There’s no way out this time! I thought suddenly. Then another fear occurred to me. Bram’s going to suck me dry right now, and there’s nothing I can do about it!
I could feel my body emptying my life into Bram’s mouth. Tightening his grip around my upper arms, he pierced his fangs even deeper into my carotid artery. My heart thundered in my chest and my poor, ragged lungs burned with the wasted effort of trying to breathe. I could hear Jax chuckling in the background, and if I had never wanted to destroy him before, I ached to do the job now.
“Well, then, I suppose I should leave you both to this sweet reunion,” he said as he headed for the door. I refused to give him any reply whatsoever. Closing my good eye shut tightly, I desperately tried to figure out a way to extricate myself from Bram. I heard Jax close the door behind him along with the even more disheartening sound of him locking it.
“Bram?” I started again despite how badly my chest burned with any attempt to talk. “Please, I know … you can … hear me,” I slowly told him, resorting to my only defense. I had no way to fend him off; and lacking the use of my hands, I was basically a sitting duck. Not only that, but as my life drained away, I could feel Bram growing stronger. His grasp on me was now more of a stranglehold. I could also see the color returning to his skin. None of this, however, surprised me. Fae blood to a vampire was like crack to a coke addict. I knew it would make him stronger and more powerful than any type of human blood. My biggest problem now was my rapidly weakening condition.
“Bram, I need you to … to hear me,” I whispered as spinning stars began to fill my line of vision. I felt myself falling forward, but Bram jerked me back upright, placing one of his hands between my breasts. Slurping with satisfaction, he continued to pull on my neck as my eyelids grew increasingly heavier.
“Bram,” I heard my voice, but it sounded so far away. Seeing only stars in the blackness before my eyes, at least I could no longer feel the stabbing pain in my chest. No, I felt nothing but warmth, and a heavy, wet sensation—as if I’d just been submerged inside a Jacuzzi. One of the swirling stars that fizzed and blipped before my eyes began to grow brighter, and then larger. As I watched it carefully, it began to swallow up all the other stars, steadily burning more brightly until it fully enveloped me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bram
“Bram?”
A sound.
Cocking my head to one side, I listened for it again, half wondering if the noise only existed inside my mind. Of that, however, I was not certain.
A word! Suddenly, the thought occurred to me. The sound I heard was a word.
But I could not comprehend what a word meant. It did not matter to me. The sound, whether it was a word or not, held little consequence to me. All I could realize at the moment was the unparalleled warmth that was now flowing through my empty veins. Warmth. Sustenance that brought with it nourishment, strength, and clarity. The dense fog that was previously shrouding my mind was finally beginning to dissipate. Almost as if it were being blown away by a relentless and determined wind. My thoughts were forming more clearly now, and much more rapidly. I was also becoming increasingly aware of my body—and my previous feebleness was evaporating quickly. I could now move my fingers and toes. It no longer felt as if an enormous weight were caving in on me, burying me into a pit of darkness in which I wanted no part.
“I need you to … to hear me.”
There it was again! That sound. Words. A voice.
Upon further contemplating the intrusive sound, I started to derive a better understanding. If it were truly a voice, then logically speaking, it meant it had to belong to someone. Yet, here, in this empty space and darkness, I was all alone. I could see no one else and nothing else. I was relaxing in the realm of my thoughts, a vacation of the mind, not of the eyes.
“Bram.”
Yes, it was most definitely a voice and that of a woman. The tone was soft and husky. There was something about it in particular, something that instantly flooded through me with blazing heat. It was a familiar voice that immediately sent me to a wonderful place where I felt light and good.
Bram. Bram. Bram. The voice echoed in my head, growing stronger, and louder.
My name! I concluded happily.
