Chapter 12 Dead Animals
DEAD ANIMALS
BAZ
Thirteen hours left.
I was poking holes in defrosting blood bags, watching as red lines of liquid slid towards the sink’s drain. Orson and Bree had gone out to get food and supplies. Nemo was outside somewhere. Close enough to hear if I left, but not close enough to see me betraying them.
Bree had filled the kitchen sink with warm water and the frozen bags, making sure she’d have blood to hold her over when she got back.
However, I’d pulled out the stopper, poked the holes, and was now watching it wash away.
Bree had a demanding appetite, and she’d need to feed.
I was removing options for her. This part of the plan was essential.
I plucked up a bag and watched red drip from the hole and plop into the white sink.
What a weird thing to eat. Biting into a warm person had to be more thrilling than cold plastic.
Pressure built in my gums, aching deeply.
I dropped the bag and rubbed above my canines as I moved across the room, looking out the window.
I was already evolving. The exhaustion had lifted, and the burn in my bones was gone. There were other changes, too—small ones adding up slowly.
Nemo was nowhere in sight still. He said he’d make everything right.
Wouldn’t that be nice? Someone to help make all the bad things go away.
I gave the trees another sweep for him, then turned away.
Nemo was the most capable. If I didn’t have a parlor trick of a power, he’d be the strongest by far.
It was undeniable. He was a monster and would make a good leader. Keep them together. Keep them safe.
All I had was one more night with them. I was leaving, whether or not any of them helped me. It would have been easier if they had but with or without them, I had a plan only I was aware of.
The darts Supra shot me with were still on me.
I slid my fingers in my pocket and touched the paper wrapped around each one.
Notes just for me. The first had said I could make a deal.
The second had a phone number and was signed Damien.
I’d thought Levi had been wrong. That Damien D’Bolique was just some guy.
The journal didn’t paint the picture of an evil mastermind.
Something had to have happened. Given the journal, I could only guess one thing: something terrible had happened to his mate, and it changed him.
Could I even blame Damien for that? Here I was, betraying my own partners to keep them safe.
Anyway, these notes were why it didn’t matter whether Orson or Nemo helped. It didn’t matter if Bree demanded that we all stay together. They could sit there thinking I was helpless, surrounded by woods in the middle of nowhere, but I was leaving for good after tonight.
They’d all been awake for much longer than I had and were going to crash soon. I was guaranteeing that. I walked back to the sink and watched the blood bags deflate. Bree was going to be very hungry, and she’d drink enough from Orson and Nemo to lay them out cold.
I stomped away and I slipped into the bathroom. In front of me, serpentine eyes stared back. I squinted and relaxed. Then I rubbed them. Nothing helped. I couldn’t make them change.
Bree, Nemo, and Orson were delusional, thinking things would be okay.
I was familiar with that naivety. As a child, I’d refused to accept the extent of my powers, convincing myself that I could hold back.
I used to test my ability to control my venom on small animals.
They’d all died. I couldn’t bury them because I’d felt bad. Instead, I’d kept them.
Young children aren’t very good at hiding bodies, especially those they liked talking to. And when my father found them … Well, there was a reason I was no longer as empathetic as when I was a child—crying when I killed things. I never would be again. He’d ensured that.
I peeled my lip up and looked at my gums. Nothing was there besides the pressure and ache. My tongue rolled over my canines. There was a small split in the middle—a subtle forked tongue. I snapped my mouth shut.
No pleading or begging had worked on my father when he’d found the dead animals. After that, he’d been on a mission to teach me basilisks kill—that everything I touched was doomed to die, no matter how much I cried about it.
My father’s lessons had involved locking me in a room with someone and not letting me out until they were dead.
At first, they were strangers—humans who didn’t know what I was.
They’d seen a scared child and wanted to help.
I couldn’t stop them. But eventually, it had been anyone he could get.
One by one, the mansion emptied—no more teachers, no more maids, no more cooks.
The lessons stopped the day I no longer cared.
Finally, I killed without hesitation, smiling back at my dad.
It’d taken a lot of lessons to earn that smile, and it had cost me greatly.
