Page 70 of Vampire Savage

Considering Eris has to willingly give up control of her host for Cassandra to present, I suspect Eloise is right. The room falls silent again and the only thing keeping me from losing my complete and utter shit is the steady heartbeat coming from the bed. Even hearing Wren’s heart beating is only barely keeping my insanity at bay.

I need her to open her eyes. To see her smile and know she’s truly alive.

At least, in one sense of the word.

As I’d gathered her into my arms, her vibrant, sweet blood flowing from her neck and coating us, I felt her slipping away. I couldn’t let her die, so I acted without thought. I bit my own wrist open and let my blood flow over the sickening cut in her throat. Fortunately, Oberon had yanked her head back so when he cut her, he didn’t completely cut through her arteries but he did enough damage for it to be fatal. It gave me a chance, though, and I grasped it with every part of my rotten, fucked-up soul and blood-soaked hands.

After coating her wound with enough of my blood to help it heal, I forced her mouth open and pleaded with her to drink.

I felt it the moment she died.

If Ambrose hadn’t been there, I’d have followed her. I’d follow this woman anywhere.

He ordered me to lay her flat and began chest compressions despite his own injured hands, barking at me to keep feeding her and massaging the muscles of her throat. At some point, he must have communicated the situation to Deidre because Kasar, Eris, and Malachi arrived within minutes.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until the tears fell onto her face.

When I’d begun to lose hope, my world shattering under me, I finally felt it. The smallest flicker in our bond, the smallest spark of life. Ambrose never faltered in chest compressions, staring hard at her while I begged her to live. She began to swallow shallowly, and her heart started once more. We couldn’t stop though, her heart stopping each time Ambrose tried to pull away.

A gurney appeared, Malachi barking orders to the lower station Nightshade vampires he’d called in. Before, I’d have bristled at anyone else’s attempt to help, but I was grateful my brothers could handle this so I could focus on keeping my mate alive. Malachi switched places with Ambrose, so smoothly and efficiently that her heart didn’t falter, straddling her on the gurney as the others lifted it. I rose in sync with it, keeping my wrist to her mouth.

By the time we got her to the house, her heart was beating steadily, if weakly, on her own.

She has yet to regain consciousness.

Blinking, I realize I’ve lost sense of time. Ambrose and Eloise are gone and there is a pot of tea on the nightstand beside the chair I’ve dragged to the edge of the bed.

Wren’s hand twitches, fisting then flexing, her face contorting with pain. I’m at her side in an instant, biting my own wrist open and bringing it to her mouth.

“That’s it, baby girl,” I murmur as she suckles at my wrist, draining me of my blood. I’ll give her every drop if it means she will live. I stroke her hair with my other hand, taking comfort in the strawberry blonde strands across my pillow.

When her body settles and she’s no longer feeding, I pull my wrist away with a weary sigh. Eloise is right; I need to rest. But the idea of not being here if Wren needs me or wakes keeps sleep at bay. I haven’t slept since the day she was taken, feeding her myself each time her new appetite stirs her body from its healing slumber. More than sleep, I need to feed myself. The thought of feeding from anyone other than her sickens me and I refuse to feed from her when she still hasn’t woken.

My body slumps, and I rest a palm on her chest directly over her heart. I drift, my mind going empty, and the world disappears, narrowing down to the woman in my bed.

An indeterminate amount of time later, a hand squeezes the back of my neck. My mother’s familiar, comforting scent of clean cotton and jasmine embraces me a moment before her hand slides across my shoulders and she tucks me against her side. Automatically, my other arm wraps around her waist, clinging to her like I’m a child all over again.

Joséphine is silent for a long moment, simply comforting me with her love that has never faltered in the face of all my attempts to ruin it. A breath rattles from me and then she’s turning me, guiding my face to her stomach as she wraps both arms around me. For the first time in centuries, I let myself break and cry.

It’s cathartic, like lancing the years of pain free from my infected heart.

When I pull away, she tilts my head up to look at her. There’s only compassion in her golden eyes.

“You are no good to her like this, my love,” my mother speaks gently. “You will go bathe, then feed to restore your own strength. Don’t do it for yourself, but for her. I will stay with her.”

I’m too far gone to argue and I let her guide me up from the bed. When she sits in the chair I’d vacated earlier, I finally let myself stagger to the bathroom. Someone had left me a stack of fresh clothing, and beside that, three pouches of donated blood. I don’t want to, but my mother is right. I choke down the blood, my energy slowly returning. So I shower, quick but thoroughly, before redressing in the gray cotton pants and white t-shirt. Exhaustion finally hit me as I walk from the bathroom, my hair still damp.

“Sleep,” Joséphine says, moving to the other side of my bed and pulling back the blanket. I slide in, tucking myself close to Wren. My mother tucks the blanket in around me, and as my eyes close, I feel her lips against my head.

* * *

The gentle brush of soft lips across my own slowly wakes me. The room is dim, but it doesn’t prevent me from seeing the breathtaking sight of golden eyes watching me through light eyelashes.

Wren’s watching me, her eyes roving over my face as if to memorize me. I do the same, knowing there will never be anything more beautiful than my mate newly returned to me.

“Hi,” she whispers, almost shyly.

“Hi,” I whisper back. Sometime while I slept, she’d turned towards me and my arm is tucked under her neck, my other wrapped around her waist, our legs tangled together.

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