Tall, Silent & Lethal (Pyte/Sentinel #4)(70)

She released a mortifying sniffle as she forced herself to focus on the way that his hands gently held hers. She refused to meet his gaze, terrified that he’d see just how afraid she really was.

“You’re the one that did this to me,” she lamely pointed out, struggling to hold onto the last strands of her humanity even though she already knew that it was a losing battle.

He gave her hand a small squeeze, but it was enough to make her look up and meet his determined gaze. “And if you give me a chance, I’ll be the one to fix this.”

Terrified of what she would become without his help, she reluctantly nodded. “Just don’t let me turn into a monster,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze head on.

“I’ll do my best,” he said, giving her hand another gentle squeeze that was probably meant to be reassuring and surprisingly, it was.

*-*-*-*

Christofer sighed heavily.

He couldn’t help it.

“That’s not going to work,” he pointed out, but she refused to listen to him.

With a mutinous glare aimed in his direction, Cloe picked up the piece of toast slathered in peanut butter and strawberry jelly and took a huge bite out of it. After a few seconds of chewing, her glare shifted to shock, disbelief and finally disgust as she turned around, grabbed the trashcan with both hands and spit out every last crumb. When she was done, she turned on the sink, cupped her hands in the water and proceeded to rinse her mouth out while he stood there, sighing heavily as he wondered just how much longer it would be before she finally listened to him.

“You need blood, Cloe,” he said for what was probably the hundredth time since he’d decided to try and fix the f**k up that the others had created.

“I want to see if this works first,” she stubbornly argued as she pushed the offending plate of toast away and with the same look of determination that had accompanied every single “test” as Cloe liked to call them, she grabbed the box of wheat crackers that she’d found in the cabinets, opened a sleeve of crackers, grabbed a small stack and shoved them into her mouth until it became obvious that this test had failed as well and she was reaching for the trashcan.

“Stop doing this to yourself,” he said, his exasperation clear as he watched her go through the process of rinsing out her mouth before that look of determination returned and she forced herself to reach for a can of beef stew.

“No one told you that you had to watch,” she said, keeping her focus on the small can as she grabbed a can opener and removed the lid. Cloe cringed when the aroma of cold, chemically preserved beef hit her, causing her to gag a little, but it apparently wasn’t enough to make her give up this asinine plan of hers. He watched as she went through the process once again, this time pausing to rinse her mouth out twice as long to get rid of the taste of chemically preserved beef from her mouth.

“Are you about done yet?” he asked, noting that she was quickly running out of food to test.

Looking determined, she picked up a can of tuna fish and nibbled on her bottom lip as he watched her try to force herself to go through with the next test. Reluctantly, and a with a cringe, she picked up the can opener, secured it to the can and with a muttered curse, dropped the can and the can opener on the kitchen island and finally said, “Fine, we’ll try it your way.”

Making damn sure to hide his triumphant smile, he went to the refrigerator and grabbed two bags of blood. As he closed the refrigerator door, he contemplated heating up the blood, but then he decided against it since the heat had a tendency of making the rusty smell worse. He did however grab two coffee cups, hoping that by placing it in something normal like a cup that it would help Cloe pretend that she wasn’t drinking blood.

“How much b-blood am I supposed to drink a day?” she forced herself to ask.

“Four bags a day should help you stay in control,” he answered, knowing damn well that’s what she was worried about, losing control.

She seemed to consider his words before she asked, “And you’re sure that there are no other options?”

His gaze lingered on the kitchen island covered with open food containers and shook his head, wishing that there was another way to do this for her. “This is the only way.”

“Okay,” she said, shifting nervously as she watched him cut a small hole in one of the bags and pour the red liquid in two cups before he carefully placed the opened bag of blood in a plastic bowl by the sink.

“And this will stop the cravings?” she asked, sounding hopeful and he should have lied to give her this small amount of comfort, but he didn’t.

“No, but it will make things more tolerable,” he said, deciding not to use the fact that the scent of her blood probably still had the power to shred every last ounce of his control if he allowed it.

Since that most likely wouldn’t comfort her, he handed her a cup of cold blood and held his up in a mock salute. “Cheers,” he said, chuckling as she shot him another glare.

“I hate you,” she ground out as he hid his grin behind his cup and took a long, leisurely sip of his blood. He watched her every move, afraid that she would balk at the idea of drinking blood and he’d be forced to-

“Oh my God!” she choked out as she pulled the mug away from her lips after taking him by surprise and swallowing a large gulp of the cold, metallic liquid that admittedly took some time getting used to. “That’s disgusting!”