This time, Guthrie’s answering silence felt heavy with accusation.
“You... bastard. And you’re only telling me this now? God damn you. You selfish... thoughtless... secretive son of a bitch—”
“Guthrie. Stop. I’m begging you. She’s your granddaughter, and I love her. Please.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I could hear tears choking Rans’ voice. I ached for him, but I was too weak to move, to go to him. I couldn’t understand why they both sounded so upset. The words registered, on some level, but untangling them into a coherent narrative was too difficult.
“Damn it. Damn it, Rans.” Guthrie swallowed harshly, and one of the blurry figures in front of me swiped an arm across its face roughly. “... all right. Tell me what to do.”
“Thank you,” Rans rasped. The blurry figure that was probably him tipped toward the blurry figure that was probably Guthrie, resting his forehead against Guthrie’s shoulder for a brief moment. I only realized that Rans was also gripping my hand in one of his when the movement tugged on it.
He straightened, clearing his throat before he could continue speaking. “You’ll have to drain her completely dry. The neck is easiest. Listen to her heartbeat... or, I suppose in this case, you can just wait until I fall over dead. Then you’ll know she’s gone.”
“This is insane. Rans, seriously, this is just—”
Rans ignored the interruption. “She’s brimming with Fae magic. It makes blood unpleasant to vampires, but it won’t poison you like it’s poisoning her—that’s down to her demon heritage combined with human vulnerability, at a guess. Anyway, when you’re certain she’s dead, slit a vein for her and get as much of your blood in her mouth as you can. That should trigger the blood hunger within a few moments.”
“The blood hunger,” Guthrie echoed flatly.
“She’ll rise from death to drink more of your blood, and—this is important—you must let her slake her appetite. If this is going to work at all, I should rise at the same time she does.”
“I have real issues with your use of the word ‘should’ in this situation.”
“Life-bond, Guthrie. We’re a package deal at this point—it’s both of us, or neither. And... if it ends up being neither, you have my deepest apologies. For all of it. There’s a phone in Zorah’s bag. It has contact numbers for both Albigard and Nigellus.”
“What the hell, Rans?” Guthrie sounded angry now.
Rans didn’t acknowledge him, though—he just kept talking. “Nigellus will do his utmost to keep you alive, but only because he needs your blood. You’d still be entangled in the politics of Hell. More deeply than ever, in fact. Albigard, by contrast, would possibly consent to advocate for you solely in exchange for whatever information and help you can provide to the Fae. But I’m still not certain he’s trustworthy, and he can’t prevent Myrial from harming you. Also, a good chunk of the Fae are unmitigated bastards. Including him, I should probably add.”
Guthrie gave a low growl of disgust. “Here’s a third option. I can tell all of you to go fuck yourselves, and head back to St. Louis while I wait for someone to decide how to kill me. Now shut up, and let’s do this. Her pulse is getting weaker.”
“You’re a truer friend than any other I can currently lay claim to, Guthrie.”
“Fuck you, asshole.”
The words slid over me like raindrops, beading against the surface of my mind without sinking in. When the blur-that-was-probably-Rans leaned over and kissed me, though, I strained to return the press of lips on lips. It was hopeless—my body was a heavy and useless thing, severed from my control like a marionette with cut strings.
“I’m so sorry, Zorah,” he whispered against my lips. “Please, love... please be strong for just a little longer. Fight to come back to me, this one, final time.”
I love you, I wanted to say—but there was no way to transport the words from my hazy thoughts into the world beyond. Hands repositioned me to lie on my back. I could only tell because my blurry view of the two figures was replaced by a blurry view of the sky. That lasted only a moment before one of the figures loomed into my field of vision.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell am I even doing,” Guthrie muttered, as callused hands tipped my chin up and to the side.
Fingers gripped mine so tightly that I was able to feel the pressure despite my growing sense of disconnection from my body, and I knew that grip belonged to Rans. Fangs slid into my throat, and somehow it wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as the last several times it had happened. A faint noise of discontent—barely more than a breath—feathered past my lips.
Still, the fangs pulled at my tender flesh, rough and unpracticed, an unfamiliar mouth capturing the blood that pulsed hot from the wounds. It went on much longer than it ever had before... on and on until blackness circled in from the edges of my unfocused vision, my heart fluttering and skipping against my ribs. In the instant before the darkness swallowed me completely, I was distantly aware of Rans’ crushing grip on my hand sliding away, followed by a heavy thud at my side, like something large hitting the ground.
Nothingness flooded across the flickering lights of my disjointed thoughts in a brackish tide, snuffing them... and me... out like tiny candle flames.
TWENTY
RAGE. RAGE. RAGE. Somehow, I’d gained a body again. A body that I could control. Nails to claw with. Teeth to rip with. Jaws to clamp with. And a bottomless pit of rage rage rage that would never, ever be filled—not even if I could pour the entire world into it.
There was blood, and it wasn’t inside me yet. I could smell it. How dare there be blood that wasn’t in my mouth, my throat, my stomach... dripping down my chin, painting me red as I bathed in it? I couldn’t rest until
