“Guthrie!” I shouted, not caring if this might somehow be a false alarm. If the man came stomping out, demanding to know why we’d broken into his apartment and started yelling like idiots, I’d be thrilled beyond belief.
There was no answer.
“What if he’s not here?” I asked—chilled by the thought that Guthrie might be anywhere in the world right now, and hopelessly out of our reach.
“He’s here,” Rans said grimly, already on the move. “In his bedroom... having a heart attack.”
My stomach dipped. Nigellus and I followed Rans deeper into the penthouse suite at a run. The door to Guthrie’s spacious master bedroom was open, a single bedside lamp illuminating a small circle of light. Rans didn’t slow, sliding to his knees beside the figure lying in shadow on the floor. I paused only long enough to flip on the overhead light. A small noise escaped my throat at the scene it revealed.
Guthrie lay on his back, his body twitching convulsively. A book lay splayed open on the floor beside the bed, as though he’d been reading when Myrial reached out her power to reap him. One of his hands lay curled over the center of his chest, the base of his fingernails an odd bluish-gray color.
My eyes flew to his face. His eyes were closed, and his full lips held the same unnatural grayish tinge. As I watched in horror, his body stilled, only for his chest to rise and fall in an odd, un-syncopated rhythm that dragged irregular gurgling breaths past his parted lips.
Nigellus had stopped in the doorway, also looking down at the prone figure. He lifted an eyebrow.
“Perhaps it is not too late. Foolish of Myrial to choose a method of death based on its cruelty rather than its efficiency,” the demon observed. “A simple brain aneurysm, and she could have ensured the deed would be done before anyone could interfere.”
Rans looked up at his longtime mentor, blue eyes burning. “You realize that if I do this, it will make him a target for the Fae’s weapon. And Myrial could still take him an hour from now, or a day, or a year.”
A hint of what Rans was proposing finally penetrated my hazy brain, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Nigellus merely shrugged, his gaze never moving from the downed man.
“You have a choice between letting him go, or gambling on an uncertain future,” Nigellus said. “It’s either a slim chance, or no chance at all. As you well know, I cannot interfere with events while he remains human. The decision is yours, Ransley.”
Rans looked like he’d been kicked in the gut. His gaze moved from Nigellus back to Guthrie, and finally to me. I swallowed harshly.
“He’s your friend,” I rasped. “If there’s a chance to save him, you have to try.”
Rans’ gaze hardened. “Then I need you to perform chest compressions. Don’t worry about breaking his ribs. Don’t worry about anything. If he dies, he won’t be in a position to care, and if he doesn’t, his injuries won’t matter.”
I fought down panic at the idea of being responsible for keeping Guthrie’s heart beating, but Rans was right. He was dying before our eyes. Nothing I might accidentally do while trying to keep his blood moving through his veins could be worse that what would happen if I refused to make the attempt at all. I crashed to my knees on Guthrie’s other side and tried to remember every last bit of instruction from the high school first aid class I’d taken a decade ago.
Positioning my hands one over the other, low on his sternum, I put my weight into it and tried to flatten Guthrie’s ribcage right into the floor with each sharp push.
One... two... three... four... five...
Two... two... three... four... five...
Three... two... three... four... five...
“What about... mouth-to-mouth?” I gasped around the compressions, not sure I’d have enough strength to keep doing this and also breathe for both of us.
But Rans only shook his head. He was up, pulling pillows and bedding from the bed. “Don’t bother. It won’t help. I just need his blood flowing.”
“You’re going to... turn him into... a vampire,” I managed, not bothering to make it a question. Something in Guthrie’s ribcage crunched ominously beneath my hands and I flinched hard, forcing myself not to break my rhythm.
Rans’ agonized expression as he stuffed the mass of bedding under Guthrie’s legs to elevate them was reply enough. I’d never stopped to wonder before why the last vampire on Earth hadn’t tried to repopulate his race during the two-hundred-plus years since the end of the war, but now I had my answer.
It was his fear of the unknown Fae weapon. Fear that he’d be turning someone he cared about, only to watch them be killed once the Fae discovered that a new vampire had been brought into being. Rans didn’t want to do this... but he couldn’t bear to lose Guthrie to Myrial by standing by and doing nothing.
Another rib cracked, Guthrie’s bones grinding alarmingly under my clenched hands. My vision swam and I gritted my teeth, determined not to lose my shit until this was done, one way or another.
Rans lowered himself onto his stomach, and my eyes slid away from his half-healed back. Injuries from demon claws must be harder to repair, I supposed. Otherwise, he’d already be good as new. He rolled Guthrie’s head to the side—the positioning awkward but unavoidable. The chest compressions I was performing wouldn’t be effective if we moved him to the springy mattress, and Guthrie had to be lying flat
