Page 152 of Blood Lovers

Is he seeing her right now? Are they talking it out? I know Ryet has some kind of control over the purple too. I’m not sure if it’s the same as mine, but it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine that he can see others there too, just like I saw Lucia. Who, I am almost certain, was dead the last time she was talking to me.

I look at the needle, then down at my thigh. All I have to do is stab it into the muscle and push the drug in. Then lie down next to Ryet, help him latch on to my neck, and let him drink me as I die.

Easy. It’s all so very, very easy.

I raise the syringe, and I swear, I fully intend on going through with it. But then some of what is really happening here starts to sink in.

They were feeding on me.

I fed on Paul.

There is blood inside me right now.

A guy I liked—and I really, really did like him—is turning into a monster before my eyes. And there is a dead witch’s head on the floor near the stone wall.

A sob escapes my mouth before I can stop it.

But just one. Because I don’t have time for this! I need to get this done! I need to save the world from what we are.

So I look up at the syringe—which is still in my hand, raised above my head—and I count down from three. Two. One… and I just… drop it.

It clatters to the floor and in that same moment, Ryet moans.

I can’t do this.

Maybe—and it’s a big maybe—maybe I could kill myself and live with the consequences. But him?

I don’t know. I don’t think that’s right, I really don’t.

The syringe, the leg, the bed, the drink—it’s all very, very easy in theory.

But I will be killing someone who just yesterday was a friend.

And who the hell am I to make this decision for him?

I’m no savior. I’m not the hero of this story. I’m one of the bad guys. A witch, for fuck’s sake. Made from evil itself.

It’s not my job to save the world.

But what choice do I have? If I don’t die, how do I even get out of here? There must be people downstairs, right? Lots of them. Do I just walk down the stairs and leave?

I walk over to the door, slide the bolt back, and I’m just reaching for the doorknob to crack it open and see if I can hear anything when Ryet moans.

“Hey.” His voice is raspy. I go completely stiff. My grace period is over and I wasted it. Now I have to leave so I grab the doorknob, turn it, and—“I’ll come by your place later.”

I whirl around, stunned. “What?”

He coughs and a bit of blood spills out of his mouth. He licks his lips, his eyes still closed. “I’ll come by your place later. I’m OK. I just need some…”

But he doesn’t finish. I think he just passed out again.

I take my hand off the doorknob and sigh, just like I did last time.

Then I walk over to the bed, sit down next to him—the same way I sat down next to my grandma the night this whole shit show started—and I push some hair out of his eyes.

I could love him. If neither of us were who we are, I could love him.

His ice-cold hand reaches up to cover mine. Then he absently pats me, eyes still closed. “You don’t have to stay. I’m OK.”