She rounded a corner to see the hunter approach Ian’s unconscious form. He lay on a stone slab as still as if he were already dead. Her soul clenched at his beauty, and she knew she could never stop loving him. God, why have I realized this too late?
A candle guttered in the small stone chamber, casting erratic shadows on the walls and across the hunter’s back. Her heart seized, her blood as thick as molasses, as the man held the stake to Ian’s chest with one hand and raised a hammer to pound it in with another.
Ian’s eyes opened, widened in shock, then turned to meet hers. His face contorted into a mask of despair and accusation.
“No!” Angelica screamed at Ian and the hunter. She charged forward, skirts tangling around her legs.
She was too late.
The hammer came down.
Angelica groaned in agony as the stake buried itself halfway into Ian’s chest with a sickening crunch of bone. The man glanced at her, indifferent to her pain, and raised the hammer again. She went numb with shock, but then a white-hot rage boiled inside her and exploded from her being. This man would die.
She leaped onto the hunter’s back and slashed at his face and throat with the letter opener, shrieking in a fury that bordered on insanity.
“But lassie, I have saved you!” the hunter cried, which further fanned the flames of her wrath. “Lass, please stop! The monster is dead, or he will be soon if you’ll let me—”
The man struggled to throw her off, but Angelica fought like a madwoman and clung tenaciously to her victim, hacking at him over and over with her small but lethal weapon as her hands grew more and more slippery with blood. She lost hold of the letter opener for a second and caught a ringing blow to the side of her head as she snatched the slender blade before it could fall.
“You little bitch!” the hunter roared as she sliced open his cheek. He bucked like a raging bull, yet still Angelica managed to hold on.
His fists struck her all over; his nails clawed at her arms. She shrieked as a hank of her hair was ripped from her skull, but still she fought. Angelica screamed like one possessed as she buried the point of the letter opener in the murderer’s throat. His hands ceased their assault and fluttered against his chest like wounded insects. A disgusting, gurgling sound escaped his throat. Blood bubbled from his thick lips.
Finally, the hunter collapsed as his life’s blood continued to pour from his neck and face. Angelica didn’t spare him a second glance. She ran to Ian and pulled on the stake with all her might. As it slowly wrenched free, her heart contracted as if the infernal object had pierced her breast as well. She threw the loathsome object as far away as she could and turned back to her love. Blood welled from his gaping wound at an alarming rate. But she could see that his heart still beat with a feeble pulse. A thrill of hope electrified her being.
“Oh Ian, my love,” she whispered. “Please live, please.”
She tore off her muslin day dress and rolled it up. With shaking hands, she stuffed the fabric into the wound and leaned on his chest with her elbow, hoping she could apply enough pressure to staunch the flow. He had already lost a great amount of blood, and his skin was as white as her chemise. Her fingers sought his throat once more. The pulse remained, but it was fading. Panic clawed at her, but she fought back the mindless fear, knowing that if she allowed it to incapacitate her, Ian would die. Her thoughts raced for something, anything to do next.
He needs more blood, she realized. Angelica leaned over as far as she could, her fingertips reaching the letter opener. Slowly, she dragged the weapon closer. The scraping sound on the rough stone floor echoed loudly in the silent chamber. Her heartbeat and breathing roared in her ears as her incessant panic fought to gain a foothold over her mind. When she was able to fully grasp the weapon, she cried out in triumph. Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the congealed blood of the vampire hunter already drying on the metal surface. With a deep breath and a whispered prayer, she sliced open her wrist, hissing at the sharp pain that raged through her arm like fire.
She pressed her bleeding wrist to Ian’s mouth. As the blood began to flow down his chin, she used her other hand to force his lips wider apart, whispering, “Please, Ian, drink. Please live. Please. I love you, Ian. God, I love you. Please don’t die!”
At first the blood trickled out of the corners of his mouth and ran down his face to pool in his hair. Tears welled up in her eyes. Was she too late? But then, his chest rose as he took a shuddering breath. A current passed between them.
His eyes snapped open and his fangs pierced the tender flesh of her wrist. She sighed in relief even though her heart felt as if it would be tugged out of her breast as he began to suck her blood in long, greedy pulls. “I love you.”