I’d thought he’d be proud. This was what he wanted, right?
Of course, I didn’t get his pride. Imagine that.
I did get something else, though … his fear. Luckily, I liked that just as much.
Father had made his point—I was deadly—and I was nice enough to make the point right back.
No one really knew what went on in that house because there was no one left to, after good ole dad had me murder the whole staff. No one to hear screaming, and no one to know just how long my parents had been dead before I grew bored and called Verfallen, pretending to be them.
With an annoyed groan, I shoved the memories back in the past. My situation was bringing them to the surface like bloated corpses, but I had a job to do. Get away from the people I cared about. Basilisks kill, Basil, I could hear my father in my head.
I dragged my hands down my face and turned away from the mirror. I was changing already. Time was running out. After they fell asleep, I’d run. I just needed to find a place with a phone, call Damien, and make a deal. Me in exchange for Bree, Nemo, and Orson.
Back in the living room, I lay on the couch.
Orson had left the journal on the coffee table, and I had some time to kill.
I found the place I left off. They were arguing over the magical coat again.
Damien wasn’t letting it go. They had a bad fight, and when Bijou didn’t come back for days, Damien was distraught.
The pages were filled with anxiety, dread, and panic. He couldn’t lose his love.
The moment he came back, Damien fell to his knees and begged for forgiveness.
How the fuck was this the bad guy? Damien apologized, promised he’d never bring it up again. He told him why he’d wanted it so bad. He felt like he wasn’t trusted, and that Bijou planned to leave one day.
After their talk, Bijou relented and said he’d give Damien the coat.
There was a single sentence written in the middle of the next page.
“He gave me the coat.” I flipped the page.
“He gave me the coat.” Flip.
“He gave me the coat.” I swallowed thickly. Flip.
“He gave me the coat.” A chill ran over me, and I slammed the book shut. It was a very nice story, thinking Damien wasn’t really a villain. That he had reasons like I did. That there were good intentions behind his actions.
My fingers tapped the leather cover of the journal. The vials were heavy in my pocket. What would happen after I turned myself in to Damien? I hadn’t thought about it. I couldn’t, could I?
I licked my lips and slid the journal under the couch, deciding I didn’t want to know what happened. Out of sight, out of mind. If I knew the truth, it might change my mind. But I couldn’t change my mind, or Bree and the others would die. I’d kill them.
Basilisks kill, Basil. Amazing that I could still remember my father’s voice perfectly.
“It’s gone,” Bree said. I woke up, my heart beating fast. Panting, I looked down at myself, making sure my skin was still there. I’d dreamed that a shadowy Damien had strapped me to a table and was cutting it off, saying he wanted my coat.
“Shit.” I rubbed my eyes then checked my watch.
Ten hours left.
Out the window, the last remains of light were being swallowed by a star-filled sky.
“The bags were decades old,” Orson sighed. “I’m sorry. We should have put them in a container to defrost.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“The blood bags were broken, and I didn’t put the stopper in right. It all drained down the sink,” Bree said. It’s easy not to feel bad when you’ve had thorough lessons not to. I mean, maybe, deep down, I felt bad. But I knew how to pretend I didn’t well enough that I was functionally a psychopath.
“It’ll be fine, you can drink from us tonight. Tomorrow we’ll get fresh blood.” Orson squeezed her shoulder. His purple eyes landed on me, and my heart stopped. Had he figured it out?
“Don’t drink from Baz,” he finally said. Either he didn’t know or was playing dumb. Maybe he’d made up his mind to stay out of my way after all?
“Why?” She asked. As if it wasn’t obvious why. I sighed. She was never going to accept that everything had changed when the serum was injected into me.
“Look at him,” Orson said. I stretched my sitting body across the couch for her inspection.
“Do I not look yummy?” I winked at her. Bree bit her lip, holding back a giggle. She was just too cute sometimes.
“That’s the problem,” Orson said. “You do.”
“That’s a problem?”
“You looked ill before. Now you don’t.” His eyes dragged up my body before settling on my face.
“And your eyes still haven’t gone back.” Nemo came in through the front door, carrying bags that smelled like hot food.
