Yearn For Blood (Blood Origins Book 1)

by Tiffany Heiser

  long time after the accident with my parents for me to gather

  the courage to get into a car again, and it was taking even

  longer for me to get behind the wheel itself. I knew it was a

  nuisance for Cecile and her family to drive me everywhere, but

  every time I got behind the wheel to drive, I just froze. I

  couldn’t even turn the engine on. The fear of getting in

  another accident was paralyzing --- worse, that I might be the

  cause of an accident where someone would die.

  BLOOD ORIGINS- BOOK ONE

  “You know what?” I said. “I’ll just walk to Book City,

  and you can pick me up from there if it’s not too much of a

  hassle.”

  Cecile nodded her head as the warning bell rang and we

  walked out of the nurse’s office. “Yeah, that’s not a problem. I

  won’t see you until then since I have to drive back home

  during lunch, but I’ll text you if anything changes.”

  “Alright, you know where to find me.” I smiled as I

  gave her a quick hug.

  “With a dreamy, far-off look, and her nose stuck in a

  book!’” Cecile sang out to me as she turned to rush off to class, and I couldn’t help but laugh at how she quoted another

  version of Beauty and the Beast.

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  Yearn for Blood

  Chapter Three

  BOOK CITY WAS A FIVE-MINUTE WALK FROM

  school, and by the time I got there I was feeling more like

  myself. The prospect of an afternoon at the bookstore, among

  musty old books, always had a rejuvenating effect on me. Plus,

  I was craving it all the more after so much talk of Beauty and

  the Beast --- it was easy to understand the appeal books held for Belle, a girl bored by the everyday routine of her life.

  Sometimes I wished I’d be swept into a crazy adventure like

  she was.

  The bookstore was charming, independently owned by

  a woman who knew the names of all her regulars. “Good

  afternoon, Rena!” she called as the bell announced my

  entrance.

  “Afternoon, Ms. Kate.” Sometimes I thought she was

  psychic. I couldn’t even see where she was in the store, but she

  immediately knew it was me.

  With a grunt, she emerged from behind a pile of boxes.

  “I just got off the phone with that sister of yours.”

  BLOOD ORIGINS- BOOK ONE

  Oh. That explained it. “You know Cecile isn’t my sister,

  Ms. Kate.”

  She waved her hand as if dismissing an unimportant

  detail. “She said you’d be spending the afternoon with me and

  I was to keep you out of trouble.”

  I snorted at that. “I’ve never been in trouble a day in my

  life.”

  “Don’t I know it. You could do with a little trouble, if

  you ask me!”

  I grinned. “I’ll be in the back, okay?”

  “Come find me if you want some coffee!”

  I would have liked to sit and talk over a mug, but I

  remembered Cecile’s admonition to stay away from coffee for

  the rest of the day. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, knowing I wouldn’t.

  The back third of Book City was home to the Young

  Adult section, which was the main reason why it was my

  favorite bookstore in town. The big chains had one or two

  shelves of YA, but here it was an entire room, one a person

  could really immerse herself in and get lost. I liked to start in one corner and work my way all the way around, pulling out

  anything that caught my eye. It was important to set myself a

  limit or I might walk out of here with a dozen new books I

  couldn’t afford. Two, I told myself firmly. No more than two

  today. My parents had left behind an inheritance for me, but

  no one had ever told me the amount. Cecile’s mother gave me

  a weekly allowance from the account, and I had a bit saved up

  to spend, but I definitely didn’t want to go broke today.

  By the time I reached the back wall of the room,

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  Yearn for Blood

  though, I was already in a bind. I had three books tucked

  under one arm and a fourth in hand. There were just so many,

  was the problem—so many possible adventures to enter, so

  many characters to meet. How was I supposed to leave some of

  them behind? I put my nose to the pages and inhaled, breathing

  in the comforting smell of ink and glue, trying to determine

  which book had the best aroma.

  “Um, are you okay?” said a voice from behind me.

  My head jerked up, blood rushing to my cheeks. I’d

  been caught smelling books before; people always thought it

  was weird. God, I needed to stop doing that in public.

  I turned to see a guy leaning nonchalantly against a rack

  of books, his arms folded across his beefy chest. He had the

  build of a linebacker—huge, all muscle padded in gut, like he

  was preparing to knock over anything that had the misfortune

  of being in his path. And yet, there was something appealing

  about him. Maybe it was the spark in his hazel eyes or the way

  his dark brown hair seemed to call out to be touched. Maybe it

  was the dimple that appeared in his cheek as he smirked at me.

  Maybe it was just that air of easy confidence. I was a sucker for confidence.

  I forced a laugh. “Sorry. I smell books.”

  “You shouldn’t apologize,” he said. “Girls apologize too

  much.”

  “Oh.” I was startled. “Um. Sorry?”

  He laughed, not kindly.

