Sweet Blood of Mine (Overworld Chronicles #1)

Sweet Blood of Mine (Overworld Chronicles #1) Page 3

My heart pounded and ached. My stomach clenched. I wanted to throw up and roar with rage at the same time but ended up getting a bad case of hiccups instead.

I scanned the crowded lunchroom and spotted Brad sitting with a group of girls at another table halfway across the room. Katie didn't have the same lunch period or she might be sitting with him right this very moment. Brad had on his usual leather motorcycle jacket and bad-boy "I don't give a crap" smirk. He probably kept his black hair cropped close so he wouldn't walk around with dorky helmet-hair after zipping around on his crotch rocket.

I noticed Mark staring at Brad as well, a mix of jealousy and awe mixed on his face. "Don't tell me you wish you were him," I said even though somewhere in the back of my mind, a part of me raised its hand and shouted, I want to be like him!

Mark gave me a guilty look and locked eyes with Harry. "I dunno. I mean, we're almost done with high school and what do we have to show for it? It'd be nice to at least have a girlfriend."

"We're number one in Kings and Castles," I said.

Harry shrugged. "So what? Don't get me wrong—I still love it." He glanced back over at Brad. "But why can't we have it all?"

Just great. Not only did Brad have Katie, but he was also luring my friends away from me. I wished fervently for the zombie apocalypse to strike so I could rescue Katie from the clutches of zombie Brad with a shotgun blast to his ugly face. I'd steal his motorcycle, grip Katie around the waist and pull her on with me before roaring away to safety. Scorching anger scalded my heart. It came unexpectedly in a boiling flood washing away all reason. My face grew hot and fists balled so tight my knuckles cracked.

My forehead felt like twin volcanos were erupting in my brain. I clenched my teeth in agony and pressed my hands to my face. Something sharp poked my fingers. Powerful odors overwhelmed my nose. Armpit stench. Hair chemicals. Old Spice. Why is it always Old Spice? Underneath it all was something different. Something sensual. Something very female. I unclenched my eyes and looked, but all I could see were blotches of color and blurs.

Another pulse of pain jackhammered my brain and the headache vanished. My eyesight snapped to normal. Mark and Harry regarded me with wide-eyed concern.

"You okay?" Harry asked. "Your face was beet red for a second there."

Mark chuckled. "I thought your eyes were gonna explode out of your skull."

"I'm fine," I said as the headache faded in an instant like the mother of all brain-freezes. I gave Brad Nichols the evil eye again and almost asked my friends what Brad Nichols had that I didn't. Stupid question. Over the course of my short life I'd made choices. Unhealthy choices, obviously. I'd eaten comfort foods and made myself fat. I'd never worked out at a gym or expanded my interests beyond Kings and Castles. In short, I was the blubbery sum of seventeen-plus years of bad decisions and now I was paying the piper. Maybe those choices were the reasons these horrific migraines were suddenly nailing me out of the blue. I might be dying from a brain tumor but all I could think about was Katie. I wanted to steal her from Brad and make her mine.

Unfortunately, I had an acute streak of romanticism in me that wanted True Love, Princess Bride style. I wanted love and marriage before sex. Call me old-fashioned, but what could be better than having your first time with the girl of your dreams? Probably having wild sex with lots and lots of hot girls, said my second brain. My first brain chimed in agreement, causing me to wonder which brain was really the one in charge. Ugh. Why couldn't girls come with manuals? Or maybe even picture cards like the ones airlines use?

I looked up from my brooding. Mark and Harry gobbled down the school cafeteria mush and talked animatedly about our upcoming Kings and Castles tournament. A patch of darkness caught in my peripheral vision. I glanced right. Large black-lined eyes gazed back at me. The Goth girl. Her raven-dark hair cascaded like a curtain over the white makeup covering her face. I looked behind me and then back at her. She was definitely looking at me, I decided. She quirked an eyebrow and then scribbled something in a notebook.

Just great. Was she jotting down something about me? I could just imagine her notes: Subject is still alive, but death by football players is imminent. Will drink his blood for the Dark Master.

I arrived home from school and whisked into my room, easing the door shut and locking it. I didn't want to deal with my parents right now. They were such a happy couple I felt like a complete failure for being a loser when it came to love and life. Oh boo hoo hoo. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Easier said than done.

I buried myself in homework to forget my troubles. Loud voices jerked me from a particularly difficult calculus problem some time later.

"It's foolish, Alice," my dad said. "They'll never let you or her come back."

