“Two minutes,” the Bleeder calls out. He really doesn’t need to. Above the door hangs a steam-covered clock. It ticks loudly, each second a warning thudding in my head with every click of the hand.
I shave my legs and scrub my teeth simultaneously before the water is cut off.
I never understood why they offered us this indulgence when so many other rules are designed to stifle us. Why do they care about our hygiene? Maybe providing us with these small luxuries is to keep us just comfortable enough that we don't rise up.
Emily mutters a curse. A thin trickle of blood runs down her leg and swirls into the drain from a fresh cut. She turns off her shower, grabs a towel, and presses it against her bleeding knee. She quickly takes out a medical kit to patch herself up before the Bleeders notice.
To them, Emily is wasting precious blood.
“Thirty seconds,” the Bleeder calls out.
Exhaling, I turn off the water, grab a towel, and dry my body. As I drag the towel over my damp skin, black ink shimmers on my shoulder from my moonflower tattoo.
The Bleeder’s voice grows louder, counting down from ten as I snatch my clothes, shrug into my gown, and slip on my underwear. But as I turn my attention to Emily, she’s rummaging through her cubicle and mutters, “Where the bloody hell are my knickers?”
“Time’s up!” the Bleeder announces as I adjust and smooth my gown into place.
We line up in threes. Emily steps up beside me and groans, “I guess I’m going commando today.”
A Bleeder on either side of the door hands each of us a water bottle. They want our veins swelling beautifully across our skin.
When we are out of sight, I lift my gown and pull out the spare underwear I had tucked into my own.
“Thanks, Saya,” Emily breathes as I hand them to her. “For a moment, I thought you were swollen down there from whatever Jax did to you last night.”
Manni shoots me a sideways glance with a hint of a smile. Emily truly concerns me sometimes.
We stop so she can fix herself up while other women flow past us. Emily straightens, dusts down her clean gown and says with a grin, “Come on then. Let’s follow the herd.”
The men emerge from the corridor opposite as we approach the bloodbank. Amidst the crowd, Cole strolls alongside Jax. When they reach my side, I take my brother’s hand while Jax rests his own on the curve of my back.We silently enter the bloodbank and make our way to the Bleeders waiting by each chair, quiet sentinels who expect us all to drain our blood for the nightwalkers.
And we do. If we don’t, we’ll end up in the private room. As well as the likelihood of never returning, I don’t want to find out how a nightwalker would react if they saw me.
“Take a seat,” the Bleeder at the door says, his hand confidently resting on his gun. Every Bleeder is armed. It’s why our run needs to be stealthy. They aren’t shy about using weapons if necessary. They killed Vinny last time, and most Feeders on the run stopped and hurried back.
With Cole’s hand in mine, we make our way to the chairs placed a few feet apart. Cole sits down, and I take the seat beside him while Jax settles in on my other side.
The Bleeder at my chair motions for me to roll up the sleeve of my gown. Next to me, Cole reveals his arm, displaying several failed needle marks and healing bruises mottling his skin.
Jax pulls up his shirt sleeve and rests it over his shoulder. Veins bulge under his skin. He doesn’t have many wounds because he donates easily.
“Your arm,” the Bleeder snaps, his gloved fingers pinching at my sleeve.
I bite my lower lip, almost piercing the flesh. As I roll up my sleeve, I quickly look away from the purple bruises and pinpricked holes marking my very blue veins.
The Bleeder grabs the strap from the table beside me, fastens it around my arm, and presses his hand onto the soft spot in the bend of my elbow until veins bulge beneath my skin. It’s hard to tear my eyes away, but I do,turning to face my brother. Blood slowly drips into his bag—a struggle, but it’s flowing, and that’s all that matters.
I turn away and settle more comfortably into my seat when I notice two Bleeders chatting by the exit. Their heads are turned toward the left side of the room.
I follow their focus to a woman hunched over and head down, glaring at the ground as though she were willing it to swallow her whole.
Bianca?
Beside her, Julien grips her hand tightly.
When I look away and over to Manni questioningly, she shrugs, but beside her, Emily pats her stomach and mouths,“She’s fucking pregnant!”
What?