  I knew I apologized too much, truth be told. It was

  BLOOD ORIGINS- BOOK ONE

  something Cecile had often called me on. We apologize when

  we’ve done nothing wrong! she’d say, pounding a fist on the table for emphasis. Women go out of our way to make ourselves the bad

  guy, to make men feel like nothing is ever their fault, when actually most things are men’s fault! I was a feminist too, in my heart, but I wasn’t as loud about it as Cecile. I wasn’t as loud about

  anything as Cecile. Few people were.

  I regrouped. I shouldn’t apologize for smelling a book.

  Who was it hurting, anyway? “I like to smell them,” I told the

  linebacker.

  “Do they smell sweet?”

  “You’ve never smelled a book?”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  I held one out to him. “Try it.”

  The linebacker reached out and closed his hand around

  my book. Suddenly, weirdly, I found myself reluctant to let it

  go. I forced myself to release it. He lifted it to his face and held it there for a moment. “Very nice,” he said, his gaze locked on

  mine.

  He hadn’t inhaled.

  He hadn’t smelled it.

  “Do you go to Adams High?” I asked.

  He hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t live here.”

  “You’re from out of town? Where?”

  “Do you always ask so many questions?”

  “I’m a friendly person.”

  “What’s your name, friendly person?”

  “Rena.” The moment I said it I felt as if I’d lost

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  Yearn for Blood

  something, given up some important information. Why was I

  feeling so strange today? “I’m Rena.”

  He nodded slowly, as if I was confirming something


  he’d already suspected.

  “And you are?” I prompted. This guy had no conception

  of social niceties.

  “Bristol,” he said.

  “That’s your name or where you’re from?” I didn’t hear

  an accent, but you never know.

  “My name,” he said.

  “That’s an interesting name,” I tried. “Is it a family

  name?”

  He stepped close to me. “You shouldn’t ask so many

  questions.”

  I felt about an inch high, but I summoned what dignity

  I could and reached out for the book. “I should go check out.”

  God, now I was going to let this guy chase me out of the store? I had nowhere to go until Cecile picked me up.

  He stared at me for a long moment. It seemed to drag

  on and on. I wanted to look away, but somehow, I couldn’t

  break his gaze. I felt almost naked, as if he was making an in-

  depth study of me against my will, pulling out all my flaws and

  secrets.

  Finally, he looked away and tossed me the book as if it

  was nothing. “As you like.”

  I backed away, then turned and almost ran to the front

  of the store. I could feel his eyes boring into my back the whole way, and I expected to feel his hand on my shoulder spinning

  BLOOD ORIGINS- BOOK ONE

  me around or hear his voice at close range telling me again

  what I shouldn’t do. I even looked back once. He was just

  standing there, still leaning against the shelf, watching me go.

  So creepy.

  I dumped all four books in my arms onto the counter—

  so much for limiting myself—and pulled out my phone while

  Ms. Kate rang me up. Ready to go, I typed. pick me up at sol’s

  coffee?

  Cecile’s reply came a beat later. DON’T DRINK

  COFFEE!

  I loved that girl. Just water and scone. promise

  Be right there

  Ms. Kate handed me a bag with my purchases. “You

  have a blessed day now, Rena.”

  “You too.” I hurried out of the store before she could

  ask me to sit down for coffee again, before creepy Bristol could

  change his mind about letting me go without protest. No more

  weird strangers, I thought as I pushed through the door. Just

  me, my new books, and a scone to nibble on. A perfect

  afternoon.

  Then I crashed headlong into a guy and fell down.

  “Oh, pardon me” he said, holding out a hand to help

  me up.

  I waved his hand away and got to my feet. “I’m all

  right.” I wasn’t, entirely—my butt was going to have a nice

  bruise later—but I’d be damned if I was going to start

  discussing my butt with this random person.

  “I apologize,” he said, brushing his light brown hair out

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  Yearn for Blood

  of his eyes. “I must watch where I’m going.”

  “No, its fine, I was rushing.” I glanced at my phone. I

  should still be rushing, really, if I wanted to make it to Sol’s

  and have a chance to get my scone before Cecile arrived.

  “Excuse me, I’m meeting a friend.”

  “You are?” He looked around.

  “She isn’t here yet. I’m going to wait for her over there.”

  There I went again, telling every boy I ran into every little

  thing about me. Next, I’d be disclosing my bra size.

  The guy frowned. “But you can’t wait alone. It isn’t

  safe.”

  At that I had to laugh. “I’m going to sit in a

  coffeehouse. What isn’t safe?”

  “There could be dangerous people around,” he said,

  very seriously, and for a moment he seemed to be glancing in

  the bookstore window. It was almost as if he guessed what had

  just happened to me, that I’d just come across someone

  strange.

  Stranger than this guy, though?

  Relax, I ordered myself. He’s not a Bristol. He’s not being

  creepy. Except he definitely was, a little bit. He too was

  standing too close to me, looking at me searchingly as if trying

  to divine something about me without bothering to ask.

