Read Online 2. Darkness in the Blood Master copy MS 5 by Vicki Keire - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Vicki Keire
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It’s like… he’s just a blank space, or something.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, alarmed.
The door flew open before she could answer. Ethan was first. It was very hard to read his expression, but perhaps that had more to do with my difficulty focusing on moving objects. Logan was easier. He carried a stack of Chinese take out and stared, open mouthed, as the two of us giggled maniacally and rolled on the floor. We lay surrounded by gold foil chocolate boxes, piles of records, never-melting ice cream, and floating bottles of wine.
“She got me witch-drunk!” I managed to gasp, pointing at Cassandra through peals of laughter.
“I knew you were going to say that!” she laughed, curled on her side, shaking with mirth.
The two boys stared at us in shocked silence. “You got witch-drunk without us?” Logan finally asked. He sounded hurt.
“What do we do?” Ethan asked at last. I was eye-level with his boots. I gave them my most charming smile. From far above me, he looked more surprised than upset.
“Dude, I have no idea.” Logan sat the Chinese food down and came to perch on the edge of the sofa. “Torment them endlessly?”
Ethan finally cracked a smile. “I hear that shows you care.”
Chapter Seven:
Dreaming in Blue
Low haunting music woke me.
It came from the living room. Logan, I thought, aware of Ethan’s restless slumbering warmth beside me. My brother must be awake and playing records. I wondered why he couldn’t sleep. I buried my face in my hands and groaned, remembering my shameful behavior. “The witches made me do it,” I mumbled, trying out the excuse before I used it. It sounded pathetic, even to me. I groaned into my pillow. The least I could do was go apologize for my behavior. Dizzy and lightheaded, I forced myself out of bed and dragged myself into the living room with eyes at half-mast.
Someone stood over the record player, listening intently. He gave off a faint, unnatural blue light in the darkened room. “I love this song,” he said without looking up. “I think I miss music the most.” With a gasp, I backed away towards my bedroom. I don’t know why I didn’t scream. For a second, I thought he was a ghost. He must have been used to that reaction because he looked up sharply. “It’s ok. You’re dreaming again, but this time you’re not dying and we’re safe here.” I caught a glimpse of dark hair and eyes. His faintly golden skin was covered with tattoos from the waist up. Bare feet. Bare everything, in fact, except for a pair of loose black pants. He watched me through narrowed eyes, assessing.
The boy from my dream. The one who had helped me when I was Shadow-sick. I stared in shock, still inching backwards. “What are you doing in my living room?”
“Don’t you remember me?” He moved with Nephilim quickness; in an instant he was standing right in front of me. This close, his dark eyes held a sad urgency I’d missed before. I’d missed other things, too, like the cut across his lip and the bruise on his cheekbone, and the deep cut across his bicep. My blood throbbed, then roared at his nearness. This time it felt as if some deep part of me recognized him, rather than the searing heat of Shadow-sickness. I was as fascinated as I was alarmed.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I thought it was a dream.”
“It was,” he said.
“I mean a made-up dream. A not-possible kind of dream.” His face flared with reflected silver as I seized his wrist and looked at him, really looked at him: his tattoos, his minimal clothing, the way he prowled instead of walked. “You really are like me.” The first and only Nephilim descendent I’d ever met who was not a blood relative. I felt his blood calling to mine as surely as if he had spoken my name. I was excited, suddenly, but forced myself to remember how strange this was, that he was in my house and that he was injured. “You’re hurt. You weren’t before, in that other dream. Are you all
“What do you mean?” I asked, alarmed.
The door flew open before she could answer. Ethan was first. It was very hard to read his expression, but perhaps that had more to do with my difficulty focusing on moving objects. Logan was easier. He carried a stack of Chinese take out and stared, open mouthed, as the two of us giggled maniacally and rolled on the floor. We lay surrounded by gold foil chocolate boxes, piles of records, never-melting ice cream, and floating bottles of wine.
“She got me witch-drunk!” I managed to gasp, pointing at Cassandra through peals of laughter.
“I knew you were going to say that!” she laughed, curled on her side, shaking with mirth.
The two boys stared at us in shocked silence. “You got witch-drunk without us?” Logan finally asked. He sounded hurt.
“What do we do?” Ethan asked at last. I was eye-level with his boots. I gave them my most charming smile. From far above me, he looked more surprised than upset.
“Dude, I have no idea.” Logan sat the Chinese food down and came to perch on the edge of the sofa. “Torment them endlessly?”
Ethan finally cracked a smile. “I hear that shows you care.”
Chapter Seven:
Dreaming in Blue
Low haunting music woke me.
It came from the living room. Logan, I thought, aware of Ethan’s restless slumbering warmth beside me. My brother must be awake and playing records. I wondered why he couldn’t sleep. I buried my face in my hands and groaned, remembering my shameful behavior. “The witches made me do it,” I mumbled, trying out the excuse before I used it. It sounded pathetic, even to me. I groaned into my pillow. The least I could do was go apologize for my behavior. Dizzy and lightheaded, I forced myself out of bed and dragged myself into the living room with eyes at half-mast.
Someone stood over the record player, listening intently. He gave off a faint, unnatural blue light in the darkened room. “I love this song,” he said without looking up. “I think I miss music the most.” With a gasp, I backed away towards my bedroom. I don’t know why I didn’t scream. For a second, I thought he was a ghost. He must have been used to that reaction because he looked up sharply. “It’s ok. You’re dreaming again, but this time you’re not dying and we’re safe here.” I caught a glimpse of dark hair and eyes. His faintly golden skin was covered with tattoos from the waist up. Bare feet. Bare everything, in fact, except for a pair of loose black pants. He watched me through narrowed eyes, assessing.
The boy from my dream. The one who had helped me when I was Shadow-sick. I stared in shock, still inching backwards. “What are you doing in my living room?”
“Don’t you remember me?” He moved with Nephilim quickness; in an instant he was standing right in front of me. This close, his dark eyes held a sad urgency I’d missed before. I’d missed other things, too, like the cut across his lip and the bruise on his cheekbone, and the deep cut across his bicep. My blood throbbed, then roared at his nearness. This time it felt as if some deep part of me recognized him, rather than the searing heat of Shadow-sickness. I was as fascinated as I was alarmed.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I thought it was a dream.”
“It was,” he said.
“I mean a made-up dream. A not-possible kind of dream.” His face flared with reflected silver as I seized his wrist and looked at him, really looked at him: his tattoos, his minimal clothing, the way he prowled instead of walked. “You really are like me.” The first and only Nephilim descendent I’d ever met who was not a blood relative. I felt his blood calling to mine as surely as if he had spoken my name. I was excited, suddenly, but forced myself to remember how strange this was, that he was in my house and that he was injured. “You’re hurt. You weren’t before, in that other dream. Are you all
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