Ruler [Blood Magic, Book 3]

Chapter 31: Rude Awakenings

The more the cobwebs fell away from my brain, the more determined I became to claw my way up from my gauzy wonderland and seek out the source of that marvelous smell. I had to taste it. I had to do whatever it took to taste it.

I opened my eyes, preparing to be assaulted by the blinding needles of clinical lighting, but my sight adjusted to the muted light of the room with little trouble and I recognized where I was immediately: in Keel's king-size bed - with Keel. What the hell? Clad in a black T-shirt and a pair of carefully creased dress pants, he was sitting on top of the sheets I was tucked under. His arms were laced with new scars, a crisscross network of senseless lines in various stages of healing, as if someone had been taking a razor blade to him day after day. A couple appeared to have just stopped bleeding. Another whiff of heaven eclipsed my confusion. What the hell is that glorious smell?

As I swivelled my head around the room in search of it, I came face to face with my father. Ephraim was sitting in an upholstered chair beside the bed, observing whatever this was and looking as serious as ever. I blinked several times, unsure that what I was seeing was real: my father, the sorcerer, the avowed vampire hater, sitting in Keel's private chambers.

As I took him in, I realized this couldn't be another dream, because I would never envision him like this. His firm hand and iron will had loomed large since the moment we met and though it had only been months since I'd last seen him, he wore the time in years. The grey that had once only peppered his black hair at the temples was now reaching out and staking claim to other parts of his head. His brown button-down shirt and khaki trousers hung loose on his frame and his belt showed evidence of extra notch or two having recently been added by hand.

"You're awake," he said.

"What are you doing here?" I forced the question out through a voice box that felt like it had gotten rusty and forgotten how to generate sound, then I sat up.

Cool air met my skin. I looked down and realized the covers had slid away from my body, and I was clad in a flimsy white tank top and underpants and nothing else. The smell and the way it made my stomach contract in anticipation flew from my mind. I yanked the sheets back up over my shirt and spun around to look at Keel, cheeks flaming. If there were any adequate words or explanation for this, I didn't have them. Either Keel or my father needed to provide them - and fast.

But the moment that embarrassment began to wear off the smell was back, invading everything. What was it? It made my teeth ache, imbuing me with the throbbing urge to satiate the craving, to bite down, but on what?

"What's that smell?" I knew my mouth was moving, making those words, but I still didn't recognize my voice. I sounded like an eighty-year-old woman. My eyes locked on my father. "Is it you? Is it coming from you?" My words took on a nervy edge and my stomach growled again; hysteria toed for a foothold in my head. No, it can't be. No No No. My fingers wound their way into the bedsheets and closed into fists. "Why do I want to eat you?"

Ephraim looked weary and wary; an unyielding sadness was etched in the lines emanating from his down-turned mouth.

"A loaded question," he said, and exchanged a look with Keel, some unspoken bit of information, and again I wondered how long I'd been out for and who had kidnapped my father and replaced him with an alien, but then I noticed the scent diminishing and the thought was yanked away. There were more pressing questions.

"Capsule version, then," I said. "Someone please tell me what the hell is going on."

"You nearly died," Keel said from behind me. "Drastic measures were needed to prevent that. I don't have the same healing magic as you do."