Page 75 of Blood Lovers

“Get! Out!”

The room fades away and I realize I’m still outside. Staring at the open door of Ryet’s cottage, looking in at the darkness as cars spray a mist of water off the road as they pass behind me.

Then I see what’s happening inside the room.

Ryet isn’t in bed. He’s face down on the floor. I step inside, look over my shoulder, then shut the door and kneel down next to him. “Ryet?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Ryet?” I touch his sweaty cheek. He’s burning up. “Shit.” What do I do? Call 911? Do they even have a 911 network here? There’s no doctor. There’s no ambulance service.

I have tea. Fucking tea.

Maybe I should go back to the church and get the healer woman? Ask them for help?

Ask the Christian church to help me save… whatever he is?

No. I’m not even making that tea. I still have the bottle of Excedrin. I get up, hook my hands under Ryet’s arms, and drag his limp body across the filthy carpet. He’s pretty heavy and there’s no way I can get him into the bed myself.

Then there is a little voice is in my head. You could feed him, it says. Just a little bit. Just a couple of drops.

It’s my voice, but these cannot be my words.

“Oh, my God.” I sigh, then lean down to Ryet’s ear. “Please. Wake up. Just help me get you on the bed, OK?” He moans and my heart skips. “Ryet? Can you hear me?”

He moans again.

“Can you stand up? You’re on the floor, Ryet. You’re very sick.”

He lifts his head up, looks at me with red eyes. Not bloodshot, but completely red.

He really is a demon.

I stop breathing.

I regret not running, even if I can only get sixty-seven miles away.

His eyebrows pull together, making a long furrow along his sweaty forehead. “Syrsee?”

And when he says my name, I melt. I can’t not melt.

I love—

It’s not even possible!

But it’s true. I love him. And I will do anything to save him. “Yeah. It’s me. I got you some… aspirin.” God, that is lame. “It can help with your fever.”

He smiles, his face brightening. “Thank you.” These words are barely a whisper.

I’m afraid he’s gonna pass out again, so I quickly urge him to get up with me when I stand up. “Come on. Help me get you up.” He struggles—we both struggle—and then he’s on his feet. Two steps. That’s all he has to take. And that’s all he manages before flopping down on the mattress, once again unconscious.

I get up, shove his feet onto the bed, then realize I can’t even give him the aspirin because he’s not awake.

An overwhelming feeling of helplessness fills me up and I have a sudden urge to cry. I want to call Zusi. I want to drive the whole route backwards, stopping off in the lounges, and forget these past twenty-four hours ever happened.

I can’t do this. I can’t.

I turn to the door, pull it open, and I’m just about to step through when Ryet says, “I’ll come by your place later.”