The Gift of Blood Read online

  Vaela Denarr (She/They) & Micah Iannandrea (They/Them)

  The Gift of Blood (Crimson Tears: Book One)

  Copyright © 2022 by Vaela Denarr (She/They) & Micah Iannandrea (They/Them)

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Vaela Denarr (She/They) & Micah Iannandrea (They/Them) asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  First edition

  Cover art by Lexa @rocket_bird

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  Contents

  Acknowledgement

  CRIMSON TEARS

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  I. ACT 1 - INTO THE NIGHT

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 2.5 - Supplemental

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 6.5 - Supplemental

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 11.5 - Supplemental

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 12.5 - Supplemental

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  II. ACT 2 - BLOOD AND HONEY

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  III. ACT 3 - THE THINGS IN THE DARK

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Making of The Gift of Blood & About the Authors

  About the Author

  Also by Vaela Denarr (She/They) & Micah Iannandrea (They/Them)

  Acknowledgement

  To my darling Micah, who opened up a world of love and kindness for me, and has been by my side for many long days and nights, always supporting me with their kindness. Thank you for creating Ryann and keeping me on track with her, even when I really really wanted her and Rachel to kiss.

  Incidentally, if she ever does anything out of character, that’s on you. Love you!

  CRIMSON TEARS

  Part 1

  The Gift of Blood

  The Thrill of the Hunt

  (Autumn 2023)

  The Killer of Kings

  (TBR)

  Part 2

  The Call of the Deep

  (TBR)

  The Council of Beasts

  (TBR)

  The Eater of Monsters

  (TBR)

  Author’s Note

  She fights and she bites! And she also brings the cake!

  The cake is, indeed, her ass.

  This book uses queer in a reclaimed way, and gay in a general “I like people of the same gender” way. This draws on our personal experience of queerness and the queer community surrounding us.

  Please respect the character’s genders. These characters know exactly who they are. If they do transition throughout the story, that is planned, and we ask that you respect the character’s identity. (We had a whole talk about gender-bending trans characters. Please don’t do it.)

  For the purpose of convenience, people of various genders in this book will be referred to as how they identify and with the pronouns they use. For people who use multiple sets of pronouns, those will be used in alternation depending on the user’s preference.

  Witchcraft, magic, cultures and religious practices in this book/universe stem from the imagination of the authors and are not meant to be representative of/commentary on real world practices of cultures, witchcraft or any religions.

  For those genuinely without the financial means to buy our books, we offer free copies in exchange for an honest review. Reviews are vital to an author’s career, and thus to us being able to continue these stories. You can reach us via https://linktr.ee/VaelaAndMicah

  These authors support trans rights as well as bodily autonomy. If you disagree with these stances, this book isn’t for you, and the themes of love, acceptance, compassion and respect represented in much of our writing will most likely nauseate you. Please go read a different book.

  A big thank you to Monna Herring for beta reading and helping out so much! Sorry for straying off-grammar here and there. We’re authors, we’re eccentric and, really, what even are rules?

  CW: This book contains gore, brief mentions of self-harm, and brief mentions of homophobia.

  Prologue

  It was dark when Ryann’s parents died. That was the one thing she would always remember first. The dark. Damp, oppressive dark had awoken her. Silent, clammy dark had latched on to her on her way down the stairs of her home. Cold, icy dark had chilled her bare feet. They yearned to stay on the carpeted stairs rather than pass over the cold floor between the landing and the living room, where her mom sat on the old couch, reading a book and making notes.

  Dark, like a living thing, had swallowed the night light next to her bed and filled the upstairs. Now it crept down the stairs. As she stood there, a few centimetres from that line of pervasive dark, Ryann was very scared and didn’t know why.

  The carpet in front of the living room was white, illuminated by a square of light from the lamp within. To Ryann it looked like an island in a storm, a single safe space surrounded by a too deep dark.

  She jumped the distance, landing hard on her little legs and pushing the door open as she lost balance and fell against it. The fear faded a bit as more light spilled into the hallway, banishing the shadows. They pulled back with a reluctant shudder.

  Ryann’s mom looked up from the heavy book in her hands. “What are you doing up so late?” she asked in a soft tone and with a gentle smile. She placed her pen in the book and closed it, setting it aside on the low coffee table, and stood to approach her child.

  Ryann scrambled to her feet. She ran up to her mom and hugged her legs. “Dark…” she muttered, still sleepy. Her young mind still tried to figure out what exactly had scared her enough to leave the comfy bed and hurry down the cold hallway and stairs. Perhaps the creak of her window, which she didn’t remember her mom or dad opening as they had tucked her in. Maybe something deeper, something she couldn’t grasp.

