S will slit your throat if you try it.
Three dots appear and disappear several times, and I stare at the screen, transfixed, waiting for him to tear me a new one. When only two words pop up on the screen, I’m relieved enough to manage half a smile.
I’m in.
A few minutes later, Mason appears in the doorway, looking determined, but nervous. I give him a reassuring nod, though it’s transparent as fuck that I’m second guessing myself about the idea now that he’s actually here.
“It can’t hurt anything,” he whispers, alleviating some of my guilty conscience. “Someone that’s already been turned can’t be turned again, so worst comes to worse, she’ll just be in the same position as she is now.”
My fangs have already started to descend while discussing it, so if my instincts are worth anything, it’s a decent theory. Since this woman appeared in our house, there’s been little else I’ve thought about. Just her being here, yet... not. Like there’s something missing, and every answer circles back to her holding the key.
Sitting beside her on the bed, Mason gently wraps an arm around her shoulders, lifting her upright and meeting my eye to search for any sign of wanting to back out. When I don’t utter any protest, slipping from my chair to sit on her other side, he opens his mouth, fangs flashing in the evening light. Matching him, I wrap an arm around her lower back, bringing my lips to the juncture between her shoulder and neck. Striking quickly to lessen the pain, her blood coats my tongue, absolutely intoxicating. I have to shove past the desire to keep pulling from her throat, switching to the venom necessary to pump into her system, binding her to me as much as the others.
Her heartbeat flutters, the pulse tangible on my tongue, and I reluctantly force myself to withdraw my fangs. Closing the wounds with a swipe of my tongue, I wait until blood no longer beads at her neck before Mason and I carefully lay her back on the bed.
Enraptured and breathing heavily, the taste rolling over my tongue as I commit it to memory, my attention is fully focused on her. I scan her face, searching for any sign of change, whether it’s for better or worse. Seconds turn to minutes and all the while, she remains unmoving, unnaturally still. The sire bond begins to click into place, making this as hard on us as it’s been for Stryker to cope with. Sharing a worried look with Mason, he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Give it time, it’s all we can do,” he decrees, though he stares down at her like his heart is already breaking, knowing as well as I do that she might not wake up. “She’ll be okay. She didn’t survive all of that, only to die here.” A flash of pain crosses his face, the only changed one among us and knowing better than anyone what’s in store for her. “Hell, next thing you know, she’ll be kicking our asses for ruining her life.”
Chapter 4
Risa
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Mind foggy, I don’tbother attempting to open my eyes, stuck in the state of clinging to a fading dream that I already can’t remember. As reality starts to creep in, chasing away the bliss of unconsciousness, I keep my eyes shut out of pure denial, not ready to face the world.
Because while I can tell I’m lying on a bed, it’s far too comfortable to be one in a hospital. The expected pain hasn’t crept in, so my muddled thoughts are very likely from being drugged. Which means that somehow, that asshole still won despite the car wreck, and I just want to lie here in stubborn ignorance for a little while longer.
Beginning to take stock without giving away that I’m awake, I twitch my toes, finding my shoes gone and a thin blanket covering me. Using that coverage, I subtly skim my fingers over myself, beyond relieved that I’m still in my running clothes. More nervously, I run my hand over my bare stomach, trying to get a sense of how bad the damage is. The metal’s been removed, but there isn’t so much as a bandage, let alone stitches, or even a scar. The drugs might be dulling my senses, but I can still feel the pressure on my fingertips, my skin. Yet I can’t bring myself to risk looking.
Pushing beyond myself, I strain my ears to pick up anything that could help me get a sense of where I’m at or working with. If there’s a highway nearby, then I can try to make a break for it and flag someone down, or maybe at least prepare myself for how many people are here that I’ll have to get through, somehow.
Confused, I remain absolutely silent, but the heartbeat thudding in my ears is far too slow to be mine, which I can feel thrumming in my chest. There’s a twisting in my gut, urging me towards the sound, and the longer that I remain here, unmoving, the more adamant the impulse becomes until it’s almost unbearable to ignore.
Bracing myself with a deep breath, I open my eyes, blinking rapidly as the room swims into focus, everything spinning. As soon as things level out, my gaze automatically swings in the direction of the heartbeat, finding a man sitting in a chair beside the bed. His dark hair is cropped short, the light of his phone reflecting in his unusually golden eyes. Almost like he can sense the fact that I woke up despite not moving to give myself away, his attention snaps to my face, mouth slightly parted.
