Page 47 of Fangs for the Memories
“What happened?” I’m beside him, pulling his good arm around my shoulder in a desperate attempt to get him to his feet.
Ferenc releases a bloody chuckle. “Vampire dropped a building on me,” he says in his rolling Hungarian accent.
“What?” I attempt to lift him, but he’s six and a half foot of pure muscle. I’ve got no chance, unless he can help.
“It was a trap, and I’m too out of the loop to recognize one.” Ferenc spits out blood.
“You need a doctor,” I say, helpless and confused.
“I need my bed,” he growls, painfully pushing himself upright while leaning heavily on me. “And a mate to share it with.”
“That’s the last thing you need,” I mutter, helping him over to the bed.
He collapses onto it, and I do my best not to look at a certain part of his anatomy, instead concentrating on the injuries he has.
They’re enough to knock me sick. His right arm seems to be half torn off, with huge gashes down to the bone which are bleeding profusely. In his side, there’s something which looks like a great puncture wound.
As he lies back, he sighs long and low.
“I’ll be fine,” he slurs. “Get me some whisky.”
“Drinking is not the answer.”
Ferenc fixes me with a fever bright gaze.
“Drinking is always the answer. Get me some…please?”
I don’t want to leave him, but if it’s what he wants…I race out of the door, trying not to look at the trail of blood and into the main room where I spotted the decanters on a mahogany sideboard earlier today. I grab one of them, not paying much attention to whether it is whisky or not, along with a cut crystal glass and run back as quickly as I can.
When I get there, Ferenc is sat up in the bed and has bound his arm with bandages he’s fashioned from a sheet ripped into shreds.
My hands shake as I attempt to pour the amber liquid into the glass, spilling it everywhere.
“Kedves,” Ferenc says, his voice a dark purr as he takes hold of my hand. “This looks worse than it is.”
He knocks back the small amount of alcohol I got in the glass and holds it out for more. My hand shakes just the same as I pour him another measure.
“It looks fucking horrendous, Ferenc.”
“I’m a werewolf. We heal quick.” He downs the second drink, and with the arm which was hanging off five minutes ago, he takes the decanter from me and pours another large measure before giving me an unhinged, feral grin. “And I made you a promise. One I’m not going to break.”
Ferenc
Iprobably shouldn’t have returned in my current state. It would have only taken an hour or so before I was in a better condition, but I needed to be sure the vampires hadn’t got to her.
Although, having a building collapsed on you is a bit inconvenient, even if you are a werewolf. Plus nearly having to chew my arm off to get out of there and to Grace wasn’t on my list of things to do today.
The whisky warms my stomach and gives me a little anesthetic effect. Having to use what strength I had left to get from the building back to my apartment at a speed fast enough humans wouldn’t notice half killed me. But here, with Grace, in my bed, I’m beginning to feel the effects of healing… and the alcohol.
My cock, unaffected by any injuries, is happy enough to be this close to Grace again, and it’s certainly not in any way shy about my lack of clothing.
Grace’s eyes widen as she attempts not to look.
“Are you not interested in my promise to mate you and breed you?” I rasp.
“You…you were at death’s door five minutes ago. This is hardly the time.” Grace clenches her jaw.
I take her hand.
