“I plan on dealing with Bram later,” I told him. “But if you happen to think of any ideas like the one you came up for Payne, I’m all ears.”
Dagen was going to respond, but it was at that particular moment when Ian walked into the room, carrying…a knife. Ian tossed a look at me, having heard what I said. “I sure hope not. If you’re all ears, frankly there wouldn’t be too much to look at. And you are so lovely to ogle, Felice.”
I rolled my eyes as Lucien walked in behind him.
Ian would not be stopped, however, for he continued, waving around the knife as if it was a pen, or anything other than the sharp, shiny object it was, “I think we all can agree that you’re the prettiest thing to walk into Grimmstead in a very long time. Since I walked through those doors, actually—”
Lucien stood beside him, his glare intense, causing Ian to finally cease and desist. Once the room was quiet, he took the knife from Ian and moved around the table, around Payne, to where I stood. “Do not cut deep,” he told me, hesitant to hand over the knife. “Just enough to scratch the surface.”
I knew the plan, and I obviously knew not to cut so deep I’d kill myself with immediate blood loss. I’d never cut myself with a knife before—well, not with anything before—so it would be a new experience for me all around. I’d also never brought anyone back from the dead either, so if this worked, today would definitely stand out.
“I know,” I said, my fingers brushing his as I went to take the knife. Once I had it firmly in my hand, I stepped closer to Payne’s head.
Ian and Dagen stood on the other side, Lucien near me. Everyone else inched closer to the motionless man on the table, though their eyes were all on me. They were worried for me, though I knew not each of them would readily admit it. I had a connection with these guys, so it hurt to know Payne was gone. And Koda? I desperately wanted him back. This place could play mind games with me, but I did not want to let it continue hurting everyone else.
Me. I’d take the pain. Let the others be happy, or as happy as they could be while stuck here.
I ran my fingers along Payne’s smooth jawline. I thought the whole thing was weird—I was pretty sure I’d read that even after you were dead, your hair and nails still grew for a bit. But it wasn’t like that with Payne. Payne’s cheeks were just as smooth as they’d been before, his nails cut just as short. Even though his looks were the last thing on his radar, Payne was still a clean-cut man.
What really got me was the fact that he wasn’t stiff. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in for whatever reason, so when I went to tug at his bottom jaw, just to test it, I was shocked when his mouth opened without a problem.
I mean, I assumed the blood would have to go into his mouth, unless me just dribbling it over him would magically make him come back.
No. Had to be his mouth. Deep down, I knew this. Couldn’t say why I knew it, but I did, and I wasn’t about to question it. If this would bring Payne back, I would do it without hesitation.
Okay, maybe a teeny bit of hesitation, but who wouldn’t want to pause and think about the whole ordeal before cutting themselves with the hope of bringing someone dead back to life? I wasn’t sure how the heck it would work, since his head looked to be only attached to the rest of his body from the stitches, but…
It was time. No more letting my mind race in circles. No more stalling.
His mouth stayed parted, even after I pulled my hand back. One gripped the knife while the other turned, my wrist facing the ceiling. My eyes slowly drifted away from Payne, drawing to the others in the room. To Ian and Dagen across from me, to Lucien beside me, and finally to my wrist and the knife I held inches away from it.
This was it. The do or die moment.
I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t beat frantically as I lowered the sharpened steel to my tender wrist. I never once thought I’d hurt myself on purpose, at least not on something that didn’t involve fire, but this place had proved to be an effective healer in the past. I knew I’d touched fire in Lucien’s office before seeing him in his chair, dead, and yet my hand was fine now.
Things here didn’t linger. With any luck, my cut would be gone by the morning.
I set the knife’s edge on the side of my wrist, my breathing hitching as I started to press it harder against my skin. Pain shot up my arm when it broke through, and I winced as I dragged it along my wrist, a thin red line oozing behind it. Not deep enough to cut through all the vital veins in my wrist, but just enough to bleed. Just enough for it to hurt and make me second guess this whole thing.
