Page 23 of The Reveal (Bloodlore #1)

I don’t know how I make it home.

What I mean is, I stagger away from him in shock, his words like a poison in my blood.

I throw myself back down that spiral staircase, not sure how I don’t fall and break my neck.

My body doesn’t feel like mine, and I don’t know what to do about that.

I feel ... disfigured by Ariel, by the way he kissed me, by the nick .

By the way I came apart of my own volition, rocking myself against his cock the way I did. Like he’s one, big, giant sex toy.

Shamelessly. Mindlessly.

No, not mindlessly. That’s the worst part. Much as I’d like to blame it on vampire compulsion or whatever magic it is they do, I kissed him . I started it.

I knew exactly what I was doing.

I make it down the set of stairs on the other side of the polished wood floor, through that dark, empty room, and I don’t even look around. There’s some part of me that doesn’t care if more terrible things leap out from the shadows.

On some level, finally getting eaten alive would be an excellent way to not have to deal with the ramifications not only of my actions here tonight but of what he told me.

But the thing is, I still don’t want to die.

And I want to know what’s happened to Augie, with the same level of ferocity.

I make it outside again, into that alley, and walk a whole lot slower than I should. As if I’m daring something to come for me.

Yet somehow, I know that nothing will.

Sure enough, nothing does.

I stand next to my truck, holding my breath.

I can hear the rush of the river nearby.

I can hear shouts in the distance and what sounds like drums. There’s a loud boom somewhere, and I can see shadows racing away from it on the other side of the river.

And then, moments later, more shadows racing toward it.

I gulp in some air and make myself look up. Up high to the roof of the MMA school, where I can see a figure silhouetted against the stars.

That form of his like marble, etched into my own skin like a new tattoo.

Like he’s altered the shape of my body with his.

So there’s nothing to do but climb into my truck and aim it home.

I barely see the road and all the usual blockades and other issues as I drive.

I do it all on dangerous autopilot, out of downtown Medford and into the fields that used to be suburbs.

Into Jacksonville, where curfew is in effect and no humans are on the streets.

Samuel makes sure of it. But that means it can only be monsters congregating beneath the old neon Jville Tavern sign, so I take the early turn and head up the hill.

Then I’m driving up toward the house, and I’m home, but when I turn off the truck’s ignition, I don’t go anywhere. I sit there.

I sit there for much too long, trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do .

Or how I’m supposed to feel about all the things I just did. And didn’t do.

I’m not sure which is worse. That I didn’t manage to get a straight answer from Ariel about where Augie is or what’s happened with him or why the vampire king knows who he is anyway. Or the fact that I rubbed myself all over that giant marble cock of his, let him not quite bite me, and liked it.

More than liked it.

I almost feel like maybe I finally experimented with some of those drugs that everyone else in my family seems to like so much. I feel ... loopy. Outside myself. Something like fuzzy .

I don’t normally sit in the truck, not out here in the yard like a target.

Certainly not in the dark. I normally don’t go out in the dark at all.

I normally take the curfew Samuel imposed seriously, because it’s just common sense.

The fewer humans wandering around at night, the more of us make it to morning.

I know that I should move quickly, get myself to safety, lock myself away from the monsters.

Though that feels less imperative than usual when I was just scaling one like a jungle gym.

I sit where I am. I stare up at the house and the lights beckoning from the attic, where I left them on before I took off. I look to the side and see more lights from the three cottages, announcing that there are people at home.

I try to find this comforting. But I’m long past that.

At first, I didn’t believe him.

I gaped at him, absolutely certain that what had just happened between us was messing with my head. Making me loopy and strange. Because what he was saying couldn’t possibly make any sense.

So he said it again. The most powerful oracle on this continent lives right here. He spoke slowly. Deliberately. You know her. More than know her.

Stop it, I gritted out.

Sarah Jessup Brown, he said, and the second time wasn’t any better.

It was like it caused a short circuit inside me. I can still feel it now, as if something snapped. Or burned straight through. I can feel it fraying inside me.

He only stared at me, those silver eyes making that burning sensation inside of me worse. Your grandmother, Winter.

