Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 20: _ Saving Him

If I don’t assure them that Pretty Boy isn’t infected, that might kill all of our chances of staying. They’d want to throw us out, and hell, that wouldn’t go well.

Because I wouldn’t go anywhere or budge. And then, they’d try to fight me and Jesus fucking Christ, it’d be a grave mistake.

They’d pay with their lives for that stupid decision. I might end up killing them both. Or eat them.

"He’s not. But if I don’t stop the bleeding, he might die. Or his wound might get infected, and then we’ll have a bigger problem." I assure them firmly.

There is a deafening silence.

I can see the hesitation. The uncertainty.

They don’t want to help. But they don’t want to leave a dying guy in their living room either.

The girl with the gun shifts slightly. "And if we say no?"

I exhale, rolling my eyes, but keeping my voice even. "Then I’ll do it anyway. Right here. On your floor. Either way, I’m stopping the bleeding."

They exchange another look.

Then, finally, the taller girl sighs. "Goddamn it."

She lowers her gun slightly, tilting her head toward the back room. "Fine. But if he so much as twitches wrong, I’m putting a bullet in his head."

"Noted."

I don’t thank them. There’s no point.

Instead, I haul Pretty Boy toward the nearest table, my heart still pounding.

I can’t afford to relax.

Not yet.

.

The small apartment smells of dust, mildew, and something metallic—blood. Pretty Boy’s blood. It’s everywhere. On the floor, on my arms, soaking into my clothes. It’s thick and dark and a slow-moving river of crimson was pooling beneath him as I lay him on the table.

I swallow hard, trying to focus. Not on the blood. Not on how rich and intoxicating it smells. Not on how my entire body shivers at the scent, every nerve in me suddenly awake and hyper-aware.

I grit my teeth and force myself to breathe. Get a grip, Renata.

One of the girls; the taller one, machete-girl—crosses her arms, watching me closely. The other one, the one from the window, still has her gun in hand and her grip was still tight.

They still don’t trust me. Fine. I don’t trust them either.

I push Pretty Boy’s shirt up, revealing the wound.

Oh, fuck.

It’s bad.

A deep gash slices across his ribs, red and gaping, and the flesh was torn wide open. My hands hover over it, my breath almost ceasing. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Because...

Because I want to touch it.

Not to help. To taste.

Jesus Christ.

My stomach twists violently as hunger curls inside me like a living thing. Oh, like something with claws that grips my insides and squeezes. Like my real appearance beneath this fix, the system had given me.

My mouth waters. The smell of his blood is so damn good, rich and meaty like a steak sizzling over an open flame.

A little taste wouldn’t hurt, right? Just a tiny bit. Just enough to...

NO.

I jerk my hands back, clenching my fists. My nails dig into my palms, grounding me. I am not a monster. I am not a monster.

I inhale and force myself to focus. I reach into my bag, pulling out a ragged piece of cloth to wipe away the excess blood. I dab at the wound, pressing down to slow the bleeding.

And that’s when it happens.

A sharp ding! Echoes inside my head.

[WARNING: HOST LOSING STRENGTH RAPIDLY. NEED TO FEED.]

No. No, no, no, not now.

I squeeze my eyes shut. The hunger slams into me harder. Holy moly, it is a thousand times worse than before, making my hands tremble and my breathing uneven.

The system’s voice is clear, loud, and demanding.

[REPLENISH ENERGY NOW.]

I can’t.

[WARNING: HOST AT CRITICAL HUNGER LEVELS.]

I squeeze the cloth in my hands, so hard that Pretty Boy’s blood seeps through my fingers. The scent hits me like a drug.

My vision blurs instantaneously. I can hear his pulse. It is soft and weak, but it is there.

So close. So easy.

I lean forward without realizing it.

My fingers twitch. My tongue presses against the roof of my mouth.

My body moves on instinct, like a puppet on strings. I lower my head toward his wound, breathing it in. It’s so warm. So inviting.

Just a bite. Just a little...

"What the hell are you doing?"

I snap back so fast I nearly fall off the damn chair.

Machete-girl is staring at me, brows furrowed in suspicion. The girl from the window grips her gun tighter, looking ready to shoot me between the eyes.

I blink, my head spinning. I am hating myself, hating this hunger, hating how I almost...

"I was just inspecting the wound," I say quickly, forcing my voice to stay calm. "Relax."

She doesn’t relax. Neither does the other one. But they don’t push it.

Oh, God. I was just about to fucking eat Pretty Boy even though that means Lucas still being in danger and never finding him again.

I must be crazy. I am MONSTER. A monster!

I swallow the guilt rising in my throat and force my hands to work.

"Do you have anything to help?" I ask. "Antibiotics? Painkillers? Bandages?"

The girl from the window scoffs. "You’re bold as hell."

"Excuse me?"

"We just let you in. Gave you shelter. And now you’re making demands?"

I exhale, trying to keep my patience. "I’m not making demands. I’m asking for help. If you want me to fix him up, I need supplies."

Machete-girl narrows her eyes. "And what do we get in return?"

Of course. What do I have that is convincing enough? Well, in the apocalypse, after survival, food is the main necessity. In fact, there’s no survival without eating, is there?

That’s exactly why I need to feed as well. To survive. But not this way. NO.

Then I grab my backpack, the one with everything I took from the old woman’s house, and dump it onto the table. Cans of food, matches, batteries, and a half-used roll of duct tape.

They eye the supplies warily.

"That’s it?" the taller girl mutters.

"What else do you want?" I snap, my patience fraying. "A kidney? My soul?"

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. But if you screw us over..."

"I won’t."

They glance at each other, skeptical at first, but then their eyes linger on the food.

Finally, Machete-girl sighs. "Fine. Stay put."

She disappears into the back room, the other girl close behind. I hear them rummaging through things, whispering.

I exhale and glance at Pretty Boy. He’s pale. Too pale. His lips are dry and cracked.

I need to work fast.