Chapter 19
LEAH
Marcus slams into the wall of my living room so hard that plaster dusts his shoulders.
He stumbles. My heart tries to wrench itself free of my chest. He’s cold and pale and so covered in blood that it slicks my hands.
Something critical has been cut. I’m not sure his legs are functioning properly. He smells charred.
“Bathtub.”
He flashes us again, directly to the bathroom, then falls heavily into the tub. His head lolls against the tile. Blood seeps to the front of his shirt. His pants are red to the knees, and the blood spreads down before my eyes, like a sick art project gone awry.
“What do you need?” I yank open the bathroom cabinet. “Bandages. I can sew you. I’m bad at it, but I can do a passable job. Or I can get Karina to do a spell.”
“Leah.”
I look back at him from where I’m crouched. His gaze is half lidded. “Slayer. I’ll heal.”
“How?” I whisper. I feel sick from the sight of him covered in blood. I’ve killed vampires before, but some have gotten away with their injuries, and confronted with the aftermath, I feel guilty.
“I’ll go into a healing coma.” His lids flutter.
I desperately need to fix him. I cut him up that first night here. I’ve killed so many. I would have killed him.
He saved me earlier.
Guilt rises, hot and acidic, in my throat.
“You sacrificed yourself for me,” I say.
“I am—” A wet cough. “A paragon of vampire honor.”
“That makes no sense, vampire. You weren’t supposed to do that.”
He pats the side of the tub, smearing blood along the pristine tile. “Come sit with me, little slayer. Give me good dreams for my rest.” One side of his mouth kicks up.
“Are you flirting with me?”
“If you can’t tell, that proves I’m bad at it.”
I stand, my stomach rolling. The blood under him blots out the white ceramic of the tub. Marcus’s massive body is paler than usual. I force myself to look at him clinically.
“Would feeding help?”
He goes still, except for his eyes, which dart over my body. “Yes,” he finally says.
“Fine.” I stalk forward, shedding weapons onto the bathroom floor. Everything in here will need to be washed or burned anyway.
He catches my wrist when I reach the tub. His thumb feathers over my pulse. “Leah, no.”
“How long for the coma?” My voice is hard.
“A week. Maybe longer. If I were human—” He coughs wetly. “I’d be dead by now.” Another hazy smile. “I don’t think I’d mind so much. If you were the last thing I saw.”
My cheeks heat. “Be serious.”
“I’ve had worse.” His thumb continues tracing over my wrist. “I’ll live.”
“Marcus.” I don’t want to think about worse.
His lids drop. His thumb stops. He looks dead, though I know he can’t be.
That does it. “Ready yourself, vampire. I’m coming in.”
I clamber awkwardly into the tub. I have a big bathroom and a luxurious soaking tub, but Marcus is well over six feet tall and more than two hundred pounds.
I’m forced to sink awkwardly to my knees, hovering over his lap.
I shudder at the feel of his blood, cooler than a human’s, pooling around my calves.
His hands come to my hips. His lids flutter.
“Slayer.” That faint smile again. “You cannot heal me.”
“I can.”
“I will hurt you. I’ve lost too much blood. I’ll go into a frenzy.”
“Fine.” A frenzy sounds fine to me, as long as he heals.
His smile reaches his eyes but still looks tired. Panic wings upward through my chest. He squeezes my hips. “You risk too much.”
“I don’t care.” My voice shakes. “Open your mouth.”
He shakes his head, still smiling. “So stubborn.”
I growl at him. Stupid vampire. “So like a man.” I lean and scrabble with my fingers against the cool tile of the bathroom floor. “Unwilling to ask for help. Until you actually die in my bathtub. Have I mentioned I hate vampires?”
He chuckles, then winces. “It never came up.”
My fingers finally close around the hilt of my knife. “You will live.” I slash over my palm, ignoring the stinging pain. “If it’s the last thing I do.” I make a fist over his face. A drop of crimson splashes against his nose, then another on his full mouth. “Drink, damn you.”
My blood paints his lips. The shallow slice on my hand is already healing, and still he gazes at me, something warm and affectionate lingering in his eyes.
Angrily, I turn the knife against my wrist. He catches my hand. “Your wrist won’t be enough.”
I catch sight of the burns at his elbows, right over the scars he tries to hide from me, the ones he’s clearly ashamed of. My stomach rolls.
I toss the knife down and scrape my hair back, off my neck. “Then here.”
His pupils expand. His hands knead my hips. I lean forward. He presses his head back, like he’s scared.
“Leah.”
“Take it.”
“No.”
Damn stubborn vampire.
I plant my hands on his chest and scoot up his body until my neck is tilted mere inches from his mouth. “Take it, damn you. Or I will open the vein myself.”
There’s a rough sound in his chest, before he strikes.