Page 23 of Lucas
I pulledoff the interstate at a truck stop and parked near the semis. Sunset was still a couple of hours away, and the rain had reduced to a constant drizzle. Somehow, sitting in the middle of the trucks, we seemed protected from prying eyes. An illusion, but it kept me focused. I watched the truckers as they moved about, some going in and out of the attached diner, others carrying small duffels that most likely held a towel, a change of underwear, and a dopp kit.
Other than the truckers, the lot was quiet. I got out and climbed into the back, sliding Lucas’s legs over so I could sit. Blood dripped onto the carpet. I took a moment to center myself, readying myself for the next step.
His eyes were closed, but he was breathing, as shallow as it was.
“Lucas? Are you awake?”
A mumble was his only answer.
Taking a deep breath, I started at his legs, searching for each injury, assessing which were minor and which were life-threatening. The worst-case scenario was that he would lose enough blood that either his beast would rise, or he’d bleed out.A vamp could eventually die of that, but I didn’t know how much blood Lucas could lose before there was no coming back.
His pants were bloody, but there weren’t any cuts or holes in the fabric. I tenderly lifted his shirt, though it was more like prying it off. Dried blood had mixed with both congealing and fresh blood. Our last bottle of water had rolled under the front seat. My hands were too bloody, so I used my shirt to grab it and twist off the cap. I soaked the shirt so I wouldn’t create more damage.
When his shirt peeled away, I gasped. His chest looked like a tic-tac-toe board, lines crossing everywhere. Most weren’t too bad, but there were four deep cuts and two holes that probably pierced one of his kidneys or maybe his liver. My anatomy wasn’t the best.
But I knew enough. Lucas might be safe in the car, but he was bleeding out. My first priority was to stop the blood loss. I dug through a duffel, yanking out the few shirts we had left. Using the last of the water, I cleaned his chest, then used two shirts to staunch the bleeding. If I couldn’t lift his body, I wouldn’t be able to wrap the makeshift bandages tight enough to keep pressure on the wounds.
I applied the pressure manually for five minutes then cut my palm, giving Lucas more blood. His pulls were weak at best. I would need to give him blood more frequently, but unless I stopped the bleeding, it would be an endless cycle until I was too weak to give more. I sealed my cut and sat back.
I held his hand, murmuring words of love and support as I considered our options. The first thing was to take stock of myself. My clothes were covered with blood. I had to change. I grabbed leggings and a T-shirt and stepped out of the car, leaving the door open to cover me from onlookers as I quickly changed.
Once dressed, I slumped in the front passenger seat, mental fatigue overtaking me. But after a couple minutes of silence, I pushed it aside and picked up Lucas’s wallet, pulling out the cash. I added it to what was left of my emergency funds and the money I took from the dead vamps. We were flush. Thank heaven for small favors. We were a long way from New Orleans, where Lucas could get a blood donor, but I didn’t think he’d make it in his current condition. And those three vamps were still out there. We needed a safe place to hole up until Lucas was strong enough to stay conscious and walk. Fighting strength would be out of the question without a healer or several blood donors.
The truck stop would provide basic supplies. Then a thought struck. Up to now, I’d been trying to think like a vamp. We were up against vamps who thought like vamps. I had to switch up the game. Lucas was of no help. We had to rely on my skills. The survival skills I’d learned on the streets—cold, hungry, and on the defense from street thugs.
Instead of channeling Sergi, I needed to channel Harlow.
Soft murmurs made me turn around, and I squeezed through the gap between the front seats to get closer to Lucas. He kept repeating a single word, and once I understood what it was, my brow rose.
“Rosalynn.”
Lucas mumbled.A burning ache like fire. The beast stirred. The darkness returned.
“Hold your arm up. You’ll never defend your neck that way.” Marcus swung, and Lucas ducked, bringing his sword up to take a stab at Marcus’s stomach. “Better.”
Marcus swung again, and this time Lucas blocked it, keeping his elbow raised. Sweat leaked into his eyes, burning them, but he didn’t back down.
“Lucas!” His name squealed from a young girl, and he took a moment to glance back in time to see her take a tumble.
The flat edge of a blade hit him on the shoulder. The force was so powerful it brought him to a knee, and then a sword touched his neck.
“If I’ve told you a thousand times, brother, don’t let anything distract you—even Family.” Marcus shoved his sword into the sheath that hung at his side. “If you’re dead, who will protect them?”
“Understood.” Lucas rose and brushed the dirt from his knee then turned to watch Rosalynn, his five-year-old sister, pick herself up and continue her run to him. He grabbed her as soon as she reached him and swung her in the air, her giggles bringing a smile to his face.
“You got me killed, little sister.”
“You’re funny,” she said. “It’s only practice.”
“I’ve told you before, Rosalynn,” Marcus lectured. “There’s no playing during practice.” He marched past them before Rosalynn turned and stuck her tongue out.
Lucas mussed her hair and kissed her cheek. “You smell like strawberries.”
She nodded vigorously, her cheeks plump with a smile. “We picked them and ate them. But we saved a few for you.”
“Well, that was kind of you.”
“I know.” She giggled as Lucas strolled toward the woman waiting several yards away.