Even though I was surrounded by Lucien, Ian, and Dagen, it was hard to convince myself that I’d be fine.
I set the knife down on the edge of the table, near Payne’s head, before turning my bleeding wrist and hovering it over his mouth. I couldn’t see below it, but I assumed my blood was dripping into his mouth.
“Is any getting in there?” Ian spoke, sinking to his knees as he peered at my wrist and Payne’s mouth. “Maybe you need to bring it lower.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I instead followed his suggestion and lowered my wrist until I felt Payne’s cold lips pressing against my skin. I now bled straight into his mouth.
Seconds passed, or was it minutes? Either way, time itself seemed to slow to a crawl, and it was then all of my doubts began to seep in. This was a weird thing to try, wasn’t it? Granted, I knew for a fact I’d seen Lucien’s dead body, and here he was next to me, standing and very alive less than three feet from me. This place was strange, and it obviously didn’t follow the laws of nature. This plan was just as good as any other.
Then again, there was no other plan beside this one, apparently. This was it. Do or die. All or nothing.
“Nothing is happening,” Lucien stated, clearly uneasy beside me. Watching me hurt myself must’ve been hard for him. If he had his way, he’d yank me off Payne and take care of me, probably. Then yell at me for doing something stupid.
“Give it a moment,” Dagen said, shifting his eyes between Lucien and me. “Felice just started. Give it a bit longer.” Begging, almost. Begging for me to keep going. To keep bleeding into Payne’s mouth.
I mean, I was all for it, but how long would we wait, how much blood would I drip into his mouth, onto his tongue and down his throat, before giving up? How long was too long? This wasn’t something I’d ever done before, so I—
All thoughts vanished the moment I felt something drag across my wrist. My bleeding wrist, right along the cut. Something wet and slick. Something warm. As pain shot up my nerves from the pressure on the wound, my eyes widened as I realized what that something was.
A tongue.
Payne’s tongue.
Which, therefore, meant he was alive. That this, whatever the heck you’d call this, worked.
I…didn’t know what to think of that. I also didn’t know what to think of the way his tongue slid across my injury, as if lapping the blood up. Payne still looked like a corpse below me, but I knew what I felt.
He was alive.
None of the others saw it, though. They couldn’t feel it. It wasn’t too long after I felt his tongue running across my cut when Lucien set a hand on my back and said, “I think that’s enough, Felice. He’s not—”
“He’s alive,” I said, glancing at him. “I feel his tongue moving.” My eyes fell back onto Payne’s pale, still body. “Give him more time.” The wound still hurt, but my heart was racing for another reason entirely. Payne was alive, this stunt had worked—if me giving blood could bring him back from the dead, what else could I do here?
Could I break the curse that kept them all here, trapped inside these stone walls?
Lucien’s expression turned sterner, and his hazel eyes dropped to Payne. Ian and Dagen remained quiet on the other side of the table, splitting their focus between me and Payne.
Just when I was about to smile, about to let myself relax because I’d finally done it, finally saved Payne, the man licking the blood from my wound moved, grabb
ing my arm with a strength I didn’t know he was capable of. My breath vanished from my lungs. His face still appeared peaceful, as if he was locked in eternal slumber, but I knew he wasn’t. Not with his tongue lapping at me like a thirsty animal, and not with the way his fingers curled around my forearm, digging into the sleeve.
“I’m fine,” I said, stopping the others from pulling me off him. I even held up my other hand in a stop gesture. Heck, with how strong of a grip Payne had on me, I kind of doubted that anyone could pull me from him. Maybe Lucien, but that was because Lucien was a Grimmstead, a part of this place.
Turned out, I shouldn’t have said I was fine. Shouldn’t have been so cavalier about it. You might be wondering why.
Well, the new pain in my wrist would be why. The feeling of sharp teeth sinking into flesh to bring about more blood was why. Payne bit me, and he kept his teeth inside as he drank all he could. His eyes moved under his eyelids, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. His skin looked less pale as the seconds wore on; you could no longer see the veins just under his flesh nor the gauntness that haunted his cheeks.
