Blood Type Read online

  She looked up, a smile still on her face, then waved me over and patted the cushion next to her. “It’s only cranberry juice and seltzer water. You know I’m prone to urinary infections. One a day helps.” She raised her glass to me and took a sip.

  “TMI, Mom.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. What are you watching?”

  Mom patted the couch again as her building laughter bubbled out once more. I continued to stand.

  “America’s Funniest Home Videos,” she said. “There was this squirrel . . . on a bird feeder . . .” She was laughing so hard now she had to set her glass on the table for fear of spilling its contents. “A crow . . .” she said, gesturing. “Dive-bombed . . .”

  I didn’t laugh. Not in a joking mood, I didn’t even crack a smile. “Hilarious. Are you sure that drink’s not spiked?”

  My response had a sobering effect on her. She pushed up the sleeve of her sweater and looked at her watch. “Where have you been, anyway? It’s after dark, and it’s sleeting. I called your cell, but you didn’t answer.”

  “It’s Friday night, Mom,” I said, finally removing my hat and coat now that I had warmed up some. I draped them on the back of the recliner. “Olivia and I took the bus downtown and just, you know, hung out.”

  My mother stood up suddenly and advanced toward me, her eyes wide. “And what’s that bandage on your neck? Are you hurt? Why didn’t you call me?”

  I put my hand on my neck and took a step back, having momentarily forgotten about the tattoo. “No, I’m . . . I’m fine.” But in truth, the deed had been done. I would never be any semblance of fine again.

  “If you’re not hurt,” my mother persisted, “then why is there a bandage on your neck?”

  I removed my gloves last of all and massaged my forehead, feeling a slight headache coming on. Of course, I hadn’t really expected to just waltz in and not encounter a total parental freak-out. Mom and Dad were strictly against marring one’s body. I was thirteen before I got my ears pierced, and I’d had to practically beg for studs so tiny they were nearly invisible. A tattoo was a lot worse.

  “It’s nothing, Mom. It’s just a . . . tattoo,” I finished in a very small voice.

  “A tattoo?” She sat abruptly as if she’d been pushed down by a pair of unseen hands. “Blake, what would possess you to do such a thing? And on your neck of all places. And when you’re immune system is already compromised?” She shook her head, her mouth opening and closing.

  “Mom, don’t—”

  She stood again and put her hands on her hips. “Did you even consider your future? You can forget about finding a respectable job now. Bill!” she called, giving me no chance to answer. “Bill, come here this minute!”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, steeling myself for my father’s reaction. “Thanks a lot, Mom.”

  Dad entered the room, a pipe tucked neatly in the corner of his mouth. A plume of white smoke wreathed his head and trailed after him like a faithful companion. “What is it, Rachel?”

  Mom gestured toward me, her lips pursed in anger. “That’s a question you should ask your daughter. Apparently she went out and got a tattoo this evening.”

  Dad removed the pipe from his mouth and turned his attention to me. “Why in the world would you do something like that? We’ve put up with some very odd behavior from you lately, but this is crossing the line. Getting a tattoo goes against what your mother and I think constitutes as appropriate behavior. Do we need to find someone for you to talk to?”

  “No, you don’t need to find someone for me to talk to!”

  We’d had this conversation more times than I could count over the last two months. My parents thought I was acting out, that I was simply going through some sort of teenage rebellion. There may have been some truth to that, but it wasn’t for the reason they assumed, which was my break-up with that perfectly nice boy, John.

  I’d often wondered how John had managed to snowball my parents into believing he was the most awesome boyfriend ever, and I’d finally come to the startling conclusion that he must have worked some sort of compulsion on them. Wasn’t that a talent vampires supposedly possessed? There was no other explanation. It was the same reason I’d worn my hair curly ever since John suggested it. No, not suggested. Commanded. I’d tried to straighten it several times, only to be physically unable to lift my arms and go through the motions, no matter how much I wanted to. It was an odd sensation, not to be in control of my mind or body.

