Chapter 17

"Want to try the melatonin-infused A positive?" Quincy yells from the kitchen. "I've had some success with it. Got three bags in here." He's digging through the fridge trying to find me some comfort blood, but he's out of AB negative, and the other types just don't sound appealing enough.

"I don't know, Quince. At this point, I doubt anything short of heroin blood will cut it." Since I never dabbled with anything stronger than Adderall as a human, I doubt I'd have the ovaries to mess with it now.

He comes into the living room and hands me a tall glass of red with a dinosaur straw. "Try the melatonin. You haven't slept in two days. It's worth a shot."

I huff a breath and give in. "Fine."

"Still haven't heard from him?"

"No," I reply. "But I'm the one who asked for space. It seems like this is him trying to give that to me." Though the immature part of me wants him to ignore that request and blow up my phone with I love you texts.

"True. True."

Quincy puts his visor on and grabs his car keys. "All right, I'm working until six, so I won't be home until morning. Put on some background TV and try to pass out, okay?"

He tosses me the remote, and I scroll through his streaming channels. "Do you have Max?"

"Nah, just Netflix right now, but you know what that means…"

"Beef!"We shout in unison.

"Best show in history," I gush. "Nothing will ever top it."

"For real though."

I fire up the pilot as Quincy leaves, and a few minutes in, my mind inevitably drifts to Kyan. I'm just so goddamn embarrassed.

The whole thing could've been avoided if I had been patient and didn't let my post-coital glee plant these images in my head of me and Kyan buying a house together, maybe getting Felix a decked-out bird cage he can snooze in when he visits, and spending the rest of my days in the safety of his arms. I was so sure Kyan felt the same way I did, especially after we had sex in his chair and he looked all shaky and vulnerable afterward. That moment had the trappings of a man coming to terms with the depths of his feelings. Or so I thought.

I don't know what was going on in his head, but it had nothing to do with love.

The way I reacted was also embarrassing. His half-assed, "Oh, love you too," felt like rejection. Dismissal. My pride took over, and we ended up in a fight that never should've happened.

We'll recover from this. I know we will. It's just a cringeworthy blip that we'll laugh about down the road.

I should call him.

Two days is enough space. Besides, I sleep best when he's next to me, and Quincy's couch sucks. Kyan doesn't feel ready to go back to his house, and I certainly don't want to return to mine, so whether it's his secret bedroom at the office or somewhere new, I want to be where he is.

My throat feels dry as I scroll through my contacts. I take a sip of the melatonin blood to steel my resolve, and I press call.

It doesn't ring. It just goes straight to voicemail. That's odd, but maybe he's spending quality time with his brothers and doesn't want to be interrupted.

I debate on whether to leave a message, but when the phone beeps, I hang up like a coward. Instead, I send a text.

Hi. I miss you. I know I said I wanted space, and you had to go ahead and respect my wishes, you thoughtful jerk. Anyway, I miss your lips, your horns, those piercings… ?? I miss all of you, and I want to get back to where we were. If you're open to it.

Also, let me know if I should come into work next week? I never officially quit and as far as I know, I haven't been fired, so hopefully I can use sick time or personal days to cover this absence. Who do I talk to about that? Shelly in HR? Let me know.

Between episodes three and four of Beef, my eyes get heavy, and I curl into a ball on my side. Just as I start to drift off, my phone buzzes on the coffee table. I dive for it before I'm even fully awake, knocking the empty glass on its side in the process. I'm jumpy and scared as I turn my phone over, thinking it's a response from Kyan.

It's not.

A number that I don't recognize sent me a spammy text that says, "Is Linda still offering piano lessons?"

Disoriented, I delete the text and pick up the glass before settling into the couch indentation I've created over the last forty-eight hours. By episode seven, Ali Wong's performance has me sobbing, though it's probably a seventy-thirty split between the show's powerful character arcs and missing Kyan.

It doesn't take much for me to fall asleep after that, and when I wake up, the TV has powered down on its own. I pad into the bathroom to splash some water on my face and heave myself back onto the couch after turning off all the lights.

I check my phone, assuming Kyan hasn't texted back but needing to check anyway. A gasp escapes me as I see two unread texts from Kyan. Sitting up straight and buzzing with nerves, I open the thread, and find the first message is a picture.

The lighting is terrible, and the photo is heavily pixelated, as if the person taking it was far away and zoomed in as much as they could. I have to squint to determine what I'm looking at, but it seems to be a man with blood caked in his hair and pouring from several cuts on his face, with a bruised eye, swollen bottom lip, and slack jaw. His arms are spread wide, but I can't tell why, since his hands aren't in the frame. He looks passed out, but is somehow standing and holding his arms up, which doesn't make any sense.

He wears a white, V-neck t-shirt that's stained with blood and what looks like grease, and on his bicep, I see the curve of a black tat––

"Holy shit!"

It's Kyan. Someone beat the hell out of him and now they're sending me photos. I check the text that came after the photo.

Kyan: Eye for an eye, trailer trash. Your boss is about to pay the ultimate price for fucking with our food.

I leap off the couch and shove my feet into a pair of Quincy's sneakers before racing out the door.

When I make it onto the street, the three dots appear. Elaine has him, and she's fucking taunting me. I expect her next message to be a selfie next to his severed head as she throws up a peace sign, but it's an address.

Dropping it into my Maps, I get directions and haul my ass through the woods toward the abandoned textile mill.

My dragon is leaving that mill alive. I don't care what it takes.