Page 21 of Blood Loss (The Obscura Saga #2)

K Y LO

July isn’t as sunny as he’d hoped.

The weather is hot and lively, but life is harder without schoolwork to busy himself—to distract his septic mind.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

Kylo peers over at his phone vibrating on the coffee table, the sound humming under the action scenes playing on the TV.

Unknown caller?

He contemplates letting it go to voicemail, but ultimately pauses his show to answer. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Kylo Garcia?” a dry yet confident woman’s voice replies.

“Hi, yes, speaking.”

“Hello, Kylo, this is Sandra O’Leary from the Flagstaff Police Department. Would you be available to come in for questioning sometime before Monday?”

“W-what?” Kylo’s mind becomes a tornado of thoughts he can’t grasp or tie down, and he tries his best not to dissociate. “May I ask what for?”

“An investigator with Obscura Academy has flown in regarding the incident in March. All individuals with DNA found on the scene are being asked to go to their local police headquarters.”

“I—uh,” he stumbles, barely able to breathe. He knew this was coming, one day, but it’s still too soon, too fresh.

“Don’t be alarmed, you are not being arrested. This is just a formality to gather information.”

“O-okay. I guess I could come in tomorrow?”

“Perfect.” The sound of her scribbling something down scratches through the speaker. “Please arrive at four P.M.”

“Four. Okay.”

This feels like a nightmare.

“Thank you, Kylo. Have a good night.”

The phone line clicks and Kylo hangs up, letting his arm flop to his lap.

“Who was that?” Lathan asks as he steps into the room, headed toward the guest house kitchenette.

Kylo’s heavy gaze lifts slowly. It takes him a moment to answer, afraid to speak it, as if that’ll make it real. But it is. And he can’t avoid it.

“Police department.” His voice is quiet, scared. “An investigator working for Obscura wants to question me tomorrow.”

Lathan freezes, then places his glass on the counter before turning to face him. Kylo’s eyes go glassy and wet almost immediately. Lathan’s brows tighten in concern and he crosses the room to wrap him in his arms .

“It’s okay.” Strong hands hold the back of his head—overgrown curls puffing around his fingers—and rub his upper back. “Lucas told us this would happen. Just some questions. It’ll be okay.”

Kylo grips Lathan’s shirt in fistfuls, teeth clenched tight, air held in his lungs as if it’ll stop the tears from leaving him in unruly sobs.

But in the end, it doesn’t.

◆◆◆

David and Maria are worried, but calm—prepared. They contact Lucas for an update on his coworker’s nephew’s friend and, for all intents and purposes, he’s okay. No further police contact. And no arrest.

Which means I should be fine, right?

That’s the only shred of hope he can cling to as his father drives him to the station. Sitting in the backseat with Lathan, his hand is clamped in a sweaty grip around his mate’s, nervously bouncing his knee.

Although marijuana is legal in most of Ether across North America, he couldn’t bring himself to take something before leaving, worried he’d only worsen his situation if they notice his inebriation—or make him take a drug test. Unfortunately, the skin-itching sobriety only worsens the fears already decaying his mind.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Lathan reassures gently. “Under the law, you’re protected. So just be honest. If the questioning becomes accusatory or threatening, don’t hesitate to ask for a lawyer, but if it’s just gathering intel like they said, you should be fine.”

His thumb rubs lovingly across Kylo’s skin, burrowing a message across their bond:

Safe. Love. Mate. Mine.

It’s like a warm embrace, softening his sharp-edged anxiety.

Kylo lets out a slow breath and turns to look at him with a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks”—he scoots over in his seat to lay his head on his shoulder—“I’ll try my best.”

Lathan’s lips press against Kylo’s forehead. “I know you will.”

The car pulls up to a large, red brick building. A set of thick glass doors are etched with the station’s name and address.

“Did they say how long it’ll take?” David asks, turning to look at his son.

Kylo shakes his head. “No.”

“Okay. Just call when you’re done and we’ll pick you up.”

“‘Kay.”

“You’ve got this,” Lathan encourages with a squeeze of his hand. But Kylo can’t bring himself to say anything else. It’s too hard—the unknowing. He just gives them both another taut smile and a nod before dragging himself numbly out of the SUV.

