“I’m hungry.” Juno’s voice filters down from somewhere above.
David stops pacing and grits his teeth.
“Tell Valen to pick up some McDonald’s on his way back.” Juno titters at her own joke.
I jump when she lands beside me, her feet sure despite her limp. Not so much as an exhale or the sound of joints popping. She’s as lithe as a cat.
“Seriously, though. I’m hungry.” She leans on the handrail. “Where’s the blood around here?”
“We have stores.” David doesn’t bother hiding his irritation.
“Take me there.” The command in Juno’s voice makes David’s left wing twitch.
When he doesn’t move, she adds, “now.”
“He’s not your staff, Juno,” I snap.
“That’s right. I’m not.” David steps toward her. “I’m Georgia’s housekeeper.” He gives me a slight nod.
I smile. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I actually smile.
“Come along.” David stomps up the stairs behind me.
Juno stares at me for a moment. Just like with Valen, an ocean separates me from her. A million questions, a million recriminations. I don’t think it’s possible to repair our bond. I realize that while looking into her alien yet familiar face. Did I ever really know her?
“I’m still me, Georgia,” she says gently, as if she’s reading my mind in real time. “When you look at me like that, like I’m …” She glances up, then back at me. “Like I’m a stranger, I …” She shakes her head. “I’m your sister. I willalwaysbe your sister.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better or worse?”
She winces.
“Come on,” David calls. “And remember the way. I’m not showing you again.”
Without another word, she leaves, her steps silent on the stairs. And I feel … sick, like I was cruel. LikeI’min the wrong somehow. I lean against the wall, the stone cool on my cheek. Again, I stuff every bit of my feelings down and force my thoughts back to what little I can control. When Valen returns, I’m going to make the same plea to him that I made to Fatima. I need equipment. If I can get—a sound to my left draws my attention.
A shadow moves in the corridor. My hackles rise, and I push myself to a higher stair, then get to my feet.
Valen staggers into view, his chest bare and covered in blood. His head hangs at an odd angle, and he falls in a heap, his breathing ragged and loud.
My stomach drops, my heart kicking up a notch. Déjà vu intrudes, so many memories of me patching him up in DC. I hurry to him, the smell of blood heavy in the air. With a shove, I roll him to his back. I can’t comprehend everything I’m seeing, the wounds that are too many and too deep. A human wouldn’t have withstood a quarter of this.
His skin has been flayed away over his heart, and I see it beating sluggishly beneath his breastbone. Swollen and bloody, the sclera is torn away, and the one lung I can see is punctured, not even inflating halfway. I can’t apply pressure. I can’t do anything. I hover over him, my hands itching to do something, tofixhim. But I can’t.
One of his eyes opens, the other swollen shut.
“Are you dying?” I ask. “You need blood. Like when you almost died in your bathroom? I don’t—I can’t—there’s nothing I can do.”
“I didn’t die.” His voice is barely a croak, and leaning closer, I see why. His neck is gashed open so badly that I can see his spinal cord.
“Fuck.” I’m at a total loss. “Here.” I shove my wrist in his face. “Just do it.”
“Worried for me?” He barely gets the words out.
“Glad to be rid of you,” I say instinctively.
His lips feather across my skin. A soft touch despite his dire situation, a slight kiss before dying. When he strikes, I grit my teeth against the wave of sensations that roll through me. The sharp sting of pain, then unexpected pleasure that twists low in my belly mixed with so many memories of him taking from me. And worse, of Whitbine doing the same. My stomach turns.
After a few pulls, he releases me with a groan.
