Tainted Blood Read online

  “I know you didn’t.”

  We head back inside, and she takes care to lock the door tightly. She leads me to the bathroom and lowers the toilet seat. I take a seat on top of it, refusing to look in the mirror, fearing the image that would stare back at me. I look at my drying blood on my hands just to reassure myself that I’m not actually crazy.

  Kara grabs a towel and runs the water over it. After wringing it out, she leans over to hold it near my neck. “I’m just going to clean you up a bit.” She scrubs my neck, and when I flinch, she dabs more gently. When the cloth is stained red, she stares at my neck for a beat.

  “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “There’s nothing there. Where did all this blood come from?”

  I feel around my neck and she’s right—there are no puncture marks, no indentations, or scabs, nothing at all. “That’s impossible.” Frowning, I question myself. It happened. I know it did. Otherwise, where did all the blood come from?

  “I don’t understand.” I stand and brush past her as I stand in front of the mirror. With my head tilted to the side, I study the wound, running my fingers over my smooth, untouched skin. She’s right. There’s nothing there but some leftover streaks of blood.

  Kara gives me a sad smile before reaching out to touch her hand to the side of my head. She means to comfort me, but it doesn’t help. How could the holes already be healed? I know what I saw. I lean in toward the mirror for a closer look, but it looks the same.

  My head hurts. What did I see? What didn’t I see? Am I losing my mind?

  “Come on, Em. Let’s get you home.”

  “You believe me, don’t you?” I fear I’m as crazy as she likely thinks I am right now.

  “Of course,” she says, but I know she’s not convinced. And I have to say I can’t blame her. I don’t trust what I saw, and I witnessed it with my own eyes. But as I stand here contemplating whether or not those monsters were real, I have to admit it might be preferable to believe I’m crazy.

  2

  Kara and I live in a log cabin just outside Brimstone City. It’s about a twenty-minute drive when traffic is light, the way it is tonight. When we left the bookstore, I tried to get in the driver’s side of my truck, but Kara took my keys and insisted on driving. Maybe it was a good idea. Besides the obvious reason—like I might be losing my mind—it also gives me time to think. No matter how many times I replay what happened, I can’t explain the monsters or the bite on my neck that dissolved into nothing.

  Every few minutes, Kara glances my way. In the dim light of the truck cab, I can see the whites of her sad eyes as she frowns at me. No one in our family has mental health issues, but then, I was adopted. I have to wonder if anyone in my blood family does. I’ve considered trying to find my birth parents since my parents died, but fear has stopped me. I like to romanticize about my parents, imagining their undying young love and how they were unable to keep me because their parents were sworn enemies like the Montagues and the Capulets. I’m sure that’s not even close to the real story, but I like the fairy tale.

  Another glance. Another frown.

  “I’m fine. I swear.”

  She doesn’t look convinced.

  She clears her throat and pauses, as if deciding her words or gaining courage. I can’t decide which. Maybe both. “You’ve always hated the dark. Sometimes, in the shadows of your room, you’d see things that weren’t there. Remember?”

  I do, but this was nothing like that. It felt real, and I still have dried blood on my neck and hand. There’s no point in pushing this point because nothing else is explainable, so I do what’s best for her. I let her believe it’s a mistake, that my imagination just got the better of me.

  But I don’t believe it. Vampires are real. It’s easier to assume the opposite, but I trust myself, even if the truth is so unbelievable that my sister isn’t able to say the same.

  “It was probably my mind playing tricks on me,” I say to please her. The bruises on my arms ache slightly, and so does my neck. Maybe I have bruises from the vampire’s hard grip— another indication that I’m not crazy. But when I slide up the sleeves of my sweater and squint to see through the dim blue-and-white lighting from the dash, I don’t see any trace of discoloration. The monster gripped me so hard I swear I should be black and blue.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” I quickly push my sleeves down and let my hands fall into my lap.

