Dirty Blood Read Online Free PDF Page A

seventeen year old high school student. I’ve
seen the after-school specials. I know what “attacked” usually
means for a girl like me.
    Wes ran a hand through his hair, further tousling it,
and shifted in the chair. “What do you remember?”
    “Nothing.” Then I added, “Actually I remembered one
thing, a flash of something really. Of looking at myself in the
mirror, bloody and bruised. But that’s it.”
    “Hmm. It must’ve worked better than I thought.” He
was staring at a spot on the wall; he seemed to be talking to
himself again.
    His reticence was really getting annoying. “Would you
just spit it out already? Why was I attacked?”
    “Fine. I don’t know what started it. I wasn’t there
for that part. By the time I got there, Liliana was already on the
ground.”
    “On the ground? You mean I hurt her?”
    “Yes, which was definitely a surprise to me and why
I’m here now. But what you need to know is that Liliana was more
than just some girl. She was a Werewolf.”
    Wes might’ve kept talking after that, but all sound
and movement suddenly ceased for me. I was still stuck on that last
word: Werewolf. I would have laughed out loud right then, but there
was no denying Wes was serious. He absolutely believed that this
Liliana girl was a Werewolf and the look on his face told me
arguing wouldn’t change a thing. This just figured. The hottest guy
I’d ever seen, alone with me in my room, and he was completely
whacked.
    I abruptly cut off whatever he was saying. “You
seriously just said Werewolf, didn’t you?”
    He stopped, midsentence, and his shoulders sagged a
little. “Yeah.”
    “Do I need to explain how crazy that sounds?” I
decided my wording might be better than ‘you’re crazy’, which is
what I was thinking.
    “What I don’t get is what you are,” he said,
basically ignoring my question.
    “Hello? Are you listening to me?”
    “Yeah, just trying to figure this out,” he said,
distractedly.
    “That makes two of us,” I muttered.
    He sighed, like he was getting impatient. “This will
be easier for you when you remember. Close your eyes.”
    “What?”
    “Close your eyes.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m going to help you remember.”
    I stared at him, waiting for him to explain more, but
he didn’t. “What are you going to do?” I asked, trying to sound
more confident than I felt. I was beginning to wonder if I’d made a
mistake in not telling George about this.
    “I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t even move from my
chair. If you hear me get up or move at all, you can open your
eyes, scream, call the police – whatever you want.”
    I eyed him suspiciously but I could feel my curiosity
winning out over my fear. I really, really wanted to know what had
happened to me last night. “Fine.” I closed my eyes and waited.
    “Now relax and clear your mind.”
    I tried not to think how much he sounded like my
mother’s yoga video. I took a deep breath and let it out as slow as
I could, imitating what I’d seen my mother do when she tried
meditating, which really seemed like a rip off of sleeping, to me.
Then I waited.
    A moment later, I felt something. Not a physical
feeling, but rather a mental one; a weird tickling sensation in my
mind, like when you try really hard to recall an old memory. I
jumped and started to open my eyes.
    “Keep your eyes closed. I’m almost done.”
    I fidgeted with the comforter but kept my eyelids
clamped shut. Black and blue bursts of light danced behind my
closed lids, swirling into abstract pictures that reminded me of
ink blobs a psychiatrist might use on a crazy patient. A moment
later, the tingling receded, and then I jerked in surprise as
images flooded into my mind.
    My eyes snapped open and I found Wes watching me. His
lips were pressed together in a tight line. All I could manage was
to stare back at him with a slack jaw, as the images played over
and over in head. What I saw there was almost too much. Impossible,
really.
    “Did it