Chapter Thirty-Three
…
The first thing is a sensation.
Thirst.
Throat dry. Head screaming. The need—savage, tearing through me.
Then rage. White-hot, perfect. My eyes snap open. All I see is the face of the one who murdered me.
I know what to do. The thought itself, raw and jagged, slides down my spine like a pleasant shiver.
I blink, try to stand. Ground cold beneath me, the garden blooming anyway. Familiar.
Doesn't matter.
I feel weaker than I should be—too weak for the coil of darkness writhing inside me.
Instinct makes me press a palm to the ground. The green shrivels black, flowers bow and die until I feel the faintest satisfaction. A sip, nothing more.
Not the thirst. That needs something else.
I rise, crack my neck, glance back at the house. They're inside. Voices raised.
Doesn't matter.
The ward still hums—petty little thing. I kick the runes. It shatters, collapses in silence. I laugh under my breath—funny, how easy it is to ruin what takes effort.
But gloating is for the weak.
I dash. The speed intoxicating. Wind tearing past. Direction clear.
The office building looms ahead, gray and dead.
Back entrance. Easy. Guarded. Two faces paling at the sight of me.
They lower their guard, step forward. "Are you okay?"
"We need to call Darius, now," the other mutters.
I glance down—the crimson blotch on my stomach. Right. Doesn't look good.
I shrug. Oh well.
One grips my arm to steady me. The other fumbles for his phone.
"What happened? Did the vampires—"
Snap. His neck breaks in my hands, fast and sweet.
The other's eyes widen. Too late. My teeth sink into his throat. Savage, tearing.
He's dead before his phone clatters to the ground.
And the taste… Gods, the taste. Pure. Exquisite.
Blood is life stripped raw. And I want it all.
After a few wrong and bloody turns, I finally find her alone in a conference room.
Her eyes widen, skin blanching like she's seeing a ghost. She kind of is.
"Sage?" she breathes.
Right. Sage. That's what they call me. I should care that I didn't remember. I don't.
"That's me," I say, head tilting.
"But you're… dead."
I grin, bloody. "Yeah. You made sure of it."
"But… how?"
I shrug. "Maybe I'm an apparition, built from your guilty conscience, here to haunt you."
She frowns, steps back.
Time to move.
I dash. She's quick but not quick enough. We collide. Her weapon clatters as I twist her arm.
Her scream is delicious.
I slam her into the wall and catch her before she drops. She's dazed, off-balance.
Power burns through me, sharp and intoxicating. The opposite of how helpless I felt in that warehouse.
"Goodbye, big sister," I whisper in her ear.
And then I rip into her throat.
Well, fucking hell. Kayden was right. A nymph's blood is glorious.
I bite deeper, drinking as her pierced arteries pump the elixir into me. I drain every drop, then let the husk slide from my hands.
The weapon she dropped is the one I needed. Last Song of a Satyr. Perfect. I scoop it up, slide it under my belt, then search her body for more. Dual blades. A pistol loaded with bullets laced in black hawthorn.
Armed, I start walking out.
Noise rises somewhere. Probably the bodies were found. But it's not what stops me in my tracks—it's my own reflection in a glass panel. Blood everywhere. Not ideal if I don't want to stand out.
I dash, leap from the window. Land soft like a cat. Rush into the city.
I slip inside the first clothing store I see. The door shuts behind me on a gust of wind.
The girl at the counter pales, lips trembling.
I smile. "Spilled a drink on myself. Happens. I need a new wardrobe. Dark colors. Fitted."
Her eyes are wide like deer in headlights. Pathetic.
"You have a client, and the client isn't patient. Move." I flash my fangs for emphasis.
She startles, scurries off, gathering clothes like she's in a trance.
"And today everything's discounted a hundred percent, right?" I chuckle.
"Y-yes," she stammers.
"Wonderful," I say, leaning back on the counter as she piles up black and dark purple clothes.
I could get used to this.