Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sage
Two more nights working at Cole's. No trouble, just banter, music, and decent tips. Not enough to buy a car, of course, so Kayden drives me home again. Asher's out with Astrid on some business I don't ask about.
Kayden is focused on the road, expression more serious than usual. I pretend to be interested in what's outside the window.
Neither of us mentions that the druid is coming tomorrow.
Technically, that makes tonight my last one here.
Technically.
We haven't talked about it. But the silence in the car says everything. It's not the comfortable kind, but heavy with everything unsaid.
When we step inside the house, Kayden's hand catches my wrist, fingers warm and firm. "Are you tired?" he asks, his voice low. "Or would you have a glass with me?"
I am tired. Bone tired. But something in the way he asks—like he needs it—makes me want to say yes.
"Sure," I say softly. "But no beer or whiskey. I've been inhaling those fumes all night. Wine. Red, if you have it."
He grins, the smirk returning like muscle memory. "Classy. Red it is. I'll join you. Glasses are in the top cupboard. I'll grab the wine from the cellar."
He disappears. I grab two dusty glasses and start rinsing them in the sink. The water is lukewarm, the house quiet. It feels domestic and peaceful.
Then I hear his footsteps again. I turn to see him holding up two bottles.
"Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot," he offers. "Or both."
I smile faintly, but the moment breaks as I fumble a glass, wet fingers slipping. It shatters against the edge of the sink.
"Shit," I mutter.
Pain slices through my palm, sudden and white-hot. A shard must've cut deep. Blood rushes out in fast, red ribbons. I curse again and clamp my other hand over it.
"Damn it. This might need stitches."
Then—
Another crash.
I turn. Both wine bottles lie shattered on the tile, their contents bleeding into a dark red pool at Kayden's feet. But it's not the wine I'm worried about, it's his eyes—dark and dilated. His fangs are fully dropped, glinting faintly in the dim light.
No.
"Kayden?" I say carefully.
He doesn't move. Doesn't blink. His gaze is locked on my hand, the blood still dripping down my wrist into the sink.
"Kayden," I repeat, louder, firmer, but my voice cracks. The fear hits like a drop in air pressure.
And then he's on me.
It happens in a blink. I'm slammed back against the wall, my injured arm yanked up.
"Kayden!" I scream, but it's like he can't hear me.
I kick, twist. Nothing works. His grip is like iron. His focus absolute.
And then—
Pain. White-hot.
His fangs rip into my wound. It's not a gentle bite, but a tearing sensation that makes me sob out loud as blood gushes straight into his mouth. He drinks like he's starving.
He ignores my cries, silent, focused on feeding, as if it's not Kayden here with me, but a creature without self-consciousness who just looks like him.
"Kayden, please…" I whisper. It's all I can manage to say now.
But it lands.
He jerks back like I hit him. Staggers, eyes wild, blood coating his mouth and dripping down his chin. He stares at his red stained hands, then at me.
Something in him breaks.
"I—" he chokes. His voice is hoarse. "I'll call my brother."
And then he's gone. Just a blur of motion and air.
I slide down the wall, breathing ragged, hands shaking.
I press a cloth against my wound—anything to slow the bleeding, to feel in control again.
I must've blacked out for a moment. Or longer.
When I jolt back, there's a sting in my arm and a puddle of blood glistening beside me on the tiles. The cloth I was using is soaked through, lying limp in my lap. I fumble for another one, press it hard against the wound, and try to push myself up.
I stagger, barely catching myself on the counter. The pain pulses like it's synced to my heartbeat. The blood loss from the bite is too much. This isn't going to get better on its own, even with my enhanced nymph healing.
Then the front door slams open.
"Asher," I whisper, my legs buckling.
He's already moving, taking in the shattered wine bottles, the red puddles on the floor, the streaks of my blood everywhere. His gaze lands on me—pale, trembling, clutching my arm—and raw concern flashes in his expression.
"Sage," he breathes, crossing the room in two strides. He catches me just as I start to slip again, his arm anchoring around my back.
I search his face, trying to read past the calm exterior. For a second, I expect the same hunger I saw in Kayden. But he's steady and focused.
At least for now.
"I need stitches," I murmur.
He nods once and scoops me up. "Hold tight."
Then we're outside, wind against my face, and the blur of motion around us until we're in his car. I clutch the cloth against my wound, trying to breathe through the nausea.
