Page 13 of Bullets and Blood (Hunting Hearts #1)

Chapter Ten

Nix lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling.

The posters of his favorite surfers stared at him in silent, sun-drenched judgment.

He wasn’t ready. He’d never be ready. His mother was talking.

Zinnia remained silent; she knew what he wanted but said nothing to stop this.

There was nothing she could say to their mother that would save him anyway.

He was eighteen. It was time he took his place.

He’d been hearing those words for the last week.

Was he still a little drunk from partying with his friends? He wished he was passed out so he wasn’t awake for his death.

The four women gripped his limbs. He closed his eyes and imagined he was on his board, sunburned after a day at the beach. He knew he was going get sucked under the waves and that he’d come up gasping for air. Only this time, when he came up, he’d be a vampire and hungry for blood.

Usually, he liked being bitten. It was fun. When their teeth sank into his wrists and ankles, he didn’t cry out. He drew in a breath and held onto his life for as long as possible before being dragged into a blackness that swallowed him whole.

Nix gasped and sat up, blade in his hand, ready to fight.

The taste of blood filled his mouth. His breathing came quickly but slowed as he realized where he was.

The room was dark, and he was alone. He eased his grip on the knife, but instead of lying down, he paced around the room and checked the windows and door. All locked, such as the locks were.

He hadn’t had that particular nightmare in a while; it had been overtaken by the attack. He wasn’t sure which one was worse, the day his family had killed him or the day his family had been killed.

They’d both been awful in their own special way.

He brushed his teeth again, knowing that the taste was just an echo.

It was Lance’s blood, and he’d had fun biting him.

He needed to hold on to the pleasure—the way Lance had felt around him and the way he’d moaned and shuddered.

The extra sweetness of his blood after Lance had come.

That had been him once, reveling in being bitten. He leaned over the bathroom sink, knowing it would be pointless trying to get back to sleep but knowing the three hours he’d managed wouldn’t be enough to get him through the day.

He put the TV on and pretended to watch whatever late-night movie was on until he nodded off in the chair the way he always did. He hadn’t slept a night through in too long. His grip on the knife didn’t lessen.