Chapter 25
NOX
The car moves down the icy road quickly, its tires skidding at every turn. Zeke holds the wheel like it owes him something, his eyes wild and his jaw clenched. The headlights carve shaky tunnels in the dark, but he doesn’t slow down.
I lay slumped against Neo in the backseat, my breath shallow and wet. My coat is peeled open, revealing the gash across my ribs. The cut is deep, and I’m still bleeding. Neo’s hands tremble as she presses a bandage against the wound; her face is pale and streaked with tears.
"Keep pressure!" Zilla exclaims from the passenger seat, twisting around to look. "Don’t let it pool. You need to pack it tight."
Neo nods, barely hearing what Zilla is saying. Her fingers are slick with my blood, and I know her mind is spinning. "He’s cold," she whispers.
"Shocker," I laugh, and it makes me cough two times. "I’m already dead."
"OK, he is joking; he’s going to be just fine. He just needs some fresh blood to heal faster." Zeke says without moving his eyes from the road.
"Fresh blood?" Zilla asks him concerned.
"He needs to feed." Zeke doesn’t hesitate to respond. I would actually love a cigarette right about now.
Zilla turns sharply in her seat. "You’re serious?"
Zeke nods at her once. "Fresh human blood. It’s the only way he will heal fast enough, you know that."
The car swerves around a bend violently, its tires shrieking against the frozen asphalt.
Zeke’s knuckles are white from the pressure he puts on the steering wheel, his eyes are locked on the road ahead, and his voice cuts through the chaos like a blade.
Neo’s stomach twists when she looks down at me, as she sees my clammy skin and shallow breath.
I’m barely able to keep my eyes open to look back at her.
"We’ll find someone," Zeke says, eyes locked on the road. "A drifter, a loner, someone no one will miss."
Neo’s trembling hands tighten around my body, my skin getting colder and colder, and my wound is still leaking warmth into her lap.
"No," she says with a low but steady voice. "He doesn’t need a stranger."
Zilla turns, narrowing her eyes. "Neo..."
"I’m a witch," she says louder now. "My blood is different."
Zeke glances at her in the rear-view mirror, disbelief flickering across his face. "You’d let him feed from you?"
I stir weakly, my voice a rasp. "No!"
She presses her forehead to mine and whispers, "I didn’t ask for permission!"
Neo cradles me, her pulse racing beneath her skin, and she is flushed with fear. The wound in my ribs throbs.
"I’m here," she brushes back my hair. "Take it, take what you need."
My stormy looking eyes flicker open, and I look into hers. "Neo… I can’t."
"You can," she says with a trembling voice. "And you will do it or I swear..."
She tilts her head, exposing the curve of her neck, showing the pulse that beats only for me. Her blood is ancient and potent, laced with magic that calls to me like a song only I can hear. I hesitate, my hand trembling as I lift it to her cheek. "It’ll hurt."
"I know," she breathes.
I lean in, my lips brushing her neck, my breath hot and ragged as I kiss her skin. Then, she feels the sting. Her gasp is caught in her throat as my fangs pierce the flesh, and the world narrows to heat and heartbeat and the pull of something deeper than love.
It is pain for her, but threaded with something electric. Her magic surges, meeting my hunger, flooding me with life. She can feel me grow stronger with every swallow, my grip tightening and my body pressing closer.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, and she holds me there, trembling, tears slipping down her cheeks as power, love and desperation tangle between us.
How am I going to tell her? That feeding from someone and keeping that person alive is… very rare. No, it’s not only rare, it’s impossible. Unless…
Unless she’s truly mine.
Only soulmates can survive the bond that forms through feeding; only they can offer their blood and not be consumed. I remember the first time I sensed her; the feeling called out to me… like hearing my name in a language I don’t fully understand.
She is mine.
And now she offered herself to me freely, without knowing what it means, what it bounds. I can’t ruin her holiday by telling her everything… but I will do it soon after.
I reach out and brush her cheek with the back of my hand. She leans into it, unaware of the storm behind my eyes.
I am so sorry, but you’re mine.
The fight with the Krampus left me drenched in blood and soot, my body streaked with claw marks and ash.
Neo guided me to her bathroom with Zeke’s help, his arm steady under my weight. Without a word, she filled the bathtub with steaming water, the scent of pine, blood and smoke hanging in the air. Zeke left shortly after.
I sank down into the hot water, my shoulders rigid. Neo knelt beside me, dipping a cloth into the water. Carefully, she began to wipe away the grime and blood, with each stroke almost reverent.
"You don’t have to..." my voice was rough.
"Shut up," Neo muttered, though her tone carried more concern than annoyance. "You look like hell. Let me do this."
The first sweep swept away a streak of dried blood, the water rippling as the filth dissolved into it.
With each wipe, more of the battle clung to the cloth—ash, sweat, and the black ichor of the Krampus…
until the once-clear water grew murky. The steam that rose from the bathtub carried the scent of iron and smoke; it curled into the air like the ghosts of my fight.
Neo worked in silence, her movement steady—almost ritualistic, as if she were scrubbing away not just grime but the weight of my actions.
By the time she wrung out the cloth for the last time, the water had turned a deep, cloudy gray, shadows swirling in its depths. It was as though the basin itself had absorbed the violence of the night, holding it so I no longer had to.
I sat still, my eyes closed, letting the darkness drain into the water.