The trickle of blood slowed to a drip, and Rans lifted Tristan’s head with his other hand before his fangs tore into his skin for a second time. This time, he put his bleeding wrist to Tristan’s mouth.
“Swallow,” he ordered, “and keep swallowing until I tell you to stop.”
ELEVEN
TRISTAN’S GLAZED EYES blinked open, and he swallowed Rans’ blood obediently.
“That’s enough,” Rans said a few moments later.
I could hear sirens approaching outside, and a fresh feeling of dread crept over me. Would the police turn out to be allies or enemies? With my track record lately, I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
“Give me your shirt,” Rans ordered Len, who stripped out of the black tank and handed it over with a puppet’s jerky movements, still looking gray as a ghost.
Rans wiped at the mingled human and vampire blood coating Tristan’s stomach. I stared in amazement at the vision of fleshing knitting together like time-lapse photography of a wound healing. Tristan moaned, an awful sound like something a dying animal might make.
Rans eased him back and rested a palm on his forehead. “Hang in there, mate. It’ll get better in a moment. The first few seconds are always the worst.”
“Will he be all right?” I asked hoarsely, still fixated on the wound as it shrank and pulled in on itself.
“His stomach will be,” Rans said. “Don’t know the bloke well enough to offer an opinion on the rest. Speaking of which, we need to move.” His eyes snapped blue fire at Len. “You. Snap out of it and prove to me that Zorah’s good opinion of you isn’t misplaced.”
Freed from his mental restraint, Len sprang forward with a harsh cry and dragged Rans away from Tristan’s body by the neck.
“What the hell did you do?” Len shouted in his face, his eyes racing back and forth between Rans and the pink pucker in Tristan’s gut—all that was left to mark where the horrible gunshot wound had been.
“Len, he’s a vampire!” I blurted. “Let him go—he just saved your boyfriend’s life!”
Rans peeled Len’s fingers away from his throat with the air of someone whose patience was wearing thin. Len gaped at us, his jaw hanging open. With an expression that could only be described as jaded, Rans shot him a flash of glowing eyes and curled his lip, revealing a hint of fang as well.
Len sat back on his heels rather abruptly, his gaze falling once again on Tristan’s miraculously healed stomach. “I...” he began. “This is...” He shook his head sharply, and seemed to regain a modicum of control over himself. His features hardened. “We shouldn’t be here when the cops arrive. Is it safe for us to carry him?”
“No need.” Rans snapped his fingers. “Tristan. Up you get, lad. Time to move.”
Tristan was still wearing a distant look indicating his mind wasn’t his own. I almost demanded that Rans release him from the hypnotic influence, but practicality held me back. There was no telling what the poor guy’s reaction was likely to be after what he’d just gone through. If he had a meltdown while we were trying to sneak out of here, things would get even messier than they already were.
I held my tongue as Tristan climbed to his feet, a bit unsteadily.
“Tris?” Len asked, taking his arm. Tristan only stared at him, blinking.
“Explanations after we’re away from here,” Rans said, rising as well.
He wavered on his feet at the altitude change, and fresh worry clenched in my stomach. I reached for him, but he waved me away impatiently.
“I still need to talk to you, demonkin,” said a feminine voice from near the doorway.
God. I’d forgotten she was even here... and that was really saying something about how harrowing the last few minutes had been. The woman sauntered over to us, sparing barely a glance for Len and Tristan.
“This isn’t a good time for a chat,” Rans said tightly.
But the demon only smiled, crouching to pick up the discarded dagger Rans had used on Tristan. “Not to worry, dear. You two go on ahead.” She drew the blade across her palm and handed the knife back to him. “I’ll catch up later.”
Before I could draw breath to ask what the hell she was talking about, she smeared the blood on her palm over Rans’ chest. My hackles rose like an angry pit bull’s, but she was gone in the next instant, winking out of existence like a light bulb being turned off.
“What?” I managed, aware that Len looked as gobsmacked as I felt.
Rans cut me off.
“Later,” he said firmly.
In moments, he’d taken the second blade from my hands and stowed both of them back in the hidden sheaths inside his leather wrist guards. He grabbed his coat from where I’d draped it over the table with the candles, and shrugged into it, covering the three bloody holes in his back that I was trying very hard not to look at. Then he tangled my fingers with his and tugged me deeper into the dungeon.
“Keep up, you two,” he threw over his shoulder to Len and Tristan.
Rans led the way up a back staircase to the main level of the house. Terrified security staff members were guarding the top of the stairs, but after a flash of Rans’ gaze, they let us through. Beyond, dozens of people milled around. The police were outside with bullhorns, urging the terrified kinksters to exit in small groups with their hands laced over their heads.
“God give me patience,” Rans muttered, and stalked into the crush of people trying to get out. “Move. Move. Out of the way. Coming through.”
I followed in his wake, Len and Tristan at my
