“Does it have to be fresh?”
“No?” she said, running her vowel into a question. “Why do you have old Riley blood?”
“Nothing nefarious. Riley doesn’t like for us to use donors, so she donates blood as often as she can so we can drink her blood whenever possible. We still have to use donor blood, of course, but it makes her happy to know she’s helping us keep from taking some unsuspecting human’s donated blood.”
“Well, that’s—sweet?”
I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me. “She’s got the best-tasting blood I’ve ever had, so I don’t argue. Anyway, we’re out of hers, but I have a blood bag in the garbage that has a trace amount left in it.”
“That’ll do,” she said. “I’ll be there within an hour. Gotta take my son to the sitter.”
After thanking her, I hung up and rifled through the trash for the bag of blood. Riley had scribbled her name and the date she’d filled the bag on the front. Just a few days before.
I hung my head, her scent washing over me from the bag. What would we do if she was gone forever? She was the perfect companion for us. It was like we were destined for each other, even with the bumpy takeoff we’d had.
Anthony burst into the room. “Is she coming?”
He knew I’d been working to get Cindy to track Riley. “She’ll be here within an hour.”
He nodded and sat on the couch only to stand back up and pace with me. “There’s got to be something more we can do.”
“I have an idea, but I don’t know if we can get it to work. Peter was able to send her messages when she slept, remember? Maybe we could try that.”
“It couldn’t hurt. Should we both try at the same time?”
We could possibly drown each other out, but it was unlikely either of us would even be able to accomplish such a feat. I shrugged. “Why not?”
We moved to the living room and sat on the rug in front of the fireplace and closed our eyes. I didn’t know what else to do but imagine her. I used my mind’s eye to picture her silky strawberry hair, the curve of her neck, how her eyelashes were blonde unless she wore mascara.
I focused for a moment on the large freckle above her right shoulder blade. She always worried about that freckle; afraid it was skin cancer. I’d reminded her several times it was unlikely with her genes that she’d get cancer. She just liked to worry.
As I pictured her, in painstaking detail, I shouted her name in my mind.Riley! If you can hear me, yell my name!
I repeated that mantra with a sufficient pause each time while I focused on how she smelled, the sound of her voice. The curve of her hips. I cracked one eye when my efforts were only rewarding me with a problem in my pants. “It’s not working,” I grumbled.
Anthony nodded; eyes still closed. “Me neither.”
“Well, I hope I can be more help than you two meditating morons.” I jerked my head to see Cindy standing in the doorway from the kitchen. “What are you two doing?”
“Trying to connect telepathically to Riley.”
Cindy burst out laughing. “That’s not possible, guys.” She flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulders.
Anthony stood, holding a hand out to help me up. “The Shapeshifter contacted her telepathically while we were on the run.”
“That shouldn’t be possible. But we can figure that out later.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Let’s get started.”
“Anthony spoke to her in her mind when she was having a nightmare.”
She stopped and turned back. “Really? That’s amazing. Were you touching her?”
“Yes, but why is it such a big deal? I’ve heard of telepathy before,” Anthony said.
“Yeah, there are telepaths out there, but they’re excessively rare. Either the Shapeshifter was one rare being or he used a spell.”
“Maybe,” Anthony mused.
“The blood is on the table,” I said as she unloaded the messenger bag she wore.
