Of course, I was working mostly off book and movie lore when it came to assumptions about turning someone into a vampire, but at least part of it was confirmed when Rans’ fangs slid into Guthrie’s throat and he started swallowing.
I will not faint... three... four... five...
I will not faint... three... four... five...
My eyes darted away from the sight; I couldn’t help it. Instead, I focused on my hands, watching distantly as droplets of sweat mixed with rainwater slid off my face to land on Guthrie’s torso. My vision blurred until I knew that some of the spatters landing on his dark skin were tears rather than rain or perspiration. But still, I pumped without pausing, refusing to let my weakness be the reason Guthrie died.
I had no idea how much time passed before a hand rested on my shoulder.
“All right, love,” Rans said. “You can stop now. There’s not enough blood left for his heart to pump.”
I fell backward onto my ass, catching myself in an ungainly sprawl on the elegant Turkish rug.
“How do we know if it worked?” I asked, my voice high and reedy.
Somewhat to my surprise, it was Nigellus who answered. “If his soul still resides on this plane, he’ll rise to drink vampire blood. If it doesn’t, all the blood in the world won’t change the fact that he’s gone.”
I shivered, and it wasn’t from the chill of my damp clothing in the cool air-conditioning of the penthouse. Rans closed his eyes, his chin dipping for a moment before he steeled himself and ripped open a vein in his wrist. He must have been full to bursting after draining the dying man, because blood spurted, splattering across Guthrie’s slack, colorless lips. I scooted backward until my shoulders hit the edge of the bed, not wanting to watch, but unable to look away.
Rans pulled Guthrie’s jaw open wider and let blood pour into Guthrie’s mouth until it overflowed. I wrapped my arms around my knees, curling into a ball—startled when my wrists and hands protested the movement with a sharp ache after the long minutes spent performing chest compressions.
“Come on, Guthrie,” Rans murmured. “This is your shining opportunity to flip Myrial and the rest of demonkind the middle finger. And besides, if you don’t come back to us, you’ll never have the chance to kick my arse for doing this to you without your consent.”
I was dangerously close to the edge of both my physical and emotional endurance, but I rallied enough to say, “Don’t you dare let that hell-bitch win, Guthrie. She doesn’t deserve it. You’ve gotta come back so we can bond over how much we hate her conniving ass. Please?”
And... yeah. My voice was quavering. I snapped my mouth shut, pressing my lips together in a thin line.
Nothing was happening. Had we been too late? My fingernails dug into my palms, threatening to draw blood as rage welled beneath my grief and exhaustion. I wanted Myrial dead, and Myrial couldn’t be killed. Myrial was fucking immortal. The unfairness of it made me want to scream.
I was trying to muster up the guts to ask if Guthrie was really gone when the downed man’s nostrils flared as though scenting the air. Abruptly, I straightened from my pitiful slouch. That hadn’t looked like the reflex movement of a freshly dead body. My instinct was confirmed a moment later when Guthrie’s throat started to work, his jaw moving as he swallowed convulsively.
“Is he—” I began, but Rans cut me off before I could finish the question.
“Yes,” he said grimly. “Quick, love—go stand by the door with Nigellus. And no matter what happens next, don’t interfere.”
I staggered upright on unsteady legs and managed to cross the room, fresh adrenaline lending me a burst of strength. I wasn’t sure what I expected to happen, but just as I reached Nigellus’ side, Guthrie’s hand shot out and clamped around Rans’ bloody wrist. Rans made no move to free himself. An instant later, Guthrie exploded into motion, going not for the wrist, but the throat.
I cried out, trying to lunge toward the pair as Guthrie rolled them over. He ended up on top of Rans, ripping and tearing at his neck like a crazed monster from a horror movie. A grip like iron halted me before I’d taken a single step, and I struggled against Nigellus’ hold to no avail.
“Don’t,” he said evenly. “Your friend needs vampire blood, not human or succubus blood. Get too close, and he’ll only try to kill you.”
I jerked and fought, but I might as well have been a toddler restrained in a parent’s grip. “Let me go! He’ll kill Rans!”
The demon scoffed. “Nonsense. Nothing short of decapitation or staking through the heart can kill your paramour. Well... nothing short of decapitation, staking, or your death, to be more accurate.”
I stopped struggling, a modicum of rationality returning. Nigellus was right, damn him. I’d seen Rans shot, stabbed, battered, and clawed to the bone. He’d shrugged all of it off. But if I got in between them and Guthrie ended up killing me in his insane bloodlust, it would be lights out for both of us.
“Is it supposed to happen like this?” I asked, an edge to my voice that sounded more than a little hysterical.
“Always,” Nigellus said with a sigh.
With no other options, I stood trembling in the demon’s steady grip, watching in horror as Guthrie’s jaws continue to chomp mindlessly at Rans’ throat. The seconds ticked by in slow motion, and Guthrie’s movements grew gradually less coordinated. Eventually, he slumped on top of Rans’ body, appearing to slide into unconsciousness. Blood splatters stained the expensive rug around the pair, making the bedroom look like nothing so much as a grisly double-murder scene.
“Rans?” I whispered, as Nigellus’ hand fell away from my arm. My voice grew louder with desperation. “Rans!”
TWENTY
I HELD MY BREATH, searching
