Page 45 of House of Crimson Kisses
“Erin, get vodka, the purest you can get.”
I shred his shirt and find the gash in his stomach. It’s a stab wound. Amelia hands me the blood and a first aid kit as Erin returns with the vodka. I pour it over his stomach, and he shrieks. I hand the bottle to him, and he guzzles.
“Erin, knock him out.”
“What?” the man shrieks. But Erin lands a brutal blow to his jaw and his head falls slack.
I slide my fingers inside his stomach and feel around. Lincoln and I had to take an advanced field medics course before we could get our officer ranks. I rack my mind trying to find the right knowledge. My fingers glide around his fat cells and deeper skin layers until I punch through into his abdomen.
I fumble for his organs. I’m not trained enough to be confident, but it doesn’t seem like there’s anything seriously cut.
My fingers grow warm. They tingle at the tips, and as I pull them out, the blood flow slows.
“What the fuck?”
“What’s wrong?” Erin says.
“What?” I snap my head up. “Nothing. Nothing. Get me sheets and shred them. We need to pack his wound and apply pressure.”
She darts off and grabs the sheets Amelia brought. She shreds them into sets of strips, and then Amelia speeds them over to me.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers under her breath.
“I’ll tell you in a minute.” I apply pressure to his wound and focus on trying to get the blood flow stemmed. When I pull the first bloody rag off, I move my fingers over the wound. They tingle again. I pull them off his skin, confused, but when I look back down the wound is still bleeding, though it’s no longer pouring blood out in long ribbons, it’s more of a lazy ooze.
Amelia lets out a little gasp as I glance up at her. “Do it again,” she breathes.
So I do. I run my fingers over his stomach and focus my thoughts on healthy, smooth skin. I picture a thin silvery scar and when I pull my fingers away, nothing else happens. The tingle doesn’t return. And from all the expended effort, I am now ravenous.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “That’s all I’ve got. There’s nothing else.”
“You did good, Red. Even if you don’t have enough power yet to fully heal a person, you did amazing.” She squeezes my shoulder and I lean into her arm.
But I buckle over, holding my stomach, cutting the celebration short.
The craving for blood is sapping the energy from my every cell. It claws at my insides. Knives stab my consciousness. I’m not sure if I want to be sick or sink my teeth into the same man I just saved. The wound is still a nasty gash, but there’s only a trickle of blood left. Still, it takes everything in me not to lean down and lick the red thread off his stomach. I gag at the thought and stumble back. I can’t get anywhere near him. My head is all over the place.
What kind of fucked up is this?
“Bandage him,” I say. “Wrap them around his stomach. Pull tight. We need the pressure to seal the rest of the wound. I need… I need a minute.”
I stagger to Octavia’s worktable, pick up the vial of blood that she gave Amelia, and head to the bathroom at the back of the office. I close the door and flip open the vial, downing the entire thing.
I don’t care if they wanted me to ration it and have a drop or two every couple of hours. I need the entire thing right the fuck now before I do something I regret.
I let the vial clatter to the basin and lean over it, breathing heavy. When my head stops spinning, I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m not even sure I recognise who is looking back anymore. My face is pale. Paler than normal and my skin sallow, my cheeks gaunt. When did I prioritise blood over food? Aside from the awards ceremony, I can’t remember the last time I ate a decent meal.
I run the tap and hesitate. Blood smothers my fingers and hands. I turn my fingers this way and that. It would be easy to taste it. Lick a drop off and see what it was like. But if I do that, it’s a slippery road and I’m not sure I want to know where it leads.
I bring two fingers to my nose and sniff. It’s rich, and potent enough my mouth fills with saliva. It’s the most divine thing I’ve ever smelt. Like summer evenings and fires and s’mores. I open my mouth, my tongue skitters over my bottom lip, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
I shove my hand under the tap, cursing myself internally for even hesitating. The fuck, Red. Of course, I’m not going to drink human blood. I’m a hunter. I’m better than this.
I do not have to be any fucking dhampir. I’m sure one of the other hunters can take the role. It doesn’t have to be me.
I wash the blood off and decide to get in the shower. Octavia’s blood is now in my system, and I need to appease the ache between my legs. I survived earlier, but I am not going to survive this. I’ll be a puddle on the floor and completely useless.
I barely have to touch myself before I’m coming. But it’s not enough, so I slip my hands between my legs and rub at a frenetic pace. I slide to the floor and use both hands, shoving two rough fingers inside and letting my other hand ravish my clit. My eyes close and I think of Octavia, imagine her sat on my face, grinding the pleasure out of me. I savour the sweet taste of her excitement and I come again with the thought of my tongue between her folds, my fingers inside her. When I’m spent, I climb out of the shower, dress, and I head back into the office.
