Chapter 11
Eleven
RONAN
T onight is one of those nights when nothing seems to go according to plan.
Halfway through my shift patrolling the south border with the leader of the Red Guard, James Davenport, and his son, Dean, we pick up the scent of humans.
It’s too cold for them to be roaming this late at night and in this area, so naturally, we go investigate.
We track them for a while before we completely lose their scent.
“How is this possible?” Dean asks. “Humans don’t simply vanish.”
“Hmm.” James rubs his face, staring at the snowy ground that, up until this point, had been covered with footprints.
“Maybe they weren’t humans. Is it possible for other creatures to alter their scent?” I ask.
James glances at me, looking troubled. “I don’t know of such a spell. We would have to consult the High Witch.”
A chilly wind blows from the north, making the trees whistle in a spooky manner. My skin breaks out in goose bumps, and not because of the cold.
Dean shivers, stepping closer to his father. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
James looks up and stares at the blowing needles of the pine trees. “Me neither. There’s something unnatural afoot. Let’s return to the castle. We’ll come back tomorrow with a larger party to investigate.”
It’s a sensible plan, so I don’t push to continue patrolling even though I’m curious about the humans who simply disappeared—if they were humans at all.
James and Dean take the lead, and I trail behind them.
As we put distance between us and the spot where we lost track of the humans, my sense of uneasiness lessens.
That is, until another gust of wind brings forth two scents that shouldn’t be anywhere in the area—Cheryl’s and Karl’s.
Fucking hell.
I stop and wait for James and Dean to pick up their scents too, but they continue on as if nothing is amiss.
They’re ahead of me, so they might have missed the breeze that carried the scents.
I should tell them, but I hesitate. King Raphael banished the siblings—if they’re caught near the castle, it won’t end well.
I can’t tell my companions, but I also can’t return to the castle and forget about them. I have to do something.
Before I change my mind, I follow their scents, running fast in the hope that James and Dean won’t notice I’m no longer behind them.
It’s a shameful move to leave them like that—especially after the missing humans incident—but I have to make sure Cheryl and Karl depart the area before anyone else finds them.
It’s a foolish mission. That much I know. Karl was intent on killing me before he was banished. He seemed to believe I committed a huge offense against him, when the only thing I did was develop complicated feelings toward his sister.
Soon I realize where their scents are leading me. They went to see Solomon. But the first familiar left a day ago on a mission for King Raphael, and it’s unlikely he has already returned.
My pulse accelerates as I approach his hut, and I soon understand why. Cheryl is leaning against Solomon’s door, curled up in a ball. Karl’s scent is strong too, but I don’t see him.
“Cheryl?”
She doesn’t move, so I run the rest of the way and drop into a crouch in front of her. “Cheryl, wake up.” I shake her shoulder.
She should be cold to the touch, but she’s hot instead. I press my hand against her forehead, confirming my suspicions. She has a high fever—way too high.
“Come on, Cher. Open your eyes, please.”
“Go away, Ronan,” she croaks. “I want to die in peace.”
“You’re not dying, damn it!” I pick her up and stand.
Then I kick in Solomon’s door so hard, it almost breaks off its hinges. A surge of power hits me at once, freezing me where I stand. It’s invasive, and painful in an indescribable way. Cheryl cries out.
Fuck. I didn’t stop to consider that Solomon would ward his home against a break-in.
I clench my jaw, thinking about how I can get us out of this mess, when the magic recedes and I’m free to move.
I release a sigh of relief until I look at Cheryl’s pale face and notice a difference in her scent that I didn’t pick up on before.
It has bitter tones that I associate with humans nearing death.
My chest tightens to the point that I can’t breathe.
A new sense of urgency takes hold of me.
I cross the threshold of Solomon’s home, risking getting hit by another protective spell.
Mercifully, there isn’t a second ward. I set Cheryl on the rug near the dormant fireplace, then cover her with whatever blanket and fur I can find in the dark.
“What are you doing?” Cheryl asks softly. She pushes the blankets off her body. “I’m too hot.”
Shit. I don’t know what I’m doing. Vampires don’t suffer from fevers. “What ails you?”
“Right now… you ail me,” she whispers.
“Cher, I’m trying to help.”
“It’s too late for that.” She starts to cough, and it’s a horrible sound, but not as terrible as the sound of her heartbeat, getting weaker with each thump.
“Tell Karl… I’m sorry.” She closes her eyes, and her heart stops beating.
“No! Cheryl, wake up.” I shake her as desperation punches me straight in the throat. “Don’t leave me, please.”
Cheryl dying was the inevitable outcome when I refused to turn her into a vampire, but now that it’s a reality, it’s destroying me. I was too stubborn to see that she owns my heart completely. She’s the missing piece of my soul.
Nothing matters anymore but the female in my arms. Damn loyalty, damn the vow I made to my king. I can’t let Cheryl die, not like this.
“You’re not leaving me.” I slash my wrist with my fangs and part Cheryl’s lips, then let my blood drip freely into her mouth. “You need to swallow, Cher. Please.”
She can’t swallow it if she’s not breathing, you idiot.
On instinct, I breathe into her mouth, then press my hands over her chest and pump them down, as if I can force her heart to restart.
I’ve seen it done once, by James Davenport when he tried to save a human child who had fallen into a lake.
This is different, though. Cheryl didn’t drown.
I have no idea if this will help, but I keep repeating the steps.
“Breathe, Cher. Breathe for me. Breathe for your brother.”
With a gasp, her chest rises, and immediately, she chokes on the blood filling her mouth. She coughs most of it out.
“Cher, sweetheart, you need to drink from me.” I offer her my bloodied wrist. “You need to drink as much as you can for it to work.”
In truth, I have no idea if it will work. I’m not a Blueblood. It’s possible my blood isn’t strong enough to turn her into a vampire, or maybe it can’t be done at all, because she’s a wolf shifter. But I have to try, even if it’s the last thing I do.
She sucks the blood pouring from my veins weakly at first. Her eyes are glazed and without their usual spark.
But with each pull, she becomes stronger…
she becomes hungrier. She grabs my wrist and bites me, sucking harder than before.
Her wolf bite is sharp, but I welcome the pain. I’ll bleed dry for her if needed.
And it seems that’s my fate. I’m getting woozy. She’s probably taking too much, but I don’t know how much she needs. If she needs to claim my life to live, so be it. Darkness seeps into my eyes, until I see nothing more.