by Roh Morgon
While I debate asking him what’s wrong, his words sink in.
“But that will fade away, right? I mean, I wouldn’t . . . harm Marie anyway. I really do like her.” As confident as I feel, doubt creeps into my mind as I recall my reaction to Alfonso through the door.
“We shall see. But for now, it is best to limit your exposure.”
“For how long?” I ask in a quiet voice.
“Again, I do not know. Days, at least. Possibly weeks. It all depends on how your system handles the healing process.” His tone is subdued, his eyes holding a hint of concern.
Great. I feel the frustration mounting, and now I really do want to go kill something.
And of course, that thought stokes the hunger.
CHAPTER 36
Sitting in front of the fireplace, I scan the pages of a book Nicolas brought me, the one on The Chosen with his raven crest on the front. It’s fascinating to read about their evolution and history, but I’m having difficulty focusing. This damn hunger is annoying, and the tension it’s causing is aggravating it even more. It’s a vicious circle, one I’m anxious to escape. At this point I don’t know if I’ll ever feel normal again, whatever that is.
Nicolas and Éva walk in, both relaxed and apparently over their argument from yesterday. Nicolas is carrying a cooler, and my vision turns pink in anticipation. I put the book down and get up out of my chair, trying to ignore the fire that has ignited once again in my veins.
Nicolas sets the cooler down on the table. He looks over at me, and I clench my jaw and walk stiffly to the table.
“I think we should dispense with the mug for the moment,” he says as he takes out a thermos and hands it to me.
It’s been several hours since the last one, which was straight horse blood and not very satisfying. My hand trembles as I raise it to my lips. Nicolas and Éva watch, their expressions closed.
I take several swallows before it hits me that this batch is different. There’s very little horse in it, and the rest is richer, more full-bodied, and absolutely delicious. I stop briefly, and look at Nicolas in suspicion, but the hunger intensifies and I drink it down. I try to savor it and make it last, but that just doesn’t work, and I quickly drain the entire thing.
I lick my lips and hand it back to Nicolas. I glance at the cooler, noting it holds three more, and Nicolas says, “Wait a little while. We need to be somewhat conservative for the time being.”
“Where did it come from?” I ask. It’s definitely human, and it does not taste like the stripped-down blood from the bank.
“I have made arrangements for private donations.” He doesn’t seem inclined to elaborate, and I don’t feel inclined to know more.
But I do have one question, and as I open my mouth to ask it, he says, “No one died.”
Relieved, I nod my head. I notice Éva looking at me curiously and a part of me bristles in defense.
“Sunny, relax. Éva and I have discussed your situation, and I believe she has a better understanding of it now.” Nicolas glances at her and smiles, and she nods her head in compliance.
Something about her feels different, and I can’t quite pinpoint what it is. But she certainly seems much calmer, almost serene. I note that her eyes are a pale gold. Maybe she’s just fed.
Someone softly approaches the door, then knocks. Nicolas says, “Come in, Johan.”
The young Chosen enters carrying a tray holding a carafe of deep red wine and three wineglasses. He sets it down and looks at Nicolas, who nods once. Johan fills the glasses and, looking at Nicolas again, steps back.
“That will be all for now.” Nicolas dismisses the servant, and waits until Johan leaves the room.
His tone puzzles me. It’s curt and condescending, with none of the kindness or even politeness he has with Marie and Alfonso. Interesting.
Nicolas picks up a glass and hands it to me, and takes another for himself. “Éva?” he says, indicating the wine, and she walks over and picks up the third glass from the tray.
Reminded of what she had said about Nicolas serving me, I realize the importance of paying closer attention to interactions between The Chosen, especially these two.
I wait to take a drink, watching Nicolas. He glances at me, then Éva, and raises his glass. “To the Blood,” he says, green eyes sparkling.
I raise my glass in response. As I move it to my lips, I realize it’s not just wine as the smell of blood reaches my nose. Nicolas smiles as I gingerly take a sip. The flavor explodes in my mouth.