The image of a woman suddenly appeared behind my closed eyelids. I wanted to embrace the very projection of her, despite it residing strictly in my mind’s eye. Fantastic sensations of contentedness and radiant warmth began increasing within me exponentially. The woman was undeniably the most beautiful female I had ever beheld. Honey-colored hair framing a heart-shaped face, and skin the color of fresh cream. Judging by her round, high cheekbones, pert nose and large eyes, she almost appeared childlike. But as soon as I beheld the emerald depths of her enticing, magnificent eyes, any ideas of her possessing a childlike innocence vanished. Her eyes reflected hard-earned knowledge, gained from actual experience. Their haunting, verdant depths had been shaped by a harsh reality, inured by the life she had chosen to lead. And, yet, throughout everything she had witnessed, and all the horror she had seen, her eyes had not lost their hopeful luster, nor the goodness that once existed deep inside them.
“Dulcie,” I whispered. Hearing her name on my tongue, my eyes suddenly fluttered open. It took a moment or two for them to grow accustomed to the brightness of my surroundings. Eventually, I found myself in a room that was artificially illuminated by lamplight. My gaze was drawn to a wall that appeared to be twenty feet or so away from me. There was a painting upon the wall of an English landscape. It took me a few seconds to recognize the painting, and then the room surrounding it. But when my memory returned, I knew the painting, the room, both belonged in my chateau.
I was home.
I was gradually becoming aware of myself and my present surroundings, as if I were awakening from a deep and encompassing dream. At the feel of a delicate weight in my lap, or perhaps it was merely pressure, I glanced down. It took me less than a second to recognize the naked body lying there. Her tiny, little face was bloodied, bruised and swollen, and her arms were pinned behind her back with iron cuffs.
As soon as my realization that this trampled and abused creature was Dulcie, my Dulcie, I could not contain my shock and anger. Finding her as she was, unclothed, I naturally wondered if she had also been violated. That putrid thought besieged my entire being, and I was overcome with so much ire that I began to shake. My jaw instantly tightened and I could feel the points of my fangs jabbing into my lower lip. I did not understand how she came to be in such a terrible state, but I considered my next mission would be to find out what monster treated her with such disdain and disregard.
“Dulcie,” I said out loud, shaking her gently, while also fearing she was no longer alive. Her eyes were closed, and I could see she was not coherent. I could only hope … I dared not allow myself to finish that thought. My poor, addled brain was gradually returning from the precipice of nothingness on which it was so precariously suspended previously.
Dulcie did not respond. In my slight jostling, I caused her hair to fall away from her neck, where I observed two dark holes, each leaking fresh blood. Almost instantly, a sense of grotesque shame began to develop from deep inside me. It painstakingly climbed its way through my gut and eventually lodged in my throat. I was instantly reminded of the human sensation of vomiting, which was an act I had not done in centuries. My nausea was slowly replaced by something even worse, remorse and guilt—two emotions as thick and tenacious as tar.
“No!” I shouted as soon as I realized what must have happened. Of course, I was the perpetrator—I was the one who must have done this to her. “No!” I screamed again, consciously rejecting the thoughts that were storming through my head. I might have drunk her blood, but I was certain I could never have mistreated her in such a merciless way. And the only reason I could have allowed myself to nearly bleed her dry was if I lacked all control, and the bloodlust had completely driven me into a mindless state.
Clenching my eyes
shut again, I tried to banish even the slightest possibility that I could have done this to her. As soon as my eyelashes touched the tops of my cheeks, a book of recent memories suddenly appeared and opened in my mind. I was plagued to relive one recollection after another. I remembered being strapped to a machine, which extracted all of my blood; and being pummeled and manhandled by the same thugs who were once following orders under my command; and being drained to near death and then … and then, depleting the blood of the one woman …
“Dulcie!” I shook her again, this time more violently as my guilt and panic combined until I could not tell one from the other.
If I have killed her, I started to think, but quickly banished the thought. Now was not the time for casting judgments. Dulcie needed me, and there was no time to squander. I had to take swift action.
