Chapter 12
Every hue of the rainbow dances across the wooden table. Wedged between my thumb and index finger, the glass snowflake twinkles in the morning light that spills through the window behind me.
Vibrant and full of light, just like the vampire female I can’t get out of my damn head. It’s been over a week, and Vanessa still dominates my thoughts. Both when I’m awake and sleeping.
After New Year’s, I couldn’t bear to look at the shabby little tree in my living room anymore. Every time I walked by it, I was reminded of how she had used the same lights to tie me to my bed and rode my cock like it was her own personal toy.
So I shoved the lights and decorations back in the box and threw the tree outside to be chopped into firewood. But, like a thorn in my side—nagging, poking, and prodding—mon soleil still made her presence known in my life.
In the form of this little snowflake ornament. Clutching it in my palm, I scrub my other hand over my face.
Somehow, the twine she’d used to secure it to the top of the tree broke, and it found its way under the edge of the couch.
This morning, on my way out of my cottage, it caught the light—and my attention. As though it was lit from within or spelled with pixie magic, it called to my fingers until they were wrapping around it and shoving the fragile glass into my pocket.
My heart aches as I trace the intricately sculpted arms. I can’t help but wonder if I missed my chance at happiness by letting her slip through my fingers. She blew in like a snowflake and turned my quiet little life upside-down.
Does she feel the same? Like a piece of her soul is missing?
The barn door slides open, and I shove the ornament back into my pocket when Maggie and Viktor step inside. Instead, I fill my hands with the bottle of syrup I was labeling… before a certain pale-haired minx consumed my thoughts.
Thick, translucent bourbon-brown syrup shifts inside the bottle when I run my thumb along the edge of the sticker, securing the label in place. My ears twitch as my boss and her mate approach, Maggie’s voice echoing across the open barn. “Did she call yet?”
Maggie uses the space as a warehouse and storefront for the products sold on the orchard. During the winter, I spend my time here packaging my syrup and candies.
Setting a box on the desk in front of me, Viktor sighs. “No, sweetheart. It’s still early. I’m sure she’s just resting.”
I wedge my thumb under the edge of the lid, prying the top of the box open.
Inside, the gold-embossed Golden Drizzle labels stare back at me.
The name Maggie suggested for my syrup is ridiculous, but it flies off the shelves come harvest season.
“Who?” Before I can bite my tongue, the question pops out.
Two sets of eyes slice to me, and I fight to keep the scowl off my face, focusing instead on smoothing a label onto the next syrup bottle. I run my thumb across the equally ridiculous slogan on the bottom of the sticker. In raised gold script, it reads, “It’s sap-tacular!”
“Vanessa,” Maggie answers. “She got sick yesterday during the Bielski family gathering.”
“How sick? Is that even possible?” I’m on my feet before my brain registers what’s happening.
All eyes fall on Viktor as the shrill ringtone of his phone cuts through the air.
Vanessa’s name flashes across the screen when he sets it on the desk.
Swiping his finger a few times, he answers the call and puts it on speakerphone.
Even in those few seconds, my body is trembling, pushed into overdrive at the thought of my mate being alone.
What if she’s hurt? What if she’s scared?
Why do you care? You’re the one who made her leave.
“Ness? You there?” Viktor speaks close to the phone. “You’re on speaker. Mags and Jean-Luc are here.”
A muffled cough, then clattering and retching.
“Mon soleil.” I grab the phone and hold it to my face, ignoring the furrowed brows and scrutinizing eyes on me. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“Luc? I don’t feel good.” Her voice is so quiet and broken, my heart bleeds at the sound.
Without hesitation, I say, “I’m on my way.
Just hang on.” Heart pounding in my ears, I end the call and shove the phone at Viktor, whose face is painted with utter confusion and shock.
“I’ll explain later. Text me her address and phone number.
” I grab my truck keys from the drawer and all but sprint to the door.
“Please,” I add at the last second, swinging a pleading glance over my shoulder.
After breaking every speed limit known to human and monsterkind, I screech to a stop in front of Vanessa’s quaint brownstone. It’s nestled in a row of identical buildings in an upscale area of the city. The snow crunches under my hooves as I rush to her front door.
Pound. Pound. Pound. The door rattles under my fist.
“Vanessa! It’s me. It’s Luc. Open the door.”