"Kayden found me. Said you needed help," he says, one hand already on the wheel, the other checking the mirrors before speeding off. "What happened?"
"I broke a wine glass. Cut myself." I wince as the movement jostles my arm. "Kayden… he lost control."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't say anything.
"Where are we going?"
"The hospital," he says.
"I don't have insurance. And I can't register at the hospital, it'll leave a trace," I say quickly. "And I don't know how… my blood might be different. I don't want—"
"I'll handle it. Eira's on call tonight. She can take care of you off the books."
He makes the call, voice clipped and efficient. A few sharp words, then silence. He shoves his phone back into his pocket a little harder than necessary. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
"Asher—?"
"Would vampire blood help?" he asks, not looking at me.
I shake my head. "No. It's toxic to nymphs. At least… I was told that. Never tested it."
He nods tightly and presses the accelerator.
A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, and I notice how rigid his jaw is. The shallow rise and fall of his chest. Something's wrong.
"Asher… are you all right?"
His voice is tight. "I'll be fine. It's just… your blood. For some reason, it's harder. Even for me."
That sends a chill through me. He's always in control, calm, and collected. But right now, he's sweating, barely holding on from the look of it.
I hold the cloth tighter. Ten minutes stretch long and jagged.
When we finally reach the hospital, Asher pulls into the side lot. Eira's already waiting, a wheelchair at her side. I want to scoff, say it's overkill, but when I try to step out, my knees give. Eira catches me before I hit the ground.
She offers Asher a curt nod. "I'll take it from here."
He doesn't argue, turns back to the car and drives off. And I'm left wondering what it means when even Asher has to fight the urge.
Eira wheels me in with ease, navigating the corridors. No one stops or questions us. Just a nod from the night staff and we're through.
She guides me into a small, dim hospital room and closes the curtain around the bed. Everything is done with quiet precision. She helps me lie down gently, then moves with the silent rhythm of someone who's patched up more people than she could count. She lays out gauze, thread, antiseptic.
Sterile light, sterile smell. I hate it.
When the local anesthesia kicks in, she starts stitching. I stare at the ceiling. I don't want to see the blood. Not after tonight.
"I'm guessing vampire blood doesn't work to heal you," she says, voice calm and steady as her fingers move. "Since you've got two healthy donors at your disposal."
"No. It's supposed to be toxic to someone like me." My throat is dry. "Have you ever heard anything about that?"
Eira shakes her head slightly, focused on the wound. "No. But I don't know much about nymphs. They don't usually end up in hospitals." A pause. "You know, Asher donates blood regularly. I've used it to heal dozens of people here. Donna and Tomas, too, sometimes."
I glance at her. "And there are no side effects?"
"Not that I've seen," she says. "It works. If more vampires were willing to donate, we could save a lot more lives."
It makes sense. Darius had researchers studying vampire blood for decades. I was told it doesn't affect humans much, unless there's intent behind it. You can't turn someone by accident. But they never explained how it works on other supernaturals.
They didn't tell me everything.
I glance at her. "Wouldn't that be nice? If they volunteered... instead of people like me chaining them up and bleeding them dry?"
Her smile is soft, but her eyes are sharp.
"It would be nice, yes. But we don't live in an ideal world.
And most vampires aren't like Asher." She finishes the last stitch, then adds gently, "I don't blame you.
Everyone here has shadows in their past. Yours just came with blood transfusions and a price tag. "
She discards the gloves and moves to prep an IV. "Would this work for you? Any idea?"
"I think so," I say. "Never needed one before. But I'm still mostly human."
When the cool drip of saline hits my veins, I feel it immediately. Artificial and clean. My body starts to settle.
"Blood pressure's coming back up," Eira murmurs, checking the monitor. "You're stabilizing."
I nod and sip the water she hands me, swallowing the vitamins and supplements without comment.
She glances at her phone. "Would you like to stay with me tonight?"
I frown. "Did Asher ask you to offer?"
She nods. No attempt to lie. "He's worried."
I sigh. "I'm not bleeding anymore. I'll be fine. Unless he's going to be stubborn about it, I'd rather go home."
Eira smiles faintly. "All right. I don't think he'll push it. I'll drive you back."
Home. The word feels strange again. And still, I want to go—back to the house, back to them.
It would be smarter to stay away. To run. They're vampires, and tonight proved what I was afraid of—Kayden most of all.
And yet… I don't want to run, even if that's the sensible choice. Something in me shifted, and I don't know how to shift it back.