It’s definitely wine, perhaps a Merlot, but it’s heavily laced with human blood. The combination is exquisite.
“How do you like it?” Nicolas asks, his mouth quirked, and a hint of amusement dances through his eyes. I haven’t seen that for several days and am thrilled to see it back.
“It’s wonderful, absolutely delicious.” I have another taste and roll the flavors around in my mouth.
“Nicolas is known for his excellent bloodwine. It is a favorite among The Chosen.” Éva smiles and takes a sip, savoring it a moment.
Nicolas looks back at her and takes a mouthful himself. He closes his eyes and smiles, then swallows. He opens his eyes and looks at me, faint red shining through his pupils.
“But why haven’t I seen you drink it before, other than at the gathering? Is it only for special occasions?” I ask, wondering if this was one, and why.
“No, I actually enjoy it every evening. But you prefer tea, so that is what I drink when we are together.” He smiles again and tips his head to the side.
I love that little mannerism and am momentarily distracted. I take another long sip of the wine and think about what he just said.
“Oh. You mean . . . you don’t regularly drink tea?” I ask as embarrassment creeps in.
“Not really. But I do not mind the taste, and have certainly enjoyed drinking it with you.” The warmth and fondness in his gaze melts my chagrin.
“The bloodwine, however, is not something you would have enjoyed—before now.” He nods. “Which is why I had the bottle of Pinot Noir for you the evening of the gathering.”
I take another drink and recall noticing the scent of blood when their wine was served, and being both concerned and relieved when I was served something different. It seems a lifetime ago, but in reality it’s only been two nights.
In fact, everything before the attack seems like another life. Is that how I will mark time now—BB for before bear, and AB for after bear?
Suddenly feeling out of sorts, I drain my glass.
I had thought it would be BN and AN, revolving around the day I met Nicolas. But it seems the bear may have had a much bigger impact on my life than nearly causing my death. It was after the bear that I first drank human blood.
Sadness for my lost innocence grips me, and I wonder how much more of it will be sacrificed.
“Sunny?” Nicolas says, bringing me back to reality.
But it’s not a reality I want. It’s a freak show, a bad carnival ride, and I can’t make it stop so I can get off.
“Sunny!” Nicolas walks over to me and the room spins a little. I’m feeling a bit woozy and lightheaded.
“I feel . . . odd,” I say, my voice echoing as though from a distance. Nicolas takes my arm and guides me to a chair.
“Perhaps that is because you are a little drunk.” Nicolas looks closely at my eyes as he sits me down.
“Drunk? I don’ get drunk. Alcohol doesn’t have any ’fect on me.”
Did I just slur?
I recall the time I tried to drown my sorrows in alcohol instead of blood. After chugging the third quart of vodka, I threw it all up without ever getting any alcohol buzz. That sucked.
“This is not just ‘alcohol.’ In addition to the blood, it contains special ingredients that I infuse to enhance the effect of the blood. The wine is just a carrier, though important for the bouquet of scent and flavor.”
Great. Drunk. On human blood. How nightmarish.
“Perhaps she w
ould feel better if she had a little more of this. It might dilute the effects.” Éva indicates the cooler with a nod of her head.
“Possibly.” Nicolas looks speculatively at me.
Éva brings a thermos over and hands it to Nicolas. He opens it and offers it to me.
“Drink just a little bit,” he cautions as I take it and raise it to my lips.
I take several swallows, then become lost in the blood and start gulping.
“Sunny.” Nicolas reaches out as though to take it away from me.
Everyone, including me, is surprised when I growl and come half out of my chair.
“Careful, Nicolas,” Éva says as she moves in as though to defend him.
I look up at him through a red haze and am having difficulty retaining control. The blood is calling me, and I look beseechingly at the thermos and back at Nicolas.
