Page 66 of Blood Moon
Her blood was a heavy coat of poison, and I loved it, I sincerely did.
Article V, Lost Letters from Aadan the First
Closed, searching eyes. They moved frantically beneath my lids in a metronomic motion, looking. A rush of air on my skin, and small bumps pricked at the surface, down the length of my legs and arms.
In my ears, a fluttering heartbeat. It was gentle at first, like waves at a lake pushing against slick rocks on the edge. But then it took flight. A bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump, beating so hard I could feel the squeezing of the red thing in my chest, against my lungs, violent and deep.
A pool of liquid formed in the corners of my mouth. An ache deep in my bones. A taste I obliged on my tongue. Licked my lips, undoing a sharpness. At the edge of my mouth, two pointy teeth.
Awake now, I rose, gasping and needing. It had been a week since the incident, and this was the first time I’d felt like this.
I was at Bobby’s house, in my room, sprawled in the twisted sheets of the bed with a white nightgown covering my body.
A gnawing pang of hunger pulled at more than just my stomach; it was also in my throat, burning with spite. Greedy.
I pulled at the thin cotton on my body, a cruel remark on the tip of my tongue. Who’d put me in this hideous thing? I owned nothing of similarity. It looked like something that belonged to an eighteenth-century haunted house.
Out past the door, somewhere , a creak. A beating.
It was the sound that had woken me. I rushed from bed, practically gliding on air, but came to a halt, distracted and amazed by literally everything: the way the flecks of dust danced in the gentle sunlight through the opening of curtains; the faded flower on the wall.
It was covered by a thick layer of paint, only I could still distinguish each crooked petal; the lines and divots in the slabs of wood, peeling, splitting, after years and years of wear and tear. Before, it had appeared so seamless.
In my life, I’d only ever experienced a quarter of what I was feeling now. That was, except for the night of the Blood Moon, at the first taste of crimson on my teeth. But this, this was more. Something lethal.
With each step, my limbs were heavy and dense, light and ethereal, a paradox. I questioned myself as I moved again, unable to decipher if I was going too fast, or if the world was spinning too slow.
What had happened to me in my sleep?
Another pause. A person there. She held a hand up, pointing to me in the same way I pointed to her. I recoiled, and she did the same, replicating me. I gasped, filled with moroseness. That was my reflection. She was me, but I hardly recognized her.
The creature in the mirror was too devastatingly beautiful to be completely human. There was something about her presence that could bring a bystander to their knees with a single stare. A poise that made her look well-balanced and a bit imperious.
In the creases of her lips— my lips—were dry, cracking streaks of mahogany. Small splatters of it on this grotesque nightgown, lines of it running down the curve of my neck, to my collarbone.
She smiled, but I crumpled in terror. It was blood, so much blood.
I hurried closer to the mirror, inspecting further. What did I do? What had I done? Who did I kill? She wouldn’t tell me; she only stared in response.
And then something clicked. The two pointy teeth I’d felt. I opened my mouth, discovering a set of fangs. Pressed my finger to one, and it almost sliced through. How long had these been there?
My next breath was redirected by the sound of a stable, beating heart. It was luscious, the way it throbbed against muscle, blood swishing and pulsing through succulent veins.
A liquid seeped on my tongue as I faced the door. A ravenous voice urged me to pounce on whatever was coming. Devour it. Let it fill the need within.
I wanted, desperate, yearning, all mine. Knees bent as I steadied myself. The knob turned slowly, and a sneer appeared on my face as I waited for the human on the other side.
The hinges screeched, the floorboards groaned. A swish of air, and in came Bobby. He took one glance at me and peeled back in horror. “Mirabella!” he yelled, head shaking. “What have you done?! What did you do?!”
A human emotion hit me then. One I felt time and time again.
My eyes leaked, the hunger subsided. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I cried.
“I think …” I started, trying to fill in the missing gaps, the reason I’d been covered in blood.
No memories came. And when I looked at her, my perfect reflection, I suspected I’d committed a terrible, unforgivable crime.
This couldn’t be. I was no monster. Only, as I beheld her again, I knew she’d crawl her way into perdition for a single drop of fresh blood.
Tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it popped back into place. “I think,” I said, the words scathing. “I think I may have killed someone.”
THE END
For now, anyway …