Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I’m glancing around, reading the temperature outside on a large digital sign. It’s fourteen degrees. So my answer to his question is one of sarcastic distraction. “Hmm. Gas station food. That’s sooo tempting.”
He chuckles as he opens his door, letting the frigid wind blow in. “Stay here. And we’ll skip the food. We’re about halfway to where we’re going. I think we’ll survive.”
He’s just about to close his door when I say, “Wait. Where are we going?”
He winks at me, grinning. “You’ll see.” Then he closes the door and I watch him—the way he walks, the way he shoves his hands into his black biker jacket, the way he pulls the gas station door open and checks on me over his shoulder, grinning again, then disappearing inside—before letting my breath come out in a rush because I was holding it.
What am I doing?
I don’t know. I really don’t know. But I’m gonna keep doing it.
He’s hunting you like prey. You’re feeding him like a pet. And there has been a deal made—
“Yeah, yeah.” I swipe my hand through the air as I say this out loud, huffing as I stare out at the snow-covered road we’re traveling on. “I already know all this.”
Ryet comes back before I can have this silent debate for the hundredth time since we got on the road. I watch him as he pumps the gas. Fourteen degrees is seriously freezing and the wind tossing his hair around must be bitter and biting. His face is a little flushed and anyone just glancing at him would call that a little bit of windburn. But he’s not even wearing gloves. He’s not hopping from foot to foot to stave off the cold. He’s not shrugged up into the collar of his jacket trying to keep warm. He’s just standing there like the cold can’t touch him.
Because it can’t. He’s hot, like a furnace.
Sick, actually.
When he puts the pump back and gets back in the truck, I’m starting to wonder how long it will last. How long before he needs more blood?
Paul’s words in my dreamwalk dorm room come back to me now. ‘Little sips here and there are fine if you don’t mind feeding him all day long. But if you just let him drink you from the throat, he will be able to go a day or two without needing more.’
A day or two. That’s how long we have if I let him drink me.
How long ago did he drink now?
Twelve hours? Twenty?
It’s hard to tell because the day ended and a new one started. But we’re getting close to the edge of his reprieve.
But what if Paul is lying? What if Ryet will be fine? What if this whole story is bullshit? Everything about me, the Guild, the vampire, the hunt, the Black blood, all of it—what if it’s all just a fantasy?
Wishful thinking, Syrsee.
These words enter my mind in my grandma’s voice.
This is actually the worst day of my life. If this is all true, then I just lost everything. Not just my best friend and the safety of the Guild. But my entire past. My entire purpose. If I ever had one of those.
“Do you wanna guess?”
“Huh?” I look up at Ryet.
“Where we’re going.” He’s grinning.
And for some reason, that grin of his makes all of this OK. He makes all of this OK. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Well, it’s close now. We’re about halfway there.”
“Is this a place you go often?”
“Yeah. I’ve been there.”
“What do you do there?”
“When I’m alone?” He looks over at me real fast, a look of complete infatuation on his face. “I swim—”
“Swim?” My eyebrows are up, interest officially piqued.
“I sauna.”
“Steam…” This word floats out of my mouth like I’m hungry for it.
“Sounds nice, huh?”
“It’s a spa?”
“See, you’re not a horrible guesser.”
“We’re going to a spa. Wait. Are we going Dutch?”
“What’s Dutch?”
“You know. I pay for me, you pay—”
“No.” Then he laughs, like this is the most ridiculous idea ever. “You’re not paying for anything. So don’t worry about that.”
“Hmmm.” I settle back into my seat, kind of angling myself against the door as I cross my legs and arms.
“What’s that for?”
“I’m starting to think you’re loaded and I might’ve just hit the jackpot.”
“Are we getting married?”
“How big is the diamond?”
He’s smiling so big, and even though I know he’s running hot and that’s why his face is flushed, I think he’s a little bit excited about this new fantasy of ours. “How big do you need it to be?”
“Diamonds are overrated. When we get married, I would like our promise to come in the form of bl—”
And I almost say it. I almost say ‘blood.’ What the actual fuck, Syrsee!
“A what?” Ryet is laughing at me.
Blood lovers, blood lovers, blood lovers…
“Syrsee?”
“Huh?”
He’s looking at me with a new kind of interest. “Are you OK?”