Chapter 25 #3
I listen to his words and realize what he’s saying. My power surges through me, and every time I thrash my body, it works overtime to heal the rips and tears I inflict on myself. My panic is killing me faster.
I begin to slow my breaths as my vision comes back into focus.
Bloody gauze and towels clutter the floor, and Crew is just as drenched in blood as I am—both from the Voids and me.
I blink, trying to focus, and for once, I don’t see him as the darkness that clouds my anger.
He looks as if he has a halo of dark light around his demonic features, and confusion hits me like a brick.
“Crew,” I cough, still feeling as if I have a mouth full of blood. “My. Stomach.”
He runs his calloused hands through my hair, transforming it into a crimson blonde.
“If you don’t relax, you will die, Mara. The bullet that went through you was laced with something. Had I not healed you somewhat yesterday, I think you’d be dead.”
Both of my blood-soaked hands frantically find his, and I hold onto them, as if he’s the only thing grounding me right now.
One of his large hands wraps around mine, and he squeezes, feeling me slip, and he holds on.
What he doesn’t understand is that my greatest fear is unfolding at this moment, and I don’t know how to handle it.
But his words echo in my mind—healed me earlier.
What does he mean?
“Mara, your body is working to heal itself, but considering how depleted you were, I’m not sure you can do it alone,” he says. “In fact, I know you can’t do this alone.”
“It. Hurts,” I cry. “Why can’t I heal?”
I stare into his eyes and feel the tears fall down my temples like rain, because he’s right.
I can feel the icy tendrils of death taking over my limbs, slowly climbing to the vital parts keeping me living, and as hard as I fight it, I can feel my immortal life slipping away—as if the Reaper is standing over me once more.
“Why didn’t you tell me how exhausted you were?” he whispers.
I cough again, feeling blood pool in the back of my throat. “Because I hated you, and you hate me.”
Hated.
He cups my face, his fingers digging into my jaw, and my vision blurs again. I reach with my opposite hand to find his wrist and hold on, as if I’m slipping away. Another cry breaks from my mouth, and I watch as fresh blood sprays on his face.
“I’ve never hated you. Not once.”
I blink, feeling a chill run through my veins. “Why?”
“I can’t for the life of me figure that out.”
I cough again, splattering more blood around me, and I gasp in a failed attempt to breathe. I notice Crew’s hands quivering against mine. I focus on them and realize that he isn’t shaking—it’s me.
His eyes steady, he breathes out, “You need to drink my blood, Mara. Again.”
I wheeze, feeling the overpowering numbness hit my chest.
Again. He just said again.
My foggy mind travels back to when I cut into his throat.
He tripped me, causing my back to reopen, and even in his fury, he tilted his head, making sure the black blood dripped into my mouth.
I felt calm—I felt better—and that’s why my back healed.
That’s why Damien knew my back would feel better.
Crew healed me, even in a moment of pure rage, and he did so because it was the first chance he had to do it.
Shock hits me, and my hands slip from his, falling against the blood-soaked sheets.
“I will offer you my blood, and it will save you, Mara.” His chest heaves as he watches me slip farther into the darkness. “But you need to know this will bind us. Bind you… to me.”
I stare into his eyes and let the words sink in like heavy rain on dry ground.
“This is a blood bond. An oath—to me.”
I can live, but what he’s asking is something many never do, even in their immortal lives.
I’ve heard of the healing abilities of hybrid blood, how it can change and morph people, but I never thought I’d be lying here on my deathbed needing it.
Even in my fragile state with Bronwyn, she never mentioned blood sharing, as it’s one of the most intimate things someone can offer—it’s their life source.
I’ve known lovers who have let their partners die instead of doing this.
“All you need to say is yes.”
“I can’t,” I stutter.
“Why?” he asks. “Because you hate me? You hate me so much that you would rather die?”
“I can’t be bound to you.” I cough again, choking on my thick blood.
“WHY?” he shouts.
“I just can’t.”
“You can,” he pleads.
My eyes go wild as I try to gasp, but my throat is clogged, and I’ve never been so frightened.
“I won’t do this without your permission,” he begs. “Please say I can do this, or I will watch you die.”
