Page 9 of Gyft

To keep myself from dying, I bite into themongortial’sjugular and moan as I gulp the sweet liquid down. Nothing like heated blood.

Chapter Five

OLIVIA:

HOLY SHITBALLS, he’s sucking the rabid deathbeast’s blood. Like, right in front of me. And that move takes the glory away from the fact that I just saved his alien ass.

Saved. My. Fucking. Bodyguard.

“Whryt?” he mumbles, looking up as he licks his lips.

If possible, he’s even paler than he was before, his bluish silvery color almost a translucent glow.

He’s bleeding everywhere. No wonder he’s white as a ghost... well, a ghost lit from a blue-white bulb with a metallic sheen. But his weird alien hair is white, hanging in long, spiky tendrils.

“Oh, God,” I mutter. Then I jump into action. “Now just hold still. I’m trained in CPR.” I pause. “Once. Like in the fourth grade Girl Scouts. Mostly I joined to sell the cookies. But you don’t understand me anyway and as long as I smile”—I grin, showing teeth, and ignoring his slightly weirded-out expression— “I’m sure it conveys confidence. After all, the key to successful CPR is positivity. In other words,youthinking you’ll make it just fine. Andmeassuring you of such means that you’ll convince yourself of it. It’s all mind over matter,” I assure him. “That’s how CPR works.”

Now, how does the procedure go again? I’m supposed to pump his heart to push blood and blow into his mouth to inflate his lungs, then go back to pumping. But what if he’s breathing just fine? He hasn’t drowned or anything. So, I think we’re good to just pump his heart?Besides, he just sucked down a rabid beast’s blood. Eww. I certainly don’t want to put my mouth on his.

I allow myself to ponder how hideous his breath must be for a second, then smile confidently and clasp my hands loosely so one is atop the other, then start pumping his chest and counting like I know what I’m doing. “One, two, three, four. Um, that should be good. Now let me listen to your heartbeat.”

Removing my hands, I put my ear down to his chest. What the—?! I listen in vain, the bodyguard still as death beneath my cheek. Gah, I don’t hear anything. Maybe he’s a vampire. Do vampires even have a heartbeat? Frantically I pump his chest again.

“Well, I probably need to bind your wounds so you don’t bleed out.” I give a little laugh, but it comes out shaky and false. I’m such an idiot; I might have killed him if the blood had started flowing out of the bites and slashes. Imagine my new husband showing up and finding his guard dead.

He probably sent his favorite. My safety is everything.

I toss my skirts up over my head to get to the still-white layers underneath. “Yvette and I didn’t have enough dye to do it all,” I explain, slapping the chiffon layers back down, figuring he’s wondering why my skirts flipped up. “So, we took the top layers to dip. I rather like the way it turned out. Gives it more dimension with the white underneath, ya know?”

I rip some strips out and start wrapping them around his arms.

“You don’t need to do that, bride. I just fed and my blood will clot momentarily. Soon the healing process will begin.”

“You’re welcome, handsome.” I wince. That one was a stretch. But everyone likes to believe they’re pretty, I guess. We’re not all born with good looks and grace.

He mutters rather weakly. “Really. You’re wasting your time and ruining your... gown? Travel garment? I guess there’s not much to ruin. It’srather hideous. Did they force you to wear it? You probably can’t wait to tear it into strips.”

“Okay, arm’s wrapped. Let me do another round of CPR just to be on the safe side.”

I move back up to his chest and press. “One, two, three. Ooh, that reminds me of the old jingle:How many licks does it take to get to the center of a—”

“What in the everlasting world are you doing?”

He must be in pain because he sounds somewhat grouchy though his voice isn’t as weak.

“It’s okay. I got this, soldier. No one dies on my watch.” I give him a wink, hopefully it looks full of confidence, and lean down to listen to his heartbeat again. Still nothing. Yikes. Poor guy must be dying. I school my face before popping back up.

“I’ll have to keep up the CPR. But let me see how your chest fared since your shirt is pretty bloody.” Maybe there’s a big ole hole in his heart. Maybe that’s why it’s not beating.

Without waiting for the response I can’t understand anyway, I rip open his uniform. Tiny buttons go flying every which way.

Andwhew, mommy. The most magnificent chest I’ve ever seen is splayed before me. I guess it makes sense that a bodyguard would be ripped, but sheesh. The bluish-silver skin has a smattering of darker scales, a little hair and yes, my fingers are twitching to run through it. Make it rasp.

He’s got an eight-pack. Muscles so firm, so defined, I can’t help but wonder if there’s a little contouring and shading going on. Much like my own smoky eyes and sharp cheekbones. A rather nice touch was the dash of highlighter right under my eyes. The effect is stunning, making my cheeks pop.

I run my fingers down his perfect pecs and, oh, God. No contouring. No shading. No highlighting. He’s literally perfect mouthwatering muscle. And the hair on his chest? It’s not hair at all, more like tinyspringy spikes. Maybe they harden when he fights to protect his organs?

My mouth is dry and I lick my chapped lips. The ebony lipstick has no moisturizing properties whatsoever. At least it’s fade-resistant.

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