Inside, the fluorescent lights are stark and sterile; hallways lead out to elevators and offices; a handful of police personnel slouch over desks behind the wall separating them from the lobby. Approaching the female officer at the front desk, she looks up with a serious expression before asking what he’s here for. The dryness in her enquiry confirms this is the same woman who called him yesterday.

He picks at the skin around his nails. “I’m Kylo Garcia. I was told to come in for questions?”

She looks down at her computer, tapping on it twice before looking back up. “Alright, you can take a seat”—she gestures at a row of chairs lining the windowless wall—“and Detective Simmons will be with you shortly.”

With each passing minute, Kylo becomes more and more agitated. Scratching his arms, biting the skin off his lip, fidgeting in the thinly cushioned seat. Only one thought replaying in his mind.

I did it.

I did it.

I did it.

“Hi, Kylo, I’m Mike Simmons. It’s nice to meet you.”

Looking up, he finds a greying man—a werewolf—in a crisp, blue suit—a colour that complements his medium-gold complexion—holding out his hand with a friendly fanged smile.

Immediately wiping his clammy hands on his jeans, Kylo clears his throat, fixes his expression, and stands to meet him, shaking the offered hand. “You too,” he says, though it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The detective escorts him down the narrow, winding halls—a labyrinth he might not remember how to escape—and into a blank room with a metal table bolted to the floor, two chairs, and a long mirrored window. They both take a seat and Mike flips through a few files before picking up a notebook and a pen.

“Alright, so, to start off, Obscura Academy has sent me to chat with werewolves in the area that were documented to be affected by the event that took place at Obscura’s football game on March first. It’s my job to hear your experience before, during, and after that event, to help the school understand the full scope of what happened. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time tonight, but I would appreciate it if you could be as thorough as possible with your answers. Any questions?” His voice is friendly but his scripted recital proves this is not his first rodeo.

Kylo opens his mouth, but pauses—tongue dry and scratchy against his palate. “Could I get some water?” he asks sheepishly.

“Of course.” Mike nods with a smile, then looks back at the window, lifting his hand to signal to an unknown person on the other side. “Now, let’s get started.”

The investigator goes through a handful of standard questions—his age, his family, what he’s majoring in—as if to ease him into the process. An assistant brings in a plastic cup of lukewarm water, leaving it on the table. Once they are out of the room, the real line of questioning begins.

“When you arrived at the football game, did you notice anything out of the ordinary? ”

“Not that I can remember.” Kylo shrugs. “I don’t usually watch sports, so I dunno.”

“Okay”—Mike scribbles in his notebook—“and why were you there?”

“My friend is— was —a cheerleader.” Nausea rolls in his stomach with the list of Ellie’s injuries Lathan described. “My boyfriend and I went to support her.”

“I see. So everything looked normal for the first half of the game?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

Mike nods, jotting that down quickly. “What did you experience when it started?”

“It… It hurt?” Kylo’s ankles cross, toes curling inside his shoes.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Uh, yeah—”

IT FUCKING HURTS.

“—I, uh, couldn’t really understand what was happening. To me, or anyone around me.”

MAKE IT STOP.

“And my head—it hurt so bad…I thought I was gonna die.”

PLEASE, GODS. FUCK, IT HURTS.

The skull-splitting pain sears from his ears, up and over to the nape of his neck, radiating outward through his marrow. Every bone screams within seconds, muscles burning and stretching, throat shredding raw from the cries of agony leaving him. Yet, through the searing pain, one thing becomes very clear.

His hunger.

“But then it goes black.” Kylo shakes his head. “I can’t remember anything until I woke up.”

“Hm. And would you say this blackout state was similar to the disconnect of consciousness during a full moon?” Mike’s calm demeanour doesn’t stray as he listens and writes. Being a werewolf himself, he would know exactly what strays from the norm.

“Yeah.”

Or, the way they used to be…

Each full moon since, he’s been fully aware—no Power Hour, no loss of consciousness.

Detective Simmons leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “What’s the first thing you remember about waking up?”

Kylo’s eyes burrow into the reflective silver tabletop. “The headache—though it wasn’t as bad as at the game. I was confused about where I was, but”— THE BLOOD— “I was mostly scared”—his stomach tightens, skin crawling—“and worried about my boyfriend.”