Like I don’t know my own grandmother’s name.

I still can’t believe it.

I start to get out of the truck in the same daze I’ve been in since he told me, but I catch myself.

Slacking off on protocols is a great way to get eaten, and much as I might have wanted to be picked off on the way home, I’m here now.

Might as well get some answers before I become someone’s midnight snack.

I remember what Maddox said about her presence here keeping the rest of us safe, but I decide it would be foolish to bank on that, monsters being monsters and all.

I gather up all my weapons, tucking them back into place, and I let it become something like a meditation.

The sound of each gun as I check the chamber, the safety.

As I secure them into place and then slide my knives back in my boots.

These little rituals that save us, in the end, by becoming muscle memory when it matters most.

I’ve been sitting out here long enough for my eyes to fully adjust to the dark of the yard, and as I peer around, I see nothing but the watching, waiting trees and hints of life behind boarded-up windows.

I ease the truck door open, close it behind me, and assess the yard once more—this time with my gun in one hand and my keys to the front door’s assortment of locks in the other.

I pause briefly there, but only to listen for any sounds in the thick dark around me.

There’s that chanting sound that I’m beginning to associate with Savi and whatever meditation practice she has that goes along with her veganism and all the rest of it.

Very Ashland, really. Other than that, I don’t hear anything but the wind through the trees.

I sprint, then. And I don’t look back.

Looking back is a great way to get eaten, because it’s a waste of time.

Something is either on you or it’s not—there’s no point in worrying about which is which unless and until you have to.

I tell myself that I’m verging on the profound as I hit the porch.

I work the locks quickly, slide through the outer gate, and bolt up the door once I’m inside the house.

The lights are all off downstairs. I drift through the dining room to put my ear to the metal door separating me from the kitchen, but I already know that my tenants usually make more noise when they’re clattering around in there.

I frown at the useless study with its useless TV, the memories of that horrible Tuesday a little too fresh tonight.

I accept that I was expecting an ambush. Probably because that’s what Ariel felt like.

It’s certainly how the revelation he dropped on me still feels.

I blow out a breath, then march myself over to Gran’s door. I let myself in and then lock us both inside.

I turn from the door and stop dead, because Gran isn’t asleep. She’s sitting up straight in her bed and staring right at me.

There are no lights on in the room, only the bright illumination of the waxing moon outside, pouring in through the slits between the bars and the boards.

And all the way here, it wasn’t that I disbelieved what Ariel told me.

It was more that I couldn’t believe it, and maybe, somewhere inside, I was starting to convince myself that he was wrong.

Or that there are some other Sarah Jessup Browns wandering around Jacksonville that I’ve somehow been unaware of all this time.

We stare at each other, Gran and me. I feel something big and ugly sit on me, and recognize it a moment later. Betrayed. I feel betrayed , and heavy with it. It feels thick and gnarly in my lungs.

But somehow I know that coughing won’t dislodge it.

“I can sense an immortal all over you,” Gran says, her lips flattening as she gazes at me. “A vampire, if I’m not mistaken.”

I press myself hard against the door at my back. “What the hell do you know about immortals?” I ask her, though my voice barely sounds like mine. “Much less vampires , Gran?”

“More than I want to,” she replies tartly. “And more than we can discuss in polite company, can we, Winter?”

I should feel ashamed. I’m sure that someday, I will.

Because it’s clear to me that she somehow knows exactly what happened between Ariel and me on that rooftop, and I don’t have any way to process that, since I don’t know how to process anything that’s happened since I got in the truck to head to Medford tonight.

“Why are you even awake?” I ask instead. “Since when are you up in the middle of the night?”

“The things you don’t know about me, your own family, and your own gifts, not to mention what goes on in this house, are too numerous to list,” my grandmother tells me, and there’s absolutely no trace of the dotty old woman I’ve been taking care of for years.

I can’t decide if it’s a relief or a stab to the heart.

She leans over—more nimbly than I expect—and reaches over for her cards. Then she places them on her lap. Decisively. She taps them expectantly and then looks at me, like she thinks I might ...