20. A Warning
20
A WARNING
SAYAH
W hen I open my eyes, the room’s dark as the sun’s still asleep, yet the city lights twinkle wildly outside.
We’d fallen asleep on the floor since the bed’s broken and a little tilted.
His arm drapes over my side, holding me from behind, and his soft snore hums in between my shoulder blades.
My right hip has gone numb from the hard floor, and although he had covered us at some point during the night with the white comforter, I’m still a little chilly being naked and on the floor. I try to shift my weight to get the throbbing pain digging into my hip to go away, but when I do, I rouse him awake.
He suddenly jolts up.
“What time is it?” he asks, jumping up to find his pants where he had deposited them in the throes of our passion. His bare ass is cute and round and has a nice, hard shape. Bubble butts on men are the best. “Oh, thank gods. It’s only four. I have to get in the shower.”
I try not to notice his gorgeous penis, which is still large when it’s soft. I tingle again, wanting to feel him all up in me again.
“What time do you have to be there?” I ask, sitting up and pulling the comforter to cover my boobs .
“Before the sun comes up,” he says, bending down and kissing me, pulling the comforter away.
“Mmm,” I moan against his lips.
He pulls me up and escorts me into the shower with him, and I scuttle behind him on eager feet.
Turning on the hot water, the room fills with steam as he kisses me hungrily, shoving me gently into the shower as his soft penis begins to grow while he cups my breasts.
This time was not as long as last night, but I still climaxed hard as he had me pinned against the shower wall and fucked me from behind, standing up.
After the shower, he dresses for work as I climb into the crooked bed, hair wet and dripping, closing my eyes while feeling completely satisfied.
With life. In my situation. My man.
Drifting back to sleep, I feel him kiss my forehead before he leaves.
When I awake again, the sun is blazing in the room, causing all the white things within to glow. I draw up from the broken bed and head to the bathroom to grab a robe.
Entering the main room, Claire and Anna are awake, snacking on some room service.
“Hello there, sex hair,” Anna says, tossing a piece of Danish at me.
Snatching it out of the air and popping it into my mouth, I ask, “Is it bad?”
“Was it good?” Claire asks, her eyes squinting. “Cause your hair says it was.”
“Oh my gods. The best sex I think I’ve ever had. We broke the bed.”
“Lucky,” chides Anna, ripping off a piece of her blueberry muffin. “I want some of that.”
“You guys didn’t get lucky with any of the wait staff?”
“No,” Claire says almost sadly.
“Got a few numbers, though,” Anna adds. “We may go back there tonight. Depending on what you and Dominic have planned. ”
“I don’t know if we have anything planned,” I state, plopping down next to them. “What do you guys wanna do today?”
“I say walk the strip. Maybe check out that psychic. Do lunch somewhere. Check out the Chippendales,” Claire chronicles our day in ten seconds, handing me a plastic cup of coffee with a lid.
“Chippendales, huh?” I say, opening the lid and pouring in some creamer, watching the coffee pale.
“Why not? Just because you’re not single anymore doesn’t mean we aren’t.”
“And besides,” adds Anna, “you can always look.”
“This is true,” I smile, taking a drink of my coffee. “Never hurts to look.”
A s we walk the strip, the sun’s leaving brilliant, dappled patterns on the ground beneath my feet. We stop in front of the psychic Anna had seen on our way in.
Because this is Vegas and the psychics are as commercialized as getting your nails done in a salon, we go in and see our own psychic at the same time.
I walk into my medium’s domain, which is a dark room with crystals and other things that line the walls. The psychic does not sit at a table with a crystal ball in front of her. Instead, she lounges on a recliner, sipping a cup of tea, her curls being held back by a colorful bandana.
I’m practical about psychics, knowing that not all of them are honest and have gifts. Still, I tend to go into any readings with an open mind, giving them the benefit of the doubt. If they are full of shit, I don’t tell them. I play along and then leave better known for it.
“Come in,” the psychic says warmly, smiling. “Please. Have a seat.”
I oblige her and sweep my purse off my shoulder, stowing it underneath my chair as I sit.
Holding out her hand, she says, “My name is Quinlyn. You are?
Taking it, I reply, “Lasayah. But friends call me Sayah.”
