Page 258 of Sins of the Heart

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made her, done this to her, turned her into a parasite

that fed from human hosts. Blood had to do the same

for him, keep him alive when nothing else could, or

maybe reapers were built differently.

She closed her eyes, so very tired.

A faint sound came to her, foreign, out of place.

Like tearing cloth. And then she felt the warmth

splash her lips.

Her lids flipped open. His wrist was directly above

her, torn open, a wide flap of skin hanging loose, and

beyond that, the fresh pink flesh of his reforming

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hand. The blood dripped in a luscious torrent. She

opened her mouth. It splashed on her chin, her lips,

her tongue.

An inhuman sound escaped her, half ecstasy, half

desperation. He seemed pleased by that, his lips

curving in a grim smile. They were rimmed in blood.

She realized he’d used his teeth to open a vein.

Panting, she tried to rise, to arch forward, to clutch

his wrist and claim her prize. But her body failed her.

He moved, almost faster than she could see, straddling her chest, his knees on either side of her, his torn

wrist pressed hard against her open mouth, his free

hand cradling the back of her skull, holding her to him.

The flow surging with each beat of his pulse, his

blood filled her mouth. She swallowed. Let her mouth

fill again. Swallowed again.

It didn’t taste like ambrosia. The blood was metallic

and sharp, pungent, a little salty, a little sweet, rich with

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