Page 12 of The Unraveling

Daisy’s eyes search mine. “I wasn’t there for all of it. I was sleeping, and a bunch of noise woke me up. Panic and shouting. Arguing. It was hard to hear what you all were saying, but everyone sounded angry and scared.” She swallows, shoulders drawing up to her ears. “I-I ran to the study after hearing a thud. I thought one of you was hurt, but he was holding Bradley down while ripping out his heart. You sat there, staring off while coughing—blood running from your mouth—as he stuffed Bradley’s heart inside a jar. That’s when I ran back upstairs and hid.” Her gaze lowers. “Y-you both were acting weird. Panicked, shouting, and it sounded like . . . puking. Like you both were in pain. Then it was quiet. Completely silent—for hours. I hid under the bed, too scared to go down, especially when Dr. Todd suddenly started shouting again.”

I stare at Daisy, her words twisting into one giant ball of yarn I can’t find the start or end of. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“None of it?” she breathes.

I blink, stomach squeezing tight. A cough sends wetness spraying up the back of my throat. I choke back the taste of iron. “None of what?” Tears well in Daisy’s eyes, the sight of them drowning my heart. “Oh . . . Daisy. What’s wrong?”

Her lip quivers. She takes a few steps back, then returns one closer to me. “Isla, are you okay?”

I stumble forward, fighting gravity for control of my arm to brush my trembling fingers against her soft cheek as I say, “I’m okay⁠—”

Her gasp freezes me in place. Daisy stumbles back from my touch but captures my hand in both of hers.

“Isla, you’re warm.” Her fingers climb beneath the sleeve around my wrist. “So warm. How are you—You’re sweating.”

Gently pulling my arm from her grip so I don’t hurt her with my immortal strength still takes enormous effort.

“I don’t feel well,” I whisper.

A thud against the floor downstairs echoes through the house, and I dash to the steps. Daisy’s hands grip my waist when the staircase nearly twirls away from beneath my feet. My vision pounds—heart noisy in my ears—as we follow the sound of groaning to find Victor sprawled across the kitchen’s tiled floor.

I slip out of her grip and dash to him, my foot clipping the thick wooden doorway trim. A familiar memory flashes before me as I fall. I throw my arms out to catch myself but only manage to grasp at the edge of reality. Landing hard next to Victor, I cling to the flickering sense that I’m dangling from an eroding ledge.

Victor blinks rapidly, arm wavering as he wipes blood from the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t know what happened,” he mumbles. Noisy breaths cut between each word. “I was trying to get to the fridge, and somehow I ended up down here.”

I wipe hair from his face as Daisy kneels beside me and reaches a jittery hand to grasp his.

“You’re warm, too, Dr. Todd.” She bites her lip and sighs.

He squints at her. “Am I? Goodness, but it feels so cold.”

“We need blood,” I tell him as I shudder, a chill wafting across the back of my neck.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Blood. That’s what I needed from the fridge.” He grunts as he twists sideways and pushes himself up to sit.

“I’ll get some for you, Dr. Todd.” Daisy rushes away.

He smiles and turns to look at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Are you okay, Isla?” he asks, then coughs and teases with, “Tell me next time you suddenly decide to sit on the floor. I can help you find a much more comfortable place.”

Something about his words has my mind fumbling as I soak up his grinning face. My cheeks burn as I think about my foot catching the edge of the doorway trim and tumbling. I was more stunned than hurt, and my embarrassment morphed into a different warmth when he merely sat at my side instead of making a thing of me falling.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, tucking hair behind my ear and swallowing down the odd sense that I’m forgetting something, or that I’ve done this before.

“You didn’t have to follow,” he says. “I was coming right back.”

I lick my lips, eyes dropping from his. “I wanted to catch you feeding,” I admit. “See your expression when you drink all that blood you take from me. Your fangs and eyes.”

Dr. Todd’s chuckle is strained. “You’ve seen when I draw your blood.”

I stroke my fingers across his temple to collect loose hair, tucking them behind his ear as conflict flares in his eyes. They dart to my wrist before settling on mine as if he can suppress what I know he’s thinking.

“But you try to hide it,” I counter. I fill my lungs and sigh, bringing my hand back to my lap. “Would it taste better from my vein, rather than you drawing my blood to store it away for later when you’re alone?”

His eyes drop from mine, and he licks his lips. “Yes, but I don’t want to wound you. It’s counterproductive to your treatment.”

I shrug, an ache radiating from my shoulders, up my neck, and into my skull. Wincing, I say, “Needle versus fangs . . . It’s only one prick more . . .”