Generation V by M. L. Brennan Read Free Book Online Page A

fair-skinned people to almost a lavender. Against the sticklike skinniness of her arm, her wrist bone is a disproportionately huge bulge. In a movement too fast for me to see, she slashed her wrist with one of her nails, creating a small cut that sluggishly oozed blood. Her blood was thicker than a human’s, and darker. It didn’t move correctly either. There was no dribbling, because it was coagulating too fast.
    I was so hungry.
    I was crawling toward her wrist, even though I didn’t even remember dropping to my knees. There was no control anymore, no holding back, and I locked my mouth around her wrist and sucked as hard as I could. It was like trying to drink a thick milkshake, and I struggled to get the blood in my mouth. It was like fire on my tongue, and I could feel each individual drop as it went down my throat and into me. Then it was finally flowing faster, and I could hear myself making small whimpers, like a young animal nursing. I could feel her skeletal fingers running through my hair as she petted me with her free hand, encouraging me to drink more. My eyes weren’t closed, but the room seemed dark, with nothing existing except my mouth and the blood that I needed more of. I wasn’taware of my knees against the carpet, or my hands clutching at her arm, but somewhere in the distance I could hear heartbeats that I know didn’t belong to my family—these were human heartbeats, too delicate to be ours, and I wanted to be closer to them, to feel them speed up when I got closer, and then to make them stop—
    And then I was aware of myself again, of how desperately I was drinking, of how I’d pressed myself up against Madeline’s legs. Of how I must’ve looked. All I wanted was more and more of her blood, but I forced myself to swallow what was left in my mouth and pull back. The slice on her wrist began to close even as I watched, and the remaining blood didn’t stain the surface like mine would, but instead pulled back inside the closing wound, leaving her skin unmarked. I turned away from it, awkwardly pulling back from her and standing up. I caught a glimpse of myself in a large antique mirror. My hair looked like I had gotten caught in a cyclone, my hazel eyes were lost in the size of my pupils, and there was still one drop of blood left on my lip. It took every piece of control I had not to lick it up. Instead I grabbed a napkin from Madeline’s table and wiped it off. I mourned its loss even as I dropped the napkin down onto Madeline’s tea tray.
    Madeline laughed at me, a dry cackle that sounded like the rustling of autumn leaves.
    “Foolish little darling,” she said. “What do you gain by drinking less than your fill? If you imagine that by drinking one less drop you can put off your transition, I assure you that you cannot. As for why you would want to, I cannot even imagine.”
    “What’s wrong with wanting to stay the way I am? To stay human?” I was still bent over, my hands resting on the back of one of her Louis XIV chairs. I was breathing deeply, and I could feel every vein in my body shivering. I was like a parched daisy that had just been drenched in water, and I hated how happy my body was.
    Madeline scoffed in disgust. “I cannot even fathom the state of your mind sufficiently to begin debating such a ridiculous concept. Besides.” And here she picked up a cream envelope from beside her tea set and shook it. “There are more important things to discuss than your infantile existential crisis.”
    “Your mail is more important than my crisis?”
    “Infinitely.” Her blue eyes glowed like stained glass windows on a sunny day. “I will require your presence tomorrow night.”
    “No.”
    “Yes.”
    “I have a date,” I lied.
    “Really, dear, this is childish.”
    “I have to wash my hair.”
    “You’ll be interested in this.” She wiggled the envelope invitingly.
    I eyed the envelope. It was expensive, and there was a wax seal on it. I wished that I could just storm