  Tall trees zoom by, and I focus on tonight while delicately stroking the smooth spot on my neck where there should be two puncture wounds. Kara turns off the highway, and we travel down our long driveway, through the evergreens. I sway lightly back and forth as we pass over pockmarked holes that I desperately need to fill in. I think this every time I come home, but never actually fix the problem because there are so many other things at the house that need more attention, like the peeling wallpaper and the scuffed floors and the too-big yard that neither of us can mow in one single go.

  In a clearing, the log cabin comes into view. My grandfather and father built the cabin when Kara was twelve and I was seven. Although we moved out after high school, we moved back after inheriting it from my parents. I love it here, always have. It feels like home, the only home I’ve ever known. I can barely remember the orphanage my parents found me in. The memories have faded over the years. All the cabin lights are off except for the porch light by the door my mother painted a shocking red.

  Kara pulls the truck into the spot to the right of the house. We have a garage, but Kara’s hatchback is in there, and though there is enough room for both of our vehicles, I usually keep mine outside. Inside the house, the space is silent except for the ticking grandfather clock. I leave my sweater on and make for the kitchen with Kara close behind me.

  “I think maybe you should get some sleep.” It sounds more like a demand than a request.

  But I’m too worked up right now to fall asleep, and I fear what I’ll see when I close my eyes and dream. Worse, I worry the vampires might come back for me. They can’t know I’ll keep their secret. They might try to silence me—not that they’d know where to find me.

  I grab the kettle off the stove and fill it with hot water before putting it back on. Kara lingers behind me, sitting at the table with a concerned look on her face.

  “I swear I’m fine. I’m just going to have a cup of tea, maybe watch some television. I don’t think I could sleep now if I tried.”

  “Then I’ll wait with you.”

  I want to tell her to go, because more than anything, I need some time to myself, but I don’t. Telling her to go to bed will likely do little good, so I give in. She sits up with me a while and eventually, we go to the living room and watch a few shows. After two o’clock, she falls asleep, and I nudge her gently to encourage her to go to bed.

  “Mmhmm,” she mumbles. In her sleepy fog, she seems to forget about what happened earlier. She stands and heads up to bed, trudging along like she’s sleepwalking. Her heavy footfalls make the wooden stairs creak. I sit a while longer and finish my tea, but still can’t think of sleeping, so I get up and make another cup. While waiting, I put some milk and sugar in my cup and stand with my hands curled around the edge of the counter and stare out the window. With the difference in light inside and out, I see my reflection.

  It wasn’t real, I tell myself. It couldn’t be. But here’s the rub.

  I want it to be.

  I don’t want to admit that to myself, but it’s true. If they’re real, all the fantastical creatures I’ve read about could also be real. It makes me want to go outside and hunt for fairies. Vampires make the world scarier, but they also make it more exciting. I’ve never been outside of Canada, never been on a train, swam in a lake in the rain, skydived, or been zip-lining, but I’ve seen a damn vampire. How many other people can say that?

  My muscles tense at a slight creaking noise, and I lean away from the counter to look down the hall and into the foyer. “Is that you, Kara?�
�� No one answers. I swallow a lump in my throat and creep to the door to peek outside. No one is on the other side. Trees wave with the wind. “I’m losing it,” I say out loud. I’m seriously losing it. Even if they wanted to find me, how could they possibly know where I live? In the kitchen, the kettle whistles, and I remove it from the stove top and pour the hot liquid into my cup before tossing the spoon in the sink, next to the cast-iron frying pan and utensils I have yet to wash from lunchtime.

  Another creak—behind me. I glance up into the window but only see me. A prickling sensation starts at the base of my spine and travels up my back while my heart beats double-time. I’m not alone. I feel it. My mouth goes dry. Slowly, I set down my cup, grip the handle of the frying pan, spin around, and let out a gasp when I find a man I don’t recognize at the table across the room. I close my eyes tightly and count to three, and when I open them he’s still there. I’m convinced he’s another vampire.

  His long hair is pushed back, away from his handsome face. When he tips his head to the side, strands fall over his shocking blue eyes. He lowers a single eyebrow as he grimaces. His eyes sparkle. I’ve never seen eyes so light or so mesmerizing. They’re inhuman.