  “Then tell me what this is all about,” my dad demanded, bringing me back to the present moment.

  His insistence struck me as particularly funny, and I laughed out loud. “Do you realize this is the longest conversation you and I have had since I hit puberty?”

  “Blake,” my mother said. “Don’t speak to your father that way.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything, Dad. It’s just a stupid tattoo. Don’t have a coronary.”

  Dad’s face hardened and he held out his hand. “I don’t like your tone of voice, young lady. Hand over your cell phone and go to your room until your mother and I decide your punishment. For starters, you can forget about going out this weekend with Olivia or anyone else.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “It’s not like I had any big plans or anything.”

  “Blake!” my mother warned.

  I fished the cell from my coat pocket and slapped it into my dad’s open palm. Then I turned on my heel without another word and stormed up the stairs to my room, slamming the door behind me.

  I kicked off my boots and pulled my sweater over my head, and then I just stood in the middle of my room. I had an incredible urge to sweep the books and papers from the top of my desk or rip through my pillow with a pair of scissors and make an incredible mess of everything. Instead, I collapsed onto my bed and flung my arm over my eyes, too exhausted to care. I was too tired to even cry anymore.

  There was a staccato rap at the balcony door and my entire body jerked to attention. I hadn’t seen John at all since the day we broke up in my kitchen—he hadn’t even bothered to show up at school for senior year—and yet I didn’t have to look to know it was him. Normal humans—or humans in general—used the front door. Besides that, John’s pleading messages for me to please call him back were currently clogging my voice mail. I knew he couldn’t stay away forever.

  “Can I come in?” John said, his pale face pressed against the pane of glass. His dark hair hung in his eyes, dripping water down his face and onto the collar of his coat.

  I wrapped my fingers around the bed post, fighting the urge to get up and throw the door wide open. I did not want to see him, let alone talk to him. Ever again! And yet there was a part of me that desperately wanted, and needed, him.

  “Let me in,” he repeated, this time with an edge to his voice that left no room for argument. I got up and unlocked the door, helpless against the compelling sound of his voice and the need to follow his order.

  “I wondered when I would see you again,” I said. And that was the truth. I had known it was only a matter of time before he showed his face.

  “What did you do to your neck?” He reached out to touch the bandage, but I dodged his hand.

  “It’s none of your business, John. What do you want?”

  “I know how sick you are,” he said. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you. You’re running out of time.”

  “You’ve been spying on me?”

  “Not spying, Blake. I care about what happens to you, whether you believe it or not.”

  “If you cared, you wouldn’t have let that monster anywhere near me. You would have been straight with me in the first place!”

  John took a tentative step closer, and then another, forcing me back until every vertebra of my spine pressed painfully against the wall. I put a hand on his chest, but not in an intimate way. He smelled refreshingly like wet snow, but underneath was a mouthwatering sweetness that set my entire body on fire and burned from within.


  “I told you the last time we spoke that I never wanted to see you again.”

  “If you didn’t want to see me,” he said, his lips grazing my ear, “then why did you let me in?”

  I pushed him back and clamped my hands over my ears. “Don’t be cruel. I know what you can do. Be quiet and don’t talk to me.” I began to hum the Star Spangled Banner in case he got any ideas.

  “Look at me, Blake.”

  I turned my head, humming louder to drown out the hypnotic sound of his voice.

  “Remove your hands and look at me.”

  I stopped humming at once, as though my voice had been magically muted. I placed my hands against my sides, feeling resentful that all of this was happening against my will. I met John’s eyes, trying with difficulty not to get lost in them. His hold on me was strong.

  “Tell me why you let me in,” he said, his voice a gentle, yet commanding, whisper.

  My vision clouded with unshed tears. “Because you told me to.”

