Page 3 of Prodigal Son

“There’s so much blood,” she blubbered, as if she’d been the one injured.

“Yes,” he rasped, hardly able to open his eyes. “Thanks to you.”

She crouched low. “Try not to move. Oh, God, I never meant to actually shoot you. Just…keep breathing. Please don’t die, okay?”

A twig snapped under her boot, close to his ear, and instinct took over, the last of his strength jolting him forward, too fast for any human to escape as he latched onto her with claws and fangs.

A sharp scream of shock pierced the night, quickly silenced as his fangs lanced into her jugular and hot, enriching mortal blood flooded his mouth—laced with the drugging effect of her adrenaline as her fight or flight response kicked in.

She fought, and his mind reached for hers, but her struggles did not subdue. Gurgling screams bounced off the trees and prey scrambled deeper into the brush. He used the last of his strength to hold her, his mind too overwrought to compel her into calm.

Her booted foot dragged over the dirt as he yanked her closer, kicking and blaring an earsplitting cry. Nails scratched down his face, and she grabbed hold of the arrow, jerking and ramming it deeper in his heart.

He screamed and viciously bit into her throat, ravaging her vein as blood gurgled from her artery and her body went limp. The warm nourishment replenished his strength and subdued the pain, but an astounding amount still remained as the arrow stayed lodged in his heart.

The wind kicked up and he scented cold blood. He sniffed the unconscious mortal and frowned. Like any once living food, blood was prone to rot. The breakdown of the hemoglobin on her flesh dried into an indigestible compound, turning his stomach.

Yanking his fangs free, he scowled at her unconscious form and examined her torn clothing. Lifting the tattered layers of her coat, his eyes widened. Deep grooves scored her flesh, exposing pink muscle in five long gouges. Dried blood and dirt crusted each wound as fresh blood leaked profusely, scoring her caramel flesh. The marks would likely scar, forever marring an otherwise flawless body.

Mortals could only sustain so much injury and blood loss. She, too, had been injured and needed help. Unsure how much he’d taken from her vein or how much she had already lost, he snatched her wrist and felt for a pulse. It was weak but there.

The offending arrow still remained, draining all that he’d just replenished. He couldn’t think from the pain as his arteries pumped and popped. He needed to stop his blood from spilling before taking any more of her blood to heal.

Fangs dripping, he lifted his head and searched the forest, listening for nearby creatures that might tide him over. But his presence, and that of the others, kept small prey at bay. Irritated by the unwanted need for conservation, he shoved the female’s unconscious body away and scented the cold winter air.

He should rip out her throat and bleed her dry, save himself and save Anna from possibly suffering his pain. But there still remained some misguided hope for his abandoned soul that floundered about in his confused mind, a conscious part of him that inconvenienced his life on a regular basis.

He’d been branded a cursed immortal without honor. Yet, here he was, hesitating to take what he needed to heal in order to save the she-devil who shot him.

Yanking her closer, her upper body draped weakly over his legs. Soft swells of feminine curves caught his eye, just as a twig snapped in the distance. Blood would strengthen him and he needed to be strong.

Gripping his fist in her wild, dark curls, he lifted her face and growled. Loathing the wafer-thin honor that protected the mortal female and greatly inconvenienced him, he jerked her close and licked the wound on her throat shut. His saliva would rapidly heal her tissue and prevent infection or scarring, but it couldn’t replenish the blood he took. Without a transfusion, her feeble human body would need time to recover and weeks to regenerate red blood cells.

Forcing himself to rise despite the pain, he stretched his mind and searched for another option. They would have to move, travel somewhere far away from the stench of evil and danger if he intended to lure smaller prey close enough to sustain him.

His body struggled to stand upright and he questioned if he had the strength to carry her deadweight. There was no doubt in his mind that this specific mortal female would tell the world what she saw tonight. Still too weak to penetrate her mind or wipe her memories, he decided he couldn’t leave her. He also couldn’t kill her—although death would ensure her silence.

A tremor skated up his spine as he felt the urge to retch. Stretching his mind over the distance, he tried to reach Anna again, but found nothing but blackness, all threads of communication cut without a trace. Maybe his sister-by-law found a way to protect herself from sharing his pain. He hoped so, for the sake of not just the babe she carried in her womb, but for her own protection as well.

The mortal’s blood helped anesthetize his pain, but the arrow still skewered his chest and his body couldn’t heal around the intrusion. Getting it out would be…unpleasant, so he took a moment to galvanize his nerves.

Had he been human, he’d already be dead. The blood he stole from the woman slowly worked its way through his system, the tissue of his heart mending. Torn sinew sewed together around the muscle, as regenerated cells reconstructed capillaries. But that damn arrow remained.

He only had minutes until another attack would strike. Once more glancing at the many nests in the trees, he debated the best course. Cribs, constructed of pine and mud, large enough refuge for a primate, but apes didn’t inhabit these woods. The meddlesome woman passed out at his side would be dead by morning if he left her here for when the others returned.

His bloodied hands closed around the arrow and he pulled hard. His insides rolled in objection, the contents of his stomach spewing from his lips in a surge of blood and energy. Consciousness flashed in and out as black oblivion threatened his mind. All that he’d just drank from the mortal now lay wasted in the leaves and dirt at his side.

The arrow needed to come out. Clawing at the earth, he coated his bloodied hands in dirt and gripped the protruding arrow. His scream sent night birds flocking from the trees and owls screeching as his howl broke the illusion of peace. He gripped the hilt of the arrow with his right hand. Molars locked, he bared his teeth. A deafening roar ripped out of him. Not giving himself a chance to stop, he extracted the arrow with a slow, agonizing slurp and fell back as the excruciating pain sent his body into shock.

The buried, barbed tip tore open his freshly mended tissue and he gasped under the pain. The earth swayed as a wave of dizziness struck, turning his stomach and sending more blood spewing from his lips.

He threw the offending spike on the ground and caught his breath. Blood spurted from his chest as his heart pumped hard.

His arteries clotted and spasmed, pumping hard in an unnatural way as incredible pressure built in his chest, bursting like an explosion through his back and shoulders and down his arm. His heart pulsed painfully, hammering against his ribs as if under another attack, giving him no choice but to wait out the pain as his muscles tensed and his living cells died off.

Through the delirium of agony and the rush of blood clotting the corners of his eyes, he stared through blurry vision at the branches above. The sky looked peaceful and he could scent snow in the air. His ravaged body begged his mind to rest, but he needed to move. Despite the sense of calm, the woods were a very dangerous place to be—especially injured as both he and the mortal female were.

Her weak pulse pounded in his ears. A beat of silence passed as he called the wind, glad some of his power remained. He scented the others nearing in the distance. They were out of time.

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