“Nice to meet you, Sayah,” she replies, crisscrossing her legs underneath her. “Have you ever had your cards read before?” she asks, unwrapping her tarot cards and shuffling them.
“A few times, yes,” I say, crossing my legs.
“Okay, awesome. So, I ask that you not tell me anything, okay? Just think to yourself what questions you want the cards to answer as you shuffle the deck.”
She holds out the thick cards that are beautifully illustrated. I project my questions deep within my well of energy to the point where I envision them entering the cards. Then I hand them back to Quinlyn.
Taking the deck, she cuts it, laying three cards before her face down.
“This first one is your past, where you have been that has led to where you are,” she says as she flips it over and examines the card. “Mmm, hmm. Five of cups.”
She picks it up and shows it to me.
There is a figure gazing at three spilled cups while two remain standing.
“This card typically represents sorrow or regret,” Quinlyn explains, setting the card back down. “You have great sorrow around you and have suffered plenty in your short time here. Not just broken hearts, but shattered and torn by many beings, not just men. The universe seemed out to get you for a time.” Her gray eyes appraise me, her expression softening.
Hit the nail on the head with that one.
“This next card is your present,” she says, flipping the next card over and examining it. “The Ten of Swords.”
Showing it to me, I see a figure lying face down with ten swords piercing their back.
“This card could represent a period of intense difficulty, betrayal, or being surrounded by darkness,” her voice takes on a more serious tone. “There are many things at work in your energy. There are new people, some dark and dangerous. Others you’ve let go of, and that’s a good thing. I see a lot of toxicity leaving your life. But there are choices that you’re making that are letting other darkness in. Something is swirling around your aura. You are coming to terms with who you are, and you’ll become powerful, but at the cost of something, and I don’t know what. What you’re playing with now can change your life in many ways. Be careful of the power you wield.”
My goosebumps react to her words.
“The last card is your future. What is going to happen in times to come.”
With the last one, she takes careful caution, flipping it over and narrowing her eyes on me as she does. “The Lovers.”
Holding it up for me to see, two skeletons embrace each other. “This card usually represents a choice,” she continues, setting the card back down.
There is a few seconds of silence as she braces her arms on each side of the chair, tilting her head back and closing her eyes.
She leans forward again and says, “Whatever you are doing now is awakening something ancient and powerful. There’s a threat on the horizon that you‘ll soon come to terms with. Choosing to imbibe this power may have dire consequences. This card can sometimes be called the Gemini card. It shows that there are two people, two of every kind of person, one bad and the other good. Your darkest desires will want you to choose the darkness, to revel in the deep dark instead of playing with the feeble twilight. Regardless of your choice, someone will get hurt; there will be pain, and part of that pain will be yours to own as well. It’s up to you who you wish to hurt less, as one will hurt extremely less than the other.”
None of this makes any sense to me, but somewhere inside, I know I need to remember it. Something in my future will cause me to look back at this and delve deeper into what this psychic says.
“Even though your choice will hurt you,” Quinlyn continues, “you have something in you that will save a lot of people. Your pain will end others’ suffering, and so this path you’re on is one that you’re meant to be on. Others before you could not rise from the ashes as you have, and you will have to keep rising out of those ashes. For you are like a phoenix. And your blood is potent. There’s a reason that you’ve been dealt the things you have. Your pain and suffering will not go unrepented. You have a magick within you that is unlike any other kind of magick the world has ever seen. Please take caution when honing your power, but hone it all the same. Conquer it. And seek the advice of others who walk your path, for they will guide you where you need to be.”
“And what of love?” I ask, and instantly feel silly for saying it.
“One love will rise you from those ashes. And one will put you in them. Your heart will want the pain. The burn. The fire. That is the love that will consume you. The other is safe. It won’t take you to the ends of the earth, but it will protect you and keep you safe. When the time comes, you must choose which love you want. The love that ends you. Or the love that revives you.”
“And what if I choose the love that ends me? What then?”
“That is your choice to make. You will know when the time comes which you must choose.”
There are so many questions that I want to ask, but I know that Quinlyn won’t know the answers to these.
It‘s up to me to find them on my own and in due time.