  He seemed to be waiting for some other answer, and his expression slowly morphed from one of cautious hope to grim resignation. He carefully traced the line of my jaw with his finger, trailing down to pick at the edge of the bandage.

  “Fair enough. Now, tell me what happened here.”

  “It’s a reminder. So I will never forget.”

  The crease between John’s brow deepened, and he ripped off the bandage in one swift movement. I gasped against the unexpected pain, the tears spilling over at once.

  “Oh, Blake.” His shoulders slumped at the sight of the tattoo. “As if you could ever forget. In all the years I’ve been alive in this body, that one night is still fresh in my mind.”

  We had never discussed how John had become what he was; we had never had the opportunity. And as curious as I was now, I wasn’t about to start asking questions.

  “Before long this won’t even matter,” he said, lowering his head to lay a gentle kiss on my neck. A ripple of longing shot up my spine.

  I closed my eyes, and my voice came out low and hoarse. “And why is that?”

  “Because you’ll be dead.”

  I flinched at his words, even though I knew that’s the reaction he had been after.

  “Why won’t you get it through that thick, beautiful head of yours that I am only trying to help? I am not your enemy, Blake. You have to understand that. Don’t you remember how good we were together?”

  “You manipulated me,” I said through my teeth. “How is that a good thing?”

  “No. I made the mistake of not telling you sooner. But I never meant for you to get hurt.”

  He leaned in to kiss me, and I turned so that his lips grazed the corner of my mouth. I shook my head, trying to clear it of the addled feeling his kisses always left behind.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said against my cheek. “So very badly, Blake. I’ve missed you.”

  He bent his mouth to my neck, and I stiffened at the feel of sharp teeth against my skin. “Back off,” I said with a bravado I did not feel and a craving I most certainly did.

  My heart stuttered at the prick of his elongated canines against my artery, just shy of puncturing. He must have heard the fear in my voice, because he raised his head and took a small step back.

  “It’s only because I want you so,” he said, his teeth retracting before my eyes. “I dream about you, Blake. And I know you want me, too.”

  He moved forward again with a cautious step. “I would never hurt you,” he whispered as he lowered his mouth to my neck. His tongue, warm against my skin, flicked over the raw wound of the tattoo. It felt undeniably good.

  “Stop it, John.”

  “I am what your body craves,” he said. “Your body needs the healing power of my blood. Why do you continue to resist?”

  My voice came out in a strangled whisper. “Please, don’t.”

  “Blake, it doesn’t have to end. We can—”

  “Stay away from me.” My resolve had begun to crumble into a million pieces, and I clasped my hands behind my back to keep from pulling him closer.

  “I won’t. You need me. You know you do.”

  I shook my head, and yet my body arched to meet his, seemingly of its own accord. “I would rather die.”

  “Blake?” I turned at once toward the door.

  “I won’t let you go,” John said into my ear.

  Mom entered balancing a tray in her hands. “I brought you homemade minestrone. Just because you’re grounded doesn’t mean you should go hungry.”

  John had managed to slip out the balcony door, silent as a sigh on the wind. I reached up to fix the bandage at my neck, my hands trembling so badly my fingers would hardly cooperate.

  Mom set the dinner tray on the desk and turned to me. “Are you okay? You look even more pale than usual. And you’re shaking. Have you taken your medication today? You know what the doctor said.”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Really. I haven’t eaten much of anything today, and I guess I’m just hungry now.”

  The lines around her mouth relaxed a little. “Maybe that means the pills are working.”

  “Maybe.”

  Her eyes wandered to the bandage on my neck and she shook her head, obviously not ready to give up this argument. “Honestly, Blake. What were you thinking? You passed out when you got your ears pierced. What made you think you could handle a tattoo?”

  “Can we please not talk about this, Mom? I just want to eat and go to bed.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly between her teeth in reluctant agreement. Then she pointed at the bowl of soup. “Eat up and then bring your dishes down. Don’t let them sit up here to fester. We’re not running a laboratory.”

