Chapter 37
37
Mona: Are you okay?
I stare down at the text from Mona, my phone sitting on the kitchen table while I sip a mug of lukewarm blood. She knows what happened. Grace must’ve told her.
Are you okay?
Not “why the fuck did you do that to Grace?” or “I hate you and our friendship is over.” No, that would be too easy. Anger is simple to deal with. You weather it and move on.
Compassion, though? It’s unbearable. I don’t deserve it. I don’t want it.
I down the rest of my drink, the stale, unpalatable taste a grim reminder of what I’ve lost tonight.
It’s for the best. Think about how much worse other blood would taste after years of feeding from Grace. You did the right thing.
The thoughts do nothing to alleviate the way my hands shake as I bring the mug to the sink and almost shatter it when it slips out of my hands. Dammit, the blood should’ve helped calm me down. Why am I still on the verge of going feral?
I leave the mug in the sink, bypassing my phone on the table as I head down to my bedroom on unsteady legs. There are many hours before dawn, but I can’t stand being awake with these thoughts any longer tonight. I hope that sleep is merciful and claims me quickly.
Darkness. A pungent smell of iron and sweet berries filling my nose as I come to consciousness. Wet, sticky blood covering my palms.
No, not just my hands. Slicked over my arms up to my elbows.
A wheezing, shallow inhale. “Blair,” a weak voice whispers.
I look down in my lap at the woman resting there. Blonde tresses spread out over my legs like a halo, the tips painted crimson by the blood flowing from a jagged wound in her chest.
Not resting. Dying.
“Oh god, Grace, no,” I gasp, my blood-slicked hands trying to staunch the bleeding, but more pours out.
Her skin is so pale it’s almost white, and her eyes beg me to do something. To stop the pain. To save her.
“Fuck! No, please, you can’t die,” I beg, tearing into my wrist with my fangs and shoving it to her mouth. She attempts to swallow, but it’s too late. The life behind her eyes vanishes, and all I’m left with is her rapidly cooling corpse and the endless tears streaming down my face. If only there were enough of them to drown me so I could join her.
Mona: Please call me. Or message me. Anything to let me know you’re alright. It’s been two days.
I swipe away the message notification. I drink as much blood as I can choke down, then head back down to the basement to climb back into bed.
My head pounds, mirroring the sluggish pulsing of the blood I consumed through my body, both sensations making me feel like I’m going to be sick. I curl into a ball on my side, pressing my face into the cool pillow and fight for sleep to claim me again, even though it will be worse than being awake.
He thrusts inside me, and I hiss against the burn, trying to hide how much it hurts. This is how it’s supposed to be. He loves me. He wants me so badly that he can’t control himself. Isn’t that what I always craved?
The painful stretch of his cock forcing me open and the bruising grip on my wrists as he pins me to the bed is proof that I’m wanted.
It doesn’t matter that the weight of his body on top of mine makes me shudder. It doesn’t matter that I’m not turned on. All that matters is that I’m finally loved.
“You love this, don’t you?” he growls, licking a hot stripe up my neck that makes me clench unpleasantly around him .
“Yes,” I murmur, even as tears well in my eyes.
He kisses me, sloppy and frantic, his fangs scraping my lower lip. “Be with me. Forever,” he pants, slowing his thrusts. “I cannot bear the thought of eternity without you.”
An eternity of love. Of having this handsome man cherish me. What more could I possibly want?
“I…”
His hand lands on my throat, his gleaming red eyes boring into my soul. “I’ll die without you, Blair. Living without you would rend my soul in two. Say yes.”
Warm fuzziness floods my mind and I nod. “Y-yes.”
When his fangs rip into my wrist, the searing pain almost makes me black out, but I don’t make a sound. Because all that matters is him. This is my happy ending. The end of the pathetic, confused girl and the start of my life as someone worthwhile.
Time blends together as I cycle between nightmare-filled sleep, where I relive hazy memories of the worst moment of my existence, and forcing myself to get up and eat enough to not lose the ability to function at all. I’ve canceled all of my sessions, claiming illness, since none of my current clients save Nic know I’m a vampire.
I keep waiting for the numbness to kick in. For the self-sufficient badass version of myself I built after I was turned to come on board and get things back to normal.
Where the fuck did she go?