  “I’ll wait with you,” he said. “Until your friend arrives.”

  I stepped back. “That isn’t necessary.”

  “You don’t have to speak to me,” he said. “Just let me

  accompany you to the coffee shop. I’ll even take a different

  table if that would make you more comfortable.”

  BLOOD ORIGINS- BOOK ONE

  “Well…” I was being ridiculous, but after what I had

  been through in the bookstore; it had put me on high alert.

  Although the guy standing in front of me wasn’t nearly as eerie

  as Bristol. “That’s okay. I mean, you could sit at my table if you want.”

  “Very well.”

  “I’m only having a scone.”

  “I would love to join you for a scone.”

  “You’re a little strange,” I chanced with a raise of my

  brow. “Did you know?”

  Much to my relief, he smiled. “I did, actually.”

  “Let me guess. You don’t live around here?”

  “No,” he agreed. “I don’t live around here.”

  “I’m Rena.”

  “Hello, Rena,” he said. “My name is Cryder.”

  “Cryder,” I repeated. I restrained myself—barely—from

  asking if it was a family name.

  We started the walk to Sol’s.

  Suddenly, Cecile’s car pulled up like a bat out of hell,

  nearly making me jump a foot in the air. I knew --- or at least

  I’d always suspected --- she drove that thing like a crazy person when I wasn’t with her. I frowned at her. We were going to

  have a serious talk later about the merits of defensive driving.

  “Hey, girl,” she said. “Get in.”

  I looked apologetically at Cryder. “This is my friend.

  Cecile. Cecile, this is Cryder.”

  “Cryder?” Now Cecile was raising an eyebrow. “That’s a

  name?”

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  Yearn for Blood

  “Yes,” Cryder said mildly.

  “I didn’t get my scone,” I told Cecile.

  “Well, we’ll pick up McDonald’s or something. I have

  to get home. Jack from World Studies is going to call me about

  the homework, and you know I can’t answer the phone while

  I’m driving.”

  I did know, and I appreciated it. “I’m sorry,” I told

  Cryder. “I have to go. It was nice meeting you.”

  “Very nice meeting you also, Rena.”

  I got in Cecile’s car.

  “Who was that guy?” she asked as we pulled away from

  the curb.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Just...some guy.”

  “He was a little weird.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Cryder was still standing

  there, just as Bristol had been, staring after me as I left. That look he was wearing sent a bit of a shiver down my spine.

  I turned in my seat and faced the road ahead. “You have

  no idea.”

  BLOOD ORIGINS- BOOK ONE

  Chapter Four

  CECILE ALWAYS SLEPT IN ON SATURDAYS. I could

  never do it --- my body was just too accustomed to getting up at

  the same time each day, I guess, and anyway, I’d always been a

  light sleeper. I enjoyed the quiet hours I had to myself, th
ough.

  More than any other time, Saturday mornings made me feel as if

  I were truly at home in a place that belonged to me instead of a

  guest in someone else’s house.

  I rolled out of bed and padded down to the kitchen. It

  was nine AM and Cecile wasn’t likely to stir until at least noon.

  Mr. and Mrs. Danvers always went to the farmers’ market

  together for several hours on Saturdays, so I had the place to

  myself for the time being. I poured out a bowl of Cinnamon

  Toast Crunch, slopped some milk over it, and took it into the

  living room to see what was on TV. The Danvers’ corgi, Baxter,

  hopped up on the couch beside me and nosed my hand until I

  gave him a piece of cereal. “Good boy, Bax.”

  I settled on a tennis match, the mindless rhythm of the

  ball whacking against rackets and courts proving the perfect

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  Yearn for Blood

  background noise as I went through my morning Internet

  routine. Emails first—mostly junk, but one note from Mrs.

  Dawson saying she hoped I was feeling better. I hit reply on

  that one and typed out a quick I’m doing much better today,

  thanks for your concern! I hit send before I had time to make

  myself feel too awkward about emailing a teacher. After all, she

  wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t want to know.

  I went to Instagram next. There were a few new likes on

  a selfie from last weekend of me and Cecile sharing a banana

  split. It was one of the more popular pictures on my account,

  either because of Cecile or because of the ice cream. Everyone I

  knew loved Cecile and ice cream.

  On my Facebook news feed, a stupid meme was going

  around. Most people won’t post this, but those that do are true

  friends! I definitely wasn’t going to post it. Talk about

  manipulative.

  New friend request, my screen informed me with a little

  red notification.

  Weird—I was already friends with everyone at school. I

  clicked the request. Cryder Conti, it read. The picture wasn’t a

  face, just a photo of what looked like a barren tree. Who?

  The memory came rushing back. How could I forget

  the guy with the weird name and weird mannerisms I’d met

  outside Book City? He’d certainly left an impression. But how

  had he found me?

  Reminding myself that I could always block him later if

  this got creepy, I hit accept on the request. A moment later, a