Blinding Light (The Bloodmarked Trilogy Book 2) by Alicia Deters Page A

herself now than for me. “They’re… they’re very unique. They look like they’re glowing. I’ve never seen eyes so light. They’re almost white. But you don’t look so good. Do you need anything? Water or something?” she asked with a shaky voice.
    She was a nervous rambler. Her heart rate accelerated at an alarming pace, and I had to bail before I got what I really needed.
    I swiped my bag off the floor and practically sprinted to the bathroom, causing a few curious stares to follow. Once locked inside, I tore through the backpack and sunk my fangs into one of the blood bags Gavin packed for me. I drained it instantly and started on the next, hoping to conserve the last one for my pre-flight meal. The cravings seemed to be getting worse and more frequent.
    It took a herculean effort to stop myself from ripping into the third bag. I splashed water on my face in an effort to wash away the drops of blood at the corners of my mouth and to shock my senses back.
    Glaring at my reflection in the mirror, I willed those light, minty green eyes to turn back to emerald. I grasped the small metal basin of the sink in my palms for support. When the deep green crept back into my eyes and my fangs retracted, the blood-induced fog cleared, and I noticed the incessant knocking on the door.
    I let go of the sink to grab my bag, and the two palm shaped indentions stood out like a supernatural calling card. Collecting myself, I opened the door to face a man in a suit coat.
    “Is everything alright, miss?” he asked, irritation evident in his voice.
    “Peachy,” I sighed and shouldered passed him. His eyes remained on me the whole way back to my seat. Day one of Lucille Masters’ new life was off to a fantastic start.
     
    †
     
    The plane ride went by much the same as the train. I was on edge the whole trip. I almost convinced myself that it had nothing to do with the blood, that it was some sort of phantom appetite for Mountain Dew. I used to run off of the stuff and remembered what it tasted like. It didn’t appeal to me anymore, but the satisfaction it gave me had to be lingering somewhere inside. The mounting agitation and unease couldn’t just be for blood.
    It was a nice delusion for a while. But it always boiled down to blood. This was my reality now, even if I still grappled with the idea that a part of me was human, not a monster.
    Glancing out the window, I watched as I crept down a deserted two-lane highway in a snap blizzard that sprung up immediately after the plane landed in Thunder Bay, Ontario. My driver was a hefty, middle-aged man named Allen who had dark hair and a matching beard. He met me in baggage claim with his kind brown eyes and quiet demeanor. He has barely said two words to me, only speaking up to give me weather updates and ETAs, which I appreciated.
    At the rate we were going, the normally three-hour drive to the compound would probably take about eight hours. The proximity weighed on my chest as if I were headed to prison. Helen had given me a brief overview, telling me it was twenty miles from the nearest town and it was a self-sufficient estate with its own cook and cleaning staff. Leaving wasn’t really necessary.
    Enjoying my last stretch of freedom, I took a small amount of comfort from the white out conditions. Looking out the back passenger window made it seem as if I was wrapped in a big blanket, safe from the outside world, safe from worries. I could see a lot further than the human eye, but all the fluffy white flakes created a giant cocoon, insulating us for miles with its cloaking protection.
    Allen’s white knuckles gripped the steering wheel tighter as he leaned toward the windshield trying to navigate our snow-covered path. I would have offered to drive for him if it didn’t mean answering the question of how I was more qualified at his job than he was. Somehow, I didn’t think he would buy that my eyesight was much sharper and my reflexes were far quicker than his. So we