Red Blood (Series of Blood Book 2), Emma Hamm [little red riding hood ebook free .TXT] 📗

he was searching for that memory. The one she had buried so deep she had almost forgotten it.

But she was disoriented. His magic was not comforting like an Illusionist. His magic was raw and uncultured. It clawed through her mind leaving torn pages and a blinding pain.

She could smell burning hair. Why could she smell burning hair?

Her mind suddenly paused. There it was. The memory.

She wanted to close her eyes against the sightless eyes of Mr. Sneep staring back at her. Bones was in front of her again, and she was ashamed to admit she was frightened. He terrified her because he was the darkness inside of her.

Wolfgang watched the memory with her. She could still feel his hands gently pressed against her temples. When had he moved his hands?

He flicked through the remaining memories of Bones as though he wasn’t particularly interested but wanted to see them. She hadn’t wanted to share those memories. She didn’t want to him to see the way she had lived.

She didn’t want him to see the men she had killed.

Wolfgang did not appear to care that she didn’t want him to see those memories. He watched them and many others. Picking and choosing what he wanted to see as though she were a fine wine.

Finally he stopped. He did not look at any recent memories, she noted. Lyra couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to see her reaction to him when she had first seen him. Not the doppelganger but him. The real person who stood in front of her.

Perhaps he simply respected her privacy.

Lyra stepped away from him to press her own hand against her head. A pain bloomed deep inside her skull.

“I forgot,” Wolfgang spat the words as though they were a curse. He reached for her and pressed a cool palm against her forehead. At his murmured words, the pain abated. The muscles in her back twinged, but that pain was minimal compared to the headache.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I am sorry that was your life.”

“It is mine, and I am not sorry for it. I am who I am today because of everything I have experienced. I was a spoiled child. I was raised to be mean. And I was.” When he looked as though he would argue with her, she lifted a hand. “No, I was a mean person. I have been cold and heartless because that is my natural state. I like to think that I am no longer that person.”

“I have never met a woman who could hold my gaze for as long as you without seeing pity in her eyes.”

She didn’t want to dwell on what that meant. No one could possibly see him the way she saw him. He was otherworldly, not dangerous or frightening. But she would not entertain the idea of pity with him.

Instead, she shrugged. “Doesn’t help that you live in a graveyard. Men need a good bachelor’s pad to take the ladies. Otherwise, you’re poor, and we’re not interested.”

He tilted his head back and barked out loud laughter. This was the man she knew so well. The strange and unusual creature who lived under the ground and laughed at her jokes even though he did not understand them.

She smiled back when she saw the chipped front tooth that she had come to so enjoy. He was a hodge podge of ugly features, and she so appreciated him for that.

He was still laughing but managed to finally respond. “It hasn’t seemed to bother you.”

“I think we’ve already gone over the fact that I am not normal.”

“No, no you are not under any circumstance normal,” he repeated. “But you hold the same amount of darkness that I do.”

She tensed when he slid a finger underneath her chin and forced her to meet his mismatched eyes. “Lyra, death can destroy you.”

“Or it can turn you into a fighter.”

“Lingering upon memories best left alone can destroy even the strongest of people. You should not dwell upon such a dark past.”

She smiled at him. “I don’t.”

“I know you do because I do as well.”

“What’s your story then?” She bit her lip and hoped for a distraction. “How did you end up here since I can’t relive your memories like I’m reading a book.”

“My parents were not Red Bloods. They were thieves who were addicted to Juice. They could no longer feel good emotions without the help of drugs. When I was six, I began to realize what they were. I did not go to school. I did not have friends. I lived in a basement hiding from the world with my family.”

“Wolfgang—” she interrupted him to press her hands against his bony ribcage.

“When I was ten and they were trying to give me my first taste of Happiness; I refused. I did not know how to control my magic back then. I only knew that I was angry, and I wanted to wipe the earth clean. Blood Magic was not a choice for me; it was natural. They were the first people to be devoured by my magic, and they were not the last.”

“You killed your parents?”

“I did more than than, little Siren. I killed everyone in the entire building.”

She shuddered. The amount of magic that he had gained from that much death would have been immense for a ten year old.

“How many people?” She could not help but ask.

“Twenty five? Thirty? I do not know. I only know that I was fed that day. I lost myself for a very long time. Blood Magic can be used in two ways. From other people or from yourself.”

She traced a deep scar upon his neck, which had been covered up by the dark tattoo from chin down. “Obviously now you prefer to draw from yourself.”

“I tried to turn myself into something else once. Something I am not,” he murmured. “As that failed, I will only cause myself pain.”

“You’re a better man than you think you are, Wolfgang.”

“And you are the only woman who would say that after