To Bleed a Crystal Bloom by Sarah A. Parker

Still no bluebells. Still just withered stems that bear no bursts of that deep ocean blue I desperately need.

With my knapsack slung over my shoulder, I slip out of Sprouts and dart behind a thick shrub. My hands squeeze into tight fists, fingernails almost gouging the flesh of my palms as I mull over the little bunch of blooms I spotted past my Safety Line—so close, yet so far away.

My bag squeaks, and I lift my gaze to the sky packed with dense clouds threatening to spill again. I frown, scanning the border where tailored, lime-green grass meets the sheer rise of bedraggled trees ...

Perhaps it’s just overcast enough that my friend will come out and play.

Mindful of the many strangers visiting the castle, I dash between well-trimmed shrubs, rose bushes, and moss-covered boulders. I’d never usually attempt such a risky maneuver on a busy day like this, and it’s something I’ll absolutely pin to my lapel next time Rhordyn pecks at me about effort.

Merging with the shadow of a large oak tree just shy of my Safety Line, I look left and right, checking nothing has scattered my border of irregular sized stones before I scan the world beyond.

The forest is gloomy beneath the canopy, its floor a canvas of mossy trunks and rebellious roots that twine out of the ground like tentacles, illuminated by the odd shaft of light.

Those little blue buds are staring at the ground, hanging off hunched stems.

Worrying my bottom lip, I reach inside my bag and pull out the jar containing the fat rat I found tucked inside my Nabber this morning.

Cook was so pleased when I caught the vermin that she promised me a pile of honey buns, despite her busy, pre-ball schedule.

The birds stop chattering and a silence consumes the woods; the air seeming to hold its breath. My sacrificial offering pushes his nose through an air hole, whiskers twitching.

The hairs on the back of my neck lift ...

I glance up to see a dark shape using the shadows of ancient tree trunks like a pathway to approach.

Shay.

He moves fast, a dusky flicker stopping only when he draws near enough that I can sense the void of his body. Feel his pull to be less ... empty.

It always makes me picture a vacant lung trying to inflate.

Kai may be right about these creatures, but my experience with Shay is much different. I don’t see him as a weapon or something fierce and deadly. I see him as my lonely, skittish friend.

A smile teases the corner of my lips as he hovers, the shadow about his head folding back like black smoke yielding to the wind. A face emerges, not dissimilar to the blanched skull of a dog long dead.

His forehead is wide and flat, eyes inky balls set in too-big sockets. His nose is a pallid hook, mouth a toothy slash barely covered by lips the color of milk.

Most would balk at his unveiled appearance, but I’ve seen too many monsters in my nightmares for his face to frighten me.

His lips curl up in a jagged smile, exposing an abundance of serrated teeth. Gaze stabbing at the jar, that smile falls, and he makes a sound I recognize—like a tambourine is clogging his throat.

Hunger.

Nodding, I grip the lid. “All for you, Shay. But”—I look to the bluebells—”I was wondering ...”

Shay regards the plant, then me, head tilted to the side. A long moment slips by before he turns and drifts toward them as if snagged by the hands of a gentle breeze.

My heart trips over a foray of ecstatic beats.

He curls over the precious flowers, stare sliding sideways, eyes clinging to me.

I nod and lower to a crouch, arms banding around my knees to cage my welling excitement.

Shay regards the blooms again.

His ivory, fleshless fingers emerge from his cloak of dense vapor, teasing the air with cautious, clawed strokes. His digits clink together as he reaches for the flowers, and I smile when he grasps the curved stems.

The flowers turn brown, then shrivel until nothing is left but a small bundle of straw-like husks.

My smile fades, lungs empty.

Dead ... just like that.

Shay hisses and snatches his hand away, head whipping to the side, sooty gaze seeming to plead with me.

The sadness in those eyes is a bitter, unnecessary poison. I don’t need to see his sorrow. I can feel it in the atmosphere; see it in the fading of the forest’s jewel-toned luster.

Kai was right about one thing: Shay is a predator, but I doubt my friend enjoys what he has to do to survive, bar the brief satisfaction of sustenance.

“It’s okay,” I say, tone gentle, offering a warm smile I hope touches my eyes. “They weren’t important.”

He looks at the husks again, and I’m reminded of Rhordyn. Of the way he regarded me before he left for the East—like I’m the sum of his own self-loathing.

