29. If You Cut Me, I Bleed
If You Cut Me, I Bleed
Adark grey Werewolf bursts into the room, muscles bunching as he launches himself at the Warlock with a growl that shakes the foundations of the earth.
Nahaz falters in his incantation, hands frozen mid-air. Ashrael tips back his head and roars, shadows splitting the invisible barrier apart. He hits the pentagram at the same time Jake does, clawing at it in rage.
That’s all it takes for Micah to have me in his arms, Selene slammed back against the wall, the knife falling from her hand as she screams in frustration.
Moving with Vampire speed, she grasps the knife while Micah is distracted snapping the flexi-cuffs off my wrists. She launches herself forward, and he only has time to push me violently behind him to stop the blade from piercing my heart.
It’s all a blur, but I’m distracted by Jake and Ashrael facing off.
They both want the Warlock, but Jake also wants to send the Daemon back to hell.
Micah must have told the Werewolf how to break the pentagram, but he hesitates, circling it opposite the Daemon.
Is he not sure if the Prince of Hell will disappear once the Necromancer is dead?
Or if he’ll be loose in the world, with no way to stop him from wreaking bloody murder, leaving a trail of bodies behind him.
It’s not until Micah collapses to his knees that I see the blood dripping off the knife in Selene’s hand.
The world slows, as if I’m wading through treacle, as she smiles maniacally.
Slowly, I lower my head to see Micah with his hands against his throat, blood pouring out.
I think I scream, but the room is in chaos, and it’s swallowed by everything else going on around me.
Then the world starts moving again. Selene drops to her knees and thrusts her hand toward Micah’s heart, fingers sinking into hard, immortal flesh. Another scream, more rage than fear, rips from my soul. I’ve never felt such earth-shattering hatred as I do in this moment.
I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know what will happen after this. I love Micah. But I also love Jake. And they are both here, fighting for me, and to protect this city we love.
Before the thought fully forms in my mind, my gun is in my hands, and I’m aiming it toward Selene’s undead heart.
But she’s bent over Micah, where he’s collapsed to his knees with his head tipped back.
Blood pours from his neck even as his immortal blood tries to heal him, pain etched across his face.
Bullets are too good for this spoiled, vile bitch. I want to rip her apart with my bare hands so badly I’m shaking with it.
I’m momentarily distracted by a scream of pure fear from across the room.
Nahaz is pleading with his pet Daemon. ‘I made you. I brought you here. I am your master. You must obey me.’ His usually deep voice is shrill, echoing off the bricks and mortar surrounding us.
Micah grabs Selene’s hand, but he’s far too weak now to stop her as her nails sink further into his chest, blood pouring onto his dark shirt.
Ashreal is laughing, Jake is howling for blood, and Nahaz is chanting for all he’s worth. But I can’t focus on what’s happening across the underground space. I have to trust Jake to take care of the Warlock and Daemon. Trust that Micah told him what to do and how to end this.
Micah is dying. He’s lost too much blood, he can’t fight her off, and I know that Selene won’t stop until he’s dead. He left her, and even though she never wanted him, to a narcissist, that’s unforgivable.
Her face no longer holds any semblance of beauty, twisted with hatred, silver-blonde hair streaked with Micah’s blood. Her dress is covered in so much of it that it looks as if she’s the one bleeding out as she kneels in a pool of it.
There’s so much blood. Far, far too much blood.
Planting my feet, I brace myself, raising the gun with its Paranormal-killing silver-tipped wood bullets. I have to stop her from ripping out his heart. It’s the only thing I can do.
Before I can take a shot, a deafening crack shakes the floor, the ceiling, the walls. Selene loosens her grip, fingers slipping from Micah’s chest. I almost drop the gun as I stumble back a step, trying desperately to regain my balance as I half-turn to see what caused it.
The pentagram is gone. Nahaz is on his knees, hands held up in supplication. My heart is in my throat as Ashreal picks him up by the neck with one clawed hand. Jake is behind them, his muzzle raised, fur bristling, growling low in his throat.
The Daemon’s smile is beautifully grotesque as he leans his face in close to the Necromancer who raised him from the bowels of hell.
But he can’t see what I can. Nahaz is gripping the pouch with his powder in it.