His eyebrows are raised, eyes intent, as he slowly withdraws it from my grip. I relent and let him have it, then sit back down and lower my face, ashamed.
“Oh. That was . . . weird.” I feel disoriented, yet strong. Really strong.
I flex my scarred arm and move it around. It rotates freely, and seems to be as good, if not better, than before. The silver lines appear a little narrower and a little fainter.
I look back at Nicolas, feeling a bit more in control, and say sheepishly, “Nicolas . . . I’m sorry. I dunno what came over me.” It sounds like a line out of a movie, though a bit slurred, and I laugh.
“The blood is what came over you, and that is what I have been trying to warn you about. Now do you understand about visiting the stable, and being around Marie?”
Uh-oh, Nicolas the lecturer is back. Great. I roll my eyes and laugh again, a little hysterically.
He raises his eyebrows. Again. They look like black caterpillars over his eyes. I giggle.
“Well, I feel stronger now. Can’t ya just take me home so I can kill somethin’? This is drivin’ me crazy. All I can think about is how hungry I am, and how much I want to hunt. In fact, I have a new prey in mind.” Pausing for effect, I grin and push myself to a wobbly stand.
“Bear. Especially a certain one-eyed sonofabitch. I can take him this time.” My feet somehow get tangled as I start for the door, and Nicolas catches my arm.
“This is the blood talking. You need to get control of yourself. Right now you are behaving like a spoiled, whining new-Chosen, and it is not amusing.” His eyes are dark, his tone low and threatening.
“Let me go. I don’t need your help.” I try to yank my arm away. But it doesn’t budge in his iron grip.
“I think you are done for the evening. You should go upstairs. Perhaps a hot shower will calm you down.”
“Sure. Wanna join me? It could be quite fun.” I laugh as his grip falters, and I nearly succeed in slipping out of it.
But he grabs tighter and, glancing at Éva, says, “Excuse us,” and starts walking to the door. I laugh and let him half drag me across the floor. He shoots me a thunderous look, and I laugh again.
Wait until he gets me to my room. I know exactly how to disarm him, and I won’t put up with him stopping this time.
He keeps hold of my arm as we climb the stairs. I go along meekly, but several giggles still escape.
We reach my door and he opens it. I go in ahead of him, but come to a stumbling stop when he lets go and doesn’t follow me in.
Turning around, I look seductively at him and smile as I reach up to unbutton my blouse. He takes one step in, grabs the door, and pulls it shut. With him on the outside.
I hear the lock click.
“Nicolas! How dare you!” I scream, full of rage at his rejection. I pound on the door, then haul back and slam my fist through it.
I yowl in pain as it encounters an iron plate sandwiched inside the shell of the door.
That finally sobers me up. I rub my smashed fist and look at the door with the hole in the wood, the metal of the plate shining dully through it.
A shower sounds like a good idea after all.
április 17., kedd
She is mending, but very slowly. Too slowly. Her physiology is beyond my comprehension, and I am running out of options to keep her fed and healing.
She even reacted badly to the bloodwine, bringing her dangerously close to the brink of Chosen insanity.
But when she mentioned going after the bear, I did something horrendous to her. I could have stayed with her, and talked to her until she regained control. But I did not, because I feared that I would lose control. That my own lust and weakness would overrule my common sense, that I would take advantage of her when all she really needed was reassurance and comfort.
And so I abandoned her and locked her in her room, and I do not think I will be able to forgive myself for that.
WEDNESDAY
CHAPTER 37
I wake up, groggy and hungry. Always hungry. I get out of bed, walk over to the window, and move the blinds to the side. The sun is out, but it’s partly cloudy, and I can only hope the clouds win the struggle for the sky.
Walking over to the mirror, I pull off the nightgown and look at my back. Most of the furrows are gone, and the silvery lines are now level with the rest of my skin. But a few run deeper, right in the area where several of them converge. I wrinkle my lip in disgust, realizing there is still enough unhealed damage that Nicolas won’t let me go home yet. Crap. I really need to run something down.