I’m a raw nerve, pain and heartache shocking through me, whether I’m awake or asleep. I despise this version of myself. Even more than I hated the foolish romantic who let herself get taken in by Dominic’s lies, because I know I’m capable of being strong and unaffected, and of moving past heartbreak, yet it seems entirely insurmountable this time.
It’s pathetic. I wish Aven had shown up a month earlier, because it’s clear they were too late. The damage from falling for Grace was already done.
What good were all those years of teaching myself to be strong and self-sufficient, learning to guard myself from the mistakes of the past? They certainly aren’t helping shore me up against the battering storm of my emotions and my monster’s anger at giving up Grace.
Loving Dominic cost me my life, but loving Grace has ruined me. I wish I could use my powers of compulsion to force myself back to a state of normalcy. I don’t want to feel anymore.
Mona: Blair, enough. I know your address and if you don’t get back to me by tonight, I’m coming over.
My eyes are so puffy from crying after my latest nightmare that it’s hard to read my notifications. I have ten missed calls, four voicemails, and at least a dozen texts, all from Mona.
A series of heavy thumps on my front door startle me, and I miss my mouth with the mug of blood, splashing the liquid over my chin and down to add another stain to the wrinkled, oversized shirt I’ve been living in for the past week.
Shit. Is Mona here already? I should’ve messaged her back, but I couldn’t face it. And now she’s here, and she’s going to see how much of a pathetic mess I am.
More loud knocks echo through the entryway and I groan, knowing Mona is stubborn enough that she won’t go away or stop until I answer.
I head to the front door, my legs lead weights I have to drag to move at all. I yank it open. “Mona, I’m alive, but I can’t?—”
I do a double take when I see it’s not my friend scowling at me on the other side of the door, but Nic, my bear shifter client and occasional landscaper.
The burly man is at least one and a half times taller than me, his wide shoulders and thick torso taking up most of the doorframe. Though his soft, open posture makes him unintimidating despite his size. He gives me a warm smile, which flickers as he takes in my current state.
“Sorry for disturbing you when you’re expecting company, Mistress. I can come back another time,” Nic says, rubbing the back of his neck with a meaty palm.
“Why are you here?” My voice is a croak after almost a week of disuse. I clear my throat, but it doesn’t help.
“It’s supposed to be unseasonably cold tonight, so I thought I’d stop by and put some special covers on the roses to help protect them from the temperature drop. But when I got back there, I saw…”
My stomach lurches, remembering the destruction I wrought on them the night I broke things off with Grace. I couldn’t stand the sight of them. Something in me snapped and the next thing I knew, my arms and hands were bleeding from dozens of thorn pricks and the garden was littered with petals and torn off blooms.
“Is everything okay?” Nic asks, reaching out hesitantly to place his hand on my shoulder .
Something about his gentleness makes any shred of composure I have left break. I step into him and fling my arms around him, burying my face into Nic’s chest as an ugly sob tears from my chest.
Immediately, his arms wrap around me in response, and he rubs circles on my back.
“No. I’m n-not okay,” I say through shuddering tears, and he squeezes me tighter.
“Let it out. I’ve got you,” he says, his low voice a soothing rumble.
And because I’ve got no pride or defenses left, I do.
After completely soaking Nic’s shirt with blood tears, we end up inside with him bundling a blanket over my shoulders before he passes me a mug of warmed blood and takes a seat on the couch across from me. I’m too weak to care how unprofessional it is to have a client here while I’m having a mental breakdown. Service is Nic’s primary kink we explore, but there’s nothing remotely sexual about how he’s taking care of me tonight.
It should feel far too vulnerable letting this giant man into my house without controlling the encounter with the strict rules of a scene, but I’ve already cracked myself open and poured out my pain onto his chest. There’s no coming back from that. Resisting the care he’s offering wouldn’t help anything.
“Can I get you anything else, Blair?” Nic asks softly, surveying me with kind, worried eyes that make my chest ache.
Blair, not Bella or Mistress. “How do you know my name?”
A faint flush creeps out above his wiry beard, staining his light brown skin, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh, I didn’t find out on purpose. I run that monster support group, and Max mentioned a vampire named Blair in passing. I figured there probably wasn’t another intimidating vampire woman in town. I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before using your real name. I just felt weird using your, uh, professional name right now.”
“It’s okay,” I sigh. Another boundary destroyed—not that it matters at this point.