Turning to Dulcie, I watched her chest rise and fall with the short, ragged breaths she tried to inhale. Her blood, now coursing through my veins, had saved my life. Of that much I was certain; but now I had to give it back or she would die right here, cradled in my arms on the cold, hard ground. At that moment, my only thought, my only purpose, was to save her life.
Of course, I could not return all of the blood I had taken, I cautioned myself. To do so would have put me in the same dangerous state that Dulcie suffered from originally. I could not be brought back to the threshold of the true death, or I would risk draining Dulcie permanently this time. Bloodlust was an inherently difficult thing to control and placing myself back in that battle would have been plain foolhardy.
Looking down at her frail form, I longed for more time. Time was the one ingredient that Dulcie so desperately needed, and yet, it was slipping through our fingers like sand. Lifting my wrist to my lips, I could instantly feel my fangs lengthening. I bit down hard and deep. Blood immediately emerged, bubbling up from the puncture holes. Holding my wrist at Dulcie’s mouth, I sealed her lips around the punctures and squeezed her cheeks together, thereby forcing her mouth open. My blood could heal her … and I was confident that it would.
The only problem now was Dulcie did not respond to my blood offering. She was out cold. And in no time, my own body would begin knitting my small wounds back together again. I could not wait for her to awaken eventually. I adjusted my weight, moving with the utmost care very slowly and deliberately. I did not want any of my movements to further injure her.
I kept my wrist at her lips and waited for the blood to fill up her mouth, allowing gravity to take it down into her throat. I used the two forefingers on my other hand to massage her throat in brisk strokes, coaxing the life-giving fluid down gently. It had the desired effect; I could feel her swallowing the red nectar. After her first gulp, Dulcie’s eyes popped open. She appeared to be in shock, and only seconds later, she shut them again. But her lips remained attached to my wrist and she continued to tug at the wounds with long, deep swallows. It almost seemed as though her body recognized its blood and instinctively complied.
I needed only to hold her now … while paying very close attention to my own physical state. I gritted my teeth together and closed my eyes, hell-bent on keeping my true inner nature at bay. It was a virtual balancing act, giving Dulcie the blood that could save her life, and yet not allowing myself the risk of venturing so close to the brink of true death once again.
When I looked back down at my patient, I hoped I was not imagining it, but it appeared that the color was returning to her skin. It was quite difficult to determine whether there was a true change in her pallor, since she was in such a reduced condition. I brushed her hair away from her face as a bolt of angry rage welled up inside me. I felt certain that Jax was the responsible party, and the one who set me up so that I nearly drained her. I was also sure he knew exactly what he was doing when he reunited us. He had to have been well aware of the risks involved. Naturally, I was not in the least surprised by his hatred toward me; but doing what he had to a precious fae woman, half his size, was nothing less than diabolical.
I will have his head, I thought to myself. And I shall make him suffer far greater than the suffering he so ruthlessly inflicted on Dulcie.
I began to grow weaker, and at the same time, the bloodlust I tried to control was slowly creeping in again. I had to disconnect myself from her immediately and hope that the amount of blood I gave her was enough to revive her. With every swallow Dulcie took, I had to stifle my need to bite back, and I had to forcibly avert my eyes from her tender, pale, succulent throat … No! Detaching her mouth from my wrist, it took a few moments for me to regain my composure. I felt Dulcie shifting in my arms and then—grace be to the gods!—a groan escaped her lips. She was not conscious, at least not fully conscious yet. The groan she made was just a small protest at being removed from that which was essentially her only lifeline.
“There now, my sweet,” I cooed down at her. Suddenly, it occurred to me to check her pulse. I reached for her wrist and placed my two forefingers gently on top of her tiny vein and waited. Her pulse was very faint, but I could detect it. Knowing it was there filled me with a wave of relief.