  She was so tired. She couldn’t recall at what point her mom’s soft, comforting tone had turned into an alarmed whisper, nor could she remember exactly when her dad had come out of his study. She did notice, however, that he left the door open instead of locking it as he usually did. Instead, he had reached for a set of packed bags, whispering with his wife in one of the many languages they shared.

  Ryann was so young and tired, she couldn’t recall when they had gotten into the car. When she looked back to see where their house was, there was only darkness, and a few street lights that lit up a lonely road.

  One by one, they went out, following the path of her parents’ car.

  She was aware of the tense silence between her mom and dad, and the howl and thrum of the motor. It sounded off, somehow. Like breathing, raspy and laboured. Her parents didn’t seem to hear it.

  They had invented a game with her when she’d been scared by the noise of the car. They pretended that the big black vehicle was in reality an enormous animal guarding them. Ryann liked that. She liked thinking of it as a big guard dog, and was secretly looking for a name to give it. Her parents had found it endearing when she’d started clumsily washing the car because their guardian shouldn’t be dirty.

  Then, all at once, the noises of the car returned to normal. After a brief moment, the familiar sounds put Ryann at ease.

  The passengers relaxed. Her dad let out a breath. Ryann smiled sleepily when her mom turned back to look at her in the back seat, relief in her eyes, and a soft smile of her own on her face.

  A shriek of rending metal interrupted the moment. A great force twisted Ryann’s vision, deafened her, froze her, and pressed her hard into the seat before tossing her about. Her side burned where the seatbelt bit deep into her skin.

  Her mother’s smile became the last memory she had of her parents.

  I

  ACT 1 - INTO THE NIGHT

  Chapter 1

  Ryann Ly hated the dark. She frowned as she glared about the pitch-black cemetery. It wasn’t a specific thing she hated. She had no fear of monsters in the dark or anything else tangible like that. It was just the darkness itself, the not-seei
ng and not-knowing that tore at the edges of her mind with anxiety.

  It hadn’t really bothered her for a long time now. Despite the lingering worry and nervousness, Ryann could confidently say she wasn’t scared of the dark. There had been no room for that kind of fear since she’d run from the orphanage she had been staying at after her grandparents had passed away.

  Unlike with her parents, their passing had been peaceful. First her grandmother had died of a weak heart, then, a year later, Ryann’s grandfather had followed her. They hadn’t been sick or in pain, and yet their deaths stuck more firmly in Ryann’s mind than those of her parents. She had been too young to really remember her parents’ faces after the accident.

  Being alone without any relatives had taught her to deal with her fears. The dark didn’t go away because she was scared. She had only herself to protect her.

  Ironically, her failure to do just that was why she was skulking around a cemetery at two in the morning, getting her shoes dirty. It wasn’t so bad, really. Ryann liked going out on night runs, and this was basically just a run with an extra stop.

  That stop was a fucking cemetery.

  The one where she had been murdered. Good times.

  A car blared past Ryann, loud enough for her to flinch and give the driver the finger. The passing lights ruined her night vision and generally blinded her. Fucking asshole.

  She wasn’t usually very irritable, but dying is a stressful process, so she allowed herself the indulgence of some anger.

  Slowly, her eyes got used to the dark again. The street came back into focus, as did the cemetery’s wall. Ryann quickly judged the height, rolled her shoulders, and ran at it. She could see every crease and crack in the stone despite the sparse light from the nearby street lamps, and practically dashed up the wall before her fingers latched on to the upper edge.

  Her body still felt weak after her long hospital stay, but being ‘weaker’ still made her ‘very fucking strong’. Just not as strong as she liked.

  She pulled herself up, rolled over the top, and slipped down the other side. Her legs caught her fall a bit shakily. Strength may not be a problem, but balance was. Every now and then her muscle memory failed her and her landing was a little rougher than she liked.

  She stumbled, catching herself in a roll and coming to rest behind a large gravestone. Ryann groaned softly. She had fallen awkwardly on her neck and had bumped her shoulder on the cold stone.

  Great job. Very dignified, she thought dryly. She pushed the thought aside. You got in, that’s enough, she told herself. She would have taken the front gate, but the number of people standing around it worried her. She didn’t want to be caught sneaking into a cemetery. Especially not this one.

  She froze when the beam of a flashlight passed over the ground near her and over her hiding place. Footsteps approached, and she waited patiently, keeping track of the person with her hearing. They passed right by her hiding spot without noticing her.

