Blood Moon (MalexMale Paranormal Fantasy)

Chapter 8 ∞ DAIRE

Warning bells ring a deafening toll in my head.

My blood should have strengthened it.

Batlings live for centuries.

Was it intercepted by someone along the way? Poisoned?

I gather the tiny body, and there's a tang of something in its scent, a strange note of something that vampyres and batlings would never naturally have inside them. I assess the fang marks on my arm for any indication of poisoning or irritation, but they're healing the same way they always do. They feel the same.

I walk the creature back to the clinic, where I'm able to run some tests.

Fear coils inside me. Has he found me so soon?

∞  ∞  ∞

Hours later, Reeve pushes open the clinic door, bringing with him a thick scent of earth and sweat. He places a wrapped plate of food on the table and says, "You never got any lunch."

"Oh. I..." I don't know what to say; I never expected a gesture like this from him, at least not for me. I push my chair back from the long work table where I've started to log data from my experiments on the batling. "Thank you. The swelling around your eye looks better."

"It's fine." He nods toward the specimen on the table. "Everything alright?"

"I don't know." I round back toward the creature, looking over my work for the hundredth time.

"Is it a positive sign that you're practically wearing its guts?"

I look down to the splatters of blood staining my shirt. "Squeamish?"

"Not really."

I kick out the chair next to me in invitation for him to take a seat. He drops down onto it and leans forward, elbows to knees.

"I think it was intercepted on its way to me and poisoned," I say, wanting to entice him enough to stay.

His head snaps up. "How could that happen?"

I hesitate to tell him the truth and reveal another vampyre secret: that it was done by either the king or his guards using a toxic mist—an ability they each possess, able to mutate into a vapor form and move like the wind, carrying traces of toxins that can be inhaled or absorbed into skin. It's rarely used on batlings as the king would hate to disable our species' main form of private communications, but he would certainly risk infecting one or two if it meant eliminating a threat like the Ghost.

I offer him a vague reply instead. "I'm not sure. They must have tracked me or the omega out west after rescuing the Jewel River wolves. There aren't many vampyres out this way, so infecting a batling in transit here will either eliminate a rogue or, as they hope, kill the Ghost."

"Is it the same for you as the silver? The toxin won't affect you because you're a warder?"

"Correct."

"So, they must not know that you're a warder then, right? That's good. It gives you an unknown advantage."

"For now." The problem is, I can no longer trust sending a message to Peter without risk of killing him. They've cut me off.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Alright." I brace myself to deflect.

"What do you think will happen if these attacks continue? Do you think most of the packs would end up being destroyed and overrun?" He looks down, rubbing his hands together as if the movement might keep his thoughts on track. "It seems like there would eventually become two opposing factions; us versus the wolves aligned with the vampyre king. It's like there would be two different worlds."