Page 25 of Don't Bite the Boy Next Door
8
Raising my eyes to the sky, I grimace. The sun is low, but not low enough. I can’t come out from the trees until it sets.
If I run out into the open, I might burn up – but hearing the urgency in Toto’s bark, I know I must.
From the moment I rose, an hour or so ago, busying myself doing chores inside, waiting for the night, I had a feeling, a terrible itch between my shoulder blades, a foreboding. And I thought I could hear, although I know it wasn’t possible given the distance, Toto.
I’d kept looking at the clock, waiting till night for it to be safe to run here for my nightly fix of watching the neighbour, now possible once more since Lars is off hunting in the next county. But I couldn’t wait, the feeling that something was wrong was too strong.
Now, standing where I am, I wonder if some sixth sense had drawn me here, because sure enough, Totoisbarking – frantically.
Taking a deep breath, I zip towards the dog where she peers down the well. The light is uncomfortable, and my skin begins to smoke instantly.
“Holy heck,” I grimace, peering down into the well.
“Ryan?” I shout, “Ryan, are you down there?”
Leaning my head down, blisters beginning to form on the backs of my hands and my neck where the skin is exposed to the sunlight, I peer into the darkness and see a murky shape in the water at the bottom of the long rock-lined shaft. Only my vampire sight enables me to just make it out and, gasping in shock, I jump up to the edge of the well, take a deep breath and plunge straight down, feet first.
The well is deep. Hitting the water, I sink several feet, swimming frantically to get back to the surface. As I do, I see he is floating face down, and I let out a horrified scream.
Flipping him over, I realise he has no heartbeat. Instant tears of frustration and terror stream down my face as I throw him over my shoulder and, punching holes faster than a jackhammer into the rock sides of the well for hand and foot grips, climb to the surface.
I estimate a whole minute has passed, when I rush him inside his home, away from the waning but still painful sunlight, and lay him to the hall floor to begin resuscitation. His face is scraped badly down one side, and blood is combining with the water from his hair to form a thin veil of red over his features. Wiping it hastily away with my hand, I notice my own blood pouring from my smashed knuckles mingles with his. The smell of his delicious blood makes my fangs extend, and my pulse race, and I slap my face, hard, to try and get them to retract, before hastily pushing my own hair back from my eyes, leaning down and placing my lips over his.
They are as soft as I had imagined.
Pumping his heart, I concentrate on ensuring I thrust with enough force to restart the organ, but not too hard that I push my hand right inside his chest.
‘One, two, three, four, five pumps, and breathe, one, two, three, four, five pumps and breathe.’
I work steadily, consistently, my fear for his life overriding my desire for his blood, my mind on a loop the entire time.
‘Come on, breathe. Oh, please, Ryan, please don’t die. Please.’
Finally, he coughs.
Simultaneously laughing and crying, I turn him to his side as he vomits out a bucket of well water.
For several more minutes I pat his back as he empties his stomach and gasps for air. Holding my breath, I place my arms around his waist and help him to a sitting position, wincing at the pain in my broken fingers, bloodied and smashed from where I had punched his well. But I know they will heal in a few days. The pain and damage is a small price to pay for his life.
“Tess?” He shakes his head, his eyes cloudy and confused.
I nod.
“Not supposed to be you,” he groans.
I take my arms from around him as he lays back down, closing his eyes once more. My heart feels like it has taken a direct hit at his words.‘Is there another woman he expected?’
Screaming on the inside from his words, and the fear I might still bite him while he is so vulnerable, I gently turn him to his side again and take a little breath so I can answer him. But my eyes widen as I realise I can’t smell his blood.
‘No. I can, but it isn’t the same.’
“You smell strange,” I murmur as I screw up my nose and lean back from him.
“I did just come from a well,” he mutters, lying back down before raising himself painfully onto his elbows to look at me.
“Yes,” I take a deep breath in and smile.