“What scared you?”

I killed him.

“There was just…a lot of blood. So I was scared that I hurt someone. But with the report, and these questions, I guess we both know that I did.” His voice trails off, a wet stinging on his finger where a hangnail has been forcibly removed.

I ate him .

The investigator writes silently, not giving any feedback to Kylo’s assumption.

I did it. I’m a monster. I’m—

“Have you noticed any changes to your mental or physical health since the event?”

“No,” Kylo says without hesitation, “not that I’ve noticed.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

The scolding sound echoes from the corner of the room. Kylo flicks his head up in its direction but sees nothing.

Shoulders starting to relax, he looks back to the investigator, where Trevor is standing mere steps behind. “Lying isn’t becoming of you, wolf boy.”

Kylo’s heart drops, turning to lead at the base of his swirling stomach.

No.

No, no, no.

Not again.

You’re dead. You’re not real. You’re not here.

Shutting his eyes tight, he fights the urge to run—and vomit.

“Are you alright? If this is too much, we can take a break.”

Kylo opens his eyes and Trevor is gone. But the feeling remains.

“I’m alright,” he offers unconvincingly as he reaches for his water.

Mike glances back at his papers. “So, you’ve felt relatively normal then. What about shifting? Have you noticed any abnormalities during the full moon?”

“Uhm”—Kylo looks around in thought—“kind of? I’ve noticed it doesn’t hurt as much, and Power Hour—I mean, the unconscious period, seems to be shorter.”

“Mmm, on second thought, I like this new you. We’re more alike. Both liars. Monsters. Killers. ”

Kylo’s breath hitches in his lungs. He can’t turn, he can’t look, but Trevor’s voice is so close, it’s right in his ear.

“Alright.” Mike scratches down a few more notes. “I just have a few more questions, then you’ll be free to go.”

◆◆◆

Breaking out into the warm night air, he hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Three hours of psychological warfare. And it’s only getting worse .

Trevor won’t leave.

Lingering against the brick wall, he’s licking his fangs. Kylo blinks, and he’s gone.

Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

Reliving the Obscura attack was challenging enough, but with his dead assaulter now haunting him, taunting him, it’s all too much.

Flicking up his hood, Kylo starts to walk away from the station.

Every block, Trevor is there, talking .

“Remember how we met? Whoring yourself out to vampires you’ve never met. You were so desperate, and so delicious .”

“I would’ve been so much better for you than him . We could’ve been symbiotic.”

“Outcasted, blood on our hands, hungry for more . You try to deny it, but we’re the same now.”

“ Stop! ” Kylo whips around, eyes scanning wildly, trying to find the familiar figure. “I’m nothing like you!” But there’s nothing. Not a soul on the street. Just trees and greenery spaced between businesses, back alleys, and apartment buildings.

He feels like he’s going insane. As if cracks are forming in his psyche, breaking him apart.

“If only you could lie to yourself the way you lied to the investigator.”

His voice is just a whisper in the wind.

But he’s had enough.

◆◆◆

“One vial.”

“Fifty bucks.”

Kylo slips the man a few bills, trading them for a small, glittering glass. He doesn’t go far, unable to wait, unable to bear the chaos rattling in—and out—of his head.

Powder is poured.

The back of his hand, a highway of snow.

With one deep inhale, the world goes quiet.

The ground in the alley is cold beneath him. Tilting his head back against the concrete wall, the night sky is clear and sparkling.

Trevor is gone.

The terror from the attack is gone.

The guilt of being a pack disappointment is gone.

The panic of the past few months, dust in the wind.

And he finally feels peace.

◆◆◆

“Hey, Dad…sorry it’s late. The questioning was a lot, and I just needed time to cool down. I’m at the bar on Main Street, can you pick me up?”

◆◆◆

While the interrogation was a few weeks ago, it left Kylo wounded. Like an animal stuck in the jaws of a bear trap—its teeth bone-deep and slicked in crimson.

Maria and David have gone out for the evening to enjoy their anniversary, leaving the boys alone for dinner. Lathan made himself something using the main kitchen, as Maria had instructed he could, but Kylo couldn’t bring himself to join him. Hasn’t been able to all week .

