stomach so twisted in knots I couldn’t stand it. “It hurts.” I groaned the last word as I doubled over in pain.
“I know. Hold on, Meadow.” He ran his hand over his hair, disheveling the strands and looking frustrated. “Damn him.”
He said the last two words under his breath, most likely not wanting me to hear him. He opened the door, and I took an involuntary step forward as my eyes took note of its contents. Bags and bags of blood filled the shelves, the dark red color covering every inch of the interior. I felt the prick of my fangs touch my bottom lip—tasting my own blood fill my mouth—and it took all my willpower to stay still. He took out two bags of blood, bringing them to me and setting them on the silver surgical table between us. I stared mesmerized by those bags, not able to tear my gaze away from them.
“He shouldn’t have left you alone without making sure.”
“Who?” I didn’t look away from the bags as he spoke.
“Mikhail.” He took a deep breath, and that was when I lifted my eyes up to his. “He should have made sure you were properly taken care of, that you were fed.” His hand ran over the back of his neck, and I followed the movement. He turned away and grabbed a square glass out of a silver cabinet, picked up a scalpel, and walked back towards me. He held the glass in one hand and grabbed one of the bags of blood, slicing it open with the scalpel. I watched as he poured the thick dark liquid into the glass, careful not to spill any of it.
I was transfixed, mesmerized by the sight of the blood coating the clear surface of the glass. I was disgusted with myself, yet feeling I couldn’t help my desire for that full glass.
“Here, this will make you feel better.”
I took the glass from his hands, finding it easier than I thought to bring it to my lips and swallow the liquid. I was so cold. I pulled the glass back and made a face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wait and heat it up. It gets better though.”
I stared at him and then back at the glass. I brought it back to my lips and took a swallow. The cold blood coated my mouth and slid down my throat. The cramps started to subside, and the more I drank, the more they went away.
I finished the glass, licking my lips and staring at Cadeon in shock. “I can’t believe I just drank a glass of blood.” He took the empty glass from my hand and filled it again. I stared at those two empty bags, my disgust resurfacing. Now that my hunger had been sated and the pain had gone, I could fully think about what I had just done.
“Don’t think too much about it. You’ll just end up making yourself sick.” He threw the bags away and cleaned out the glass.
I didn’t ask how he knew what I was feeling; maybe it was clear from my expression. “Did you feel this way? I mean the first time you had to drink blood?” He walked back over, the metal table the only thing separating us.
“I have never known anything different. I was born like this.”
I felt like a fool. Of course he had never felt the way I was feeling. “I forgot. I’m the only freak in this place.” I looked down at the table, running my hand along the smooth, cold surface.
“Meadow.”
I looked up as he softly said my name. His hand covered mine, stopping my movements on the table. The dual sensation was intoxicating—his warmth covering the top of my hand—the coldness of the table under my palm.
“You’re not a freak. You’re special.”
He leaned in, until he was only an inch from my face. He smelled so good, so fresh and clean. I didn’t look down when I felt his thumb running small circles along the back of my hand. I took a deep breath, his scent enveloping me, covering every part of me. “I’m not special. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m confused and scared.” He looked at me for another second, before pulling back and clearing his throat. I shivered lightly from the loss.
“I can see how you would be frightened and