Blue Bloods

CHAPTER 41

She was screaming, screaming so loudly, as if no one would ever hear her. It was the nightmare again—someone taking hold of her squeezing the breath out of her— and nothing she could do to stop it—she was gagging she was drowning and then—fighting against the force that was holding her down, she struggled, trying to wake up, forcing herself to push herself out of bed—she had to open her eyes—she had to see—she saw.

She saw the two of them looking at her. Her parents. Her father was wearing his flannel robe over his pajamas, and her stepmother had a peignoir over a nightgown.

"Bliss, darling, are you all right?" her father asked. He was home from D.C. for the week.

"I had a nightmare," Bliss said, sitting upright and tossing the covers to the side. She put a hand up to her forehead, feeling the heat emanate from her skin. She was burning and feverish.

"Another one?" her stepmother asked.

"A bad one."

"It's all part of it, Bliss. Nothing to worry about," her father said cheerfully. "I remember when I was your age, I used to have awful ones. Comes with the territory. Blackouts too—when I was fifteen, a lot of times I'd wake up somewhere and have no idea how I got there, and no idea what happened." He shrugged. "Part of the transformation."

Bliss nodded, accepting the cold glass of water her stepmother proffered. She gulped greedily. Her father had mentioned that before, when she'd first told him about the time slips, her blackouts.

"I'm okay," she told them, although she felt so tired, like every muscle in her body was sore, as if she'd been pummeled and beaten up all over. She groaned.

They hovered over her anxiously.

"I'm all right. Really." Bliss managed a smile and took another huge gulp of water. "You guys go back to bed. I'm fine."

Her father kissed her on her forehead, and her mother patted her arm, and the two of them left the room.

She put the glass down on her bedside table. Then she remembered—Dylan.

After saying good-bye to Oliver and Schuyler at the Carlyle, she had met her family for a quick dinner at DB Bistro. Upon returning home, she had opened the door to her room, and Dylan was sitting on her bed, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He'd used the key she'd lent him to get inside.

"Dylan!"

He was feverish and pale. He'd taken off his jacket and she saw that his T-shirt and jeans were torn. His dark hair was matted against his forehead. He looked spooked. Terrified. His eyes were haunted. He told her what happened—being questioned, and held, but not formally charged, how Charles Force had taken him to the hotel suite, and the whole time he was just thinking about how he missed her.

"But the thing is, I think I did do something," he said. His hands were shaking. "I think they were right. I think I killed Aggie. I'm not sure, but I think there's something wrong with me."

"Dylan no. No way. You couldn't have," Bliss said.

"You don't understand," Dylan cried. "I'm a vampire. Like you, a Blue Blood."

Bliss just stared at him. It suddenly made sense. Of course he was one of them, she'd known it somehow, that was why she'd been drawn to him all along. Because he was just like her.

"But something's happening to me… I'm not sure, but I think I just tried to kill Schuyler… I saw her leave the hotel, and I followed her. I don't know why, it just came over me. I saw her on the street and I… I don't think it's the first time either."

"No," Bliss said, refusing to hear what he had to say. "Stop. You're not making sense." Why would he attack Schuyler? Unless he was… unless he'd become… unless he'd turned into a… She remembered that night after the photo shoot. Schuyler, staggering on the sidewalk, clutching the side of her neck…

"Listen," he said, standing up from the bed and putting his jacket back on. "You need to get out of here. They got me, and they're going to get you too. They want all of us. I only came back to warn you, but I can't stay. I don't think it's safe for you to be around me. But I wanted to tell you to be careful. I don't want them to get you. You have to protect yourself. You've got to believe me. They're coming…"

Then everything went blank. That was all she remembered.

She had blacked out. She was in her skin and not in her skin. She slipped through time and went somewhere else. When she woke up, she was screaming, and her parents were standing above her bed.

Dylan had come to warn her—and now he was gone.

She felt a dull emptiness, an ache, deep in her bones, as if she had survived a beating. She walked to the bathroom and turned on the light. She gasped when she looked at herself in the mirror. There was a mark underneath the collar of her T-shirt. Had her parents not noticed? She pulled on the fabric to see it better. It was an ugly bruise. A dark purple swelling, as if someone had tried to strangle her. The skin was tender to her touch. What had happened? Where was Dylan?

She turned on the faucet to wash her face, when she noticed shards of pulverized glass on the bathroom floor. The room was cold. She turned toward the window The curtains billowed from a draft. The top of the windowpane was shattered—and it was bulletproof glass—her father had had it installed when they moved in, even if they were on the highest floor of the building thirty stories high.

Bliss picked her way carefully through the broken glass, when she noticed something strange. Next to the heater, a dark crumpled thing. She reached for it and pulled out Dylan's motorcycle jacket. Dylan never went anywhere without his jacket. It was like his second skin. It smelled like him—a little sour, like cigarettes and aftershave.

There was something different about it, though. She turned the jacket toward the light, and that's when she saw it. The lining was soaked with blood. Thick and wet. Heavy. There was so much blood. Oh God…

She was still holding the jacket when she noticed Jordan standing in front of the bathroom door. A small, silent form in cotton pajamas.

"You scared me. Ever think of knocking? You know you're not allowed in my room!" Bliss said.

Her younger sister looked at her as if she'd seen a ghost. "You're okay."

"Of course I am," Bliss snapped.

"I heard something—I heard—a deep voice…"

"Dylan. My boyfriend. He was here with me earlier."

“No, not the boy—another," Jordan said. She was shaking violently, and Bliss was surprised to find her sister near tears. She'd never seen Jordan act that way before.

Bliss, still holding the jacket, walked to her side and held her close. "What did you hear?" she asked, trying to soothe her trembling sister.

"There was a thump—like—something heavy dropping—then footsteps, out of your room—dragging something away—then you were screaming—I, I didn't know what to do—so I called Mom and Dad…"

It all made sense now.

The broken window.

Someone had been there.

Someone else.

Or more likely, something.

And it had… oh God, Dylan… all the blood—there was so much blood on the jacket—how could anyone survive after losing so much blood? She felt a deep sense of grief. He was as good as dead. The creature had taken him.

It had returned, to finish the job—to get her—the swelling in her neck—she'd tried to fight it off—if Jordan hadn't heard, if her parents hadn't come… She felt chills. The fine hair on her arms stood on end.

It was no nightmare—she'd been fighting it, it had been there, it was real. It had tried to kill her. What Dylan had tried to warn her about, what she and Oliver and Schuyler had discovered in the Repository. Croatan. A creature that preyed on vampires.

A Silver Blood.