Page 57 of The Pureblood Daughter
But she’s not, and Theodore is dying right before her eyes.
Everything she feels becomes rage—furious and rabid.
She doesn’t take a moment to decide what to do, doesn’t even note a coherent thought passing through her mind. Her body moves of its own accord, her fangs growing, reaching for the man who would dare harm Theodore,herTheodore.
Lightning flashes overhead, playing tricks with her eyes, but even the shifting darkness cannot hide the man from her, cannot hide his identity.
Though she doesn’t know his name, she knows his face.
He’s the stranger she saw meeting with Lord Gray late at night, sneaking down the stairs after Lady Gray had already retired for the evening. And now he’s here, flintlock pistol in hand, trying to kill the only person who still makes sense in Nadia’s inconceivable world.
She lunges forward to sink her teeth into his neck, to rip his throat right out, but he brings his arm up at the last moment, striking her across the head and knocking her near unconscious into the grass.
“Once I’m done with him,” the man growls, shifting to stand from where he was lying in the garden, “you’re coming with me.”
The man’s sleeve shifts, revealing what appears to be metal armor beneath his overcoat. An odd silver contraption gleams on his hand, wrapping around his fingers like metal knuckles, and when Nadia reaches up to touch the side of her head, her fingers come away wet with blood.
Theodore is still lying in the grass, blood staining his cream waistcoat, and the man lurks over him, seeming unfazed as he reaches down and yanks the silver blade carelessly from Theodore’s shoulder. It comes away stained red, and the sight of it sends fury pounding through Nadia’s head. It pulses through her body, hot like flames, igniting every nerve ending, enraging her until she sees only red.
The man sinks to one knee and lifts the blade in his right hand.
“In the name of the guild,” he says, his fingers tightening about the hilt, “I sentence your soul to eternal death.”
Nadia reaches for her umbrella, her hand clawing across the cool grass, and the moment her fingers find it, she’s on her feet and lunging again, swinging it like a club directly at the man’s head.
He glances over, but it’s too late. The parasol smashes into the side of his head, knocking him away from Theodore, and he drops the blade as he falls. Nadia throws her umbrella aside and dives for the blade. Though her fingers shake, she grabs it from the grass and holds it tight in her hands. The man looks up at her, his eyes glossy, unfocused, but despite being dazed, he seems to know what she intends to do.
“Sto—”
The word cuts off abruptly as Nadia plunges the dagger into his chest. There’s a moment of resistance, then the give of muscle and sinew beneath her hands, and she relishes the look on the man’s face as the blade finds its home in his heart.
His dark eyes blink up at the stormy sky, and the anger and fear on his face soften until there’s nothing left. He rests his head upon the grass, seeming at ease as blood drips from the wound in his chest, and takes his final breath just as Nadia stands and turns away.
She’s at Theodore’s side in a moment. Though she knows very little about healing or tending to wounds, she does note the exit wound in his back from the bullet and is grateful it’s not lodged in his body. Reaching for his hunched form, she turns him onto his back so she can better see the wounds in his shoulder and chest.
Each spot oozes blood, and his eyes are glassy, his gaze faraway.
“Theodore,” she whispers, her bloodstained hands trembling in the darkness.
He’s lost too much blood; his cream waistcoat is stained crimson, and the grass around him gleams. She reaches to put pressure on his wounds, but he barely responds, seems hardly to notice the pain.
Beneath her blood-slick hands, his heartbeat grows ever slower.
She’s losing him.
A slight pinch in her finger reminds her of the rose, of the blood that welled upon her fingertip and smeared the petals with red, and she knows only one thing to do.
Hands still shaking, she reaches for the dagger kept in Theodore’s boot. Upon wresting it from its sheath, she draws the blade delicately across her collarbone, wincing at the pain. Her blood takes but a moment to start flowing, yet the temptation does nothing to bring Theodore back to himself.
“Drink,” Nadia says, taking him in her arms and lifting him into a sitting position. His head lulls back, and a strangled whimper escapes her lips.
No, no, no...
Rain starts to fall as she nestles him against her chest. Cradling his head in one hand, she forces his lips to the blood beading upon her skin and slipping down the front of her dress. He makes no move to taste her, and she curls her fingers into his hair, crushing him more firmly against her as she demands, “Drink!”
He groans and shifts in her arms, just slightly, and then his tongue brushes against her collarbone. The sensation of it makes her shiver, and then she’s gasping, drawing a sudden breath as fangs pierce her neck. He sinks them in deep, until they can go no farther, and as he starts drinking, drawing her blood into his mouth, the pain becomes pleasure, becomes lust, becomeshunger.
Ecstasy floods her veins, makes her wet between her legs, and she allows her head to fall back, further baring her neck to him. Raindrops patter against her face and fall into her mouth as she moans in delight at his touch.
