Page 66 of Accidental Vampire

“I don’t want to have sex with you.” Emily blurted in a rush, her eyes going wide at her temerity. Heat blushed her face as she braced for a blow.

“OK.” I said flatly. Now was not the time to have an in depth discussion about the wrongness of the situation she fell in to. She wouldn’t believe me anyway, not after…

“OK?”

“Yes.”

She blinked a few times, too dehydrated for proper tears. I could taste the relief pouring off of her.

“Sugar is going to put antibiotics in the IV.” I moved forward, not wanting her to dwell on what I could and could not do to her. The infection had to be dealt with immediately, we had to focus on that. I knew he’d get her some pain meds, too. I didn’t want to offer them, I’m sure drugs were part of the ordeal. She had to trust him, and me, enough to take them. “Then he’ll get you some food.”

Richard was already in the kitchen, searing meat was perfuming the hall.

“Is.. Is this safe?”

There was always that moment. That moment after you pulled someone out of hell, that it takes all their courage to believe hope could exist. It killed me every god damn time.

“Sugar will stay with you. Misty and Lamont are just down the hall.”

I had to leave before gratitude washed between us. That, above all, I did not deserve.

Her big eyes, drenched in fear, trauma, choked me. “Sugar will find me if you need me.” Sometimes, you need to know you have the biggest, baddest monster on call.

Emily shivered. I snapped my eyes to Sugar. He pulled a blanket open to cover her shoulders. Richard had assaulted him with the signs of sepsis, drilled him over and over - fever, chills, thready pulse. Richard had gone through med school a couple of times now, he’d monitor her vitals. Sugar and Misty could handle blood loss on their own, but sepsis had a nasty habit of going very bad, very fast.

I resisted the urge to give the girl a last look on my way out. We all knew the odds weren’t in her favor. The mind broke in particular ways with supernatural induced trauma. Suffering assault and other unspeakable acts left permanent marks, and not just the scars that would solidify on her body, but contending with, grappling with the existence of magic, creatures of lore was often too much for mortal brains. They broke in predictable ways, but often with unpredictable results.

FORTY

LACHLAN

All the blood had dried by the time Veronica found me. It flaked off his neck, turned to powder in my fingers. I could feel it, dusty and soft and taste it. It tasted dead. I looked down at my hands now, the past painting the present. They were pristine, clean, no red caked in my lifeline, packed under my nails. I curled them into fists to hold on to… something.

I picked up the blade Tiffany dropped. No blood, not a speck of it when she held it to her own neck. But I could still see it. A specter haunting me. This blade was always covered in it.

Fucking Veronica.

That day… She took Warren’s head from my lap. I begged her to kill me. My tears reanimating all that red, making it slick again, but still dead. She promised, with my blood and Warren’s blood, on this blade, this pretty little dagger she took all her tributes with. She told me I wouldn’t suffer alone, be alone. The bond, she promised, would fill the gaping void that grew from Warren’s severed head in my lap. I twisted the dagger in my hands. It was silver, with an inlay of some precious stone running down the hilt. She made me swear. On this blade, she made me swear…

“Oh, good, she’s gone,” Aurora slid her hands over me as she edged into the room. “There’s always so much drama with her. We can go back to the city now,” Aurora said, floating around the room, tidying up.

“It’s so quiet here, I can’t stand it anymore. Being alone with my thoughts is driving me crazy.” She flopped down on the couch and tucked her feet under her.

I looked at Aurora for the first time in a long time, maybe for the first time ever. And there was nothing. The hole Saint left was torn wide open when Warren died and our Scion bond broke. Veronica promised to fill that hole, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Aurora had the same idea.

“Who made you?” My voice was soft, small, unrecognizable. Aurora turned and blinked at me like I was speaking in a foreign language. “Who was your maker?”

She looked shocked that I would even ask such a question. Like it was silly. But after all these decades, wasn’t it silly not to ask such a fundamental question?

“Lachlan,” she purred as she wrapped her arms around my waist and batted her eyelashes at me. “You’ve been under a lot of stress. Let’s just go to my place. We can spend the night at Hustlers like we used to. You can put this whole mistake behind you, and we can get back to normal.”

She tugged on my belt, trying to work it out of its loops. This was normal, wasn’t it? The desperation to not feel something by feeling her... to drown myself in her touch and her body. Tiffany called me an addict. Aurora was my drug. I pulled her hands away from me, away from the inevitable distraction she would be. I kissed her knuckles and turned my back on her. Aurora wouldn’t follow. That was our normal. She’d let me get worked up, she herself might push me over the edge and then I’d crash into her.

I twirled the dagger in hand as I made my way to the parking garage. The metal was bright, almost oily looking. The stone in the hilt was polished, but soft. I’d never seen Veronica without it. She had once said it kept her from being stabbed in the back. I pocketed it, liking that I had something Veronica treasured.

I made my way back through the obstacles to where we first encountered Shaw with Tiffany unconscious my arms. The expanse of concrete spread out like a void. The emptiness was familiar.

FORTY-ONE

---