“I know you have lots of questions,” Quinlyn says as though she’s read my mind; the features of her face are severe, her mouth a firm line while she talks, “but I read the energy on you and the cards. All I can tell you is to be careful. The magick you’re playing with is stirring something ancient and powerful. Your eyes tell me you know exactly what I’m talking about. Just be careful with it. The energy around you contains darkness, which is seeping into your soul, attaching to and leaking into you. Careful if that’s the darkness that will consume you.”
I nod again as all the words I can think to say flutter out the window.
There’s something about Dominic that has a dark tinge to it. But I don’t want to let him go. I want to see where it goes.
“Thank you, Quinlyn,” I say, standing.
“You’re welcome. ”
My mind floods with thoughts as I retrieve my purse and head toward the exit.
Who the hell is going to ruin me? It can’t be Dominic, can it? Sure, there’s that darkness in his eyes, but he’s fantastic. He’s sweet, sexy, kind. And if Dominic is the one that will ruin me, who’s the one that will save me?
If Dominic is the darkness, I want to be in darkness with him. There’s always something in his eyes that’s unfathomable, that tells me he knows grief beyond my comprehension. He has an agony playing at something in his aura, and I feel it sometimes when I’m near him. Something about him is unnatural, disarming. Haunting even. Like a weeping willow tree growing in the middle of a desert. Something that’s rare and shouldn’t be yet is. To behold him tells you a story. He’s unyielding. Indestructible. But dangerous? No.
Well. Maybe a little.
I leave the room and meet with my girls on the other side.
“So?” Claire says as we gather in the foyer and walk out.
“Interesting,” I say, not wanting to go into detail. “Yours?”
“Oh, apparently, I am going to meet the love of my life this summer,” Anna responds, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“You don’t believe her?” I ask, pulling my sunglasses down over my eyes as the blast of Vegas heat stuns me.
“God no,” Anna says, pulling her glasses again. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she laughs.
“I believe mine,” Claire adds, unwrapping a piece of gum and popping it in her mouth. “She said I will be showered with love and affection in the future.”
“Yeah, by us,” Anna responds, putting her arm around her and kissing her cheek.
“Awesome,” Claire says, and now her voice is wet with the same sarcasm.
A s our day on the strip winds down, we eat dinner at a little pub on Fremont.
The sun has set already, and the lights are coming alive in the city, lighting all of Fremont ablaze with neon.
“Sorry I’m so late,” Dominic says, joining us as we finish dinner.
“No worries, babe,” I say, trying the name ‘babe’ on him for the first time. It felt right. He doesn’t even flinch and kisses my lips. “Are you hungry?”
He grins. “Famished,” he says, pulling the strap of my tank top off my shoulder.
“For food.” I giggle, pulling it back up.
“Oh, well . . . then no,” he laughs and leans back. “Did you guys have fun today?”
“Oh, yeah,” Claire answers, wiping her face with the linen napkin. “We saw a psychic, had lunch, then caught a show.”
“What show?” he asks, his gaze dipping to me.
“Naked men. NBD,” I answer honestly. I have nothing to hide from him.
“Nice,” he replies without a stutter. “How was that?”
Anna’s face flushes. “Great,” she answers, grinning.
“Yeah, she has a date with one of the strippers later,” Claire teases her, nudging into her shoulder.
“Sure do,” Anna smiles, throwing her napkin on the plate.
“What are you going to do?” Dominic asks Claire.
She looks at Anna and smirks. “I’m gonna be the third wheel, of course.”
“Well, that sounds . . . fun?” Dominic says questioningly.
“He’s bringing a friend for her,” Anna states, touching her lipstick up in her compact mirror.
“Oh, good,” Dominic replies, waving the waiter over.
“Well, I think we’re gonna head back to the hotel and get ready for our date,” Anna says, gathering her things.
“Okay,” I say, “will you guys let me know where you are so I don’t have to worry that much? ”
“Yes, Mom, we will,” Claire retorts and stands up, kissing me on the head. “Take care of our girl.”
“You know I will,” Dominic replies and the two are off to hail an Uber.
“What would you like to do this evening?”
“I think walking on the strip with you would be fine,” I answer and kiss him softly.
After three years of being single and being so picky that I didn’t think I’d ever find love again. And here I am, in Vegas, with this hot guy I’m falling for.
And I think he’s falling for me too.
W e’re walking hand in hand down the strip after dinner, enjoying the grandeur that is this city. City of sin. City of lights.