I think about it for only a second. I don’t want to die, but this isn’t something that is taken lightly. Am I okay with being bound to Crew? What does this mean for us? And why am I fucking considering this right now?
“I can’t watch you die, Mara.” Crew forces me from my thoughts. “I can’t handle that.”
“I’m… scared,” I choke out.
A gargled strangling noise fills my throat, and I can taste and smell the blood filling my body.
“I am too,” he rasps. “Don’t make me watch you die. It would… fucking break me.”
“Crew.”
Panic takes over my rational thoughts, and I make a decision I hope I won’t regret, because there's no turning back now.
“Please,” he whispers, and I swear through the daze I see tears forming in the corner of his silver eyes. “Please.”
“Okay,” I get out.
My hands find his once more, and I place his palm to my temple, nodding my head in the slightest yes. For a moment, I think it’s my hands that are trembling, but it’s his this time. He’s terrified, and I suddenly feel less alone.
“Yes.”
He nods, a whoosh of air leaving his lungs, and wastes no time. Even through the haze, I hear a deep growl escape his lips as his body transforms into his true demonic form.
“Just hang on, little angel.”
Razor-sharp teeth break through his gums, and a darkness alters his still-handsome features.
I watch in fascination as he tears the skin from his wrist with no hesitation or fear.
A bark of pain releases from his tense body, and he stares at me, his eyes wild with focus and something else I can’t place.
Black blood falls from his slit wrist, and I try to blink, but I can’t.
Before I have time to react, he forces his wrist to my mouth, unhinging my jaw to allow the flow of his black blood to enter my fading body.
My mouth opens in response, and my body absorbs the thick darkness like a drug.
I clutch my hands around his arm and gulp down the warmth, desperate for the sweet taste to grace my lips.
He uses his other hand to prop my head up, pulling me close to his warm chest.
My eyes close, my limbs hum with pleasure, and as the liquid travels down my throat, I feel my body putting itself back together—like it’s found its missing puzzle piece. The taste of smoke fills my mouth, then the familiar taste of nightshade’s sweet poison stings my tongue.
A groan leaves my lips, and I press my teeth harder against the cut.
“That’s it,” I hear him coach me, teeth gritted through the pain and pleasure. “Go slow, Mara.”
My hands tighten around his wrist as the blood mingles with my own. This is different from the few drops I received the night before. This is an addictive tap, one I never want to live without again. This is Crew—his blood and soul—and his scent and taste fill my mouth as I drink him down.
“Fuck, Mara,” he rasps.
This sweet flow of pleasure settles into my soul, and without it, I know I would remain broken.
Without Crew, I would die.
“Take… what you need,” he whispers.
My lips feel swollen against his wrist, and he pulls me closer, running his hands through my blood-stained hair. My eyes roll in my head, and I can’t help but moan from the intense pleasure of the healing vibrating through my body.
The flow of his blood slows, and my grip relaxes against him, but he doesn’t stop holding me.
“You will be okay, blood slinger,” he mutters. “Rest.”
My wild eyes find him, and I watch his features soften.
He removes his wrist from my mouth, and his blood pools quickly into my collarbone.
I watch as his body instantly heals the wound, and I feel the euphoric pulse of power coursing through mine.
With each passing second, the bullet wound threads back together as if it never happened.
A throbbing pleasure sends shocks to my system, and I force my gaze away from his before I do something I know I’d regret.
His chest rises and falls rapidly against mine, and I can’t bring myself to look at him, although I feel his gaze boring into me.
A black light within my chest hums, and I know it’s Crew.
I can feel him beautifully staining my soul as the bond slowly recreates me into something else—into something that needs him.
Wants him.
Craves him.
“Don’t… leave me,” I beg.
“I won’t,” he whispers.
“No, I’m serious.” I exhale heavily. “Please don’t leave me, Crew.”
Exhaustion weighs heavily on my body as the seconds pass, and I keep my gaze focused on the wall over his shoulder as I fade back into the darkness of sleep. He pulls me into him, his warmth wrapping around my cold body, and I melt against his chest.
“I’m not leaving you, little angel. Not again.”