They Rise at Dusk (Book #1) ✔️

Chapter 43: Thicker Than Water

The bullet went straight through my shoulder and took me down. Numb and sharp pain spread through my muscles and everything went black. The lack of sleep rendered me useless, and a bullet through a limb was enough to make me walk the edge between conscious and unconscious.

I forced my eyes open, just to check if Jax did what we told him. Eyes wide and shocked, he collected the guns and disappeared through the door, into the sunshine.

I twisted my head towards Dorian's unconscious body, needing to check if I'd accidentally murdered him.

There have been times when I fantasized about shooting Dorian. I had imagined what he'd look like staring down the barrel of a gun. Never thought he'd welcome the bullet, or that my heart would splinter once I saw his body lying on the ground.

"Dorian-" I uttered, dragging myself towards him with one working arm.

My shoulder throbbed. I was losing a lot of blood.

It was nothing compared to him. The bullet went straight through his stomach, and the best I could hope for was that he was so full of blood he'd manage to survive. I grabbed his hand, and when he squeezed back, I lost consciousness.

The taste of human blood dripping into my mouth woke me up. It was exquisite; thick, warm, and full of fear-

My eyes flung open and I pushed myself away in an instant, back hitting the living room wall. Drapes were drawn over the windows, shrouding the crimson living room in darkness. A thick stale scent of blood lingered in the air. In front of me stood my youngest brother, holding a blonde girl by the hair.

She was unconscious, her hands swinging by her sides, her naked knees scraping the ground. Bite wounds covered her neck and her exposed cleavage, but she wasn't bleeding anymore, which made me realise she was going to die very, very soon. My youngest brother didn't care; his fingers gripped her hair, holding her like she was nothing but a sack of potatoes.

Anton Zaleria was tall and thin, which made him look a year or two older than thirteen. His hair was platinum blonde like my mother's and his eyes were silvery blue, piercing, hungry. He wore his navy blue PJs. He was barefoot.

"Why did it take you so long to wake up?" Anton's piercing eyes narrowed, shining with intelligence.

Dorian sprawled on the crimson sofa, "She hasn't been feeding properly for two years."

"Oh." Anton's eyes widened, a pout gripping his plump girlish lips. "Have some."

He flung the unconscious woman my way, her torso dropping on the ground, body rolling two turns until she ended on her face. The visceral reaction to help her died out when I met Dorian's eyes. His jaw was clenched and his lips formed a thin line as his eyes bore into me, the dark blue of his irises merging with his black pupils.

My breathing evening out, I pulled myself up, "I prefer male blood."

"Oh." Anton's eyes dropped. "We're all out of boys."

Edmond's brittle laugh reached from behind Anton, "If only I hadn't lost Jimmy. His blood would taste so sweet."

My older brother sat in the armchair, legs crossed, shirt torn where Dorian jammed a broken baseball bat through his body. His voluptuous dark hair fell freely over his shoulders, framing his sharp face. He was completely healed now, probably because he drained the poor woman dying in front of me.

I dragged myself to the sofa and dropped next to Dorian, finally taking in my surroundings. If my memory was to be trusted, we were in the southern living room on the first floor of the mansion. The dark room. Walls were painted black, as well as the wooden cupboards and vitrines full of liquor bottles. The only light came from the candles lined up on the table between the sofa and armchair, casting faint flickering light on the furniture, forming formidable shadows.