Soulless (Book #2 of Hunted)

You Can't Do This

I looked back at Phoebe for some kind of comfort and saw her sitting on the step glaring at the ground shaking her head sadly. I looked back at Zane to see him licking the dried blood off his bottom lip and trying to rub his skin clean; he had the oddest expression on his face like distaste and befuddlement.

"I've got the shittiest taste in my mouth. What the hell did you feed me?" he asked. It was the strangest thing seeing curse words come so casually from Zane's face.

"Hospital blood," I answered. His nose crinkled in disgust.

"Hospital blood? That explains it," he grumbled as he squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

"Explains what?" I asked warily.

"Why it tastes like I just sucked down a couple quarts of stale rotten filth," he replied condescendingly.

"What? Rotten?" I spun around to look at Phoebe. "Pheebs, what was the expiration date on those blood bags? Did I steal rotten blood?" I cried about to smack myself in the forehead if I had been that stupid. She threw her hands up exasperatedly.

"How the hell should I know?" she exclaimed.

"It wasn't literally rotten it was just dead. What I needed from it wasn't there anymore," he said trying furiously to rub the dried blood off his chin and neck.

"What do you mean?" I asked. He sighed and pushed himself up off the cold floor. He walked forward and crossed his arms over his chest.

"What I mean is the hospital can keep a bag of blood for approximately thirty-five days before it expires and they throw it out. Fresh from the vein, a vampire can keep it for a few hours, after about a day it loses almost all sustentative value," he explained keeping his eyes locked on my face though his eyes didn't meet mine. He was either staring at my nose or my mouth or neck but he wouldn't make eye contact, for which I was kind of thankful.

"Suste-what value?" Phoebe asked. Zane's eyes fell away from me and focused on Phoebe.

"Sustentative. Basically hospital blood is about as useless as animal blood; it may taste better on occasion, but fresh animal blood is better than week old human blood," he said slowly.

"Fabulous," I muttered. Zane smiled sadly and that solemn twitch of his lips almost made him look like mine again.

"It is 11:23pm I'm starving and exhausted! I'm going to eat some frozen chicken nuggets, take a scalding hot shower and then sleep until summer break it over. Bye!" Phoebe abruptly announced. She got up and trudged up the stairs.

Zane paced back and touched his forehead to the wall. "Lori, do you think you could get me a wash cloth or something to clean up with? This smell is driving me nuts," he requested. I nodded though he couldn't see me.

"Sure, I'll be right back." I darted up the stairs and into the kitchen. Phoebe was sitting at the counter stuffing chicken nuggets into her mouth. I stole a piece of chicken from her plate and scarfed it down. She didn't really notice. I grabbed a clean wash cloth from the cupboard under the sink and ran it under the tap. I wrung the excess water from the cloth and then went back downstairs. I saw him in the same position as when I had left; his face pressed into the wall, his hands curled into fists and pushed against the wall on either side of his head.

"Zane," I said tentatively. He turned around and stepped towards me. I held out the blue microfiber wash cloth and he took it. The tips of our fingers brushed together. He scrubbed his face and neck vigorously like he could not stand the feeling of the dead blood on his skin and the dried blood was swiped away. When he had finished he held the cloth out to me.

"You missed a spot," I said pointing at him. I stepped forward and hesitantly took the rag from his hand. I saw the muscles in his arms tense for a moment and then relax as if he were sorely tempted to attack me but refrained. There was an area at the hollow of his throat still flecked with spots of blood. I gently wiped it away, ignoring the ravenous look in his eyes and the audible complaining of his stomach. I pulled the wash cloth from his skin and began to turn back to the stairs, but before I could take a step back his shackled left hand had found its way around my right wrist. I looked jadedly at his pale fingers that made even my ivory skin appear tan. His breathing became uneven and his grip on my arm tightened painfully. I tried to pull away but his strength didn't yield.

"You can't do this anymore," he whispered. I glanced up at his face and saw his eyes locked on my wrist, on the light blue veins barely visible in the dim light. His eyes were changing again; a black fog billowed across the whites of his eyes.