Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Andrew
Hunger claws at my insides.
Blood.
I scent him, the one who brought me here. The one who is starving me.
Fire licks across my gums as fangs drop. A clear bag filled with red ambrosia enters my field of vision.
Snatching it, my fangs pierce the plastic and the crimson liquid disappears quickly. It's not enough. And it's not as good as what comes straight from a warm body. His warm body.
Another bag. Still lacking.
I eye the man standing near me. The food pumping through his body calls to me.
He steps closer and holds out his arm. Lunging forward, I make a grab for the flesh, but I'm jerked backward.
Chained.
"Feed me you bastard." I would drain him dry if I could. Sometimes, I get the feeling he'd let me.
When the man reaches the limits of my shackles, he offers his arm again, leaving no way for me to get to the rest of him. Seizing the offering, I strain against my bindings to get a tighter grip. The metallic nectar coats my mouth and runs down my chin.
Yes! This is my salvation.
Another scent permeates the space. Arousal.
The man desires this. It makes the meal sweeter as much as it incenses me to bring him any sense of gratification.
"Enough," he says, voice strained as though it pains him to force my fangs from his flesh.
The ruby rose on his left pectoral snags my attention. A drop of blood frozen in art hangs from one of the petals. The mate mark. My mate mark.
"Wyatt?" I ask, my brain clearing of fog.
"Yes. It's me."
I stare at the shredded skin of Wyatt's forearm and watch the rivulets of blood run to his fingers. My gums ache, but I can control the urge – for now.
Wyatt pulls up a chair just out of my reach.
"Tell me about the day you were taken," he says, sitting down and settling in. The wound on his arm is already healing.
We've had this conversation dozens of times because there's something tugging at the back of my mind in these lucid stretches I want to remember, but haven't been able to yet. It feels important.
"I had a hangover from drinking with acquaintances the night before. Nicola's text was waiting for me. He wanted to know if I was okay."
Wyatt looks away a moment at the mention of his cousin.
Maybe it makes him uncomfortable to know I hit on Nicola before all this went down.
It's a good thing nothing ended up happening between us, or Tavian probably would have killed me.
But I can't regret meeting him. If it weren't for Nicola's persistence in trying to find me, who knows where I'd be now.
"I sent a text back to let him know I was okay. It's all fuzzy after that."
I close my eyes, running through the bits and pieces that flash like still photos in my mind. I was at my apartment. I think someone came to the door.
"I can't remember," I say, opening my eyes while yanking my shackles in frustration. "Why can't I fucking remember!"
"The memories may never come back. You've been through a major trauma."
"Aren't vampires supposed to be all perfect and sexy? I think my maker didn't get the memo."
Wyatt's lip quirks up like he's fighting a smile, which infuriates me. There's nothing humorous about any of this.
"In human stories, paranormals are often glamorous, but we're flawed, just like they are. Nothing is ever truly perfect, Andrew."
Don't I know it. If things were perfect, my family wouldn't have abandoned me, and Arthur wouldn't be dead.
Arthur.
Everything snaps into place.
"They took him," I whisper. "When they came for me, they took him. That's what I've been trying to remember."
"Took who?" Wyatt asks, leaning forward.
"My best friend. He wasn't supposed to be home until later. I thought he was visiting his father. Arthur saw them, so they took him, too."
I stare out the window at the night sky. Wyatt opens the window coverings after dark so I don't feel so confined, but right now the walls feel like they're closing in.
"Fuck. Fuck!" I thrash, chains rattling. "They fucking killed him. He's dead because of me."
Why the hell didn't I leave those memories alone? I don't want to know this. I'm the monster who got his best friend killed.