Page 154 of Blood Lovers

Inside the bedroom there’s an open panel in the wall. For a moment I think we’re going through there, but Ryet, who is still leaning on me, directs us to an opposite wall. He does something with his hand on the panel and it slides open, revealing another exit.

He’s losing strength quickly, but he manages to point at it. “Garage.”

“OK.” I nod. And then I help him down the passageway. It’s a long passageway—a quarter mile at least, if I had to guess—and most of the time I’m practically carrying him. But then lights come up, fully illuminating a massive garage with lots of trucks and cars. I take us over to the closest truck and put him in the passenger seat, then get in the driver’s side. “Keys?”

He flips the visor down above me and keys fall out. I catch them in my hand, but it’s an electric start, so I tuck them into my pocket, start the truck, and pull forward.

Ryet is already passing out again. I reach into the back, take out a bag of blood from the cooler, bite off the top, and hand it to him. “Drink it. Quick. Because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing or how the hell I get out of here.”

He grabs it roughly, then stares at me, so many, many accusations in that stare.

But he doesn’t say them out loud. Just drinks a little to muster up the strength to guide me to the door, out onto the mountain, and down the long blacktop driveway to a highway.

Then he just… passes out.

And that’s it, I guess.

Enemies on the run from evil.

Aren’t we the fuckin’ evil?

My life, I swear.

It only takes me about five minutes to realize I have nowhere to go, so I just pick a direction and drive. We can’t go back to White River because those are Paul’s people. I don’t understand how they’re all connected, but they are his and that’s all that matters.

Plus… culty. We nailed it.

I sigh and look over at Ryet. He’s sleeping now, but not peacefully. He’s got his whole body angled towards the passenger side window so I can’t see his face, but I know he’s in pain because every minute or so the muscles in his back will spasm and he’ll arch and buck for a moment as he moans. Then the contraction, or whatever, will subside and he’ll relax and breathe deeply.

It reminds me of a mother in labor. Not that I have any first-hand experience of that, but just in general, from what I’ve seen on TV. A short moment of intense pain, then a rest.

Everything about what we’re doing right now is stressful for me and my whole body feels like it’s buzzing. I try to rationalize this—I’m nervous. I’m scared. I’m… lost.

And it’s all logical. The buzzing could be from all that.

But it could also be from the blood I drank. Paul’s blood.

Whenever he comes up in my mind, I try to push his face away. Blur him out. Obliterate him from my history. Cancel him from my life.

And it kinda works.

But then again, it kinda doesn’t. Because the problem is that I’m on the run—basically alone, but not alone, either. And there is nothing in front of me but an empty mountain road. No radio stations are coming in. And there’s no music in cars anymore. Even I’m old enough to remember when people kept CD’s in the car. But now, everyone keeps the music on their phones and I have no fucking idea where my purse is, let alone my phone.

So internal thoughts are all I have to keep me company.

I run the entire last week through my head over and over again. Mostly skipping the part where Ryet and I met and had our fun banter and uninhibited sex because I feel like those two days don’t count anymore. It was a setup, that’s all.

Most of my thoughts are consumed with Paul. Where is he? Is he dead? Did he find a way out? Is he coming for us?

I don’t know.

About three hours into the drive Ryet begins to growl. I stiffen, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white, but then I remember the blood. I pull over for a minute, put the truck in park, and shake him until he wakes up. His eyes are bright red and he’s snarling at me with those new teeth of his. And the only thing I can think about—as I push the half-empty bag of blood up to his mouth—is that I made a huge mistake. And I should probably just open his door, kick him out into the ditch, and drive away.

I even picture myself doing this. Leaving him behind, driving to the nearest bus station, looking for the horse and rider, making them call Zusi for me, and going home. Putting all this behind me.

But I don’t have a home. The Guild was never my home. It was just a prison. The only reason it didn’t feel like a prison was because I was too stupid to see what was right in front of my face.

They didn’t even let me read the books.