Wrenching myself to the side, I retch onto the rock, wishing I could expel all that I drank.
Nothing comes up.
Instead, my chest tightens like claws gripping my heart, squeezing until I can barely breathe, choking me before the sensation eases.
I drag in a shaky breath. Rise back to my knees. Acknowledge a final truth. “There’s no coming back from what I did to her. No redemption for me.”
The blue bird may not be able to converse with me, but he understands my speech and can respond with nods and shakes of his head.
At my admission, he inclines his head, a firmagreement.
“I shouldn’t be alive.”
Again, he nods. As decisively as before.
Then I ask a question whose answer I fear. “What am I now?”
I test my eyesight, finding it even sharper than it was before the vampyric poison took over me. My vision is unhampered by the darkness around me. Vampyric eyes. As fully powerful as if the poison had completely claimed me.
My fangs descend, their response to my mental call, near instant before I retract them.
Then I rapidly check the abilities that are new to me…
Holding up my hands, I extend my fingernails, checking how fast my claws snap out, their edges razor-sharp, before I retract them.
I focus on the heaviness of the air around me, the push of gravity, and the opposing sense of buoyancy growing in my chest. A sharp contrast to the heavy weight of the black armor I wore around myself for most of my life, caging my body and my vampyric nature for years.
Allowing the lightness to fill my mind, I lift upward, levitating off the ground.
As for my thirst for blood…
My heart sinks.
My thirst remains.
But…not as strong, nor as volatile, as before. The craving is contained. Controlled. For now.
Lowering myself back to the ground, I test the strength in my legs. Feeling has returned to my thighs and calves, and sensation resumes in my toes.
More than the changes to my body, most astonishing is the fact that I’m not mindless.
How am I even remotely lucid?
Why did the poison not completely claim my thoughts and impulses?
And what the fuck caused me to stop drinking Thyra’s blood?
Because I did stop. Somethingmademe stop, and it wasn’t Azul. He collided with meafterI pulled away from Thyra. I’m sure of it.
I don’t expect him to have an answer, but I ask, “How am Ime?”
He eases toward me, his sharp beak lowered. I anticipate he’ll snap at me and tear a chunk out of my flesh. He would be entitled to cause me as much harm as I caused him.
Instead, he nudges his head to my chest, his beak brushing the back of my hand where I’ve once again pressed it to my heart.
Slowly, I lift my palm, refocusing on the splatters of blood down my torso, sticky and deep red.
A stunning possibility occurs to me.
