Eighteen:
Wildriver’s story rattled around my mind all evening. While my body convalesced, I watched over Olaf. His state was far worse. Slivers of red mists seemed to be circulating through his veins. Whatever the scarlet manifestation had done to the darkbane, it infused something new to the poison. My blood tracking could detect the toxin now. What was stranger still, no red mists swirled inside my veins.
This was a running theme of late, highlighting all the ways I differed from normal vampyrs. Normal would have been the death of us all earlier. Extraordinary is what caused Apex Wildriver to coax me into this trip. Yet some part of my mind craved “normal.” Almost convinced that being normal might be my salvation.
“How do we get these particles of mist from his blood?”
I asked, and
