Page 63 of Revenant

“Go get a bag. I’m not fucking dealing with you like this. You’re putting everything and everyone in jeopardy because of your ego.”

20: Eryx

Every nerve ending screams at me in agony. Each joint feels like sandpaper with every step, rubbing together with excruciating friction. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never had this issue, never been so out of control. But all of a sudden, she saunters into my life, and it’s like my body forgot how to function. What I need to function.

And for Elias to drink from her right in front of me? It took every ounce of will power I had, and then some, not to stalk over there and take what I’ve been craving. Blood and otherwise.

I enter Bastian’s room without knocking, heading straight for the fridge where he keeps a healthy stock readily available. Our rule has always been to never steal. Which has never been a problem—until now.

Tearing through the different bags, my eyes search for the one name that will hopefully put me out of my misery. Elias knew what he was doing. One taste? As if that would ever be enough. If anything, it only heightened the craving, urging me further into the depths of my own starvation.

“Can I help you?” Bastian sounds from across the room.

“Where is it?” I demand. When he doesn’t respond, I face him, only to find him cataloging the discarded, useless bags on the floor.

“What exactly are you looking for?” His smug smirk makes me want to rip the fridge from the wall and chuck it at his bloody face.

“Don’t play coy, Bastian. Where. Is. It?”

His head cants to the side. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a little more specific. If it’s blood you’re after, take your pick. Clearly you need it more than I do.”

A predatory growl escapes me. “I know you fucking have it. So hand it over before I tear your eyes from their sockets.”

“Brutal mutilation was always my thing, Eryx. Trying to steal my thunder so a sweet innocent witch will pay you some attention?” He sits on the couch, kicking his feet up with his hands behind his head like he’s enjoying the show.

Relishing in my downfall.

“This is embarrassing enough without your commentary. Just hand it over, and we can keep this between us,” I barter, knowing damn well he’ll be telling the others the moment I leave.

He shrugs his shoulders. “No can do.”

“And why the hell not?”

“It’s gone. Been gone,” he confesses, not a single ounce of remorse in his tone.

I stare at him like he’s speaking a different language. Standing up straight, rage boils me from the inside out. “What do you mean gone?”

“The night of initiation? Well Koen and I were having a hard time—no pun intended—and we ended up here. Together. And somehow Alicent’s blood made it into the mix.” My grip on the door of the fridge increases, snapping it from the hinge and shattering the glass without a single thought. I’m on him faster than I can think, faster than he expected. My hand wraps around his throat, and he smiles like the fucking psychopath he is.

He pushes me off with enough force to break the connection, causing me to stumble backward. “You need to get a grip, man.” He stands, walking over the pile of disarrayed crimson on the floor. Snatching one of the bags, he studies the label. “AB negative just like our little spawn.” He hands it to me, and I have half a mind to swat it away.

The hunger is becoming paralyzing, maddening, and I’m afraid if I don’t feed soon, I will do something I’ll regret. I take it from him hesitantly, mentally preparing myself for the battery acid I’m about to ingest. I thought it was a fluke—that one day in my bedroom when I had to send my blood bag walking. Turns out, it was the start of my downfall.

Bastian crosses his arms, watching me intently like he doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. I put mind over matter, envisioning that it came from Alicent’s vein. Maybe that will get me through—be enough for me to stomach it.

“Bottoms up.” I sink my fangs into the plastic, and it tastes like muddy water and hydrogen peroxide. I wince, spitting it out onto the floor, knowing I have zero intention of cleaning it. “That’s bloody putrid.” Bastian snatches it out of my hand, drinking the rest of it like it’s palatable.

“You’ve got it bad,” he sing-songs, picking up the rest of the bags and setting them on a nearby table. “Well, there’s only one option now.”

“Don’t,” I warn.

“You have to drink from her. That or you’ll wither away until you become a glorified mummy. Which seems like a pretty painful process.” The idea of being that close to her makes my stomach wrench—especially when it’s something so intimate.

“That’s not an option.”

“It’s the only option.”

“Or, you could tell her that her sample got compromised and draw more blood,” I tell him, my agitation growing with each passing second.