Just looking at the size of the buildings has me in awe. There’s so much money in this city. So much money that I could never dream of having.
He stops me in front of the Bellagio fountain to watch the water dance.
From behind me, he begins to sway.
All is right with the world again.
“You know what I was thinking?” he whispers to the shell of my ear.
“What?”
“I think I want you to come to Lake George with me over the Fourth of July. Meet my family.”
I’m shook. “Really?” I turn to look at him. “You want me to meet your parents and siblings?”
The look on his face tells me he’s serious, and there’s a wonder in his eyes that questions why I would even doubt it. “Of course. ”
“Well, maybe it’s time you meet my little man then.”
“Really?” His look now is skeptical; however, the color of his eyes is still darker than I’ve grown used to.
“Of course. I think it’s time.”
“Sayah, I would love that.”
“And I would love to go with you to meet your family.”
He smiles at me and kisses me softly.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
Claire is calling me.
“Hello?”
“Sayah, can you get here now? Something’s wrong with Anna. These guys are creepers, and I’m scared.”
“Where are you?”
“At some apartment. I’ll text you the address.”
“Do you need to call the police?”
“No, nothing like that. I think they drugged her. I’ve got her now; she’s sluggish but can still walk.”
“We’re on our way.”
I hang up, and Dom’s look tells me he already knows something’s wrong.
He pulls me toward the parking garage.
“They—”
“I know,” he cuts me off.
“But how?”
“I heard. Her voice carried. Let’s go,” he demands, leading me quickly to the luxury car he’s renting while here.
Together, we drive to the address Claire had texted and see the two girls hobbling down the stairs.
Scrambling out of the car, I bound over to Claire and help support Anna, who seems drugged and drunk and incoherent, yet she can walk on her own.
In a breathless rush, Dominic passes us, his eyes cold and fierce, the features of his face contorted in a fury I’ve never seen on him.
He’s kinda scary .
“Dom!” I yell as he stomps up the stairs, but he either doesn’t hear me or he doesn’t care.
Claire and I help Anna stagger to the car, where I open the door and help Anna in. Claire climbs in next to Anna, lying down on Claire’s lap.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask as soon as I’m in the passenger side.
“I don’t know, dude,” Claire says, her face still pale in shock. “We were there, chilling. I was talking to a boy named Logan. Anna was doing shots in the kitchen. I went to the bathroom and came back and saw fuckface try to spike my drink.
“I fucking yelled, and he pretended like he didn’t know what I was talking about. I was fucking pissed; I went looking for Anna 'cause we were gonna leave, but she wasn’t in the kitchen anymore.” Claire lovingly looks down at Anna and strokes her white-blonde hair. “There was a locked door at the end of the hallway, and I knocked on it. All I heard were shushes and laughs, but then I heard Anna say, ‘No, don’t!’ I was about to kick the door in when Logan grabbed me from behind.
“I head-butted him and fucking screamed, making a scene. Someone finally opened the door, and Anna was on the bed, just like now. There were like three guys in there. Sayah—they were . . . about to gang rape her.” Claire’s chin trembles and she begins to weep.
I can’t stand to see Claire cry; when she does, it breaks anyone who witnesses it; her anguish is so profound.
“I don’t know what came over me; I started punching and screaming and pulled out my phone and told them I was gonna call the cops. The guys scattered, I grabbed her and ran, calling you on the way out.”
“Oh my gods, Claire,” I say, holding her hand. “I am so sorry.”
She grabs it as we share a silent moment of understanding.
“Do we need to take her to the hospital?” I ask, still holding her hand.
“No,” she says muzzily, letting go of my hand. “I think she needs to sleep it off. I’m ready to go back home tomorrow. ”
“Me too.”
She looks out her dark window. “Where do you think Dom went?”
“I have no idea,” I say, but my mind wanders.
What’s he doing up there?
As if my question wandered up those stairs and summoned him itself, I see him coming down the stairs, taking two at a time. It’s almost inhuman how fast he moves.
As he gets closer, I can see that he’s covered in blood.
My heart falls.
He climbs in the car, and there’s a gash on his eyebrow an inch long, and horror hangs on his features.
“Oh my gods, Dominic! What the fuck happened up there?”
Throwing the car into reverse, the tires screech as he speeds us off. “Let’s just say they won’t be drugging women anymore.”