Nothing.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I press her contact and hold it to my ear. While the line rings, I try the doorknob, but it doesn’t budge. Locked.
At least she’s safe.
“Viki?” Her muffled voice is like an angel’s song. She’s alive. That’s a plus.
“No, mon soleil. It’s Luc.”
“Luc? What are you—” Her words cut off abruptly on a retch.
Bracing my shoulder against the door, I gauge how easy it’d be to break it off the hinges. It bends slightly under the force. “Baby, listen. I’m coming in. I’ll buy you a new door.” Before she can answer, I end the call and stuff my phone into my pocket.
I suck in a breath, filling my lungs to maximum capacity. Lining my heels up with the edge of her porch, I dip forward and… go for it. My shoulder collides with the door. The hinges give way, and I topple into Vanessa’s home.
The only thing keeping me or the door upright is my horns, which are embedded in the pale-blue painted wood.
“Crisse. That could have gone better.” But I’m in.
Wiggling my head, I’m careful not to splinter a horn when I dislodge them.
One hinge is still intact, so I swing the door shut, shoving a little to get it to stay closed.
The chain hangs limp, broken in the middle, and the deadbolt is useless, ripped from the doorframe. I’ll have to replace it all once I make sure Vanessa is okay.
“Mon soleil.” My gaze sweeps over the space, searching for flowing snowy tresses and porcelain skin.
To my right, a staircase leads to the second level.
To my left, there’s a small living room attached to the kitchen.
In front of me, a faint glow illuminates the hallway leading toward the back of the house.
Hooves moving on instinct, something tells me I’ll find Ness this way.
Nestled at the end of the hall is a small bathroom.
I’m moving before I can fully register the sight before me.
Crimson smears the bowl of the toilet. Crumpled on the hard tile in front of the mess is my vixen.
Eyes pinched shut, her mouth arches downward in a grimace.
Shivers wrack her thin frame. The rapid rise and fall of her chest reassures me that she’s breathing.
On the floor next to her, her phone lays with the screen still open to our call.
“Mon soleil.” As carefully as a big brute like me can, I wedge an arm under her and lift her to my chest. Her skin is ablaze, and sweat beads along her brow and upper lip.
Dark-blonde lashes flutter, the lids opening to reveal bloodshot eyes. Hazy and feverish, like she can’t focus, they drift around my face. To my surprise, her dry, chapped lips split into a weak smile as her eyes close again. “Luc. My curmudgeon.”
I can’t help but smile at the stupid nickname. Although, the hoarse rasp of her voice has my lips pulling down. Unrelenting pressure squeezes around my heart when she winces, like it’s painful for her to speak.
Her pain is my pain, and I don’t like seeing her so broken. So fragile.
“Shhh. Je suis là. I’ve got you, Ness.” Lifting her in my arms, she sighs and nestles into my chest. I bring her to the living room, where I lay her on the couch with a pillow under her head.
Vanessa’s eyes stay closed the whole time, and I’m not sure she’s totally conscious.
Tremors vibrate through her slender body even though her skin is scorching.
How do I take care of a sick vampire?
So I do what Mama would have done when I was a boy. In the kitchen, I gather a large bowl from one cupboard, a glass from another, and a washcloth from the drawer. I pause when I turn to the sink.
Large and purple, a dildo rests on top of the drying rack. It’s not just any dildo, though. Specifically, the girth and length seem a little too close to my cock, which has perked up in interest as I lean closer to the toy.
A minotaur toy. Why would Vanessa have this specific toy?
“Luc?” Her voice is so soft, I almost miss it.
With a shake of my head, I ignore the toy, filling the glass and wetting the washcloth with cool water. Even though I swear the thing watches me the whole time. “I’ll be right there.”
Supplies in hand, I head back to the living room.
Once the washcloth is draped across Vanessa’s forehead, and her breathing has evened out, I pull my phone from my pocket. Swiping to the only person who can help, I tap my thumb on the phone icon and hold it to my ear.
“Is she okay?” Viktor answers on the first ring, like he was waiting for my call.
I gingerly lower my weight to the edge of the coffee table, scrubbing a hand over my mouth and scratching the scruff along my jaw.
“Je ne sais pas. I had to break the door down because she wasn’t answering.
She vomited a lot of blood. I think she has a fever.
She’s in and out of consciousness.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, my voice drops to a croaked whisper.
