Chapter Twenty-Seven
The only thing more terrifying than the strength coursing through Felicity’s body was the equally fearsome hunger that clawed at her stomach.
Her new instincts urged her to follow the scent of blood, even though Jonathan was lying limp on the ground.
He’d sacrificed himself so she’d live. She knew this because she’d seen it in his mind.
It wasn’t quite like reading thoughts, more like a scattered impression of images and bursts of emotion.
He expected her to flee the house without him and was relying on the other vampires in his nest—whom he’d likely sensed were nearby—to keep her from slaughtering any humans outside.
The only flaw in her plan was that she had no intention of leaving without him.
But as she grasped his body and lifted him—he was so light!—she kept thinking about how incredible it would feel to sink her teeth into her great-uncle’s throat and hear him scream. Her mouth was so dry, and her stomach felt like it were full of sand.
She realized she had put Jonathan back on the floor and picked him up for a second time.
He was more important than the cravings invading her mind.
According to his previous thoughts, she would have only a few minutes before her fledgling strength waned, and she collapsed.
She had to make the most of every second.
She examined the steps and dismissed them. They wouldn’t hold her weight, much less both of them. Instead, she found a cracked window, bent her knees and leaped, shattering the glass and landing on her feet in an alley.
There was no one else around. She could leave Jonathan here and go searching for prey. Sharp claws contracted around her stomach. She fell to her knees, and Jonathan slid out of her grasp. A second later, three figures melted out of the shadows and gathered him up.
These were vampires. Much older than her. Stronger, too.
God, she was hungry.
Her great-uncle and cousins would not see her coming.
She turned around and started running but slammed into the solid chest of a man. Then, hands clasped around her arms, a wad of fabric was shoved into her mouth, and her vision went black.
*
When she awoke again, she was lying on her stomach on a stone floor, and her throat was parched.
Worse than her thirst, however, were the pungent scent of sour wine, the buzz of insects, and the bitter taste of dirt on her tongue.
She tried to roll onto her back, but every movement sent dull pain skittering across her skin.
It was as if someone had taken an abrasive cloth and rubbed her flesh raw.
It didn’t make sense. She was a vampire now. Her burns should have healed already.
The fire.
She jolted upright and took in her surroundings. To her left and right were heavy, steel bars rising to the ceiling. There was a cot in a corner, upon which a blanket-covered figure rested.
Jonathan.
She crawled as quickly as her aching body allowed, then curled against his back.
If they were going to die, at least they’d do it together.
Why the hurry to perish?
That was his voice inside her head.
A faint thrum of humor trickled through the still-raw connection between their minds. The sensation was incredibly strange, like her consciousness had expanded outside of her physical body, but she latched on to it eagerly because it meant he was still alive.
You’re not allowed to die, she thought.
His amusement reached her again, stronger this time, but it was tinged with pain.
She couldn’t tell if it was her own throat that ached, or his, or both.
Regardless, it was tremendously uncomfortable.
She imagined getting up and pressing her lips to the gurgling crack in the wall, but a disapproving response from Jonathan reminded her that water wouldn’t satisfy her thirst. A brief image of Felicity sinking her teeth into his neck accompanied the thought.
No. Absolutely not. He was so weak, and she’d taken so much of his blood already.
“Do not bite him,” a deep voice said.
She knew who it was, of course, because Jonathan knew. It was the eldest member of Jonathan’s nest, the Earl of Kingsbury. The vampire who had killed Vincent and Uncle Ethan.
He wore a brown Chesterfield coat embellished with gold braids, trousers of the same color, and a black top hat. Evening wear. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver flask, and tossed it between the bars. It landed in the dirt above her head.
“Pick it up,” he said.
When she continued to glare, he exhaled softly and raised his right hand.
A dark-red tendril emerged from his palm and shot through the bars.
It wrapped around the flask and moved it to Felicity’s hand.
Her heart thundered in her chest as she stared at the manifestation of his power.
She’d seen him control his blood but had never come so close to it.
“I had hoped we might make amends,” the earl said.
She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the rapidly dwindling flame of her anger. He’d killed her brother and uncle. It didn’t matter that the hunters had attacked him first or that he was now her elder nest brother. She would not forgive him, and she certainly wouldn’t let him order her about.
Jonathan’s laughter echoed in his mind, followed by a tangled mess of his emotions: frustration that he’d once again needed to be rescued, gratitude that his eldest brother had arrived in time to save them, and guilt for having told her they’d never be anything more than enemies.
I forgive you, Felicity thought, because it was true. Her temporary heartache had been nothing compared to the fear and pain he’d suffered after sending her away.
“Drink, Miss Sorrow,” Lord Kingsbury said. “Or I will make you.”
Not wanting to be touched by that awful snake-like tendril, she grasped the flask, unscrewed the lid, then tilted it against her lips.
The lukewarm liquid inside was terribly bitter, nothing like Jonathan’s blood, and it nearly made her gag.
She tried to drop the thing, but one look at Kingsbury’s stern expression changed her mind.
When she’d drained the container, he smiled.
“Better. I apologize for confining you, Miss Sorrow, but it was necessary. Fledglings are unpredictable, and we could not rely on Jonathan to control you.” He chuckled. “You nearly tore out my throat before we managed to get you inside the cell.”
She did not apologize, even though she remembered little between crashing through the window and awakening on the floor. Her memories were blurry, as if she’d imbibed too much wine.
Jonathan rolled onto his back. “Leave her alone, brother.”
Warmth bloomed in her chest at the sound of his voice. She propped herself up on her elbow to caress his cheek with her fingers. He no longer felt cold. “There you are. I was worried.”
He tilted his head into her hand. “I know.”
The soft creak of weight on the wooden stairs indicated the older vampire’s departure. She hardly noticed as she was too distracted by images streaming through her new bond. She tried to focus on each one, but it was as futile as cupping her hands beneath a waterfall.
She tweaked his nose. “You’re giving me a megrim.”
He snorted. “It’s not my fault you’re a slow thinker.” Then there was an odd shifting feeling in her head, and the onslaught slowed to a trickle.
Don’t leave me. Please. I need you.
Her heart leaped into her throat at the desperation saturating his thoughts. He truly believed she was going to abandon him the same way—she inhaled sharply. He’d loved Marguerite, but it hadn’t been enough to keep her from exerting control over him.
My maker killed your parents because of me.
Felicity laid her head on his chest. “I know.” A week earlier, that knowledge might have made her resent Jonathan, but it was impossible to feel that way when his pain and grief radiated so strongly through their connection.
“I’m sorry you lost her.”
He curled an arm around her back. “She did what she felt was necessary.”
“You don’t believe that.”
He sighed. “No. But if I keep saying it, maybe one day, I will.”