Blood Moon
Page 60

I screamed until my voice was hoarse, my throat was raw, and my face felt red enough to explode. I screamed until two teachers I didn’t know burst onto the roof, armed with stakes. One of them tried to hold me up, but I collapsed to my knees. I was still sobbing and crying and screaming when Theo pushed his way through. He crouched down in front of me, his voice sharp and practical.
“Lucy. Lucy, stop it.” He shook me once. “I’ll sedate you if you don’t stop and breathe.”
I gagged on a sob and dragged my sleeve across my face. My lips felt cracked and I tasted blood. Salt crusted my eyelids, making them feel sticky and unwieldy. Theo took my pulse while I tried to swallow. “I’m thirsty,” I added.
“You think?” he shot back, but not unkindly. He checked my pupils. “You okay now?”
I nodded. “Sorry.”
“You need water and rest.” He helped me to my feet. I felt weak, as if I’d just had a bad flu. “And a visit to the school counselor tomorrow.”
A few students hovered near the doorway. Mr. York ushered them back inside.
“Oh, great,” I muttered. “Cue the rumors that the new girl is a headcase … now.”
Theo half smiled, then glanced at the other teachers. “She’s fine.”
I pushed my hair off my face. I’d never freaked out like that before. It was not fun. And it didn’t help. Nicholas wasn’t any less lost.
I shivered, suddenly freezing.
“Come on,” Theo said. “Let’s get you to your room.”
Chapter 24
Solange
Tuesday night, after sunset
I woke up confused.
I knew the sun had set, knew I was so thirsty I was seeing red, but I couldn’t remember where I was. I wasn’t in the family safe house. I couldn’t hear my brothers rummaging around the adjoining rooms, or my mom avoiding the guards until she’d had her morning blood. The room I was in was smaller, cramped, with water running down the cement ceiling and down a drain in the floor. There was a shelf with lit candles set in one corner and a narrow army cot under me. That was it.
And then I smelled her.
Human, warm, willing.
The hunger actually growled inside me. I wasn’t sure how the rest of my family felt it, but sometimes I felt it like thirst in the throat, sometimes like hunger in the belly. And when it was this pronounced, it was always painful; as if I were desiccated and crumbling, as if blue sparks arced from my every movement. Only one thing made it better: blood. And live blood, despite my family’s objections, worked faster and better. And it was impossible to resist when presented so agreeably just after sunset.
“Please, princess.”
It was Penelope again, kneeling by the side of my bed, extending her bare arms. Constantine stood in the shadows behind her. I wanted to ask him what was going on, but her wrist was right there, blue veins pulsing, and the hunger took over. I bit down, warm blood filling my mouth, flooding me with vitality. I drank greedily, pinning Penelope’s wrist to my mouth. The more I drank, the less my gums ached, the less I itched under my skin like it fit wrong, the less weak and confused I felt. Penelope’s head fell back, her long curly hair trailing the dirty ground. I drank until she started to sag and I started to come back into myself enough to know to stop.
Constantine stepped forward at the exact moment when I wondered how to make myself push her away. He eased Penelope’s wrist out of my grip and helped her to her feet, pressing a scrap of clean cloth to the little puncture wounds. “Go on, Penelope,” he said gently, nudging her out. “Someone’s waiting upstairs with food for you, and iron pills.”
“Thank you, princess.” She wandered away, smiling as if she were drunk. I felt the same way, only I wasn’t smiling.
I scrambled to my feet. “Why did you bring her here?”
“You need blood,” Constantine replied calmly. “She’s willing to provide it. What’s the problem here, love?” He pushed a lock of hair off my cheek.
“Live blood just makes me …” I shuddered, trying to sort through all the feelings ripping through me. Satisfaction, strength, lust. I took a step back, struggling to control myself. Constantine closed the distance between us. His violet eyes gleamed.
“You don’t have to be scared,” he said softly. “It’s natural.”
I swallowed the coppery taste of blood on my tongue. “I …”
“Don’t make yourself smaller for other people,” he added. “Be brave, Solange. Give in.”
And then he was kissing me.
It happened so quickly. He just pulled me into his chest, his hand digging into my hair and tilting my head back. His lips were clever, teasing and slow as a hot, humid summer day. His tongue stroked mine, retreated. I fell into him. The combination of a newborn’s hunger, fresh blood, and his mouth on mine made my head spin. I had to clutch his arms to stay upright. He crowded me back against the damp wall, pinning me in place.
The kiss was languid and dark. He coaxed and took and smiled against my mouth when I made a small sound I didn’t understand. I kissed him back, hungrily. His lips were cool, like ice cream, but I’d never wanted ice cream this much, even when I was human. I could have gorged myself on him, cavities and ice-cream headaches be damned. And he knew it. That smug confidence should have been off-putting, but it just added to the dangerous appeal of him.
But as the last of the blood coursed through me, everything came flooding back.