me, and flashes of those same faces spin in my head all day as I dream.

Openingmyeyes,I'mhalf hoping everything has been a strange dream. Looking around the room again, I realize this is my reality. It is exciting to be given immortality. I sit up and push the quilt off me, stretching my muscles as much as possible. Feeling them go taut without pain is intoxicating.

Yesterday, when I woke up, I’d assumed I was in some guest room. But looking around, I think this room belongs to someone. There’s artwork on the walls, primarily landscapes of rolling hills. The fireplace across from the bed has a sword hanging above the mantle. It looks antique and probably is. No pictures. I see a few pieces of metalwork figurines that look like they were created from scrap metal.

I am drawn to the little metal sculptures.

On the dresser is a dog, a horse, and what looks like a bear. I resist the temptation to rifle through the drawers. Instead, I cross to the desk and find another figurine shaped like a large cat. Maybe a mountain lion? Another dog is here too. No, not a dog, a wolf. I pick this one up, turning it over in my fingers as I examine it. The pieces formed and welded together. Whoever did this is talented.

Opening the drapes, I'm not surprised to see the night sky lit up with the moon and stars. I wish I knew the constellations…

A nagging feeling at the back of my head turns my attention to the bag on the bedside table. It is a plain, simple brown canvas bag. A small pocket on the outside, a large zippered compartment, and bronze fastenings. It sits on the table as a landmine sits below ground like it could blow up my life rather than shed light on it.

I am afraid to look for answers, but I have no choice.

Taking the purse and sitting on the bed, I unzip the main compartment and do the only logical thing I can think to do. I dump the entire contents on the bedspread. Out drops a red leather wallet with a clear plastic film over the top of a card that carries a smiling me and my information. A small brush with a hair tie wrapped around the handle, a tube of chapstick, a pack of spearmint gum, and a key with a green plastic diamond-shaped fob chained to it. One side read “Catskill Cabin Getaways” in yellow writing, and the other had a matching yellow number five.

I pluck the leather wallet from the small pile and examine the license first. I learn that my birth date is May 13th, 1999, and my full name is Wren Ellison Butler. I stare at my picture, trying to make a memory come forward. The ID was issued recently, which means my address is probably correct. It is in some place called Cornerville. I look at what else is in the wallet.

A debit card and a couple of credit cards are useless to me since I am technically dead. A business card catches my eye. It is glossy and expensive. In bold at the top is the name Small Starts, Big Dreams Advertising. My name is further below, with a couple of phone numbers and a work email. Apparently, I am a graphic designer. Nothing else.

I suppose it’s a start.

A knock sounds at the door.

Inviting someone into a room that isn’t mine still seems odd.

“Come in,” I call anyway.

Oz comes into the room with a cup, presumably of blood for me, and sets it on the table where the bag had been. He eyes the pile of things on the bed and sits beside me, his head cocked with interest. “Jog any memories?”

I shake my head and sigh, stuffing everything back into the bag. “No, but I learned my full name and date of birth. I’m an organ donor. There was also this,” I hand over the key to the cabin getaway. I grasp the cup from the table and begin sipping my dinner. That primal vampire inside of me hasn’t stirred again, and I want to keep it that way.

“I know this place, and it’s not that far. Maybe we could go check out the cabin and see if your things are there?” He examines the key closely, seemingly pondering something.

“Okay, we could go tonight, maybe?”

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