Page 37 of The Unraveling

“A poison,” Victor echoes. “I sired a vampire with a rare ability. A fucking poison. It’s no wonder they don’t want us to touch him or the samples anymore.”

Dr. Smith gives him a single nod. “Yes, and Bradley wouldn’t have even known.”

Victor hangs his head, shoulders sinking. I can practically feel the guilt radiating from him, so I stroke my fingers through his hair to tuck it behind his ear and leave a reassuring kiss against his cheekbone. His lips twitch in acknowledgement.

“They can help, can’t they? Swoop in with an antidote? Bring a vampire with the ability of a healer?” I plead.

“It’s not a wound to patch, unfortunately. You may have human symptoms, but they don’t correspond cleanly with human ailments,” John explains softly.

My voice comes shrill. “Then what’s our fate?”

Dr. Smith inhales and sighs. “I don’t know,” he admits. “They were intrigued that you both even woke up. That your hearts started beating again. Said what Julian went through before dying is the only thing consistent in each case. If you’re lucky enough to wake up, it’s a draw. The only other commonality is thirst, varying types of memory issues, and a seemingly infinite possible combination of medical ones.”

“They’re already having severe medical issues,” Daisy interjects as I grip her arm. “How much longer do they have?”

He swallows. “Anything from hours to years—but there are cases of those who survive the trip back to mortality living for extended periods of time.”

My heart hammers so hard in my throat I might puke it up.

“That’s . . .” Victor gapes at Dr. Smith and shakes his head. Whatever he had hoped to say dies on his tongue.

“So, they’re human now? Just sick humans?” Daisy asks, arm curling around me.

“Functionally, yes,” Dr. Smith whispers.

I fold over and cry, deep sobs wracking me. Comfort suffocates me, and I’d rather die from that sensation—with Victor’s face in my hair as he whispers hopeful assurances to me while Daisy squeezes me tighter—than from however this affliction might kill me.

It’s not fair to die twice. Three times, if I want to get specific.

“It’s not true!” I roar, a scalding ache in my chest paired with my cracking voice. “It’s not!”

The ache of pity seeps into the desperation in John’s eyes. “Isla, your hearts are beating blood that smells human. It resembles the blood of ill humans. You have been stripped of everything that made you immortal: speed, strength, healing, heightened senses, perfect memories, all abilities. I can feel your despair writhing behind my own emotions—you and Victor are linked to me. When I arrived, I could sense the blood link to Victor’s fledging from the immortal blood you drank . . .” Dr. Smith’s eyes level with mine. “You are functionally human.”

“And yet I crave blood,” Victor counters.

“You crave what you have been accustomed to drinking for well over a hundred years,” he says. “Recall, it’s not a clean split.”

“No,” Victor scoffs. “This is madness. We can’t really be human⁠—”

“Forgive me, but I’ll prove it for you,” Dr. Smith says as he crosses to the window so swiftly—a hand lifting to grip a fistful of curtain—that I don’t have time to register his intention.

We can’t react fast enough as he yanks it aside, sealing himself in the thick fabric as a golden beam splits the dim room in two while Victor roars in fury and leans in front of me.

Warmth finds me past his body as he sputters in disbelief, drawing away to glance at me as if to assure himself I haven’t been harmed.

“What . . .?” Victor breathes.

I watch breathlessly as he lifts his hand in the beam of light, turning his palm over and disrupting the dust particles while I shrink away. I can’t bear to feel the unnaturalness of the sun on me.

The curtain settles back into place, and Dr. Smith says, “In any case, it’s clear you’re both no longer vampires.”

As the room tilts, I grip ‌Victor’s arm. This must be a cruel dream. Some trick of the mind from another spiteful vampire nearby. Though I know of nobody who would want us to experience such horror.

A wail splits me, and I fold over and sob harder than I ever have. Harder than I cried at any point while living with my terminal diagnosis.

“I would rather die than be human!” I fight the urge to shrug both Victor and Daisy off me so I can flee the room and hide somewhere that I might return from and have everything back to normal.

Yet no such place exists, and even if it did, I know my legs are too weak to take me there.