I knew it was weird. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should pull away, but I couldn’t. Payne was alive, and he was biting me.
And the strangest part? I wasn’t freaked out about it, though perhaps I should be, because the more he drank, the less likely he seemed to want to stop. As I stared down at him, I wondered if he’d drain me dry. The others wouldn’t let that happen, but this…this wasn’t the Payne I knew.
Was it?
He’d always been obsessed with blood, it was true. Was this him coming full circle? Was this Grimmstead trying to play a joke on him, on all of us?
My head started to grow foggy, and I felt my knees start to shake. He couldn’t have gotten that much blood from me, but after biting me, maybe he had.
This, I knew, was the cumulation of a new chapter in Grimmstead: my submission to its bizarre, bloody, insane ways.
Chapter Fourteen – Payne
It was dark, until it wasn’t. Everything was gone, until it all came crawling back, bit by bit. I felt nothing but the cold until the moment I felt something warm. Droplets splashing…onto my tongue? It was nearly impossible for me to tell, feeling so far removed from my own body, but I was fairly sure it was my tongue.
Did the warm droplets bring me back, or did something else? Maybe I’d simply been lying somewhere, dormant, waiting for life to take hold of me once more.
Or maybe not. Maybe I was dead, and this was the afterlife—a blank, barren space, nothing but my own mind to keep me company. Nothing but the feeling of those warm droplets on my tongue.
And then, then I tasted it. Then I felt those droplets sink into my tongue and set my taste buds alight with a fire I didn’t know was possible. Then I realized what it was, what that tangy, metallic flavor stemmed from, and I knew I needed more.
So much more.
It took me a while, but I was able to get my tongue to move. Everything else felt foreign and distant, as if the rest of my body was shut off. Like it didn’t want to work. I lapped at the warm substance, needing more of it.
More of the blood.
Because that’s what it was: blood. Warm and tangy. I knew that’s what it was, and yet, as I licked at whatever was pressed against my mouth, I knew it tasted different. Special. It tasted…sweet, almost. Addicting.
Maybe my taste buds had changed, or maybe not.
Fear set in, as if I was afraid someone was going to take this away from me. I must’ve regained control of my arms, because I felt them moving. While my mind remained in blackness, my body was slowly coming back to me. Every muscle felt stiff, rusty, as if unused for an eternity. I tried to remember how I got here, why I was shrouded in nothing but blackness and tasting blood in my mouth, but I couldn’t.
My hands found something slender—an arm? Whatever it was, I didn’t let it go. I needed more.
So much more.
All of it.
It was with that last thought that I let my instincts take over. I pushed against the arm, opening my mouth just a bit to angle my teeth, and sank them into the flesh, giving rise to more blood. My throat worked eagerly, my tongue lapping up all it could. I felt the muscles under my hands tensing, as if the person wanted to move away from me, but I wasn’t going to let him go. Or her. Or whatever the fuck it was.
I needed more, and I was going to make sure I got more.
My ears heard people talking, but I was too out of it. My eyes wouldn’t open. Nothing but my mouth and my arms would work right now; I was too focused on getting more. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the blood I drank was giving life to my otherwise lifeless body. But my body couldn’t be lifeless, because that would mean I was dead, and I most certainly wasn’t dead.
But then…how did I get here? Why couldn’t I remember exactly how I’d gotten here? My head was a blur.
I didn’t know how much time passed, but I knew it was a while. My body felt warmer by the second, life blooming inside of me as strongly as it could. I swore, I could’ve kept going, but something pulled the arm right out from under me. Even my iron grip couldn’t stop it.
“That’s enough,” a stern voice spoke. “What happened?” A rough, scratchy tone. Lucien?
“He…he bit me,” a feminine voice responded, more in awe than anything else. That one I knew in my core: Felice.