He visibly relaxes. “Forgive me if you don’t want to talk about it, but what…uh, what inspired the sudden landscaping changes?”
I swallow heavily, fighting against the urge to cry again. When I speak, the words that come out of me are unexpected. “They were going to die, eventually. It felt silly to keep taking care of them, knowing I’d watch them wither.”
Nic blinks at me, his brow furrowing. “You killed them so you wouldn’t have to see them die? Roses are perennials, so they’ll come back again next year.”
I nod. “I know.” A tear slides down my cheek.
Nic tracks it, his confused look softening to understanding. “This isn’t about the roses.”
I nod again, unable to speak through the weight of the sadness crushing my chest.
Nic hums softly, considering the situation. “Can I share a story with you?”
“Sure, why not?” I say blithely. Listening to whatever the shifter wants to say has got to be better than crying again.
“Alright.” Nic sighs and shifts to better settle in on his chair, then closes his eyes for a second like he’s preparing himself for something difficult.
“What kind of story is this?” I ask.
He gives me a sad smile. “One that might be helpful for you to hear. One I don’t talk about much, but not because it isn’t important.”
“How cryptic,” I mutter.
Nic snorts and nods. “Alright, alright. It’s a story about my wife.”
My eyes widen. I never assume that a client not wearing a ring means anything, and it isn’t my place to pry into people’s personal lives. But kind, dependable Nic, being married and hiding it, shocks me. “You’re married ? Does she know about your sessions with me?”
“I was,” he says with a sad smile. “She passed away a little over ten years ago.”
“Oh.” Shit, what am I supposed to say to that? “I’m sorry for your loss,” I add feebly.
“Thank you. To answer your other question, she wanted me to move on after her. We had time after her diagnosis to talk about that kind of thing. Well, more like argue about it. A lot.” Nic laughs, shaking his head at whatever memory flashes through his mind. “Mary made me promise that I’d at least find someone to help with my… needs. She knew how much I need to take care of someone. I don’t think she imagined it would take on the exact form that we explore in our sessions, though,” Nic chuckles. “I didn’t realize that’s something I’d want until I had my first experience with you.”
“Nic… that’s…” A surge of complicated emotions washes over me now that I know why he sought me out.
“I know, I know. I didn’t fulfill my promise to her like she’d really have wanted, but… it’s the best I could do. She wanted me to fall in love again, have kids since she passed before we could…” He clears his throat, wiping away a tear before giving me a cheeky smile. “We both know that’s not what our relationship is, Mistress.”
“Good, because for a moment there I was worried I’d have to let you and your dead wife down,” I say with a matching smile. The first one I’ve been able to make since that awful night with Grace. That realization immediately wipes it away.
“Anyway, her approval isn’t what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to tell you about Mary, because she was the best godsdamned thing that ever happened to me. I loved her with every fiber of my being, and when I found out our time together was going to be much shorter than we’d expected, it almost destroyed me. She was my heart. My everything. Hell, she still is, even with all the things I’ve done to surround myself with friends and people to care for. It hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt, losing her.”
“How can you stand it?” I ask, fist clenching around the blanket I’m holding as I struggle not to weep. “How did it not ruin you?”
Nic gives me a rueful smile. “It fucking hurts. I won’t pretend otherwise. Yes, it’s gotten easier over time, but the ache will always be there. Surrounding myself with people who care about me and continuing to take things one day at a time is what lets me keep going.”
He’s sitting here smiling at me, as if it’s simple. As if the emotions tormenting me are manageable with enough can-do attitude. “I… I’m not as strong as you,” I say, shaking my head.
Nic frowns. “What? You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”
“No, I’m not.” Frustrated tears spring forth and I swipe them away. “I’m scared of the pain. I don’t understand how you can sit here and tell me about the woman you loved so calmly.” Panic constricts my chest. “I can’t do it. I can’t face being with her when each passing day is a reminder of the time we have left rapidly slipping away. Knowing that I’ll mourn her for an eternity.”
“You really think the alternative is better?” Nic asks gently, then lets out a heavy sigh. “You can’t stop yourself from loving someone, so what’s the point of being miserable for even longer?”
He levels his steely gaze on me, and he’s staring into my soul when he speaks again. “You let yourself love her. You cherish what time you have together. Because it would hurt infinitely worse to not have loved her at all.”