SINS OF THE HEART
Blood from a cup.
She wanted blood from his wrist. His neck. His
groin.
Did she say that out loud? He made an impatient
sound that made her think she might have.
She swallowed the last of it and laughed, though she
didn’t know why. It came out brittle, and a little wild.
“Sleep.” Tense. Terse. Not laughing like her.
Bossy.But for some reason, that made her feel comforted rather than angry.
She slept.
She tried to wake, clawed through the cobwebs that
clung to her thoughts, but never quite tore all the way
free. She could hear water pounding. The shower.
Someone in her shower. She turned her head toward the
bathroom and saw light leaking from beneath the door.
Then it was gone, and all was dark.
Again, the pattern repeated. How long she vacillated
between sleep and almost awake, she couldn’t say.
Throughout her lost hours—or was it lost days?—she
knew Dagan was there. Watching over her. She heard
him, felt his hand on her hair, or at her back, propping
her up while she drank, or tucking the covers around
her when she shivered.
He brought her water, ice tinkling in the glass.
“Slowly,” he said as she guzzled, so thirsty she felt
like the sand of the desert filled her. “You’ll make
yourself sick again.”
Again?
“Blood,” she demanded.