Sitting on the floor, back against the wall, his wide eyes have been glued to a blank page in his pocketbook for nearly an hour. Its emptiness is like a void, sucking him in, yet he can’t will himself to fill it.

Two gentle raps on the closed door snaps him out of his trance.

“Kylo?”

“Yeah?” he responds, irritable, his last hit already beginning to wear off.

Lathan cracks the door open slowly, peeking in. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah”—his head lifts to look at the door—“what’s up?” Dark circles are starting to weigh down his eyes—glossed over but not vacant. He slides a leg down, keeping the other close to his chest.

Lathan lets the door float open further as he leans his weight against the frame, tucking his hands into his denim pockets. “I made dinner. You didn’t answer me if you wanted any.”

“I’m fine. Not hungry.” He shrugs. Stardust has stolen his appetite.

“You haven’t been eating much,” Lathan says.

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Just haven’t been as hungry. It’s nothing,” he dismisses, but the paranoia of being found out makes his skin itch.

Lathan says nothing for a long silence, just watches him from the doorway with an unspoken sort of sadness. Eventually he walks in and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, across from where Kylo sits. “Ky,” he says, in that silken voice of his, “I’m worried about you.”

“He’s lying to you,” Trevor’s voice whispers from across the room. His apparition is returning, which means the substance is leaving his system quicker than he anticipated.

His neck tenses and his head cocks ever so slightly with a barely there wince. “Why? I’m fine.”

“Well, like I said, you’re not really eating lately. I don’t see you as much either…and you stopped sleeping in the guest house,” he says, his voice going a little quieter. “You know you can talk to me.”

I can’t sleep next to you with Trevor whispering in my ear.

I can’t sleep next to you with stardust in my nightstand again.

Fuck, I can barely sleep at all.

“I just needed some space. I can think better here.” The grip on his pen tightens.

Lathan searches for his eyes, but can’t seem to find them; Kylo won’t look at him directly. “Think about what?”

“Ask him,” Trevor states, clearer.

“Everything.” A nothing answer.

“You’ve always wondered about that night. Just ask him,” Trevor continues to pester, only feeding the paranoia, making him fidget. Kylo nearly thinks he sees his attacker by the window, but a glance reveals no one. His head is starting to throb, the ache of pain and turmoil returning to his chest.

“Kylo…” Lathan sighs, getting nowhere .

“ASK HIM.”

Kylo locks eyes with Lathan. “What were you doing at the welcome party last year?”

Lathan stares. It takes far too long for him to register what’s happening—the eye contact, the abrupt question, the implication. “What?” he eventually croaks, dumbfounded.

Kylo’s blood runs cold. He can’t tell if it’s early onset withdrawal or the shift in Lathan, but it’s unsettling and twists something in his gut.

“Why were you there?” His voice is calm but firm, terror creeping up his spine.

Lathan shakes his head minutely. “I… Shit, I don’t know. That was almost a year ago. Why are you bringing this up?”

Kylo’s jaw flexes and he pushes up to standing, walking to his desk. “I always wondered why you went.” He places the notebook in a drawer. “You didn’t wanna go, yet, somehow, you found me in a bedroom there.” The pen plops into a plastic holder and then he spins around to face him, leaning on the desk’s edge. “Why?”

“I changed my mind. I wanted to get my mind off things.”

Kylo’s nostrils flair. “I was in a closed bedroom away from the rest of the party. Why were you there?” His tone is getting increasingly agitated. There’re only a few answers as to why he would have been there. Each of them disturbing.

“Just a little bit further,” Trevor’s teasing tone dances around the room.

Lathan’s eyes dart away from Kylo; shame pales his face. He folds his hands together and leans forward, letting out a breath. “I found you,” he says carefully, “because I was looking for Trevor and Alanna.”

Any remaining colour drains from Kylo’s face, breaths spiking, while a burning begins to coil around him. “You—why were you looking for them ?”

Lathan chews his lip and makes an effort to stay calm, though he picks at the skin around his nail beds. “To get my mind off things,” he says again, clearly hoping—begging—that it’s enough to get the point across.

And it does.