  Of course there were people here now. Where had they been a week ago?

  Slowly, Ryann rose to her feet, using the darkness she hated so much to hide herself. One step after another, she began to creep after the passing night guard.

  Her vision swam into shades of grey and black. She blinked to try and stop it blurring, then narrowed her eyes. Her nostrils flared gently at the scent in the air. It was warm. Wet blood, faint but there. Sweat. And fear. Wet, clammy fear, sweet and salty in the air.

  That hint of fear was what really got her. It stirred something in her that she couldn’t quite place. Ryann’s breath escaped in a soft, heated exhale. She didn’t notice she was licking her lips until it was done. A clicking sound emanated from her throat in hungry anticipation. Her feet carried her after the man with swift, quiet steps.

  She didn’t mean to do anything. She just wanted to know who these people were. She just… She wanted to know why he smelled like blood and why it smelled so good. Good enough to overshadow the smell of stale booze.

  Her teeth ached and she licked them once with a deep rumble in her chest. Like a growl, or a purr. That was what snapped Ryann out of her trance briefly, and she ducked behind another gravestone with a quickened heart, just as the night guard turned around. The beam of his flashlight crossed where she’d just been a second earlier. Then, after a moment in which the fear scent was palpable, he continued on his path with a nervous mutter.

  Pull yourself together, Ryann chided herself as she let her head rest back against the headstone. You literally just ate!

  She really didn’t want to get seen by this man. It wasn’t because of the baton at his side or the gun at his hip that didn’t look like anything a regular night guard should have. He wasn’t particularly tall or bulky either.

  At six feet tall, packed with muscle, Ryann didn’t really have to worry about any of that. She was a professional fighter. She knew how to handle herself.

  At least in the world of the living. Right now, with the scent of blood clouding her mind so pleasantly, she just had no idea what she was dealing with.

  She didn’t know if these people actually were people.

  The night guard’s little handheld radio, clipped to his jacket, buzzed. He lifted it to his lips. “Jacob here,” he said. There was a sigh, then he repeated, “Jacob here, over.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his sweaty hair while listening through his earpiece.

  “Yeah, yeah… Fine, I’ll try and check in more often, over,” the man said, then spat as soon as he let go of the button. “Thinks she’s so high and mighty,” he muttered. Then, to his device, “No, nothing. No signs of movement of any kind, over.” A pause, waiting, listening. “If anyone shows up, I plan to shoot first and ask questions never, over.” One more pause. “Fine, whatever.” He dropped the ‘over’, and the radio, which fell to his chest. “Fucking bitch.”

  The white beam of his flashlight cut through the darkness one more time, illuminating hard-trodden paths of earth, narrow and winding between looming headstones, and the glistening spots of mud left by the recent rain.

  He didn’t notice Ryann standing right behind him.

  She shuddered gently as the scent of blood became so much stronger. It came from somewhere under his jacket. Her mouth opened slowly, hungrily, as the man shifted a little and Ryann saw the vein pulse at his neck.

  Stop it!

  Ryann forced her gaze down to the open jacket pocket and the thin wallet she could see peeking out precariously. She snatched it away and stepped back just as quietly as she’d approached.

  Jacob went on his way none the wiser. Ryann was not a small person by any measure, but she was quiet and swift on her feet from many, many fights. Both in and outside the ring.

  She hid herself behind one of the large, old tombstones that gave Lakeview Cemetery its gothic aesthetic. The cold of the stone behind her seeped through her dark sweater. Her body felt hot like after a match. Her teeth still ached, and she knew if she’d waited a moment more, she would have torn into Jacob.

  She rubbed her face and ran her hand over her hair, tied up into a ponytail that showed off her unkempt undercut. Her heart beat rapidly, and it wasn’t stopping. A deep growl forced itself out of Ryann’s throat. She couldn’t keep the sound back no matter how hard she tried.

  Her stomach burned with need. She wanted more blood. She pressed one arm into her gut. Her other hand was clenched around the edge of the stone step she was sitting on. A tingle ran down her spine to the tips of her fingers. Her fingernails felt like they were on fire, then they abruptly extended into black claws that scraped over the rock and left little marks.

  The smell of blood was so pervasive, even as Jacob moved away. Her mind had latched on to it, and she could smell even the faintest trace. Her mouth watered at the scent. She licked her lips, involuntarily, a mere reflex. Her tongue ran over the sharp fangs in her upper row and tested their point with the tip of it. They would easily pierce the skin of any man and tear through his flesh.