I hate you.

Oh, precious. You don’t even know the meaning of the word.

Or perhaps he’s just sick of me creeping around his castle, rifling through his shit.

I clear my throat and waggle the jar, making the rat squeak.

Shay’s keen, predatory gaze snaps to me, and he makes that rattling sound again, leaving my bluebell corpses at the base of the tree.

He draws near, and I feel the pull of his hollow form trying to suckle air from the surrounding space. For a moment, I wonder how it would be to fall into his void ... if it would hurt or feel like drifting off to sleep in the arms of a friend.

I close my eyes and untwist the lid, keeping it atop the jar as I seek out my non-existent bravery. It takes longer than I care to admit for that tiny surge to hit, but once it does, I shove my hand out and tip.

A fleshy thump breaks the silence, and I snatch my hand back, holding it close to my galloping heart.

I open my eyes to see Shay ascend on his prey in a surge of shadow. There’s a suckling sound—a gentle whoosh-whoosh—his body moving with the tempo as he feeds.

When he retreats, a hard lump of fur and bone and nothing much else is revealed, and he looks up as he sniffs the air, watching like he’s waiting for me to run or be afraid.

He’ll be waiting forever.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words are left unsaid as the shrill sound of a metallic blow jars me to the bone. Another swiftly follows, the sonic a tangible force hacking through the air.

Clang.

The hits aren’t aimed at me, but they strike nonetheless, assaulting like nails hammering into a soft piece of wood.

Clang.

My spine curls, hands cup my ears as the telltale ebb of brain-bulging pain begins to bloom.

It’s relentless. Excruciating.

It’s going to kill me.

Shay swarms forward, doubling in size, stopping just short of the invisible barrier that separates us. He releases a sharp hiss I try to focus on, but it does nothing to soften the blows.

Clang.

The scream threatening to push out of me finds its own tenor. It swells and swells until it’s almost louder than the sound of warring swords, ripping my throat raw and making me taste blood.

I rock and rock, holding Shay’s stare as if it could keep me from bursting into a million pieces.

Something dribbles from my nose, travels down my chin, and drips onto my bunched up limbs ...

I don’t check to see what it is. Don’t dare tear my gaze from Shay’s until his mouth falls open, spilling his own horrific screech. All those sharp teeth seem to slice the sound, fragmenting it into hundreds of piercing shrieks pushed out at once.

It’s an icy blast to my bloated brain.

The taste of blood thickens, my scream bubbling as I tip ... leaning toward Shay. Wanting nothing more than to fall headfirst into the pall of him. Perhaps he’ll take me into a painless splendor where I cease to exist? Somewhere I’m no longer at war with myself.

Shay darts away, and I squeeze my eyes shut, spilling a whimper along with more warm liquid down my chin.

I would have done it. Would have thrown myself at him just to escape the pain.

I’m trapped.

There’s no way out ...

I’m suddenly crowded—touched by unfamiliar hands, surrounded by exotic smells I don’t recognize. Fingers stroke my limbs, and I wail so loud the sound becomes me.

If I open my eyes, will everyone be in pieces? Will their blood be wetting the soil?

Away. Get away!

The ground seems to shake, convincing me I’ve fallen headfirst into one of my nightmares. There’s a deep snarl, somehow tangible over my tortured sounds.

They’re here.

They’ve finally come for me.

I scream louder.

Strong hands weave under my knees, around my back, and I’m pulled against a hard chest that smells like leather and a cold winter’s day.

It’s not a comforting sort of hold, but a cage of arms that pin me in place. It claims and commands ... the sort of grip that can only belong to one person.

I peel my lids open to see the man from the hall standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, his sight trained above my head, set on the person carrying me.

There’s a seed of hate in those cerulean orbs, mildly veiled by a wash of confusion.

A flash of light lures my attention to the silver sword hanging from his white-knuckled grip, and my mouth tingles, stomach threatening to spill.

But I can’t peel my gaze away.

A hand sweeps over my eyes, severing the sight, creating a protective bubble that allows me to pretend there aren’t countless bystanders watching me unravel.

My next scream is muffled, absorbed by a cold, robust chest, and it’s not until the sound tapers that I realize Rhordyn’s heart rate is no longer slow and sludgy ...

It’s violent.