“What do you—”

No.

He freezes, mind travelling like a hurricane. It throbs . He bends forward, fingers digging into the perimeter of his skull. “Tell me you didn’t,” he begs, straightening to watch his response.

“Kylo, I knew them years before I met you,” Lathan tries to offer, still treading as cautiously as he can.

“I don’t give a shit about Alanna”—he gestures wildly with his hands—“but Trevor ?!”

“Ding, ding, ding!” the voice haunting him sings out, pleased.

His whole body is engulfed in flames of fury and betrayal and pain .

Lathan stands up from the bed to approach Kylo. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t. Not after…everything.” He begins to reach out for him, but his hands hesitate. “But that was before everything. Before he hurt you. Before us. ”

“No,” Kylo breathes, muscles tensing into stone.

Trevor’s apparition appears in front of the bedroom doorway. “He fucked me first.”

“Don’t say that,” he panics aloud, scratching at his own arms.

“Led me right to you.” Trevor slowly steps forward.

“ No . You’re lying .”

Lathan’s eyes go glossy.

Fear.

“Kylo, please,” he says, voice so small he sounds like a child begging his mother not to be angry at his wrongdoings.

Pain.

“He fucked me. He fucked you. But I still haven’t got my turn.”

Disgust.

“If I had known”—he puts his hands over top of Kylo’s to stop his nervous scratching—“what kind of person he really was—”

“DON’T TOUCH ME,” Kylo snarls like a rabid dog, body half shifting, as he shoves Lathan off.

Lathan stumbles back, startled, catching himself on the edge of the bed, and stays there a moment to register.

Shifting back, Kylo’s ears flatten in shame. With wide eyes and trembling hands, he stutters, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

When Lathan looks at Kylo, standing back up straight, his eyes glisten with fresh tears, ready to spill.

“Yes,” he breathes out harshly, like he can’t believe it himself, “ you did.”

◆◆◆

I’m a monster.

I hurt Lathan—my mate .

He doesn’t deserve this.

I failed him.

I can barely feel him anymore.

Our bond. When did I stop feeling him through the bond?

I don’t know.

I can’t breathe.

I’m so alone.

“You were bound to fail.”

Trevor’s voice follows him every sober second. Last night’s argument clinging to him like a ball and chain dragging him down to the ocean floor. Drowning.

“A disappointment to everyone around you. Have been all your life. You’re nothing, Kylo.”

I’m nothing, I’m nothing, I’m nothing.

Pencil lead scrapes against paper, forced down to the point of wood snapping within his grasp. Kylo discards it for a fresh one, only to continue scratching words wildly, no matter how messy, no matter how torn the pages become.

Loose pages litter the floor of his old bedroom. Some are filled with single words, large and dark; some with repeated phrases, as if writing them enough times will purge them from his mind; some are completely illegible.

“Could’ve been a good blood bag, and I would’ve made it worth your while. Give you the pleasure you were seeking.”

Don’t touch me. Not again. Don’t touch me.

“But no. Had to be a disobedient mutt .” Trevor strides across the room, his feet weightless on the hardwood, leaving Kylo’s mess untouched as he crouches next to him while he scribbles. “In one year, you managed to whore yourself out to vampires, sully your pack, murder someone, betray your mate, and fall back into that nasty little habit of yours. Your grandfather was right.”

Failure. Murderer. Worthless.

“Worthless,” he whispers, so close Kylo feels his warm—living—breath.

Worthless.

“WORTHLESS!” Trevor screams.

MAKE IT STOP.

Another pencil snaps.

Desperate fingers scavenge the bag on the floor.

The glass, like a tiny hoarded treasure within his palm.

Its contents, his only means of escape.

An entire vial is consumed—three times more than normal.

Sparkling white stardust enters his lungs as if the god of winter promised him sweet relief with a heavy snowfall.

Trevor is the first to go; his apparition fading away into nothingness.

Then, the panic and the chaos follows, leaving Kylo cold but weightless.

His head is air and clouds, smoke and rain. A wave of comforting static flooding over his muscles and tissue, washing everything away.

No pain.

No sorrow.

No guilt.

No joy.

No love.

No bond.

Nothing.

Just an endless black void.