Blood: The Third Course

Chapter Twenty

Sweat beaded and rolled down his temple, his skin a hot and sticky mess. In his seven years as a vampire, Spencer had never known sickness. He'd known hangovers, everyone had those, but this was different. This clung to him, locked itself around his limbs and refused to let go. He paced back and forth across the cold stone, his eyes closed as he tried, once again, to hold his breath.

The basement room smelled just the way he remembered. But, in his withdrawals, every sense had been dialed up until the knob had broken. The air was thick with the scent of old blood, a library of murder covered in inches of dust. It coated his nostrils, hung at the back of his throat, and did not relent.

He went to the door, grabbing the handle and pulling on it fruitlessly. He twisted it each way it would twist. He tugged on it and when it didn't work, he kicked the door with his bare foot. The pain of his toes smacking into the heavy metal was at least a distraction from the smell and the feeling of the air pressing in against his skin, desperate to sink all the way in.

"It's locked, Spencer."

"Oh, surprise!" Spencer snapped, smacking the handle as he swung around to face her. "I hadn't guessed. I never would have known that was why the door wasn't opening."

Paige raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't comment on his anger. She shifted, glancing down at the questionable mattress on the floor, and licked her lips. Carefully, she lowered herself down to sit on the corner of the mattress, shuffling along it until she could rest her back against the wall.

"You could stop pacing," she offered. She patted the mattress beside him. "Have a seat."

"I've been locked in a basement, Paige," he hissed. "What else am I supposed to do besides pace and pull on the door? It's what's expected of drug addicts, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know."

Spencer laughed a brittle and disbelieving laugh.

"Thomas does," he sneered. "Did he tell you all about his little drug-fuelled massacre?"

Paige tilted her head to the side, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I was there, Spencer. Don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember. But I'm asking if he told you about it. If he told you just how good it felt to let go? To slaughter and to truly enjoy it?"

She looked away, and Spencer felt the heat rising in the room. It was only a little, but it pulsed, beating against his hot, clammy skin. The colour of her cheeks only confirmed it.

"We're not here to talk about Thomas, Spencer."

"Then let me out!" he shouted. He crossed the room in three strides and fell down to his knees before her feet. Grabbing her ankles, he yanked her towards him. Paige didn't make a sound, but he felt the way her body stiffened, the fight response kicking in. Oh, Paige wasn't a flight girl. She fought. He liked it.

"I already told you, Spencer, I don't have the key. I'm locked in here too."

Spencer scoffed and shoved himself away from her, jumping back to his feet before she could invite him to sit beside her and sing kum bay yah, or whatever crap she thought would heal him.

"Why would you lock yourself in here with me?" he asked.

"Because I want to be here for you."

"But why? What's the point?"

"You may want to talk."

He snorted and shook his head. Rubbing his hands over his neck, his palms came away slick with sweat. It had been a long time since he'd sweated for anything. He'd forgotten how shit withdrawals could be.