He starts chanting, desperation in his voice.
Jake goes still behind him, crouching back on his haunches, waiting.
I watch, unable to move, as time seems to slow down again. Ashrael tightens his grip and raises his other claw to end it, spreading his wings behind him. Nahaz’s spell reaches its crescendo, and he tips the power into his other hand before throwing it at the Daemon.
Ashreal drops him to the ground, surprise spreading across his otherworldly face. Time speeds up again as he tilts his head back and screams in primal frustration. The room shakes again, and fear shoots through me as the ground buckles beneath us, dust and stone falling from the ceiling.
Then Ashreal dissolves, fading into the ether like mist, a dichotomy from how he formed earlier.
Jake launches forward and tackles Nahaz to the ground beneath him. I can’t watch the Warlock die, even though I would put a bullet in him myself. I know Jake wouldn’t want me to see his Wolf ripping apart flesh and bone.
Micah is leaning forward on his hands. I can’t see any more blood spilling from his neck, but he’s so weak he can barely lift his head. Selene tears her gaze from what Jake is doing to Nahaz and the screams that echo, along with the sound of tearing flesh and breaking bone.
Before she can move, I raise my gun and put three bullets into her chest and one into her forehead. Blood pours from the wounds, coating her dress where it isn’t already covered in Micah’s blood. I know it won’t kill her, but it will hurt like hell, and give us enough time to restrain her.
Turns out I’m wrong about that. She looks at me through her pain with shock in her ocean eyes, and I see her weighing up her options. She glances at Micah, and then she’s gone. I can’t chase her myself. And even if I could, I won’t leave my Vampire in this condition.
I glance at the massive grey Werewolf who is my boyfriend. His muzzle, fur, and paws are covered in blood. What’s left of Nahaz is on the ground, a twisted mess of flesh and bones that no longer resembles a man. I feel nothing except satisfaction as I meet Jake’s glowing amber-green eyes.
He looks at me in question, then dips his head before turning and racing after the rogue Vamp. I have no idea if he can outrun her. Vampires are faster than Werewolves, but she’s wounded. There’s nothing I can do but wait and hope he tears her apart. Or brings her back here so I can do it.
Measuring one beat of my heart to steady myself, I step around the Vampire slumped in front of me, dropping to my knees.
He’s so much taller than I am that I can easily look up into his face.
It’s etched with indescribable pain, so very pale, his eyes empty pools of black.
The slash across his throat has healed, but he’s lost so much blood. Too much blood. He needs to feed.
The most powerful Vampire I know is weak from blood loss, and I’m trying not to panic as I kneel in a pool of it, the cold seeping through my pants onto my skin.
‘We can’t stay here,’ I tell him, trying to keep the fear from my voice.
But I can’t lift him. And if Selene manages to lose Jake, will she come back to finish what she started? Where will we be safe? Maybe the castle is far enough away.
‘It’s too far.’ The words rasp out of Micah as he focuses unsteadily on me. I hadn’t realized I’d said it out loud, but I must have.
‘The Coven. Can you make it to the Coven? They have blood.’ Synthetic blood. Enough for a hundred Vamps. But even as I suggest it, I know he needs human blood.
I’m desperately trying to come up with a solution. I don’t even know where we are. How far underground are we? Where will we come out once we make it above ground again? We could be anywhere beneath New York City.
‘Help me up.’ It’s bad if he requires my help just to stand. I’m scared his blood isn’t the only thing that’s been drained. His power is wisps in his veins, shadows nowhere to be seen.
Micah grasps my arms as I stand. Planting my feet on the blood-slicked bricks, I try not to slip, anchoring myself as Micah uses me as leverage.
He staggers to his feet and falls against me, his weight almost knocking me over.
My arms slide around his waist, the blood on his shirt soaking me in seconds.
Cold seeps into my skin. Cold, and a bone-deep dread such as I’ve never felt before.
We will never make it anywhere by walking, and I can’t bear his weight for long. With a sinking sensation that drowns out the nausea threatening me, I know he won’t be able to summon his wings in this condition.
I glare at my wrist, trying to activate my screen, but it’s a blank space in front of my eyes. We’re on our own down here.
