Sitting on the side of the bed, she remembered Chan propping her up on pillows and telling her to fake being okay, every time he heard her parents walking up the stairs. She couldn't remember how well she'd done, but probably not too badly because they never bundled her up to take her to the hospital.
She stood, stretched and looked down at the chair positioned by the bed. And bam, she was slammed with the memory of Joy, her little sister stepping inside the room. She'd held Della's hand and cried. Cried silently because even her sister knew how her dad hated weakness. Joy's words played like sad music in Della's head. "Please don't die, Della. You're supposed to help me, help me learn to be strong like you."
A big ache filled Della chest. She was so glad she hadn't died and let Joy down.
Looking at the window, she had a vague memory of . . . standing on the roof.
"Did we go somewhere?"
"Yeah, you were getting cabin fever-needed to sort of test your wings. You did good, too."
Suddenly, she recalled moving at amazing speeds and feeling the wind in her face. What was real?
Her stomach growled. "I'm starved," she muttered.
Chan pointed to a big plastic cup with a straw. "You didn't finish your breakfast."
She reached for the drink and sipped. A thousand different flavors exploded in her mouth. Berries, dark chocolate, tangy melon. Flavors she didn't even recognize, but somehow knew she couldn't live without now that she had sampled them.
"What is this?" She licked her lips and immediately started drinking again.
His right brow arched. "It's what you'll be living on from now on. Blood."
She almost gagged, then stopped herself. She'd bitten her tongue before. "Blood don't taste like this." She yanked the top off and stared at . . . at what looked like blood.
"How can . . ."
"Nothing will taste like it did before. Don't you remember gagging on the Chicken Soup your mom brought you?"
She looked at her cousin and vaguely remembered trying to eat the soup. "Tell me you're lying."
"Sorry. Everything is different now. No use in me trying to sugar coat things. Just accept it."
She stared down at the thick red substance in her cup. "This can't be real."
"It's as real as it gets."
"Oh, God!" She put the cup on her nightstand and stared at it. "What kind of blood?"
"AB negative. O is better, but I couldn't find any."
"That's . . . that's human blood?" Her stomach churned.
He nodded. "Animal isn't nearly as good. But you'll learn about that in time. I have a lot to teach you."
She cupped a hand over her mouth and stared at the cup. But even as the thought of drinking blood sickened her, even as a part of her vowed not to become this monster, her mouth watered for another taste, another swallow.
She hadn't ever known real hunger or thirst, but this . . . the feeling that said if she didn't finish what was in that cup right now she might die, had to be closest thing she'd ever experienced.
Chan went to grab the cup. Before she knew what she was doing she lunged, knocked him across the room and grabbed the cup. He laughed. "I figured as much."
She finished the drink, and looked up at Chan. "I need more."
"I know. Right after you turn, you're ravenous. I think I put down fifteen pints my few first days. But you're going to have to wait until after your parents go to bed."
"I want it now," she hissed, not even recognizing her own voice.
* * *