Of the Healing Blood

When Anna was eight, she saw her best friend get eaten alive in the woods. It wasn't by a bear or anything else, just something sinister. Anna should've died as well-if not for Ky. Ky is two years older than her, and not human.

Suddenly, Anna is thrust into the world of demons and monsters, where everything is real, and make-believe exists.
There's one catch: Anna's blood can make anything heal instantly, which makes her a target for every demon known to man. And not only that, she doesn't belong to Ky, but to his older brother Shane.

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Author's note

To all my wonderful followers who have more patience than I do. I'd like to thank you for sticking to this dumbass writer who's slow to update.
AA

8. Mommy Talk

     I'm like a zombie when I walk in my house. I throw my keys in the small table next to the coat hanger, and glance at the living room. The TV is switched on, an old sitcom filling the room with laughter. I take quiet footsteps as I approach the couch. Shoes kicked off, one red sock dangling by her big toe, and the other blue one on the floor, my mother lays in a twisted position, sound asleep.

    She moves now and then, but I know she'll have some kinks in her neck.

    I decide not to wake her, instead going to the kitchen where the delicious smell of lasagna catches my attention. I wish I could say that this is my 'birthday' dinner, but to be honest, my mom just had a little bit more energy than she thought, and she decided to cook. I think I liked it better when she had a passion for cooking, rather than nursing.

     Don't get me wrong, I love that Mom is a nurse and all, but if it wasn't for my Aunt Gwen introducing her to a world where you stay up for +12 hours a day, my mother could be a natural constant in my life.

    The lasagna with seven layers of cheese lays on the counter, a thick towel underneath it. My mouth waters, and I grab a knife, and plate preparing to cut a square slice. 

     Once the square is perfect enough, I grab my fork and dig in.

    My thoughts go to that man-Ky-, and I fell like I should be ashamed, because I do have a boyfriend, but all I feel is curious. And strangely excited.

    I'm wondering who in the hell this guy is, and what he means to me, when my Mother awakens. She stretches and, and curses as she tries to adjust her neck. Once she can turn fully, she spots me, and blinks the sleep out of her eyes.

   "Hey, kiddo." she says, her voice a little hoarse. "How was your day?"

     I shrug, not really wanting to get into detail, when it hits me-​may not be able to remember that sexy stranger, but my Mom might. There was a time when she was still part of my life, and she actually cared to remember me. I eat the rest of my food in one bite, and walk in the living room. I plop myself next to her ,and glance at my nails.

    "So, uh, Mom.." I start, when she lifts up her hand to me, palm out.

     "I know, I know, I left before I could say happy birthday, but I did get you a little somethin'-somethin'." she says, as she grabs a small box from the back of the couch cushion. She hands it to me, and I only briefly glance at it.

      I'm not really interested in the gift.

     "Mom, do you remember a boy who I use to play with?"

     "Jace? Yeah, I remember him; he was such a weird kid. I could never understand why you liked him so much." Mom leans back on the couch and grabs the remote.

     "No-another boy. Ky?"

      This grabs her attention; she turns to me, and sets the remote down, grabbing my hands into hers. A look of concern flashes on her face, and I feel myself getting a  bit scared.

      "Ky was that little boy who lived down the block from us. You played with him once Jace stopped being your friend. There wasn't a day when you weren't there though. And then, about six months later, he left. You came back crying your eyes out, saying that you just wanted him to come back. Your father and I tried everything to make you feel better but you were totally, and truly brokenhearted. Maybe about three weeks later, you came out of your room as if nothing happened. Your father and I never brought it up, because we thought you would break all over again."

       My thoughts are swirling in my head, and I grip one of Mom's fingers too tight. 

       Everything that Mom says sounds so familiar. Like it happened yesterday. I faintly remember a boy grabbing my hand, and telling me to stay by his side.

      I mumble a thanks to my Mom, and she pats my hand, letting me go. Her 'Mom' act for the day has been completed and I walk to my room, the gift in my hand forgotten.

 

 

     The next day, I pull on a gray t-shirt, a blue jacket, and my favorite jeans. I decided to pair it off with my comfortable black sneaks, running a brush through my hair. Feeling anxious to actually do anything to it, I let it loose, and grab my bag, and phone. The gift stays wrapped on my drawer. I didn't even think about it once.

     As I walk down the hallway, a light scruff-scuff ​noise catches my attention. I stop and peer in my Mom's room. She already left for work, so there should be nobody in there.

     A dark aura floats around the tiger-looking demon, it's nose flaring as it sniffs my Mom's bed. It growls and shakes its head, glancing around. It stalks around the bed, the ears perked.

     My heart is beating faster, when it finally looks up at me. It sniffs the air, and growls, getting down in a crouch.

     This is the biggest demon that has ever followed me, and I don't have a weapon to try to defend my self against it. I turn around, slamming the door behind me. I run in the living room and grab the poker from the fireplace. The tiger-demon is there, roaring. He slams into the side of my hip, throwing back on the ground. His teeth snap at my face, black saliva dripping on my cheeks. I grab the poker, the metal stick staying in between our faces. Suddenly, he leans back, and slashes the top of my right shoulder. I grit my teeth to tap down the pain, and kick him in the stomach.

     It's enough to throw him back against the farther wall, and I don't hesitate. I grab the poker with both hands, and bring it down on his head. He roars, but disappears in black smoke.

     I get up, and limp towards the restroom.

     Surveying the damage in the mirror above my sink, I gape at the claw marks that run from the top of my should to the middle of my bicep. I spray some healing ointment on it, which stings, and quickly wrap it with some bandages. Pulling the sleeve of my shirt down, you can hardly see it.

     I wash the black specks of the tiger-demon's saliva off my face, and grab my stuff.

     I still have to get to school.

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