That’s all he says; the air in the car and the tension in his voice tell me he has no desire to speak of it now—or ever.
Turning to look at Claire, she shrugs her shoulders, and I turn and watch the road.
B ack at the hotel suite, Dominic carries Anna to her bed and lays her gently on top of the covers. We sit in the living room when he emerges, awaiting an explanation.
Remembering the large gash on his forehead, I dash to the kitchen to grab a towel. After wetting it with cold water, I return to the living room, where he sits silently with Claire, staring absentmindedly into the dark television on the wall.
When I sit down next to him, towel in hand, the large gash on his face has disappeared, and all that’s left is the remnants of blood.
I take in his bedraggled figure, his clothes soaked in blood, the wound that I’m sure was there but isn’t anymore.
“Don’t worry, it’s not my blood,” he answers my unspoken thoughts.
Maybe it’d been a play on the light when he had entered the car.
“Then whose blood is it?”
“Theirs.”
“Whose?”
“The ones who drugged the girl.”
“How did you know which one it was?”
“I just did.” He sits up, agitated. “Imma go take a shower.”
He walks off and leaves Claire and me alone in the room.
His demeanor is different. His gait, the way he moves, his energy, shit, even his eyes have changed. It’s like we’re in a room with a complete stranger.
“I don’t know what to say,” I mumble when I hear the door to our bathroom close, and the unmistakable sound of the lock clicking follows.
Claire looks at me with quiet eyes. She’s either unsure of Dominic or utterly cool with it. It’s hard to tell with her.
“What do you think he did to them?” I ask.
“I’m not sure, but I hope he hurt them. That’s all.”
Leaning closer to her so I can whisper, I say, “What if he killed them?”
“I don’t think he killed them. Say, that party was crowded. Think about that.”
“True,” I say haltingly.
Everything that the psychic had said to me comes to a resounding halt and I have to confront it. What had Dominic done to those guys? Sure, they deserved it, but why is he covered in blood? Whose blood is it? And how did he know which one of the guys to pummel?
The questions are mounting when the sound of the door opening dishevels the silence in the room, and he comes out, dressed in basketball shorts and a white tank top, drying his dark hair with a towel.
“Hey,” he says, and his anger inside seems to have diminished; his eyes are back to their standard emerald green .
“Hey,” I answer shortly, my annoyance sitting on the edge is bubbling.
“I know how bad that looked,” he starts, his deep voice a simmering hollow. “And it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, okay? I asked them where the two guys that came with the hot girls went. They pointed to a back room. I kicked the door in, and they were about to do it to another girl. I smashed some guy’s face in with a lamp; he fell over and bled all over me. It was enough to get the other two to run in the other direction. I picked the girl up, got her out, and called the police. Then I left in a hurry.”
His story sort of makes sense, but there are some holes in it. And I’m still annoyed.
“Well. Thank you for that,” Claire says, crossing her legs on the couch. “I was about to do the same thing.”
“I can’t stand when pansy ass men do that to women.”
“It doesn’t make sense!” Claire responds, shrugging. “I mean, they were good-looking. We probably would’ve hooked up with them if we had gotten drunk enough. What is that?”
“It’s part of their prowl,” Dom answers, pulling a thread on the couch cushion. “They like the hunt. They live for that rush. It’s what men like them do. They have women throwing themselves at them all the time. Getting girls is easy for them. It’s the ones that are passed out, and they can do whatever they want with that turn them on. I’ve known guys like that. I’ve kil—” he stops himself.
I look at him with a frayed sense of curiosity at what the end of that sentence would be.
“I’ve beat up guys like that before. I have sisters.”
Okay. He almost said kill, but he means he would have killed them if they had messed with his sisters.
Right?
Fear needles at the back of my neck.
“I know my brothers would’ve killed them tonight,” Claire says quietly. It seems the two of them are on the same page.
I don’t know what page I’m on. I’m all for justice. Eye for an eye. A bully to the bullies. But there had been so much blood. And so much strange fog surrounding the night and the events that I keep returning to what Quinlyn said.
There’s a darkness about him. When he stormed off to take a shower, there was an affronted dignity in that gait, something that tells me he was tortured by what he had just done but had done it all the same. A shade of emotion hangs on him that doesn’t exist in this reality.