The shoulder and arm still have faint silvery lines, as well as my face, and I wonder if those will ever go away. The scars give me a grim edge, which could be an advantage in certain situations.
I examine my hand and shake my head. The smashed knuckles are sore and still a little flat. Silver marks crisscross them where the skin broke.
Boy, did I get stupid last night.
But I don’t really care right now. I’m hungry and cranky, and if Nicolas doesn’t take me home, I’ll walk. It’s mostly mountains between here and there, with plenty to eat along the way.
A light step outside the door precedes a knock. Éva.
Hmm. Guess Nicolas doesn’t even want to speak to me this morning. Serves me right.
Pulling on my robe, I tie the belt and face the door. “Come in, Éva.”
She unlocks the door and opens it, and walks in carrying the cooler, closing the door behind her. Her eyes linger over the hole I punched in it, but she doesn’t say anything. She walks across the room and sets the cooler on the table.
Well, at least he isn’t going to continue punishing me with starvation.
I say nothing as I yank out a thermos and open it, then gulp it down without taking a breath. I set it aside and grab another, staring defiantly at Éva. I chug this one too, finally slowing as I reach the bottom.
The taste is different from yesterday, and I realize there isn’t any horse blood in it at all. This is straight human. And I realize I don’t even care as the wonderful-tasting elixir hits my system, cooling the fires that have been racing through me since Nicolas locked me in my room. I close my eyes in relief, and my whole body slowly relaxes.
I reach in to take a third and Éva says, “You might want to take it easy. Our supply is limited.”
“I know where there’s plenty more if Nicolas would let me go home,” I say crabbily.
“Well, after your remark last night about hunting down the bear, I seriously doubt he is going to let you go home anytime soon. That was possibly the worst thing you could have said to him.”
Oh. I did say that, didn’t I? Crap. Pulling my hand out of the cooler, I sit down on the bed.
She’s right, too. I feel a rush of guilt as I remember Nicolas’s anguish and fear when he found me lying in my own blood after my encounter with that bear.
“Uh, well, then it seems I owe some apologies for my behavior last night.” I shake my head and the remorse intensifies.
“You need to direct them to Nicolas. He is the one you hurt,” she says, but without her usual tone of judgment.
; She seems subdued, lacking her usual fire. I recall noticing it last night, too.
“Is everything okay, Éva? I mean with you. You seem rather . . . quiet. Did I say or do anything to you? I’m sorry if I did.” I watch her face for her reaction.
“No, I am fine. Nicolas cleared up our . . . misunderstanding. I see his point of view now,” she explains with little emotion, and my concern increases. But I decide not to push it.
“Perhaps you should get dressed. Nicolas is waiting in the library,” Éva says. I nod and she turns to leave the room.
She stops at the door, looks at the hole again, and says, “Do not push Nicolas today. Last night was more difficult for him than you may realize. That he felt it necessary to actually lock you in your room is an indication of the level of his concern. He has a . . . problem with locked rooms.”
She opens the door and leaves, closing it behind her. She does not lock it.
Of course he does. I remember his story of being locked in a room during his Change. But worse, he knows mine, and that I behaved so rudely he felt it necessary to lock my door makes me sick.
Guess I better get this over with.
A fresh set of clothes had shown up in the closet sometime yesterday evening, after I’d gone down to the library to read. They’re brand new, yet still smell of Marie and her lovely perfume. My throat tightens, and I feel a craving unlike any I have felt before.
Oh, no way. That’s just a coincidence. It seems like I’m always hungry now. And even when I’m not, it’s only a short time until I am again. I can’t wait to get back on my mountain, where I can have as much as I want, whenever I want.
Dressing quickly, I stop in front of the mirror and steel myself to deliver the apologies I owe Nicolas.
I shake my head in disgust and leave the room. I ignore the hole in the door.