“You will come through this and be all the stronger,” I whispered into her tiny ear. I could not help noticing how her skin seemed to literally be absorbing a rosier hue as my blood filled her veins. Just as her blood brought me back from the brink of true death, mine was reciprocating for her now, nurturing her weakened body and filling her with the essence of life once more. And just as I hoped and willed, the antibodies in my blood collaborated to heal her, exactly as they healed my wounds.
Running my fingers through her hair, I was mesmerized at her recovery. Little by little, the swelling surrounding one of her eyes began to shrink, and the bluish tone of her skin started to blanch to a creamy ivory. I glanced down and wished there was something I could do to free her from the iron manacles that held her wrists together behind her back, but there was nothing I could do. My gaze shifted to her fingers as I noticed how swollen they were, especially the ones on her left hand. I held her hand up by her wrist as far as the shackles would allow and studied it. Gnashing my teeth, the cold vengeance I harbored continued its destructive path, circulating throughout my body and resonating even more dangerously as I realized the extent of harm Jax had waged on her tiny body.
He broke every one of her fingers and quite possibly her whole hand, I thought to myself, seething with rage.
But as I observed her, the fat swelling surrounding her fingers began to subside, and I could hear the sounds of her bones when they reset themselves and began to knit together. I was relieved that she had not yet regained consciousness, as the process of healing her bones would have undeniably caused her a great deal of suffering. Or so I imagined. Healing my bones and wounds did not cause me any pain, but logically, that was probably owing to the condition of my body, which was, for all intents and purposes, dead. Consequently, I no longer possessed the viable nerve endings that a live person would have.
Regardless, I could not contain my satisfaction at knowing the blending of what was left of my own blood and hers was not only resurrecting her but also healing her in the process. Were I an optimistic person, or perhaps one who searched for silver linings in the midst of trouble, I would have to say Dulcie’s spontaneous recovery was definitely a silver lining. Especially after nearly being bled to death by me!
“Bram?”
Hearing her sweet voice, I glanced down and smiled at her inquisitive expression. “Yes, sweet,” I answered as I tenderly ran my fingers down her face. There are no words that could even begin to describe the flood of relief I felt at seeing her dear, little body restored again. “You have been through quite a harrowing ordeal, my brave, little beauty.”
“You’re still alive?” she asked, and her voice sounded raw and throaty. “I’m still alive?” she added before her eyes began to inspect her body. Only then did she seem to notice that she was naked. She glanced back up at me, and the rosy hue that filled her cheeks only hinted at her embarrassment. I was so g
rateful to see life in her face again, that her blushing practically elated me.
I failed to respond immediately, but I quickly removed my shirt and immediately pulled it over her head to cover her as best I could in an attempt to honor her feminine sense of modesty. “If alive is what you call this, I suppose I am,” I answered as I tried to distract her from her present discomfiture.
“You saved me?” she asked, still sounding hoarse as if she were just emerging from a deep slumber.
“Yes, little sweet.”
She did not say anything more but simply nodded, satisfied with the brevity of my words. Then she dropped her head back into my lap. I began running my fingers through her hair again, while trying to devise a way to keep her safe. However, we were still ensnared in a completely unpredictable and dangerous situation.
No sooner did that thought enter my mind when the door opened. Jax and his two goons immediately walked into the room, and I felt my previous sense of optimism swiftly deflate.
“Ah, silly me, it looks like I left the little fairy in here too long,” Jax said cheerfully. He eyed Dulcie with visible joviality in his expression. Then his gaze left Dulcie and landed on me. “I see you’ve adjusted for my mistake,” he said finally.
Blazing with hatred, I could not deny the rage that coursed through me as I shifted Dulcie off my lap. I was very careful as I set her down on the hardwood floor. I noticed she was still lucid, although she did not reply. I assumed she was reserving her comments since her throat was so raw. Her gaze remained fixed on me, almost as if she refused to grant Jax the courtesy of a single glance his way. Or perhaps it was fear in her eyes, fear from being separated from the one person in the room who would keep her safe.