My eyelids were slow to open, and I stared at the ceiling above me. Dark stone, a bit of cobwebs. My body was alive with the blood Felice had given me; really, I should’ve known it was her blood. I didn’t think anyone else could affect me as much as hers did.
I sat up, immediately noticing the others around me. Lucien stood near Felice, one of his large hands wrapped around her wrist. Blood had gotten onto her sleeve, and my eyes were immediately drawn to it, for a few moments, anyway, before the others drew my attention.
“Uh, are we not going to address that?” Ian’s sarcastic voice caused my gaze to snap to him. Ian and Dagen stood on my other side. Behind his glasses, Dagen looked squarely at me with those black eyes, but Ian’s stare rested firmly on my legs.
Or, rather, the erection tenting the white sheet that was draped over my midsection and my legs.
Huh. I did not remember coming here, let alone laying down naked on a table…
When no one said anything, Ian spoke yet again, “No? Seriously, guys? We’re all just going to pretend we don’t see Payne’s cock holding up the sheet like it’s his cock’s job? Come on, people.”
My neck felt strange, and Ian’s words were a little on the aggravating side, even if they were true, but I found myself reaching a hand to my mouth, running a finger over my lips, where some blood remained.
Felice’s blood.
“Ian,” Dagen mumbled, shooting the blonde a frown, “now isn’t the time to talk about cocks.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, friend, because it’s always the time to talk about cocks.” Ian shot a smug look at Felice. “And pussies. I’m not sexist. I’ll talk about them in equal measure—”
I could not stay here and listen to Ian drone on and on—and on and on and on, since it was Ian—so I simply slid off the table and walked out, saying nothing to any of them as I went. Ian and Dagen parted, letting me go. What else were they going to do, stop me? No, they let me, and by extension my erection, go.
No one chased after me. Perhaps they were too startled by what had happened in there to come after me. It was fine. I didn’t need them. I wouldn’t say no to Felice, but then…then I’d merely be tempted to go after her blood again.
It was very, very good, you see. The best thing I’d ever had the pleasure to taste.
Of course, I knew that was a thought a normal person wouldn’t have, but I’d always had a strange fascination with blood. Blood was the life force of all living creatures, and it seemed…it seemed someone else’s blood would be mine from now on, if the hungry feeling in my gut meant anything.
I
didn’t know where I was going. My whole body felt stiff, better than it had moments ago, but still. I felt like I’d just woken up after a long slumber, my memories hazy and my body a foreign entity. My neck felt itchy.
We were on the third floor of the house, and it took me a while to get the hang of the steps. One by one, I had to focus on not tripping and tumbling down. It was almost like I had to relearn how to walk down steps, like my body was this new thing, a fledgling, ignorant of the ways of the world.
It took me far too long to do it, but I managed—and by the time my feet made it to the second floor, my erection was gone. Thank goodness. That could leave me to focus on what the hell just happened.
Me, drinking Felice’s blood. Me, biting into her skin as I craved more. Me, wanting to drain her dry.
That certainly wasn’t normal. I’d drained animals before, but that had been purely scientific. I’d used their blood, not…drank it for my own nourishment. This house, this place needed the blood, and it had been using me for so long, I’d lost myself in the process.
I made it to my bedroom, where the walls were covered with papers inked in dark red, jars of blood sitting on my nightstand and other surfaces in the room. This room didn’t always look like this. There was a time—a very, very long time ago—when it appeared just like any other room in this wing, but then Grimmstead took root in me, changing me. It didn’t want me investigating its secrets; it wanted to be fed.
And so that’s what I did, what I continued to do, for so long.
Now, it would seem, it was finally time to feed myself.
My legs took me to the bathroom, and I nearly smacked myself on the half-open door as I pushed in. My coordination wasn’t quite up to par yet; everything still felt a little strange, my joints stiff. The moment I reached for the light to turn it on, I felt something inside of my chest constrict. My heart? It was almost like I was nervous of what I’d see, what I knew would sit in my reflection.
Grimmstead Academy: Submission Page 14