Blood War (Book 1, the Halfblood Chronicles)

33.3 | One Thousand Falling Stars

When she fell, she felt it. Her teeth knocked together, fire engulfed her ribs. Spots crowded her vision, wave after wave of agony rippled through her body.

Gritting against the pain, Nika rolled over and pushed herself onto her knees.

She squinted against the intense sunlight, soaking up the cemetery. Blood and body parts littered the grass, but what snagged her attention most was Miles, no more than a slump of meat and bones. Once again dead. And just beyond him . . . Ren.

Nika got to her feet and sprinted, sheer determination driving her onward until she dropped down beside him. Her fangs were out. She hadn't even recalled summoning them, but she knew what needed to be done.

In a heartbeat, she'd positioned his head in her lap and ripped into the veins of her wrist. Ren's throat bobbed as she shoved it in front of his mouth.

"Drink," she said, the scent of her blood filling the air.

His fingers closed around her arm, and though he tried to conceal it, Nika noted their slight tremor, and the guttering of his eyes.

"I shouldn't—"

She yanked his hair, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Drink."

He glanced down at the wound in his torso. His shirt was soaked, his hands stained red. Nika's blood trickled down her arm, and it took everything to not force-feed it to him.

Don't die don't die don't die

It was the only thought racing through her head. Her heart fluttered as Ren tentatively touched his lips to her wrist. The sun beat down on her back, but it was nothing compared to the heat that shot through her as his tongue glided over the wounds. As he sucked and swallowed, Nika clenched his hair in a fist.

Oldbloods save me, she thought as the lightness of blood-loss overwhelmed her.

Footsteps and voices met her ears, but as Ren pulled her tighter, drinking deeply, she couldn't command her eyes to reopen. She just prayed that no one was paying attention.

The more he consumed, the farther Nika drifted—a feather swept away on a dark wind. It propelled her down a tunnel of thought, then she found herself standing before gates made of gleaming diamond. The entrance to her mind.

The gates opened for her, and she stepped into the void beyond. Then there was color, sound, smell. It was a memory playing before her eyes, as if projected onto a screen.

Immediately, she recognized it. Galanthus Day, years ago, when she'd faced those kid-bullies in the streets of headquarters town, enduring their jibes and cruelty. Then it shifted to Lu's loving declaration, the way it had mended Nika's heart.

People and places flashed across her mind. Markos and the box of unopened letters. Miles playing a harmonica and coaxing Nika to dance with him. Secret walks around Konstantin during the daytime, hanging out in the abandoned dorms. Articles in the Daemonstri newspaper about the Halfblood Bastard having been suspended from school. Flashes of Volkari teeth and claws, the reek of blood and damp earth. A dark, cold cave and the demon-witch.

The visions came on faster and faster. They accumulated with such intensity that Nika felt herself getting sucked in. She groped around the depths of her mind, pulling herself back to the surface. But the harder she tried, the faster she fell.

Until it all stopped. Grainy pieces of the world fell back into place, and Nika reconnected with her aching, exhausted body. The pulsing afternoon heat. Pained groans and urgent voices.

And then—ebony eyes.

It took her a moment to register to whom they belonged. But when she remembered the cemetery, Ren being injured, feeding her blood to him, she couldn't move. Only stare. And he stared back.

His thumb rhythmically stroked her skin, as if to comfort her. And she knew it then—whatever visions of her past she'd just seen, he'd seen them, too. Exactly like what had happened the last time they'd participated in the bloodcraft together.

Ren sat up, a frown etching into his features. "Nika?"

His voice was far, far away. The earth was tipping, and then it vanished. A soft thump. Pain twinged in her side. Darkness beckoned, sweet and inviting.

For a moment, she tried to fight it, but a large hand stroked her hair, and a familiar Russian accent whispered, "Rest. You've earned it."

So Nika faced that darkness, letting it consume her.