Micah pulls away from me, and I grip his shirt tightly. He’s looking at me through a fog of pain, his onyx eyes glazed.
‘Give me. A moment,’ he breathes out.
He coughs up blood, and the sight of it gushing over his chin has my heart stopping inside my chest. Fuck. He has internal injuries that aren’t healing. He’s about to fall over, and I won’t be able to catch him. And if he does, we’ll never get out of here. Never make it back to the surface.
‘Drink,’ I say, taking his face in one hand and forcing him to look at me. ‘Micah, you need to drink from me.’
I tilt my neck, offering him my vein.
He stares at me in horror, as if he would rather die than take my blood. I push down the rejection I feel, the memory of how he made it clear once before that he didn’t want any part of me. I know he doesn’t love me, but that doesn’t stop the way I feel about him.
‘Micah, if you don’t get blood, you will die. So stop being so fucking stubborn. It doesn’t mean anything.’ My chest is heaving with emotion. I will not let him die.
‘Your parents…,’ he whispers, and I see guilt, shame, recrimination, and self-loathing all fighting for prime position.
‘That wasn’t your fault. Nothing that psychotic bitch does is on you. Please, can we talk about that later?’ Once we’re safe. Once he’s fed and healed and alive.
He nods, a barely discernible movement of his head.
Brushing my hair off my neck with one hand, the other still clinging to him, I offer my blood to him again.
With more strength than I thought possible, he hauls me against him, one arm banded around my back, the other tightly gripping my hair.
It doesn’t mean anything. It’s survival, I tell myself as his fangs scrape against my delicate skin, and I shudder with a longing I can’t control.
‘Evangeline,’ his midnight voice whispers against my throat, and he licks it once, twice, and then there’s a sharp pain that has me crying out and clutching his shoulders.
His fangs sink into my soft flesh, and as I feel the first pull of my blood flowing between us, I finally understand why humans volunteer for this. Why it becomes an addiction for so many.
I thought I had known ecstasy when I tasted his blood, but as his mouth fills with mine and he swallows it down, I almost collapse from the sheer pleasure that sets fire to every part of me.
Now it’s him holding me up as he drinks and drinks and drinks, one hand tangled in my hair, the other roaming over my spine.
It’s the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced, our bodies fused together in a death dance.
My veins flood with lightning, my bones are on fire, and every part of me is alive.
Pleasure rushes through me as I press myself closer, wanting more, needing more.
My heart pumps everything I have to give into him.
Micah groans as he pulls my life from my veins, his fangs inside me mimicking another part of him, his tongue lapping at my blood. I’m so close to coming undone in his arms, I whimper with unvoiced need.
A scream tries to break from my soul when he stops. As he gently withdraws his fangs from my throat, I claw at him, my palms slick with sweat and blood as they slide down his shoulders to his chest.
Micah untangles his hand from my hair before sliding it down my back as he slowly pulls away from me.
My blood is bright against his mouth, and I have the sudden urge to lean forward and lick it off.
Especially when he’s looking at me with his midnight eyes as if he’s never seen me before, and I’m drowning in them.
‘Was it enough?’ I manage to whisper. The few inches between our bodies feel like a mile. I’m cold, bereft, desperate to touch him again.
‘It will never be enough,’ his voice is low, silk sheets and whiskey.
Before I can answer, power crackles in the surrounding air, his wings flaring out.
He picks me up effortlessly, his blood-fueled warmth seeping through my blood-soaked clothing.
And then he’s flying into the darkness far below the old underground railway, faster than I thought possible.
I cling to his neck, savoring the feel of him and the rush of wind blowing away the tumultuous past few hours.
Then we’re spiraling up, shooting for the surface, cold air washing over me, and finally I see familiar buildings around us. Stars glitter in the velvet night sky high above, the sight of the Skyway filling me with relief as we land on the pavement.
‘You need more blood,’ I say, curled against his chest.
‘Will you come to the Coven with me?’ Micah’s voice is a caress on my overheated skin, his eyes almost as dark as the night sky vaulted above us.
I can’t think when he’s looking at me like this. I can only nod and hold on to him tighter as he takes to the air, the sound of his wings drowning out everything except the beat of my heart.