Free Cursed by Rebecca Trynes Page B

matter? Either way, it was lust, pure and simple—and who was she to argue with that?

 
    4
     
    Outward appearances portrayed Greyvian to be calm, cold even, and for the past hundred years, the inside of his mind had perfectly reflected that. He had been comfortable in that state. Being numb inside was often thought of as a bad thing from what he could gather of the human world, but he preferred it to the alternative. Emotions were messy, stressful things that could quickly cause someone to go out of control and do or say things they would come to regret.
    Like telling those three back at the apartment that he would rather die than starve. As if he were some pity case they should all make sad eyes at and wax lyrical about how things had turned around for him, how he was no longer the pitiful starving child he had once been.
    He was not accustomed to talking about himself and even less so without any prompting. He could not fathom why he had told her that. Why he added that last sentence. It had not been necessary. He should have just stopped at ‘they wither, but don’t die’.
    Why had he uttered that last sentence?
    It must be the thirst. The unrelenting desire to sink his fangs into her neck and drain her of her life’s blood. It was making him irrational. Damn her. Why did she have to smell so good? What was it about her that gave her that scent? She wasn’t a pre-trans—although if she were, she would have smelled bitter—and she wasn’t a vampire. It must have something to do with the fact that she was Aware without them making her so. Either way, he didn’t like it. Didn’t like feeling. Thirst. Desire. Unbridled lust. The last time he had succumbed to those feelings many humans had died.
    Picking up his pace, he jogged the next lap around her apartment and futilely tried to escape the memories.
     
    Stowing away in his family’s wagon would have been utterly impossible if it weren’t for his sister. He was much too weak to lift himself up in bed, let alone into the back of a wagon. To then cover himself with the heavy cloth kept in back to hide… Thankfully for Katarina, it was the work of a moment. Lifting him from his bed without effort, for he was stick thin and light as a feather, she headed for the stairs and then paused just long enough to check that nobody was at the bottom before heading down. She paused again when she reached the door to the yard and listened intently for any movement from the kitchen nearby. Dawn was at least an hour away however, so there was nobody around. With a nod of readiness, Katarina headed for the courtyard. Once again she paused at the door and they watched and listened for any sounds outside. Nothing. Everybody was still in bed.
    Heart pounding from fear and exhilaration at what they were about to do, he felt only a twinge of self-pity for his frail state as his sister clutched him to her breast and ran easily for all she was worth to the wagon which sat only metres away. She practically threw him onto the bed in her haste and he rolled and bumped across the unyielding wood wincing and grunting, hoping nothing broke in the process.
    “Sorry!” she hissed as she climbed in beside him.
    He shook his head and motioned for her to hurry and cover him. Once the cloth was in place and he was securely hidden, he lay panting from exertion, feeling weaker than ever, but his spirit felt buoyant, light, carefree.
    He was going to feed at last.
    “Good luck,” his sister whispered, and then left him to the muffled sounds of the yard.
    Eyes wide, he lay beneath the musty smelling cloth, unable to see anything but the coarse brown of the material. Straining his ears, he tried to catch whatever sounds he could, hardly daring to breathe lest the rasping sound give him away and destroy his chances of finding his cure. Minutes ticked by.
    He woke to the steady wobble and bump of the wagon travelling over the rough road and felt his heart start at the reality of what he was about