Chapter Twenty-Five #2
The only response was the crackling of the fire and the distant sound of bells.
The smoke was so thick that she could barely see, but she picked her way across the drawing room until there was an ominous groaning overhead.
She peered up, realized what was about to happen, and dove out of the way as the ceiling collapsed.
The fall took the air out of her lungs. She took a deep breath, even though it hurt to do so, and yelled, “Jonathan!”
This time, there was a faint response. She scrambled to her feet while squinting her burning eyes.
There was a soft pulse at the back of her mind.
She didn’t know what it meant but took it as a sign that he was nearby.
She focused on the sensation, wrapping her mind around it until it formed a kind of beacon that led her into what had once been a kitchen, where she stepped over a smoldering pile of newspapers before spotting a shape through a hole in the floor.
It was Jonathan, curled on his side in the dirt in the basement.
Her heart leaped into her throat. He couldn’t have been dead. He was a vampire. The sun might kill him, as would a wooden stake through the heart, but fire wasn’t fatal unless his body was rendered entirely to ash.
So why wasn’t he moving?
The ground beneath her suddenly gave way. She plummeted into the basement and landed hard on her side.
Getting back on her feet was more difficult this time.
It felt like a boulder had dropped onto her chest. She managed to rise, only to run into a wall of stone.
Her eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the change in light, so she turned and found her path blocked by flames.
She changed direction again but only made it two steps until she could go no farther.
After splaying her arms, she confirmed she was trapped.
The air vanished from her lungs. She clenched her eyes shut but couldn’t stop the memories of that terrible night from crowding into her mind.
Snowflakes drifted through the broken window and fell on the carpet. She crawled back to the cupboard and wrapped herself in the clean sheets. She was dreaming. That was all. She was trapped in a nightmare and would eventually wake up.
Hours passed, and her stomach growled, but she didn’t move.
It wasn’t until she heard Vincent calling her name that she opened her eyes.
But when she tried to exit the cupboard, the door stuck.
She kicked and screamed to no avail. By the time Vincent had freed her, she was so terrified, she couldn’t speak.
She slammed her forehead against a beam.
The pain made her ears ring, but it was worth it to chase away the ghosts of her past. It wasn’t enough, however, to release her still-frozen limbs.
She could do nothing but stare as the fire raged, just as she’d watched helplessly as Marguerite had murdered her parents.
No.
She wouldn’t let it happen again. She focused on her thumb, urging it to move.
Nothing else mattered, just that one tiny digit.
After several seconds of intense concentration, it twitched.
Then it curled, followed by her other fingers.
The next challenge was raising her arm, a much more complicated process involving several muscles.
By the time she’d managed it, she was drenched in sweat, but she continued until she dislodged what remained of a scorched board near her head.
She was rewarded with the sight of Jonathan on the floor.
All that separated her from him was two flimsy boards. She tugged, but they refused to move.
Sweat dripped down her face. She’d perish inside the house. There wouldn’t even be a proper funeral, as her remains would be charred beyond recognition.
“No!”
Panic led to death. What had Jonathan said when he’d rescued them from the locked room in the museum mere days earlier?
Leverage. She needed leverage. She spun, and her foot smacked something hard.
A scorched wooden spoon. Exactly what she needed.
She slotted the end between the boards and pushed down until she’d pried the top board mostly free.
She tugged it loose, being careful to avoid poking herself on the nails, then squeezed through the hole, ran to Jonathan’s side, and shook him. “Wake up!”
He stared at her blankly.
“Jonathan!” She shook him again, but his head only lulled back and forth, as if he were drugged. She touched his cheek, then recoiled. His skin was scalding hot. That couldn’t have been right. Vampires were naturally much colder than humans.
Unless…
The last phase of mate atrophy involved a fever that always resulted in death. It was the only thing she knew of other than sunlight and a stake through the heart that could quickly end a vampire’s life.
“No…” She pinched his cheek, but he did not respond. “Get up!”
Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. If he would not rise, she’d have to save him herself. She slowly dragged him toward the stairs, when there was a tremendous crash, and something crushed her to the ground.