Page 57 of Their Blood Rite

He bites his wrist and offers it to me. ‘For the cut,’ he says.

‘I don’t want your blood.’ I shove his hand away and step away from his touch.

He moves quickly, pressing his wound to my mouth. His blood oozes onto my tongue and slides down my throat.

‘I wasn’t asking, Pixie. The smell of your blood is too distracting. I can hardly think smelling you.’

After a few swallows, he stands and looks down at me, still gasping.

‘You good?’ he asks.

‘Fuck you,’ I reply.

‘Take that as a yes.’

He leaves me to discuss what happened with the others.

Their words are distant as they mumble to each other, standing across the room by the fire, sipping their drink.

My head spins wildly like I’ve consumed bottles of wine instead of a single glass. And the after effects of that power still tease me. I grip the edge of the table of dark objects and use it to haul myself up.

Blood drips from my nose from completing the Kindred. With a groan, I hunch over the table and close my eyes. Why does my head always feel as if it’s on fire? Why must everything hurt?

The damn cat moved. It meowed at me from beyond the grave, but I didn’t feel life. All that I felt was a black, endless pit of emptiness. A void. No pain or joy. No wants or needs. Just an infinite nothing.

Is that what awaits us all? When our hearts stop and our eyes finally close, will that greet us?

Just nothing.

And that frightens me more than anything. More than hellfire. More than limbo.

Nothing…

Blood continues to drip from my nose and splatters beneath me. When I open my eyes, I’m looking at my reflection.

It’s a black fucking mirror.

I scream, feeling pain and absolute terror in equal measure as the shadows within move. As they reach out to me.

I fall on the floor, scrambling away, still screaming as I try to escape it.

Shaw is standing before me in a matter of seconds with the mirror in hand.

‘Did you just find another Kindred?’ he asks.

I violently shake my head.

He snatches my hand and forcefully wipes it under my nose, gathering up the blood there before slamming it on the glass of the black mirror.

‘STOP!’ I cry, trying and failing to kick him away. To separate from that mirror.

I struggle so much that I end up in Dorian’s arms, held fast as Archie takes my head and forces me to look into the mirror.

‘Please!’ I cry. ‘Please stop!’

‘Look into the mirror,’ Dorian commands. ‘Stop struggling and look.’

Through the pain and terror, I’m vaguely aware of the burning of the mark he left on me. I obey his command, and I'm still as soon as I see the black reflection.

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