Page 81 of Bad Demon

War disconnected and turned to me. “Feed her, brother; make her drink. Get her to feed as much as you can.” He planted his hands on his hips. “She’s going to be okay, Relic. Whatever this is, we’ll make sure she gets better.” He looked back at Fern, and his jaw tightened.

I looked back down at her, my gut in knots. Physically maybe. But fuck knew how she would recover from the horror show I’d found her in.

War left, and my phone chimed a minute later. Mags had texted with a name and number.

I wrapped my arms around my female, listening to her slow, even breaths. Then I closed my eyes and prayed to Lucifer. Because the king of Hell seriously fucking owed me.

* * *

“You need to drink, baby,” I said, holding her mouth to my throat.

Fern nuzzled my skin; her body racked with shivers, her skin clammy. She’d been like this all night. I’d fed her twice, it was all she’d been able to manage, and still, she hadn’t woken up. Grabbing my blade, I nicked my wrist and lifted it to her mouth to encourage her to drink. She groaned in pain and writhed against the mattress, too weak to drink.

Fuck.

I would not fucking lose her, which was why I wasn’t going to wait a moment fucking longer. She should already be showing signs of improvement, but she was only getting worse. So, I’d sent Jagger to get the witch who could hopefully fucking help.

Still, my blood had to be doing something. How much sicker would she be without it?

Slicing deeper so blood flowed freely, I pressed my wrist to her mouth again, and this time, she latched on. She was sucking, but it was weaker now, and blood slid from the side of her mouth and dripped down her chin. I wasn’t sure how much she was even getting. She gave my vein one more feeble suck, but her mouth slipped away, her head rolling back. She was panting hard, and her skin was clammy, switching between molten hot and ice cold.

Tucking the covers around her, I got off the bed and paced the room, unable to keep still, feeling fucking useless, helpless.

I finally heard Jagger and the healer coming, and yanked the door open.

The female with Jag wore a long yellow raincoat covered in white daisies. Her fingers were covered in colorful rings, and she had a bunch of shit hanging around her neck. Her hair was honey-blond—some wavy, some straight. There were feathers and beads threaded among it. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide with fear or rage—I wasn’t sure which.

She curled her fingers into fists. “I-I don’t know who you … f-fuckers think you are,” she stuttered out. “But I don’t take kindly to being dragged from my home without explanation for whateverthe fuck… this is.”

My chin jerked back, and I looked at Jag. His eyes were glowing, locked on the witch, his jaw like steel.

“Jag didn’t explain?” I could smell her fear, and I got the feeling, especially with all the stuttering and wide eyes, that this bravado was out of character. If we weren’t careful, she’d run and leave without helping Fern.

His gaze finally came to me. “I would have happily explained if she’d let me get a fucking word in.”

The witch hissed and reached for a knife at her hip.

Jag grabbed her trembling hand and shook his head. “That would be a really fucking dumb idea, female.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think is a good idea.”

“Magnolia Thornheart gave us your details,” I said quickly, and she stopped trying to stab Jag and turned back to me. “She said you might be able to help my mate.”

The fear instantly receded.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” she fired at Jag.

“Again, I didn’t get a fucking chance with all your screeching.”

Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened. “You kidnapped me off the street!”

“You didn’t give me any other choice.”

She snapped her mouth closed, her eyes filled with fury, but instead of biting back, she strode past him and into my quarters. She sucked in a breath when she saw Fern.

“Mags said you could—”

“Oh, fuck,” she whispered as she rushed to the bed, climbing up beside Fern.

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