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The clock was ticking, but this guy was such a mystery. I wanted to puzzle him out, because he was definitely not fitting with what I understood vampires to be. “Yeah, sure. ”
“Tell Hugo I’m dead. ” He sighed—it was a light sound, yet it seemed to carry the weight of the world. He sagged then, tilting back his head and shutting his eyes. It was a macabre pose, exaggerating the sharp lines of tendons and jutting bones.
“What the—?”
And then, as though to prove his point, his head began to loll. I watched his mouth fall open and his jaw go slack. The bastard was dying on me.
“Dammit. ” I pulled the huge key ring from my apron pocket. “Not on my watch. ”
Frantically, I flipped through, trying each key. The padlock on his cell was ancient and rusted, looking like something that belonged on a pirate chest.
I sensed a fundamental shift in the air around me—a sudden silence, or blankness, like a candle snuffed. I was losing him.
“You are so not doing this to me. ” I worked faster. I couldn’t fail. I had to do what I could to make the mission a success. If I failed, I might never escape with my life.
No, I would succeed, and more, I would make Alcántara proud. I’d make Ronan proud, too—even from afar, I’d make him see.
The key in my hand was rusted—so rusted it left streaks of brown along my fingers. I slipped it into the padlock and jiggled. Though it didn’t budge, something about the way it’d slipped into place gave me a good feeling, so I jiggled harder, putting my elbow into it. There was a creak and then the crumbling sound of old metal scraping old metal. The padlock popped open.
I slipped it out and pushed open the door—just a crack, though. The creaking was loud enough to wake the dead—I didn’t want to summon them to me, too.
I knelt at Carden’s side. He looked even more gaunt up close, but taller, too—taller than I’d realized. His hair, skin—everything about him was ashen. Bloodless.
Alcántara wanted McCloud alive. And McCloud needed blood.
I’d never fed a vampire before—never heard of an Acari feeding a vampire and surviving—but I worried he’d die on me if he didn’t drink, and fast. I thought of the girl upstairs, feeding the vampire from her neck. I’d do the same with Carden, only from my arm. And unlike the other girl, I needed to keep my wits enough so I didn’t pass out.
After a moment’s hesitation, I unlocked his shackles, needing to stretch as high on my tippy-toes as I could to reach. I’d just have to trust that, once he regained his strength, he wouldn’t do anything ungrateful such as tear me limb from lim
b. I freed one arm and then another, and his body toppled to the ground.
He looked dead. And not in an undead way—he looked really dead. But Alcántara needed him alive, which meant I had no choice.
I took the steak knife and slit my forearm, bringing it to McCloud’s mouth. But he didn’t move, and so I flexed and wriggled, squeezing blood between his lips. “What is your problem?”
Staring at his red-stained lips, I willed them to move. Finally, I spied the faintest twitch. “Come on, come on,” I whispered.
I squeezed my arm harder. A few more drops of blood, and then I saw the tip of his tongue licking at the air. His mouth was stained red with my blood.
And then, like the flick of a light, he was awake, and he attached.
I drew in a sharp breath, fighting the urge to shove him away, to protect myself.
His mouth was clamped to my flesh, so strong, and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer. There was an initial prick as his fangs pierced me, and he bit down, sucking harder. A cool, woozy feeling flooded my veins, like a drug seeping into me from an IV.
His eyes had been shut tight. But now they flew open, and he stared blindly, his gaze lit by fire as he sucked even harder.
Panic would not overwhelm me. I would stay in control. I wasn’t dizzy yet. I could do this. Just a few seconds more. I needed to succeed; I needed him to live.
His flesh plumped, and it was like watching time-elapsed photos of a growing plant, only he was the one who grew. He grew, and his skin became taut with it, until it began to freak me out just how much he was filling out. Even in the darkness, I could see his cheeks become ruddy.
This was no wrinkled elder—this guy had been young when he was turned. Vital. Powerful. He sprang onto his knees to hug me closer, and as he moved, torchlight cut into the cell, illuminating him in a shaft of golden light. His hair gleamed strawberry blond.
It was too much. He was too big, too broad and tall and muscular, and it was draining me dry.
I tugged my arm, but it was no good. He was attached. I’d become too weak, and he was suddenly too powerful. I swatted at him, but my efforts were feeble, laughable. I choked back a sob. I wasn’t going to escape; I was going to die.
But then he froze. He stopped sucking. And just when I thought I’d black out, he shoved me away.