  “Okay.”

  Before leaving, she paused at the doorway and said, “I’ll have a word with Daddy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Everything will be okay, Blake. You’ll see.” Then she smiled and closed the door behind her.

  I sat down in front of the steaming bowl of soup and my eyes traveled to the motivational poster hanging above my desk. It was a picture of dandelion fluff blowing on the wind with the caption Every Day is a New Beginning in bold font underneath. I reached up and tore the poster from the wall, balling it up and chucking it into the garbage.

  Since getting attacked by a vampire, I didn’t believe in beginnings. Only endings. Every person born to this world comes with an expiration date, but I had never considered mine. At least not until I met John.

  Now the end was all I ever thought about. I woke up every morning wondering if that day would be my last. Venom pulsed in my veins and seeped into my bones, infecting all my vital organs and changing me from the inside out. Slowly killing me.

  But I’d welcome death in the end, if only because the alternative was even more frightening.

  July 28

  “Is this seat taken?”

  I looked over my shoulder, startled out of a mental replay of complicated cheerleading stunts we’d been eating, breathing, and sleeping for the past two weeks. I’d also been absently kneading a painful Charley horse in my thigh, and I stopped, pulling down the hem of my cover-up and steadying my hands on the rough wood of the dock instead. The sound of his voice made my stomach flutter.

  I shook my head and smiled, feeling a familiar blush creep into my cheeks whenever our eyes met. “Hey. I mean, hi again.”

  “Hi again,” he said.

  I had accidentally bumped in to John Kelly on my way to dig a ginger ale from the Coleman earlier that afternoon. He had smiled and said it was okay. No harm done. He didn’t bruise easily, ha ha. We’d shared a moment, and then I’d taken my drink and walked away in a daze. I’d had a secret crush on John since ninth-grade geometry, never mind the fact we had barely said two words to each other and I had a steady boyfriend.

  “You came with Jill Honeycutt, right?” An inexplicable jealousy reared inside me like an untamed horse.

  His left eyebrow shot up and he laughed. “Um, yeah .
. .”

  He looked over his shoulder, and I followed his gaze to the in-ground pool where everyone else had gathered. Jill sat straddled atop Brandon Stevenson’s wide shoulders, the two of them playing a game of “Chicken” with Kayla Adams and her boyfriend.

  “Omigod.” I shaded my eyes to get a better look. “Are they doing what I think they’re doing?”

  From my perspective, it looked a lot like Jill and Kayla were doing battle to see who could rip off the other’s top first. The strings on Kayla’s bikini had come loose and trailed down her arms, which were crossed over her chest to keep her top from falling off completely. “They’re so obnoxious.”

  John shrugged and finally sat down, placing a clear glass bottle in the space between us. “I thought you could use another.”

  I shot him a look from the corner of my eye as I twisted off the soda cap. “Thanks. That was . . . sweet of you.”

  The corner of his mouth curved up. “You’re welcome. I’m John Kelly, by the way.”

  “I know who you are,” I said, giving him a funny look. “We had history together last semester, remember? You sat in the row next to mine, right behind Olivia Martin.” I took a swig of the soda and twisted the cap back on before nestling it between my knees.

  “True, but we don’t exactly run with the same crowd.”

  I crooked an eyebrow but felt a smile sneak out. “And you think I’m too high and mighty to talk to the regular folk, is that it?”

  He shrugged again. “I know you were voted Homecoming Queen Sophomore and Junior year, which is pretty impressive. You’re dating the star of the football team. You’re one of the most popular girls—”

  I held up a hand. “Your point is? For your information, John Kelly, I’m more than all that.” I stared at John, challenging him to respond.

  He offered me a slow smile. “Oh, I know.”

  I turned away as my cheeks flamed and blood pounded in my ears. If I didn’t know better, John Kelly was flirting with me. But why? He knew I had a boyfriend. What was wrong with him? And what was wrong with me?