Kitty. Where are you?
There was no response at first, but then he heard her scream, followed by a pulse of fear.
His body moved so quickly that all he saw was a blur. He blazed through his house, confirmed she was not inside, then slammed the front doors open and raced down the street, his jacket flying behind him like a cape, his shirt not even tucked in. All he could feel was the fear coursing through their bond. He took a corner at a speed that caused several newspapers stackedon a table to flutter. When he arrived in front of her shop, he wrenched the door open so hard that it came off its hinges. He chucked it behind him and stepped inside, then came to an abrupt halt.
There were two bodies strewn on the ground, surrounded by blood. The first was that blackguard Mr. Blaylock, his throat ripped open and a chunk of wood protruding from his chest. Unimportant. The second was Kitty. She was curled on her side and uttering a sharp, keening wail that pierced his heart and made his eyes burn with tears. He fell to his knees beside her and lifted her head into her lap.
God, the damage. He was accustomed to violence, but never had he wanted to cast up his accounts more than that moment. Her bodice was so full of blood that it oozed out of her gown when he moved her. Despite that, the weak thrum of her pulse confirmed he had arrived in time.
He kissed her forehead and wrapped his fingers around the handle of the item stuck in her back. Then he jerked the shears out and slapped his hand over the wound.
She screamed, a sound that bounced around his head and thrummed through their bond. The pain was so intense, he was half-convinced that if he looked down, he would see a second pair of silver handles sticking out of his own back.
He had to find something to staunch her wound. He looked around the shop, but everything was still in boxes. The woman he loved more than his entire being was bleeding out in his arms, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“Cordon,” she whispered. Bright-red bubbles formed on her lips. Her eyelids fluttered shut. She reached for his face with trembling fingers.
“Be still,” he said. “I have to find s-something to—” His voice cracked. What was he even thinking? She was too close to death. There was only one way to save her.
He’d refused her request before, but now there was no choice.
He leaned closer and cupped her cheeks. “Forgive me.”
Then he extended his fangs, pulled back his sleeve, and sank his teeth into his wrist. The wound had to be significant because otherwise, it would close before she could drink enough to make the change. When he was certain he had done enough damage, he raised his bleeding wrist to her mouth.
She struggled weakly, but he held her in place until he was certain his blood had trickled down her throat. It wouldn’t take long before the vampirism took hold, and then he would have to defend himself from her.
Slowly, the blood gushing out of his body slowed to a trickle. She blinked, and her irises glowed blue. Her pulse steadied, becoming stronger. Finally, her fangs erupted, cutting into his flesh as the hunger overwhelmed her.
This was the hard part, letting her drink enough to recover her strength, but not so much that he became too weak. It was a balance, made more difficult because he had never turned a human. But this was Kitty, and she would need him to survive her fledgling months.
“Stop,” he said, when he felt she had strengthened, but he was not yet so weak that she could overcome him.
She growled low in her throat. An instinctual reaction. But he was her maker, and as his own maker had power over him, so did he have power over her.
“Enough!” he shouted.
She retracted her fangs but continued to lick his rapidly healing wound, the way a young pup might chew on a stick for comfort. He allowed her a few seconds of this, then grasped her upper arms and drew her to her feet. Her rumpled gown was stiff. She brought her sleeve to her nose, sniffed, then sneezed. “Istink.” She glanced at him. “But you…” She walked into his arms, sighing. “You smell incredible.”
He wrapped his arms around her back and tucked her against him. She was whole, but would she forgive him when she fully understood everything he had taken from her?
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She curled her fingers in his jacket. “Don’t be.”
He could feel her satisfaction, he realized. Their bond had solidified from a thread to a rope that twined about his soul, radiating love and affection.
“What do we do with him?” Kitty asked, kicking Mr. Blaylock.
He chuckled, unable to stop from sharing her exhilaration at her new strength, even though he knew it wouldn’t last. Soon, she would need to rest. Until then, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.
“Your first lesson, fledgling,” he said. “Never be fooled by silence.” He grasped the stool leg, wrenched it free, then thrust it back a few inches to the left. The moment the wood contacted his heart, the vampire’s entire body spasmed, then dissolved into dust.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The following twoweeks were the most difficult of Kitty’s life. Once the initial surge of strength from Cordon’s blood faded, an intense fatigue had come over her. It took three days to venture out of his room, and another four before she could safely descend the stairs without help. The entire time, he remained by her side, encouraging her when she wanted to give up and comforting her when she mourned the loss of her humanity. Eventually, though, her strength grew, and with it, a gnawing sense of restlessness.
“Next,” Cordon said. He sat across from her in his room on a horsehair chair, watching her with unblinking eyes, a bit of charcoal, and a notebook in his hands.
