Page 127 of The Blood we Crave

I mean, he has to be, right?

Death wouldn’t be that cruel, would it?

No, no, never death. It is merciful, kind, with icy hands and a mournful smile.

Life would be that cruel. It would break you with unforgiving fingers and leave you alone to repair in the darkness.

“You’ve stepped on my foot twice.”

My face flames red as I beg the floor to swallow me whole. Thatcher’s hand on my waist tightens a bit, blue eyes unwavering in their passive nature.

This was a giant mistake. All of this was. Getting involved with the Hollow Boys. Letting myself get this close to Thatcher, and God knows what Alistair is doing with Briar.

But being here feels nice. I feel seen, and I’m not alone because he is here. The last time we were this close to one another was the night my mother died, and we were kids.

This is different.

“I told you I wasn’t a good dancer.” I sigh, blowing a piece of hair out of my face.

My dress rustles against the floor as he pushes me outward, gripping my hand in his own as he spins me in time with the piano. The room swirls, vibrant, warm hues mingling together.

When he pulls me back into him, my palms rest against his suit-clad chest. We are so close; I had never been this close before, simply his shadow from a distance, but never this close.

“This isn’t a dance,” he declares, his breath fanning across my face, the scent of mint attacking my senses.

I can feel my heart pounding inside my chest, thumping loudly, dancing around, excited. I’d been watching him for so long, but it’s incredible the details I missed from a distance.

I can see every mark, every slope, every inch of what makes up his handsome face. I make sure to commit every last one to memory, unsure of when I’d ever be this close again.

“What is it, then?” I breathe, looking up at him with curious eyes.

“This is a distraction,” he mutters, leaning towards my ear. “You should be careful with how close you get to me, Lyra. There is a fine line between me and death. One is merciful, and the other is me.”

The memory of our first dance all those months ago came back in a vengeful flashback. A hollow sensation spreads across my chest, submerging me in emptiness.

Rook is next to appear outside, his hood pulled over his head, but I can see the tint of red on his cheeks. The sadness washes over him like a wave he hadn’t prepared for.

I will myself to take another step forward, feeling arms pull me back. Strength from deep within wills me past them, trudging forward through the snow. I just keep moving, telling myself if I can make it to the door, the next person outside will be Thatcher.

Thatcher in a pressed suit, in one piece, breathing. It will be Thatcher—it has to be him. I won’t accept any other option other than him.

Through the doorway, another set of feet appears. But it isn’t a waxed pair of loafers or oxfords. It’s heavy boots. My lightless Jack Frost, who glows in the winter months, isn’t the one through the door.

It’s men in uniforms guiding a gurney. They roll it down the steps, towards the open ambulance. A body covered in a stark white sheet lies prone atop the gurney. Patches of maroon stain the fabric, the color so blinding in the snow-covered outdoors.

In the distance, I can hear my sobs. I think I might even be screaming. Because in my blurry vision, I see Alistair and Rook rushing towards me, and everyone is looking at me.

Everyone can see me.

But not him.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t—

My hands snap to my ears. Suddenly, everything is too loud. It all feels too heavy as I crash to the frozen ground. I want to go back, back to the closet. I want to be anywhere but in the reality of this moment.

My addictive heart that thrums for the things it loves. For the hope of him. That shouts and jumps when he is near. I feel her scream one last time. Just one long, guttural wail before she breaks.

Oh, she breaks. Shatters. Explodes into fragments so tiny there is nothing left. Just one big gaping hole plunged into my chest cavity where she used to live.

Everything goes dark; there is no light. My mind fades into nothing, and my body follows suit. I silently pray it’s me falling into the afterlife.

But morning comes, and it’s not good or bright.

It’s only the start of the longest and darkest night to ever exist.

TO BE CONTINUEd...

THE BLOOD WE CRAVE PART 2