Blood Type (Blood Type 1)

“I know.”

“What the hell have you been doing all this time?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. Today was the first day.”

She felt weird telling him this. She hadn’t told anyone but her brothers that Beckham hadn’t ever drank from her. It felt like a secret he liked to keep hidden so she didn’t flaunt it. She had assumed he was drinking from Penelope this whole time…and he probably had been trying to quell his cravings. That was probably why he’d bitten her at the Vault in the first place.

“Why wouldn’t he drink from you? You’re the same blood type, right?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “O negative. I guess he was afraid something like this would happen.”

She gestured to her neck and waves of remorse washed over her. She shouldn’t have run out like that. It had been as if she couldn’t help it. Her first instinct had been to run and that was exactly what she had done.

“Did he…come after me, by any chance?” she asked softly.

Everett shrugged. “I don’t know. We left as soon as you came downstairs.”

“He’s probably beating himself up right now.”

Fuck, the elevator. She was just remembering what had happened. Had she called him a monster? How could she do that? He wasn’t a monster. She needed to make this right. She stood on wobbly legs. She was feeling better after sleeping for however long she had been out, but she needed to get back to Beckham now.

“He probably should be.”

“No,” she disagreed. “I trusted him to not go further, and I told him I trusted him. But he had trouble stopping. He told me ahead of time that my blood smelled too good. That’s what the vampire we met in the alley said too.”

“Really?” Everett asked. He furrowed his brow. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“Yeah. It made it hard for him to stop.”

“So, just like that you’re going to go back? After he almost killed you?”

Everett’s voice was low and pained. He clearly hated this line of discussion. He wouldn’t even look at her. He was staring down at his phone. She knew that she could never make him understand.

“He didn’t mean any of that,” she insisted. “He lost control. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. My fight-or-flight reaction kicked in and I ran without thinking. He followed me to the elevator and said it was a mistake. Now that I’ve come down from what happened, I know he was right. I actually said some pretty horrible things.” She winced as the memory hit her fresh again. A monster. Christ.

“I think you should stay here a little longer, Reyna,” Everett said. His eyes finally met hers, and he looked sad. “I’m not trying to push you, but what you went through was pretty traumatic. Maybe you should give yourself time to heal and process.”

Did she need time to process? Sure, having Beckham lose control had been scary. It had made her freak out. But he had said it was a mistake and she believed him. She had been too freaked out to see beyond her own fear to his sincerity. She shouldn’t have let Everett lead her away. She should have gone to the park and then come back a couple minutes later to discuss what had happened. Instead she had barely made it inside Everett’s apartment before passing out.

“I’m fine,” she said finally. She started toward the door, finding her balance along the way.

“You might be,” he conceded. “Physically at least, but that doesn’t mean your mind is. I remember my bite. My body recovered, but I was still fucked up in here.” He reached out and touched her temple.

“I’m fine,” she repeated. “Really. I know Beckham isn’t going to hurt me, and I want to let him know that I know that.”

“I hate to say this, Reyna. I really do. But have you considered the fact that you have Stockholm Syndrome?”

Reyna’s mouth dropped open. He thought that she cared for Beckham because she was his prisoner? “I’m not crazy!”

“Come on. Isn’t it worth considering? It’s the same kind of situation. He takes you off the streets, gives you everything you could want except your freedom. Then the first time he hurts you, you go running back to your cage hoping he’ll forgive you for leaving and wanting to make sure he’s okay?”

“No! I’m not considering that.” She refused. This was ridiculous. She had left. She had walked out of his apartment. She had tried to go back to her life with her brothers, but she couldn’t. She didn’t feel like his prisoner, and she hadn’t in a long time.

“He took you in, almost killed you, and now you want to go back without even stopping to think about it?”

Reyna narrowed her eyes. “Beckham isn’t a bad guy. He just lost control this one time.”

“What happens the next time he loses control?” he asked, staring her down. “Do you wind up dead instead of just drugged?”