Rebels [Blood Magic, Book 4]

Chapter 7: Rock Bottom

"I don't want to see him," I shouted at the door. Usually when I told Ankor to go away, he did, but none of that was working today.

"This has gone on too long. Have you even looked at yourself lately? I'm letting him in."

A key rattled in the lock and Ankor stepped through the doorway, followed by Keel, who flipped on the lights. The brightness blinded me and I threw an arm over my eyes.

"Turn it off," I hissed.

Keel obliged, sparing me a desperate, sightless leap for the light switch.

"What the hell, Mills?" he said, and then to Ankor, "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

Ankor looked ashamed, but also more than a little pissed. Not an expression I was used to seeing on his face. "She made me swear I wouldn't. Besides, you can't tell me you haven't been feeling this through your bond."

Keel slugged him, which wasn't exactly fair; Ankor made a good point.

Ankor rubbed his chin where Keel's fist had collided with his face, but for once he kept right on talking. "Never mind what I have and haven't done, why haven't you come down here? You're supposed to be feeding her. That was your job in this arrangement, and you've been too stubborn to do it. You can't put that on me. I haven't taken blood from her in days. Everyone's starving but you and that seer, and you haven't even noticed. Or worse, you've ignored it." With that, he left. Probably smart. Given the way Keel's fists were clenched and white-knuckled, there was a very real possibility he'd throw another punch.

No longer having Ankor to rage at, he turned to me and I braced for his anger, but his next words were softer. "Mills, this has to stop."

"I'm tired. Let's stop it tomorrow," I said. This was more excitement than I'd seen in... I'd lost count of the days.

"No, not tomorrow."

I curled into myself and yanked the covers over my head. All this talking was giving me a migraine. Sleep would help. Sleep, if nothing else, still brought peace.

The mattress moved. Keel had sat down beside me. He pulled back the covers.

"You need to drink," he said.

I rolled onto my back and stared up at him; his rock-star cheekbones out of place in this dim, clothes-and-rubbish-strewn room. So much healthier than when I'd last seen him. And why not? He was eating and not feeding me. His hair full and dark tickled his shoulders, having grown since we'd arrived here. If I ran my fingers through it, it would be soft and freshly washed. Lucia's blood suited him well, it seemed.

A familiar ache bloomed in my chest. "I don't want to taste her on you."

"Have you ever tasted any of my bleeders on me?"

I closed my eyes. My mind no longer quick or clever enough to win arguments with Keel. It's interesting the things that prolonged fasting takes from you.