Page 23 of Depths of Hunger
“Um…sure.” The man retreats and I hear a door open and then close.
I open my eyes. “Esme.”
“What the fuck have you gotten yourself into now?” She puts her hands on her hips and practically grins at me.
“Fix it,” I snap, my patience thin.
Esme flicks her long red hair over one shoulder and nods. “It’s gonna hurt.” She pushes her leather jacket aside and pulls a knife out of her pocket. Clicking the blade into place she holds it above my chest.
“Do it with magick.” There’s no way I want Esme digging around in my chest. Her eyes gleam a little too brightly with that knife in her hand.
“Wimp,” she mutters as she stashes the knife in her jeans pocket.
“Be very careful, Esme. My brother may be under your spell, but I am not. Don’t push me or you won’t live long enough to complain to him.”
Her face goes blank, but I know she knows I am willing to kill her. She has some weird relationship with Nico, but I don’t care. She’s a witch, and typically, vampires do not trust witches, no matter what my father and brother think.
She leans over, eyes closed, murmuring incantations under her breath. The bullets shift with a sharp painful tear, the agony blinding. I clench my teeth, my hands fisting at my sides as she works. Slowly, painfully, the bullets are drawn out, clinking onto the metal tray.
I start to sit up, but the world tilts violently, and waves of dizziness surge through me. Esme is at my side in an instant, pushing me back down with surprising force. I bare my fangs, a low growl escaping my throat, and she quickly backs off, her eyes wide but resolute.
“Renzo, I don’t know what’s going on, but those aren’t normal bullets. You need to stay still.” She pulls a small plastic baggie from her pocket, slipping her hand inside to pick up one of the bullets, inspecting it closely under the dim, sterile light of the morgue.
“It looks normal to me,” I mutter, though my voice sounds weak and thready.
Esme’s red hair catches the light when she shakes her head. “It looks normal, but it isn’t. Trust me. Someone did something to this—altered it in some way.” She meets my eyes, her expression grim. “Someone really wanted to hurt you, Renzo. You have powerful enemies, but this? This is different.”
I stare at her, my gaze hard and unyielding, but her words strike a chord deep within me. She’s not telling me anything I don’t already know, but the ominous tone in her voice sends a chill through my veins. I try to sit up again, pushing past the pain, but my strength falters. Esme slips an arm around my back, helping me to sit upright. Iloathe this weakness, this dependency on anyone—especially a witch. My pride burns, but Esme ignores my anger, her focus entirely on my condition.
“I’ve never seen you—or any other vampire—need this kind of help. Something’s seriously wrong.” Her voice is tight, edged with a fear she’s trying to hide.
I see it in her eyes: the uncertainty, the lines of worry creasing her usually confident face. Esme is the last person I want to see me like this. I’ve mocked Nico countless times for his association with her, but right now, I don’t have a choice.
“There’s more to this, isn’t there?” I say, my voice strained. I’ve been avoiding my nightmares, the strange dreams that have plagued me lately, dismissing the warnings from the magickal realm. But no matter how long you live, you can never truly escape that world. It always finds you.
The witch holds my gaze, and a flicker of understanding passes between us. “You feel it too. We all do. There’s a shift coming. Everyone’s spooked.” She holds up the bullet again, her fingers trembling slightly. “But this? This is something altogether different. I’m taking these with me. I need to figure out what’s going on.” She collects the rest of the bullets, sealing them in the baggie with a quick, practiced motion. “You should go to Venezia. Stay with your father until we can figure this out.”
“No,” I say, my voice laced with defiance. “I have to stay here. There’s too much at stake.”
Esme shakes her head and frustration bleeds into her tone. “Renzo, you’re weak. Go to your father or cross over into the magickal realm…” her voice fades out.
“If someone from the magickal realm did this to me then hiding there is a stupid idea.”
Esme gave a brief nod of agreement. “But you’re a target, and the last thing you need is to face whoever did this while you’re not at full strength.”
I clench my jaw, refusing to let her see how much her words sting. “I didn’t come this far to run now. I’m a Valdici. We never back downfrom a fight. And if you breathe a word of this to anyone…” I let the threat hang in the air.
Esme rolls her eyes, but there’s a tightness to her expression. “I always keep your family’s secrets. But you know your father’s going to agree with me. You can’t just show up without a damn good explanation. Stay with him for a few days. By the time you’re ready to come back, I’ll know more.” She lifts the bag of bullets, her gaze flicking to mine, almost pleading.
I glare at her, but she stands her ground, though I can see the faint tremor in her hands. “They’ll blame me if anything happens to you,” she says quietly.
She’s right, but admitting it feels like defeat. “Did you bring clothes?” I snap, eager to change the subject.
Esme nods, picking up a backpack she’s left on the floor. “Albert packed everything.”
I pull on a fresh shirt, feeling a flicker of strength returning. I strip off the sheet, and Esme squeaks, turning away quickly. It amuses me—after all these years, modesty is a concept I’ve abandoned, but apparently, Esme still holds on to it. I stand, pulling on underwear, but the world tilts again, and I stagger, catching myself on the table.
Esme steals glances at me, her lips thinning into a tight line, but she says nothing. I take extra time to dress, forcing myself to go slowly to regain my equilibrium. “Okay. Let’s go.” I straighten, and the ground shifts beneath me once more. I close my eyes, breathing deeply until the dizziness subsides.