Blood Throne

chapter three

Melanie

I sit alone in my room, distractedly scrolling through social media, growing more impatient by the second. I know it's only been a day, but I am sitting and waiting for any sort of update from Officer Thatcher. I just got home from work an hour ago because my boss sent me home early, so unfortunately there is nothing to keep me occupied. Being sent home had nothing to do with the kindness of my boss's heart, given the situation of my missing sister; he just couldn't fathom paying me when I could barely focus on any task at hand.

I dial Gabby, but there are no rings and I realize she must be still at work, so I just set my phone back down and stand, stretching out my aching body. I hardly got any sleep last night, causing my brain to feel as if I'm still in a dream state, all my movements feeling sluggish and thoughts foggy and jumbled. After I returned from getting a bagel and a coffee from the café down the street, I took a three-hour long bath, cleaned the house, and watched reruns of The Office for the millionth time, but the whole time I felt as if I was watching someone else control my body.

I stare at the ceiling after rotting in bed for a few hours, fighting to fall asleep but finding no purchase. My eyes trace the cracks on the wall, the peeling paint and the holes from when Isabel and I tacked up stringed lights for a cozy horror movie night last fall.

It was like my mind couldn't go to sleep. It was completely wired with worry, and the thought of trying to put it to rest almost seemed ridiculous and futile.

Before peeling myself from my blanket cocoon, I check my nightstand to see the rose right where it was before I grabbed it—and I know I grabbed it. But there it was, as if mocking me. I slam the drawer shut with a curse and sit up, finally crawling from my bed. I pull off my pajamas that smell foul with my body odor and grab a change of clothes and head to my bathroom to take a quick shower. After I'm finished, I pull on a pair of leggings and a black worn-in band t-shirt that belonged to my dad and I go through the routine: Put on deodorant, brush out my hair and braid it back with careful fingers. I brush my teeth, rinse off my face, then dry myself off with a small pink towel. My eyes trail over to the side of the counter with my fragrances and land on the perfume Isabel had given me for my twenty-fifth birthday. I spray it on myself and smile, loving the sweet but sultry scent it has.

Suddenly, there's a loud knock on the front door that makes me jump inside my skin, but I quickly put everything away and rush outside of my room and down the hallway, walking into the entryway of my apartment. When I face the window just adjacent to the door, there stands a large, towering figure of what looks to be a man. What the figure holds though is what makes me wonder.

It looks like he has a girl, limp inside of his arms, that he's carrying bridal style.

I quickly open the door and I let out a loud sob—loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. My hands shot up to cover my open mouth, not believing what I'm seeing.

Firstly, the man who stands before me is the same dark and handsome stranger from Nocturnal. His hair is slicked back carefully aside from a few strands that hang limp in his eyes and his eyes lock on me. Even though it's insane that he's standing here at my doorstep, and that would definitely send off alarm bells because how the hell does he know where I live, but that's not what I'm focusing on.

All I care about is what's in his arms—or who's in his arms.

The man holds Isabel who lays limp, her skin pale and dark circles beneath her eyes. She looks unharmed, and the steady movement of her chest tells me that she's breathing—thank God—but this situation feels sinister.

Instantly, I grab at my sister, but the guy doesn't let her go, he just watches me.

"Nice to see you again, Melanie," he says, watching me with steady eyes.