“You’re not dying, damn it!” I pick her up and stand.
Then I kick in Solomon’s door so hard, it almost breaks off its hinges. A surge of power hits me at once, freezing me where I stand. It’s invasive, and painful in an indescribable way. Cheryl cries out.
Fuck. I didn’t stop to consider that Solomon would ward his home against a break-in. I clench my jaw, thinking about how I can get us out of this mess, when the magic recedes and I’m free to move. I release a sigh of relief until I look at Cheryl’s pale face and notice a difference in her scent that I didn’t pick up on before. It has bitter tones that I associate with humans nearing death.
My chest tightens to the point that I can’t breathe. A new sense of urgency takes hold of me. I cross the threshold of Solomon’s home, risking getting hit by another protective spell. Mercifully, there isn’t a second ward. I set Cheryl on the rug near the dormant fireplace, then cover her with whatever blanket and fur I can find in the dark.
“What are you doing?” Cheryl asks softly. She pushes the blankets off her body. “I’m too hot.”
Shit. I don’t know what I’m doing. Vampires don’t suffer from fevers. “What ails you?”
“Right now… you ail me,” she whispers.
“Cher, I’m trying to help.”
“It’s too late for that.” She starts to cough, and it’s a horrible sound, but not as terrible as the sound of her heartbeat, getting weaker with each thump.
“Tell Karl… I’m sorry.” She closes her eyes, and her heart stops beating.
“No! Cheryl, wake up.” I shake her as desperation punches me straight in the throat. “Don’t leave me, please.”
Cheryl dying was the inevitable outcome when I refused to turn her into a vampire, but now that it’s a reality, it’s destroying me. I was too stubborn to see that she owns my heart completely. She’s the missing piece of my soul.
Nothing matters anymore but the female in my arms. Damn loyalty, damn the vow I made to my king. I can’t let Cheryl die, not like this.
“You’re not leaving me.” I slash my wrist with my fangs and part Cheryl’s lips, then let my blood drip freely into her mouth. “You need to swallow, Cher. Please.”
She can’t swallow it if she’s not breathing, you idiot.
On instinct, I breathe into her mouth, then press my hands over her chest and pump them down, as if I can force her heart to restart. I’ve seen it done once, by James Davenport when he tried to save a human child who had fallen into a lake. This is different, though. Cheryl didn’t drown. I have no idea if this will help, but I keep repeating the steps.
“Breathe, Cher. Breathe for me. Breathe for your brother.”
With a gasp, her chest rises, and immediately, she chokes on the blood filling her mouth. She coughs most of it out.
“Cher, sweetheart, you need to drink from me.” I offer her my bloodied wrist. “You need to drink as much as you can for it to work.”
In truth, I have no idea if it will work. I’m not a Blueblood. It’s possible my blood isn’t strong enough to turn her into a vampire, or maybe it can’t be done at all, because she’s a wolf shifter. But I have to try, even if it’s the last thing I do.
She sucks the blood pouring from my veins weakly at first. Her eyes are glazed and without their usual spark. But with each pull, she becomes stronger… she becomes hungrier. She grabs my wrist and bites me, sucking harder than before. Her wolf bite is sharp, but I welcome the pain. I’ll bleed dry for her if needed.
And it seems that’s my fate. I’m getting woozy. She’s probably taking too much, but I don’t know how much she needs. If she needs to claim my life to live, so be it. Darkness seeps into my eyes, until I see nothing more.
Twelve
CHERYL
ITALY, 1521
Idied. That much I know. When Ronan was holding me in his arms, my life force deserted me. Then I floated away from the pain that riddled my body, but I was not at peace. I couldn’t feel the carnal aches any longer, but my soul burned like it was being ripped apart.
I agonize outside of my body, watching Ronan’s desperation. Despite all the sorrow he caused me, I don’t want to leave him. I reach a hand toward him, but it passes right through his shoulder. I’d do anything to touch him once more.
No sooner does the thought cross my mind than I’m back in my body, his blood filling my mouth. I choke on it, and when I cough, most of it spills out.
“Cher, sweetheart, you need to drink from me,” he tells me as he offers me his open wrist. “You need to drink as much as you can for it to work.”
I don’t understand what he’s saying, but with the first swallow of his blood, something changes within me. I always thought drinking blood would be disgusting, but his tastes likethe sweetest nectar. I suck harder, needing more and more of what he’s offering me.
