Moving her hand from her face, she shifted her eyes to him. He was as beautiful as always, his face the kind of thing females dreamed of.
Lifting her palm, she reached up to him.
Surprise flared in his eyes and then he bent down so that her hand landed against his warm cheek. The effort of keeping her arm elevated proved to be too much, but as her fingers trembled, he put his own palm over hers, holding it in place.
His deep blue eyes were a kind of heaven, the color like that of a warm, darkening sky.
She had a decision to make here. Take his vein or...
As she couldn’t find the energy to finish the thought, she felt as though she’d lost herself: going by the fact that she appeared to be conscious, she guessed she was alive—and yet she wasn’t in her own skin. Her fight was long gone, the thing that had defined her most in the world having evaporated. Which made sense. She had no interest in living anymore and she couldn’t fake that, not for him, not for herself.
Two trips around the prisoner park had taken her too far down.
So... what to do, what to do.
She licked her dry lips. She hadn’t been born on any terms she would have chosen or volunteered for, and her time of breathing and eating and fighting and fucking hadn’t improved where she’d started from. She could, however, leave on her terms—and do so after she had put things right.
Yeah, that was the answer. Thanks to the last three and a half weeks, she had one hell of a bucket list. Granted, there was only a single entry on it, but sometimes that was enough to motivate you.
In a rush of resolve, her hard outer skin re-formed, the odd floaty feeling that had fogged her out dissipating and leaving a sharp awareness in its wake. Abruptly, she pulled her hand out from under John’s, and the withdrawal spiked a flare of pure, silvery fear on his emotional grid. But then she drew his wrist to her and bared her fangs.
His triumph was a heat wave.
At least until it became apparent that she didn’t have the strength to break his skin—her incisors did nothing but scratch his surface. John was on it, though. With a fast move, he punctured his own vein and brought the source of him to her lips.
The first taste was... a transformation. His blood was so pure it blazed in her mouth and down her throat... and the fire it ignited in her stomach tore throughout her body, thawing her, enlivening her. Saving her.
With greedy pulls, she took from him to revive herself, each swallow a life raft for her to crawl into, each draw a rope slung over the cliff of her demise, each pull on his vein the compass she needed to find the trail back home.
And he gave without expectation or hope or the stirrings of emotions.
Which even in her frenzy caused her pain. She had well and truly broken his heart: There was nothing left for him to anticipate with. But she had not broken him—and didn’t that make her respect the guy like nothing else could.
As she fed, time flowed as his blood did, into the infinite and into her.
When she finally had taken her fill, she released her seal on his skin and licked the wound closed.
The shaking started soon thereafter. It began in her hands and feet and quickly centralized in her chest, the uncontrollable tremors rattling her teeth and her brain and her vision until she felt as though she was a limp sock thrown in a dryer.
Through the trembling, she caught sight of John taking his cell phone out of his jacket.
She tried to snag his shirt. “N-n-n-no. D-d-don’t—”
He ignored her, cocking the damn thing and texting.
“F-f-f-fuck...” she groaned.
When he clipped the phone shut, she said, “Y-y-you try to t-t-take me to H-H-Havers right n-now—not gonna g-g-go well.”
Her fear of clinics and medical procedures was going to throw her right over the edge, and thanks to him, she now had the energy to do something with her panic. And wasn’t that going to be a joy for all of them to handle.
John took out a pad and scribbled something. He turned the thing around, and then left a moment later, and all she could do was close her eyes as the door shut.
Parting her lips, she breathed through her mouth and wondered if she had enough energy to get up, get dressed, and head out before John’s bright idea showed up. Quick check told her that was a no-go. If she couldn’t lift her head and hold it off the pillow for more than a second and a half, she was fucked for getting vertical.
It didn’t take John long to come back in with Doc Jane, the Black Dagger Brotherhood’s personal physician. The ghostly female had a black bag with her and exuded the kind of medical competence that Xhex valued—but would infinitely have preferred to be applied to others and not herself.
Doc Jane approached and put her stuff down on the floor. Her white jacket and her scrubs were solid to the eye, though her hands and face were translucent. That all changed, however, as she sat on the edge of the bed. Everything about her took form and the hand she laid upon Xhex’s arm was warm and weighted.
Even the compassionate doctor made Xhex’s skin crawl, however. She really didn’t want to be touched by anyone.
As the good doctor removed her hand, she had a feeling the female knew that. “Before you tell me to go, a few things you should know. First of all, I will not divulge your location to anyone and I will not share whatever you tell me or whatever I find with anybody. I will have to report that I’ve seen you to Wrath, but any clinical findings are yours and yours alone.”
Sounded good. In theory. But she didn’t want the female anywhere near her with what was in that black bag.
Doc Jane went on. “Second, I don’t know a damn thing about
Xhex cleared her throat and tried to lock her shoulders so she didn’t shake so much. “I don’t w-want to be seen.”
“That’s what John said. But you’ve been through a trauma—”
“It w-w-wasn’t that bad.” She sensed John’s emotional response to that from the corner, but didn’t have the energy to tease out the details of what he was feeling. “And I’m f-f-fine—”
“Then you should view this as simply a formality.”
“Do I l-l-look like someone who’s formal?”
Doc Jane’s forest green stare narrowed. “You look like someone who’s been beaten. Hasn’t fed properly. And hasn’t slept. Unless you want to tell me that purple bruise on your shoulder is makeup? And those bags under your eyes are a mirage?”
Xhex was well familiar with people who wouldn’t accept no for an answer—for shit’s sake, she’d worked with Rehv for years. And going by that hard, level tone, it was pretty damn clear that the doctor was going to have her way or she wasn’t leaving. Ever.
“G-g-g-goddamn it.”
“FYI, the sooner we start, the sooner it’s over.”
Xhex glanced at John, thinking that if she had to be seen, he was so not a value-add. He really didn’t need to know anything more than what he’d probably guessed about the condition she was in.
The doctor looked over her shoulder. “John, will you please wait in the hall?”
John ducked his head and bowed out of the room, the tremendous spread of his back disappearing through the door. When the lock clicked into place, the good doctor opened that fucking bag of hers and the stethoscope and the blood-pressure cuff were the first to come out.
“I’m just going to listen to your heart,” the female said, putting the wishbone up to her ears.
The sight of the medical instruments was gasoline to Xhex’s shivers, and as out-of-it as she was, she cringed away.
Doc Jane paused. “I’m not going to hurt you. And I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”
Xhex closed her eyes and rolled over onto her back. Every muscle in her body hurt all of a sudden. “Let’s just get this over with.”
