Bloodshed (Order of the Unseen, #1)(11)

“Mom,” I shrieked, as crimson red poured from the gaping wounds on her arms like a faucet. I pressed my hands down on them, trying to gain control of the bleeding. I failed. “Mom? Mom?”

Shaking uncontrollably, I reached for a dishrag on the counter and pressed the cloth against her wrists. Within seconds, it was saturated with blood.

“Mom,” I repeated, taking her face between my hands, trying to see the life within her eyes. It was there. It was still there. “Stay with me, Mom. Please.”

“Damien—” she muttered, barely any sound to her voice. “I didn’t—”

“I’m going to save you,” I muttered, when she lifted her hand and brushed her fingertips against my cheek.

Tears left her eyes. She let out a choked sob, and shook her head.

There was so much fucking blood. The scent of copper was so strong, I could almost taste it. No matter how hard I pressed on the wounds, they were just too deep.

She squeezed her eyes shut and cried helplessly as I pulled her onto my lap.

“I am,” I tried my best to assure her. Promise her. “I’m going to save you, Mom.” Rocking her gently against my chest, I held her tight. “It’s going to be okay.” Her eyes remained open, but she started to fade. “Please,” I begged the powerful man upstairs, lifting her into my arms.

Except, only the devil answered.

Rushing us out the front door and into the dark, summer night, I held her entirely-limp body against my chest. As soon as we reached the sidewalk, I dropped down to my knees, keeping her close.

“I got you, Mom,” I told her, staring straight into her eyes. “I got you.”

All the color drained from her face. Her eyes shut.

“No, no, no,” I weakly mumbled, lying her on the pavement. Pulling my shirt over my head, I used it to apply pressure, securing it tightly around the arm with the deeper cut. “Hey.” I cupped her cheek with my hand, tracing her cold skin with my thumb. “Look at me. LOOK at me!”

She didn’t.

She’d lost too much blood.

I got there too late.

“Don’t die on me, Mom. No, no, no!”

I tried to scream for help, but to my defeat, nothing came out.

A neighbor came out of nowhere.

“The ambulance is on its way,” he explained, kneeling down before me, trying to help.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” I spit out, pressing down harder on the gaping slits.

He stepped back.

The pouring blood was now a slow, steady trickle.

“Mom,” I called out to her, feeling for a pulse in her throat with my trembling, blood-stained hands. My heart sank. My stomach churned. “Fuck!” I shouted. “FUCK!”

I kneeled over her and began CPR.

And I didn’t stop.

Not for a single second.

I didn’t know how long had passed. Time seemed to stop.

The dull ringing that pulsed in my ears kept me from hearing the sirens of the ambulance in the near distance. I ignored the flashing lights and the crowd of people now watching in horror from the street. There was so much blood. Not just anyone’s blood.

My mother’s.

I tilted back her head and blew oxygen into her mouth, hoping it met her lungs.

Hoping it brought her back to me.

But, it didn’t.

Suddenly, the paramedics were dragging me away. I shoved them off of me in a burning frenzy of anger and scurried back to her. Lifting her delicate body onto my lap, I cradled her head against my chest, willing her to come back to me.

“I’m sorry,” I told her, over and over. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

And finally, it hit me like a freight train at full force.

She was gone.

A part of me died that night with her.

A part of me that I will never be able to get back.

But unlike most people, for me, being sad wasn’t an option.

It was as if there was now a small flame in place of my soul, which had gradually turned into a massive fire that the devil himself tossed a bunch of burning tires on.

Tires never really stop burning.

Neither does the devil.

And that fire consumed me.

Until there was nothing left.





CHAPTER FIVE





INITIATION NIGHT





DAMIEN





After that night, I was never the same. Any remaining humanity vanished from me, until I was an empty shell. My father and I barely spoke. He rarely came home. And it was the same for me.

I couldn’t stand to be anywhere near that house. The Suicide House on Elm Street.

Our weekly hunts came to an abrupt end. Over the next three years, I spent most of my nights sleeping on park benches, and some nights on Micah’s couch.

His parents were good to me.

But really, it was just pity.

The rage inside me grew stronger with each passing day. I couldn’t wrap my head around what had happened to my mother. We had planned on leaving that night.

It just didn’t make sense, and this fueled my anger.

I needed an outlet, a way to release the darkness inside me, and picking fights at school never quite did the trick.

Soon enough, I had an undying longing for blood.