The Dark Sire Issue 3 (Spring 2020) | Page 95

“Let her be, Viken,” I said softly and struggled to sit up again. “Shizuka! You’re awake!” Pandim bounded over to my bed and sat on the edge. “You’ve been out of it forever.” I glanced at Viken questioningly. He shook his head, “Less than two days, I’m afraid,” he remarked as he sat the tray down. “What day is it?” I asked, holding my head once more, my mind still pained from Lazarius knocking me out. “Monday, July ninth.” He smirked at me, when I gave him a dirty look. “Just clarifying,” his grin widened. Picking up the cup from the tray, “Drink it,” he said, his eyes telling me, ‘Don’t even bother arguing. It won’t do you any good.’ I took the teacup from his hand and drank obediently. The warm blood was exquisite; smooth as satin and tasting of ambrosia, it was exactly what my body needed. I drank every last drop and handed the cup back to Viken without argument. Then I opened my mouth to ask him the questions I knew he could answer, but he cut me off with a slight wave of his hand. “I know. You want to know how you got home. How did I find you? How bad were your injuries? Hmm… let’s see, where is Damascus? And, where in the hell have I been? Did I miss anything?” I smiled briefly but laid back down, knowing my body still needed to rest. Pandim reached over and 93