Oh, I heard him. But hearing something and processing something are two very different things.
“I think you need to drink.”
These words should be coming out of my mouth. These words should be directed at the fucking vampire standing in front of me. He’s the one who drinks blood. Not me.
But I’m the one who needs it.
I’m sweating now. Profusely. My head is spinning and the dreamwalk is gone. Or whatever that was. It’s gone. Grandma is dead, Ryet is a vampire, and I am… a hen.
I’m making eggs inside me right now.
Eggs that will be used to make babies.
Babies that will be handed over to Paul so he can complete whatever it is he’s doing.
That’s what Ryet just told me. I am in the middle of a cycle. That’s why I’m sick.
And just as I realize this, I also realize that I’m in bed now. Ryet is placing a cold washcloth on my forehead. Then another around my throat.
I blink. Meet his gaze with clear vision. “What’s happening?”
He’s holding my mirror. The present Tristin gave me. The one thing that is mine. “I think this is how we get Paul out.”
I laugh. It’s borderline hysterical. Because of course it’s how we get Paul out. Of course it’s how we save his demon ass. This whole thing is abouthim. My life has nothing to do with me.
“You need blood, Syrsee.” Ryet is kneeling down on the bed next me. “Take a drink.”
I think I lost time. I think this because his words come out in a certain tone. Like he’s told me this before—which he has—and I’ve rejected the offer. Which I don’t remember doing. So I lost some time.
He’s lying down next to me now, pulling me towards him so we are face to face. Just inches apart. “It’s not my fault. You can’t blame me, Syrsee.”
He’s right about that. I can’t. He didn’t do this to me. I did this to myself. Every step of the way I made choices. This is how I got here. I made choices.
Still, Iwillblame Ryet for this until the end of my days. I will spend my life feeding him like a hen and when I am taking the long drink, I will still be blaming him. And when I stare into those now-gold eyes of his, I say this, but leave it unspoken.
And he hears me. Because he sighs. A long, tired breath of inevitability. “We’re both sick.”
I laugh right out loud.
“We’re both sick, Syrsee. We need each other. I’m not using you. You’re not using me. We’re just…”
“Using each other?” I’m surprised at how weak I sound.
“That’s one way to put it. But it’s more like… a symbiosis. It’s an alliance, Syrsee. We’re a team. We exist, not as singular people, but a pair.”
I might believe that if I hadn’t heard what else he was saying during my… episode of truth-facing. “You said we need to save Paul because he’s…” I shake my head, unable to come up with a word for what Ryet said. “He’s… part father? To this demon baby I must have?”
“Not exactly.”
I sit up. Straight up. Staring at those devil eyes of his. “Not.Exactly?”
“He drinks. Josep drinks. I’m the only one who needs to?—”
“Fuck me?” I blink. And we stare at each other for what seems like forever. “That’s what you said, right? The four of us. Them drinking me?—”
“And you drinking them.”
“You say that like it matters, Ryet. Like I’m getting something out of this!”