“I don’t know what to do, Viktor. How do I make her better? ”
“I have a theory based on what I found online. But I need you to confirm my suspicions, Jean-Luc. Can you do that?”
I already know what he’s going to ask. My harsh sigh warms my fingers where they curl around the phone. “I’m her mate. Is that what you were going to ask?”
His answering tone is even, absent of any judgement. “I assumed as much. And she fed on you?”
“Oui. On Christmas Eve. It was an emergency situation.” Leaving out the part about my rut and our tryst in the sheets, my gaze drops to Vanessa.
Dry, cracked lips are parted as her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.
There’s a crease between her delicate eyebrows, and my fingers itch to smooth it away.
Viktor clears his throat. “I’m not judging. You’re both adults, and more than capable of making your own decisions.”
A grunt of affirmation rumbles in my chest. “So what do we do now?”
“Everything I’ve found points to blood poisoning.”
Blood poisoning? Nausea coils low in my stomach like a python waiting to strike. “Will she be okay?”
“What’s happening to Ness is rare, but not unheard of. A vampire’s body can reject other blood sources once they’ve found a mate. She needs your blood, Jean-Luc. It’s the only thing that will make her better.”
I don’t wait for him to say more. I know what I need to do. Ending the call, I stand and shuck off my coat. As I roll up the sleeves of my well-loved flannel shirt, I contemplate how to get Vanessa to feed in her current state.
She weighs practically nothing when I lift her upper half and slide onto the couch.
Gently, I lay her back, so her weight is propped against me.
“Mon soleil.” I stroke the sweat-slicked strands of white silk away from her face.
She’s paler than normal, purple bruises under her eyes, and cheeks concerningly sunken. “I need you to feed, Vanessa.”
When I hold my wrist in front of her mouth, she doesn’t move. Calisse.
Bringing my wrist to my mouth, I do the only thing I can think of to get her instincts working—I lick the skin, coating it in a thin layer of my saliva. Maybe whatever pheromones are in my blood are also in my spit, and the scent will get her to take the bait.
I lower my wrist to her nose, rubbing some of the saliva above her upper lip. Her nostrils flare and her mouth opens. In the blink of an eye, her fangs sink into the flesh on my inner wrist.
A burst of pleasure explodes at the base of my spine. “Oh, fuck.”
Each pull of her lips brings some of the color back to her skin, but each pull also sends my cock into a frenzy. It hardens to stone, and a steady stream of pre-cum leaks into my jeans.
Slamming my eyes shut, my fingers curl around the arm of the couch. Fabric tears and wood splinters under my death grip as I breathe through my nose. Fuck, I’m gonna have to buy her a new couch, too.
Somehow, I hold on to the last shred of my dignity and don’t come in my pants. I don’t open my eyes until Vanessa’s fangs retract from my skin and the soft glide of her tongue seals the wound. My head tips down, gaze glued to her.
Beneath her closed lids, her eyes track from side to side at a rapid pace. She moans, half pained and half pleasured.
Her skin burns my palm when I brush it across her forehead. Even though her cheeks are less sunken, her skin is still blotchy. The apples of her cheeks are still missing their usual pink glow.
Just give her a little time, my gut tells me. You are what she needs right now. She’ll be okay.
Banking all my hope on the few gulps of blood she managed, I lay her back on the couch. After replacing the washcloth on her forehead with a fresh one, I head out to my truck for my toolbox. I need something to keep me busy so I don’t worry myself sick.
She’ll be okay. She’s strong and young. Young for a vampire anyway.
Not to mention, she’s stubborn.
I work quietly on the front door, not wanting to disturb Vanessa.
Luckily, I’m able to get one hinge aligned, so the door hangs straighter.
A little elbow grease, and I’m able to get the handle lock working, too.
My protective instinct is soothed, knowing that even if Vanessa kicks me out when she wakes up, at least she’ll have a somewhat secure front door.
My horn holes aren’t deep, and they don’t puncture all the way through the wood, so there’s no risk of intruders. The gasket along the bottom is still sealed, so it’s keeping the bitter January air out. Her place is still nice and toasty.
It’ll have to do. I owe her a new door… and a new couch, but everything else can wait.
I settle onto the couch, Vanessa’s head cushioned by my stomach, and click on the TV. Now I wait for my sleeping beauty to wake.