He dropped them on the kitchen table, and I darted over, my stomach growling the entire way.
Was this how Bree felt? Normally, I didn’t eat much, but I was currently willing to maul Nemo to get a fair share.
The moment the bags were within grabbing range, I peeled them open to find folded box containers. I flicked the top apart, and my mouth watered instantly.
“I have no idea what this is, but I’m going to eat it all,” I rasped. With a quick shove, Nemo was pushed out of my way as I reached out for more bags.
“What the hell?” He growled.
“Get your own,” I growled back, parking myself in a seat and fishing a little baggie of plastic utensils out.
“It’s American-Chinese,” Orson said. He came around and began pointing to things in the container I was hovering over.
“That’s general tso’s, that’s orange chicken, that’s lo mein—” He grabbed a small container of red syrup and peeled open the top, before setting it on the table next to me.
“And that’s the sauce for those.” He pointed at the star-shaped, crunchy pockets. “Crab rangoon.”
I feasted. Orson was weirdly into watching it happen. Nemo, too, actually. Or shocked, really. He was slack-jawed as I inhaled the noodles. Bree eventually came over as well. She sat down at the table and slid another container towards me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat,” she commented.
“I feed on my victims,” I said. No one laughed. I looked up while slurping a noodle to see three pairs of horrified faces.
“Nemo literally ate parts of our Uber driver, and you two are vampires. And yet I get this look?” I scoffed in mock offense.
“But … that’s like, cannibalism?" Bree asked, unsure.
“That’s prejudice against basilisks. I’m as much of a monster as the rest of you.”
“This is fascinating,” Orson said. “Do you slurp their insides like a spider? And what hole do you do that from?”
“Clearly, from their asshole.” Another beat of silence. “I was joking.”
“About the asshole?”
“About eating people.” I dunked a crab rangoon into the thick, red sauce. It spilled onto the wooden table and pooled around the edges of the transparent container. “Is this candy?” I asked after sniffing it.
“It’s a sugary sauce,” Orson said. I slipped it into my mouth. The sugar and red dye hit my tongue like a shock to the system. As I bit into the pocket, a warm, mild cream combined with the fried pastry and sweet syrup.
“Oh, this is good,” I groaned. Nemo finally plopped down and began digging in.
“Were you really joking?” Bree asked. “Why haven’t I seen you eat?”
“I don’t eat people. And the truth? Ugh, no therapy tonight,” I said.
“Ah,” she said, and needed no more explanation. Oh, the joys of dating people who could recite the DSM from memory. Probably because they’d been diagnosed with half of it.
“Here,” I said, holding up a noodle. Bree opened her mouth, and I fed her the end. Then I slipped the other end into my mouth and quickly slurped up as much as I could until our mouths were touching. She laughed as I peppered her lips and cheeks with kisses.
“This is fun,” I said, sitting back down and swallowing the food. My eyes did a quick scan of her face, making sure there were no signs of venom poisoning. When no black or green showed up, I smiled at Bree.
“Let’s go to the bedroom. Just you and me,” I told her. “The others can join in a bit.”
“Alone?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I promise I know what goes where, even when Nemo isn’t fitting us together like puzzle pieces.”
“I don’t do that,” he grunted between bites of breaded meat. Bree and I looked at each other. The moment I saw her holding back her own laugh, it was unstoppable. We burst out laughing.
“I can’t count the number of times you’ve guided my cock into a hole,” I said.
“No one complained,” he defended.
“True,” I said, slipping Bree’s hand into mine. She came away from the table, eyes latched onto me with hunger. “No drinking my blood,” I said. She pouted. “Bree…”
“No drinking,” she agreed with a sigh. Out of nowhere, it hit me how much I loved her.
The good mood from a moment ago was evaporating quickly.
It was going to be cruel when she woke up, and I was gone, but I couldn’t bring myself to control my greed.
One more time, that’s all I wanted. I’d keep saying it all night.
Once more inside her. One more kiss. One more touch.
One last time, telling me I was her soul mate and that we’d never be apart, not in life and not in death.
Once more, over and over until I put them all to sleep, and the clock told me it was time to go.
It was time for me to go back to my reality.