  I hold the frying pan so tightly my hand starts to tingle. “Y-You’re one of them, aren’t you?” I stammer.

  He considers his response, though I’m not sure why. We both know what he is.

  “Yes,” he says.

  I’m not crazy. But I’m not sure if that’s a relief.

  This one doesn’t scare me the way the others do. For one thing, his eyes aren’t on fire. Also, he’s so calm and cool, and the last one who bit me got really sick, so if he’s friends with them I don’t imagine he’s likely to bite me. He might still kill me, though…

  “Wow,” I whisper. “Three in one night.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are you here to kill me?” Every synapse in my body is firing and yelling at me to run as fast as I can.

  “No.”

  I let go of a massive sigh. “Vampires are real, and one’s sitting at my kitchen table. Well, there’s something I thought I’d never see.”

  “You seem awfully…calm.”

  “Calm? I’m about ready to pee my pants.”

  His lips twitch at the corners, a gesture I’ve seen more than once over the years, but usually from much older people. He could be a hundred years old, for all I know, even if he looks like he’s in his twenties.

  “I’m Sebastian Wolff, and you’re Emily Hanes.”

  “H-How do you know my name?”

  “I’m very resourceful when I need to be.”

  I glance around, focusing on the front door, the window above the sink, and the double patio doors to my left—just in case I need to run for it.

  He scoffs at me. “Do you honestly think you could outrun me?”

  “I won medals in track in high school,” I say with a bit more confidence. No one could keep up with me. I had the fastest time in the history of my school, among both girls and guys.

  He chuckles and stands. My eyes walk up the length of him. His head nearly reaches the old, dome-shaped light above the table. He must be six and a half feet tall. Couple that with his lean-but-toned body and I’m thoroughly outmatched if he comes at me.

  With his head slightly bowed he saunters forward, looking at me from under the hood of his eyebrows. It’s very threatening, and though he said he isn’t here to kill me, I can’t exactly take him at his word.

  I threateningly hold the pan out. “Don’t take another step.”

  “Or what?” A devilish smirk claims his full lips. He chuckles and takes another few steps until he’s close enough for me to reach him. I haul off and slam the frying pan into his temple. Ding! It’s like hitting a rock. In fact, there is an indentation in the bottom of the pan that matches the side of his chiseled face. He doesn’t move. Damn him, he doesn’t even flinch. Then his eyes darken until they flame red like those of the demon I saw earlier.

  “That one’s a freebie,” he says with a hint of an accent I can’t place. It’s subtle, barely there. I’m surprised I notice it at all. “Now, I need you to take a breath and listen to me very carefully.”

  Ding! I haul off and smack him even harder and am shocked when the wooden handle splinters under my hand. I hold it tight to keep it together. He snatches the pan from my hands and biffs it across the room. It flies so fast and hard that the broken handle embeds in the wall, all the way up to the base of the pan. I open my eyes in horror. My instinct to scream is strong, and I almost give into it, but Kara is forefront in my mind, and I need to keep her safe. I can’t risk her running down here in a misguided effort to save me. She needs to stay far away.

  The veins around his eyes rise to the surface, and his bones seem to swell right in front of me to reveal harsh angles and a much scarier version of the man and woman I saw earlier tonight.

  I step back and collide with the counter. I swallow a lump in my throat, and a shiver crawls over me. I feel around on the counter behind me for a knife in the sink, but he reaches around me and grabs my wrist, twisting my arm back to hold it against my chest. His hand is cold, so cold. A chill radiates through me, making me shiver.

  “You’re really starting to piss me off. This could be so easy if you’d relax and stop fighting me. Although I enjoy feisty women, you’re being a little foolish. I mean, a frying pan? Really? I’m a fucking vampire.”

  That’s the first time anyone’s ever called me feisty. I’m just a girl with a vampire in front of me, and I don’t have a lot of options. “What am I supposed to do? Lie down and play dead?”

