The vampire crashed into a cart and slid ungracefully to the floor. He looked down at his bloodied knuckles and winced. “You have a hard right hook and a hard face.” He shook his hand and shoved it into his mouth. His entire body tensed, and he jerked his hand from his lips. He stared at it. Then he stared at Wraith. “You taste of… angel.”
“Ah, that. I sort of drank from one today—”
Komir came to his feet and touched his slicked-back silver hair, as though it might have gotten messed up during the scuffle. “Then you don’t need me.”
Hope soared through Wraith, followed immediately by confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Our race… it was created by fallen angels. Their blood flows through our veins. It is the fallen angel blood that activates the turn.”
“So if Serena drinks my blood before Reaver’s blood filters out…”
“Yes. Go.”
“I don’t know how. The details.” The admission shamed him. He’d spent too many years mired in hate to learn anything about vampires besides how to hunt and kill them.
“It’s instinct, Wraith,” Komir said. “Feed beyond the point of no return, but not until the heart stops completely. Then give her your blood. As much as she’ll take. The more, the better.”
“And after that?”
“You come to me. You have a promise to keep.”
So even though he was going to be the one turning Serena, they were still going to torture him. Bastards.
“Thank you.”
Komir bowed his head. “What you did at Temple Mount has earned you the Council’s gratitude.”
“You have a funny way of showing it,” he muttered, but he didn’t hang around. He darted into Serena’s room and dropped to his knees beside her bed. Wasting no time, he sank his teeth into her thin wrist as gently as possible.
Serena’s blood hit his tongue, the rich flavor making him both moan and flinch. The tang of death tainted the sweet spice. It poured down his throat in a cascade of warm silk, and he wished like hell that he was drinking from her in a frenzy of passion instead of draining her in the hopes that she’d come back to him.
The flow began to thin and slow, even as her heart frantically tried to compensate for the blood loss. Her pulse tapped against his teeth as she hit the critical stage that tempted all vampires. At this point, they had a choice: stop and let their prey live or take a few more pulls and feel the high as the victim started to die.
Wraith needed her to die.
He took two more strong pulls. Her pulse was weak and thready, barely there. Quickly, he leaped to his feet and used his fangs to open a vein in his wrist. He held it to her lips. Blood ran in a thick stream down her chin.
“E? Why isn’t she feeding?” Panic made his question into a shout.
“She’s too far gone.” Eidolon cursed. “We’ll have to force it down.” He palmed her forehead with one hand and placed the other on her chin to open her mouth, CPR style. “We may need to insert a feeding tube.”
Wraith fired up his gift and dove into her mind. It was all swirling light in there, no substance, no awareness except for a heart-shattering sadness.
“Oh, no, my lirsha,” he whispered. “Come back. Come back to your dreams. I’m here. I’m waiting.” He inserted himself into the swirling light, forcing substance to form around him. He put himself in front of the Great Pyramid, with golden sands all around him.
And then she was there. Standing in front of him in a sheer, flowing white gown. “Where have you been? I’ve been so lost.”
“I’ve been right here, baby. I’ll always be right here.” He caught her by the shoulders and brought her to him. “I’m going to have to let you go, but only for a little while.”
“But—”
“Do you trust me?”
Her liquid eyes beamed up at him. “Yes.”
He struck, burying his fangs in her throat. She gasped before sighing and relaxing against him. She tasted good here, no taint of death. Just the pure, sweet nectar that only she could have running through her veins. He wanted to make love to her in the dream, but even now he felt her fading in his arms.
Reluctantly, he disengaged his fangs. Reaching up, he cut open his own throat with the blade he imagined in his hand.
“Josh!”
“Shh. It’s okay. Drink. Drink now, and drink hard. Hurry, Serena!”
She latched on as if she’d been feeding for centuries. She was a hunter, with killer instincts whether she was seeking ancient relics or taking blood. So. Freaking. Hot.
Distantly, he heard Eidolon’s voice. “That’s it, Serena. Swallow.”
It was working. She was drinking in the dream and in real life, and… she was gone. He was standing alone in the sand.
He snapped back into the hospital room, where she was swallowing weakly as his blood flowed onto her tongue.
The heart monitor beeped quietly. The blood pressure machine hissed as it released air from the cuff around her upper arm. An IV dripped saline incessantly into the tube connected to the back of one hand. And he stood there, feeling cold and empty.