A figure appeared in the distance, walking on the paved pathway toward Michaelson, and Brennan jolted. That was the proctor—and he’d almost missed him.
His senses, still blaring and confusing, jumbled together into a cloudy haze that Brennan blamed on thirst. That was his hypothesis for now, at least, because the worse he burned to drink, the harder sounds became to distinguish from one another, a wall of noise closing in from all directions.
He launched forward, taking a long path around the quad to approach the back entrance he needed. At that time of day, it would be unlocked, unmonitored, and unoccupied for a small window of time.
Then all he had to do was follow the smell of blood.
Brennan moved with purpose, like a bloodhound with his nose to the ground. His body moved like it had learned ballet without telling him, perfectly balanced with each delicate, impossibly light step. He needed to writethatdown. Maybe this schtick had some perks, after all.
He came to a classroom door and glanced around again before entering and closing the door behind him. It wasn’t even locked.
The scent flooded him instantly, grabbing Brennan right by the neck with the overwhelming instinct to bite.
That still-foreign feeling of his fangs dropping down filled his mouth.
Brennan nearly teleported to the giant freezer across the room, ignoring the tables and desks and whiteboards with elaborate diagrams, because Brennan knew, he’d seen enough movies and had enough context clues to be certain that was it—
He flung the freezer open to trays of blood in vials and plastic packs.
Really, if they don’t want their blood samples stolen, they should keep them more secure,Brennan thought, and he was about to bite into the plastic then and there when he heard voices and footsteps. His senses must have been really dulled for him not to notice until then, but he launched into action, loading as many packs of blood into his backpack as he could reasonably steal.
And, fuck, he’d really meant to pilfer a little, few enough not to draw attention but enough to tide him over. But he had no idea how long a pack would last him, and he tended to be thirstier than he’d hypothesized, so screw it.
He tucked the packs in as carefully as he could in his haste and zipped the bag closed. He shut the fridge doors, returned to their undisturbed state.
The footsteps were in the hallway now, and he’d only have a moment to put distance between himself and the newcomer. Which meant no morethinking: act, dumbass.
He threw himself across the room to open the door. Footsteps shuffled outside.
Brennan turned in a whirling circle to take in the room. Even if he wasn’t caught in the act, there was a decent amount of blood missing—he couldn’t be seen atall.
He sized up the door, then turned with greater dread to the window.
He leapt to it, pushed it open, poked his head through.
The coast was clear—no witnesses.
And it was just the second floor. People survived that all the time, right?
He backed away, adjusted his backpack.
And then he launched himself out of the window.
He rolled when he landed, swift and practiced. Like jumping out of windows was an everyday occurrence. He kind of wished someone had seen—it was probably badass.
But more pressing was thesmellwafting from Brennan’s backpack, and the burning thirst that pulled at him. Brennan gave in to the smell, the instinct, and let his body take over.
He grabbed one of the pint bags and bit down right into the plastic, and then the blood was sliding down his throat and the feeling was absolutely unreal. Like, the satisfaction of scratching an itch, eating your first bite of vegan cheesecake, and having a screaming orgasm, all tied into one. Like all of his nerves were lit up in satisfaction, relief.
He drained the pack in seconds, like one of the frat boys shotgunning beer at the parties some freshman-year friends had convinced him to attend—except those boys had ended up choking and gagging into the sink, whereas Brennan lifted his head and his world came into full Technicolor for the first time.
The prickling feeling, like shards of metal piercing his skin, smoothed over, his senses calming into something vivid andreal.Where the noises around him had been a cacophony in his head, they faded into the background, and he felt at peace in his own brain for the first time since getting hit by that car. The tight itchiness of his skin was soothed, like aloe on a sunburn, and everything around him came into focus in stunning clarity. He’d put his own life into 8K resolution, and it felt—
Powerful.
The world was in stunning clarity, sharper, and that was when Brennan realized too late that he was not alone.
The murky smell of weed.