  His lips twitch a little like he’s fighting a smile. I want to hit him again, but he still holds my wrist. So I haul off and attempt to sucker punch him with a left hook with my non-dominant hand. I have no other plays. His fist moves too fast to follow. He swallows my small, clenched fist with his much larger hand.

  “I said I wouldn’t kill you, and I meant it.” He holds my eyes with his. The crimson light inside them dances like flames.

  “Then what do you want? I won’t tell anyone about you, I swear it.”

  “I think you know what I want, and I want you to say it.”

  He loosens his grip, and I let out the breath I’m holding. My heart thunders in my ears, and the artery in my neck pumps so fast I can feel it pulse as blood races through my body.

  “Because I saw one of you kill a girl? And I made another one sick?”

  “Sick? You made her more than sick. When Felix brought her to me, she was already dead.”

  What? The thought makes me ill, so I push it away. I’ve never killed anything in my life, not even a mouse. While the woman was a monster, I don’t wish death on anyone or anything, not even a vampire. “Is that normal?”

  “Is what normal?”

  “For vampires to die when they bite someone?”

  He searches my eyes, and I couldn’t say if he finds what he’s looking for. “You don’t know, do you?”

  I shake my head. “I haven’t got a clue.”

  “It’s been a very long time since someone reacted to a human’s blood the way Cassandra reacted to yours. And I need to be sure.”

  “Sure about what?”

  “I want to know what’s in your blood.” He pulls up my hand, and though I fight him, he’s too strong for me. He holds my wrist up to his nose, and his nostrils flare. He closes his eyes and drinks in my scent while I watch in horror, expecting him to bite me. Only when I think about it, I want him to. I don’t want to kill him, but it might be the only way for me to survive.

  “You smell delicious, almost impossible to resist, a Trojan horse for unsuspecting vampires. What’s in your blood? Is it drugs? Disease? Magic?”

  Magic? If only. I shake my head, and he finally releases my hand. “I’m just a normal girl. I have no idea what happened in the alley tonight, and I certainly didn’t mean to kill your friend.”

  He cups my chin and forces me to look up int
o eyes that have returned to a pale shade of blue. “No. You’re very far from normal. But like I said, I need to be sure, and since I doubt you’ll come with me willingly…”

  He inches forward.

  “No. Please no.” I slowly reach around me for a knife or fork, anything to stab him in his pretty eyes. Statistics say the likelihood of someone getting kidnapped and surviving after being taken somewhere else is low. I don’t want to be a statistic or have my sister become one too. I feel the hardwood handle of the steak knife and fumble to wrap my hand around it. My nerves are toast, and my hand shakes harder than a washing machine stuck on the spin cycle.

  “That’s what I thought,” he says with a sigh. “No one ever does things the easy way.” In a blur, he spins me around. Somehow, with one hand, he’s managed to hold me at my wrists with my arms crossed over my chest. His breath is in my ear, and with each rise of his chest, cool air washes over my neck. “This won’t hurt a bit.” With his free hand, he holds a needle and stabs me in the neck, pushing fluid into my flesh. I try to fight, but my body relaxes, and my eyelids grow heavy. Everything inside of me melts as my body gives out, and everything starts to spin as the world fades to black.

  3

  I gasp, my eyes flash open, and I desperately try to orient myself. I’m in a strange room and on a plush bed with a silk-covered duvet underneath me. It’s smooth against my skin, and it makes a ruffling noise as I snap to a sitting position. The room is large, much larger than my own. Fine paintings of scenery and an old man in armor decorate the fancy, wallpapered walls. There’s a single narrow window with bars across it and also a door.

  I spring from the bed, but the world tips on its end and my head throbs. I grip one of the four delicately carved bedposts to steady myself. I check my watch and I’ve somehow missed a day. It’s almost six in the evening.

  As my hazy mind clears, I push myself forward. The door is locked—of course—but I yank on it anyway, using my foot against the wall as leverage. It doesn’t even budge.