Page 50 of Inked & Bloodbound
“Yes, I did. I had to see you.”
My cheeks warm. “But why? Why put yourself through it?”
“I already told you. I’m a sucker for a pretty girl with a problem, and you sounded like you were in pain. I couldn’t leave you alone like that. I had to be sure you’re okay.” He shifts his weight, and a deep breath whistles over his clenched teeth. His brows draw together, justslightly, whilst his gaze lingers on me. “What happened, Lily? Please. Tell me. What’s wrong?”
“Right now I’m more worried about you,” I say, backing toward the door.
“I’m serious. It sounded bad. You can tell me.”
“It sounds silly, but I think it just hit me all at once,” I say, shifting my weight awkwardly. “Twenty years of my mom’s death brought up so many feelings that I didn’t know were buried. It wrecked me so bad I had a breakdown, but I’m okay now. I’m so sorry you came all this way for nothing. I’m so sorry I did this to you.”
He stares at me for a moment, holding my gaze, deciding whether to believe me before softening. “It’s not nothing. You were hurt, and now I’m here. My keys are still in the ignition,” he says, wincing as he shifts on the couch and flops onto his back with a soft grumble. “Just bring the whole cooler. I need all the blood I can get to heal.”
I nod and back out of the basement, softly closing the door behind me, and pad out into the warm light of the hallway. Pat isn’t up yet, and there are no signs we disturbed him. Years of standing in front of thumping speakers that filter the sounds of distorted guitars have dulled his hearing, so I should have known not to worry. There’s next to no chance that the undead would wake him.
When I unlatch the door and step into the early morning light, the sun warms my skin through the soft cotton of my pink checkered pajamas, and I pause for a moment of gratitude. I adore the sun, love the feel of it on me, and love how nurturing it is. I can’t imagine how it must feel to go for decades and even centuries running from its warmth.
Cassini’s car is still hissing in the driveway. I can’t leave it like that. Even if Pat doesn’t notice the injured vampire in the basement, he’s unlikely to look past the classic car blocking his Hyundai in.
I slide into the soft leather of the driver’s seat, still warm from the heat of his burning body, and feel for the keys in the ignition. The seat and the wheel are all set up for Cassini’s height. Everything feels like it’s in the wrong place. I peer over the steering wheel like a little kid taking her dad’s car out for a joyride andsearch into the abyss of the footwell for the pedals. My fluffy slippers nudge something that I assume is a brake, and my heart sinks when I find three of them. Of course, I forgot it’s a damn stick shift. I haven’t done much driving with a manual gearbox, and I’m only taking it around the block, but the whole thing feels like a cosmic joke.
The car roars to life beneath me, and I carefully back it up, my nervous hands gripping the glossy wooden steering wheel as I edge out slowly, trying to avoid trash cans and hidden mailboxes. My eyes manically check every mirror twice because I have about a thousand blind spots and can barely see over this fucking wheel.
Two streets over, there’s a big empty spot I can pull into, so I don’t bother parallel parking. I edge cautiously into the space and cringe when I hear a crunchy scrape outside.
Great, I’ve almost killed the guy, and I’ve ruined his priceless antique car, too. Well done, Lils. That’ll do it. Now he’ll definitely want you.
I straighten my shoulders. I don’t have time to think about this right now. I have to make him well. I pull his keys from the ignition and weigh them in my hand. There’s a couple of keys bundled together, one for the car, one smaller one, and a couple of keyrings. One is a gold disc with a relief of a saint, and six wooden beads looped together on a piece of wire. I hold them up and study the gold disc, making out the words “St Christopher protect us.”
When I try the car key in the trunk, relief washes over me when it pops open, quickly followed by horror at the scene in front of me. The cooler that Cassini directed me to has tipped on its side, the entire contents spilling out and littering every surface with total chaos. What I can only assume was ice at one point has melted and soaked through the red felt, leaving dark patches dotted everywhere.
What’s most horrifying, however, is the carnage of the blood. The plastic IV bags have been flung from the cooler and thrown around the trunk. Five of them, ripped and torn, smashing into the sharp edges of the hold.
I cringe and pick up a tire iron, poking at the wreckage, praying there’s something to be salvaged amongst the empty transfusionbags. I almost drop to my knees when I find one that’s still intact. I pull it out and squish it in my palms; it still looks good.
Cassini’s leather jacket is lying on the back seat, so I grab that and bundle the bag in. I can’t be seen walking around the neighborhood with a pouch of human blood. I think I’d struggle to explain that one to the neighbors, even with a nursing degree.
Scurrying back through the early morning light, I clutch Cass’ jacket to my chest and breathe in the earthy scent of him, my fingers gripping the precious cargo wrapped inside it. A crow takes flight from the neighbor’s roof as I pass, its black wings catching the morning light. I’ve been seeing them everywhere lately, like dark omens trailing in my wake.
I shudder.
One measly little bag.
I just hope it’s enough.
17
CASSINI
“It’s not enough,” I say.
The thought hits me the moment I see what Lily’s brought back—one blood bag wrapped in my leather jacket, the plastic partially shredded, the liquid already coagulating. She sets it on the concrete floor beside the couch with the careful reverence of someone presenting a priceless artifact.
“Cass, I’m so sorry. The cooler got thrown around in the back while you were driving,” she explains, her voice tight with worry. “This was all that survived the journey.”
I want to tell her it’s fine, that I’m grateful, that any blood is better than none. But the burns are spreading across my chest now, creeping inward like acid eating through my skin. The single bag might buy me some time and begin the process, but it won’t heal me.
I try to keep the anger out of my voice. I’m not mad at her, but I’m furious about the situation, and my words are laced with bitterness.