Chapter 5: First Draw

I kept the Rite report folded in my jacket all through Saturday.

Conrad had written NEGATIVE himself, and the pack doctor had never signed it.

If he had lied about the result, then the paper that threw me out was a forgery.

Every time I looked at the blue ink, I wanted to ask why, and I had no one to ask but Rhys.

He only said, "First we get you strong enough to fight him."

The first draw happened on Sunday night, in his study, with the door locked.

He had set it up on the desk.

A needle, a bag, a roll of tape, a rubber strap, a small razor, and a chair with a padded arm.

"Sit," he said.

I sat, and he knelt on one knee beside the chair with his cane laid on the rug.

He tied the strap above my elbow.

His hands were steady for the first minute.

Then the needle trembled over the vein, and he pulled it back.

"You're shaking," I said.

"I haven't eaten since yesterday."

"Why not?"

"Food doesn't stay down on the bad days."

He tried again and missed.

A bead of sweat ran along his hairline, and he wiped it with his shoulder because both his hands were busy.

I took the needle out of his fingers.

"Give me that."

"Willa."

"I sold blood for four months. I know where my own vein is."

I slid it in myself, hard and clean, and watched the line turn red.

He stared at the tube as the bag began to fill.

I saw his throat move.

He was not looking at the bag.

He was looking at me, at the inside of my arm, and at the place under my skin where my pulse beat.

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