Blood War (Book 1, the Halfblood Chronicles)

23.2 | An Intimate Craft

And then she saw flashes. Images of things, people, places. Memories. She saw Misha, smiling and laughing. Sprawling, mountainous landscapes—undoubtedly Russia. A middle-aged woman with a face broken in anguish. A humble cottage made of wood and stone.

It was all so . . . intimate. Personal. And although Nika knew she was intruding, she couldn't shove those treasured things away.

And then—a scream.

It was deafening. The loudest memory of them all. Not a faded echo, but a booming roar. As if it was happening in real time. But somehow, Nika knew it was older than that, a female scream that had hooked its claws deep into Ren's mind.

She wanted to see more, to know more, but something ripped her away.

Nika blinked and reality returned. She felt as though she'd been dreaming.

Ren bowed over her, panting heavily, his features drawn in unmasked confusion and panic.

"What did you just do?" he whispered urgently.

She frowned and tried to move. The sheets scraped her feverish skin, but she didn't budge. Assessing, she found herself mostly trapped beneath Ren's body. Only one leg remained free, and she hooked it around him, simultaneously lifting her mouth to his neck, where four crimson beads called to her.

A massive hand flattened against her chest, pinning her. "Nika, what was that? Those . . . visions."

His words plucked at her awareness, and she recalled the moments before. Visions. Ren's memories. His life. As if drinking his blood had somehow given her access to his soul.

"I don't know," she said.

For long minutes, they stared at one another, collecting their composures. At some point, Ren started swaying. Nika watched his face go from flushed to bone-white.

"Ren . . . "

He quickly pushed off and dragged himself toward the edge of the bed. When Nika sat up, she realized she felt nothing but warmth and softness. No pain.

So this is what a blood high feels like.

It was alarmingly similar to being drunk, but with a thrill of vitality. She felt like she could fly, but she really just wanted to touch Ren again. Desire still pumped through her body.

"Oldbloods," she muttered, shaking her head in an attempt to clear it away. "Now I understand why everyone says feeding is intimate. It's a bloody aphrodisiac."

If not for the euphoria, Nika would have been mortified at the reality of what had just happened. The way they'd touched. Oh, things would certainly be awkward once the high wore off. But for now, she could only smile.

Ren, however, was far from amused. He sat on the edge of the bed, focusing entirely on his steady breaths and the cloth he pressed against his neck.

"Are you okay?"

It took a moment for him to reply, "Fine."

Nika didn't believe it. If she'd taken too much blood, he might be ready to pass out. She crawled toward him, placed a hand on his back. He bristled.

"How much did you see?" When she hesitated, he growled, "How much, Nika?"

"I—they were just flashes. Faces. Random locations and objects." A pause. "I heard screaming, too."

He muttered something in Russian, then got to his feet. "I should go."

"No."

But Ren put his shirt back on, then staggered to retrieve Nika's.

"Please," she said.

Shut up, the sensible part of her hissed. You're not some blubbering idiot.

Yet her tongue kept moving. "I'm sorry. I don't—I didn't mean to—"

He extended her bunched-up shirt. Nika stood and took it, trying to grab his hand in the process. Ren evaded.

It felt like being lost on stormy waves, stuck aboard a burning ship. And down, down, down it sunk into the deep, blue sea.

As he rushed for the door, she felt it. The pain came slamming back into her body. Everywhere.

It suddenly became impossible to stand, to move at all. And she would have collapsed if Ren hadn't caught her and guided her into bed.

"Your body is starting to repair itself," he explained.

Nika frowned, trying to sit upright, to explain to him that whatever had just happened—whatever she'd just seen and heard—was not how she'd intended this to go.

Ren only pushed her back into the pillows and said, "Rest, Nika."

In a blink, he was at the door again. For a moment, she thought he might have hesitated before leaving, but the effects of the blood were coaxing her deep into oblivion. And even after he was gone, that scream rang into eternity, like the mournful echo of a funeral dirge.