Claire stands and straightens her dress. “I think I’m going to bed.”
“Goodnight, babe,” I say as she bends to hug me.
“Night,” says Dominic, extending his hand out for her.
She takes it and squeezes. “Thanks again, Dom. I know that Anna will be appreciative in the morning.”
He nods, and I shift, pulling my legs under me and grabbing a throw pillow.
“Are you angry?” he asks when Claire’s gone.
“Not angry, just—surprised, I guess.”
His eyes linger on mine for a moment and then drift off someplace, I know not where. There’s such a haunting look on his face, a look that tells me he’s adrift somewhere in his misery, and in that moment I want to hold him. I want to be drifting with him in that vast dark ocean, should it mean he doesn’t have to drift alone.
“Hey,” I say and rub his back.
The tortured, brooding look in his eyes reveals to my soul that he wants to share something with me; he wants to reveal a secret so big that it may change the way I look at him.
“Sayah, you are my everything,” he says.
I did not expect that. I can tell what it cost him to admit that to me at such a moment.
“You are my everything, too, Dom.”
He is becoming much more than I ever thought he would become. Maybe now he’ll be able to share his secret with me.
This may be the beginning of that story that the medium had begun to tell.
With that, the last of my anger folds within itself and disappears .
I stand up and walk him to the bedroom, where we collide passionately and break the bed even more.
I n the middle of the night, I awake to Dom not being in the bed next to me. When I sit up to look around, I see him on the balcony in the moonlight, admiring the city.
He’s shirtless and has on only his boxers. The tattoos that cover his arms and chest are also covering his back. His legs, too, are sleeved.
It’s fucking sexy.
But there’s something about his aura tonight that makes me worry for him. Something has unsettled him, and I need to be by him, to make sure he’s all right.
Before I open the sliding screen door, he turns around.
His eyes are revelatory and achingly guileless.
“Hey,” he murmurs softly, and turns quickly, wiping his face.
I wrap my arms around him, holding him, kissing his shoulders.
It’s not clear as to what’s making him so sad, but there’s something about his sadness that’s resounding, and he’s wearing it like armor. It’s like the sadness I carry for mama. It cracks me open, revealing a part of me that resonates with his agony.
“What’s the matter?” I ask him softly.
There’s a slight sniffle and then he speaks. “There are some things in my past that you don’t know, Say. Things I don’t wanna talk about right now. I will one day, I promise. But not right now.” The way he’s talking is controlled, as though it’s taking great effort to keep it steady.
There’s a secret he’s keeping from me, that’s a definite. I can feel that he doesn’t want to discuss it any further, and the least I can do is hold him and let him know I’m here for him.
As I slither around to slink under his arms and hold him from the front, there’s a sharp pain in my foot .
“Ouch,” I cry out and lift my leg to see that the bottom of my foot has been sliced open by the piece of glass that fell last night when I dropped before we fucked.
At the sight of blood, I become faint. It’s not the blood; it’s the gash. I did okay with all the cancer shit I’d gone through, but gashes, no. I don’t do well with gashes.
I hobble over to the chairs and sit, feeling faint.
“Oh, jesus, Sayah, here. Let me grab something.”
He runs into the room and is out again within seconds.
How the hell did he do that so fast?
As he’s wrapping a towel around me, I swear his eyes grow a catlike shape, and his face contorts a bit before he turns away from me.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I hear him take a sharp intake of breath.
Steadily he replies, “Yes. Just squeamish.”
It takes a few lingering moments until he gathers composure enough to turn back around.
His face is back to normal, although he does seem a little pale.
Everything’s starting to feel like some weird dream I’ll wake from at any moment.
“You’re probably going to need stitches.”
“Nah, I’ll be fine. I’m sure there’s a first aid kit in this penthouse somewhere. Wrap it up and call it good.”
Chuckling a bit he says, “Okay, tough girl.”
He scoops me up in his arms and deposits me inside on the crooked bed. He leaves me and rummages around the bathroom for a first aid kit.
“Ah-ha,” he shouts and runs back with gauze and Neosporin. “Dr. Sangravelli to the rescue.”
“Well hello there, doctor. I’m in need of medical attention.”
With our giggles, the mood immediately lightens, and I almost forget about his sadness.
I do not, however, forget the look that was in his eyes at the sight of blood.