"I don't care, David. I don't give a damn what they do to me," Mom said, the words raw with anger.

"But I do." The tremble of pain in my dad's voice stabbed me in my heart. What in the world was going on? Had something terrible happened?

I rushed from my room and crossed the hallway to theirs. My parents were hugging, their tear-streaked faces red and tortured.

"Who died?" I asked, unsure what to feel since I didn't really know any of my relatives and I didn't think my parents would be this upset over one of my classmates.

They leapt apart like two teenagers caught on the couch, wiping away tears from wide startled eyes.

"Your aunt Petunia," Mom said, first as usual to regain composure in a pressure situation.

"Tragic," Dad said, offering me a timid smile though his eyes looked red with grief.

I stared at the two of them with narrowed eyelids for a moment. They were hiding something, but Mom already had her cool façade back in place. She crossed the room and pressed a hand to my head. "Are you feeling okay?"

I sighed and pushed her hand away. "I'm fine. Everything is peachy keen and perfect in my life." I turned to walk out the door. "Which side of the family is dear Auntie Petunia on?"

"Mine," Mom said. "She was a fine woman."

"Since I've never met any of my relatives, I guess I'll have to take your word for it."

"Justin, we've been over this before," Mom said. "Your father's family and mine don't get along."

"That's putting it mildly," Dad chimed in.

She gave him an exasperated look. "David, please!" She turned back to me. "As a result, we're not on the best of terms with either of our families."

"But Aunt Petunia is special?"

"Yes."

Dad clapped his hands together. "Now that's settled, how about some supper?"

In the kitchen five minutes later, Mom dropped a microwaved meal in front of me. It made a moist squishy noise when the plastic tray hit the table. The poof of steam rising from it looked vaguely like a mushroom cloud. I couldn't remember the last time she'd made something in the microwave. She loved to cook. I loved to eat what she cooked. That was part of the reason for the extra-large spare tire around my waist.

"How are you feeling, honey?" she asked, pressing a hand to my forehead and murmuring the same mumbo jumbo she did every so often. She said it was good luck, and I think she'd brainwashed me into believing her superstitions because my forehead usually tingled afterward.

"I told you earlier I'm fine, Mom." I wasn't about to mention my headaches to my parents. They seemed to be real worrywarts when it came to my health, and I was irrationally frightened of the hospital.

She kissed me on the forehead, stood, and vanished down the hallway to her office. Dad pulled his dinner from the microwave and sighed. He looked down the hall toward Mom's office with a sad expression. I didn't blame him. This microwaved stuff sucked.

"Dad, did you ever want a girl who was out of your league?"

He raised an eyebrow and took a moment to answer. "Of course, son."

I'm strictly heterosexual and not incestuous or anything, but my dad is a fairly handsome man. I'd overheard Myra Bergenhoff and another woman swooning over him in the grocery store once. Sometimes women would give him this really intense stare, like he was a celebrity or wearing chocolate body spray. The only woman who never looked at him that way was Mom. I guess being married helps you look past a person's charm. Unfortunately, I didn't have Dad's good looks or his chocolate BO.

"Having girl problems, son?" Dad actually seemed kind of happy I wasn't tearing it up with the ladies.

"Sort of."

"Anything weird ever happen?" He winked and said "weird" in a mocking voice, but his eyes looked oddly worried.

I decided to play dumb since I didn't have a clue where this was going. "Girls are just weird." Then again, maybe he was questioning my sexuality. "Not that I don't like girls, of course. I totally like girls and females of…uh…the human variety." I didn't want him thinking I was into bestiality either.

"You know if you ever have any questions you can ask me."

Eww. "I'll keep that in mind." I could sense a well-intentioned but useless father-son chat coming, so I grabbed my microwaved mush and dashed into my room.

My phone beeped. Another text from Katie. Want to study tonight?

Despite the crushing sense of defeat overwhelming me upon learning about her and Brad, a tiny ray of hope blossomed. I'm so optimistic it makes me sick. I knew I was only setting myself up for another dose of hurt, but it didn't matter.

I agreed to meet her over at her place in half an hour. I spent the next few minutes putting on my best pair of cargo pants and an XXL T-shirt to cover my fleshiness, and brushed my Gandalf-like hairdo until it looked somewhat presentable. I took Dad's Jetta and scooted over to her house with a dash of sunshine in my heart.

I parked at the curb near Katie's house and walked up the driveway. Soft sobbing noises emanated from ahead. Katie sat under the glow of the outside lights near the front door.