Page 65 of Sight of Fate

“Do you have a knife or something sharp?”

She hesitates, and I hand her the phone. “Macklin can explain, but I need to hurry. Knife?”

MacKenzie opens her bag and hands me a scalpel, then takes the phone.

I bite my lip and slash my palm, the razor-sharp edge slicing deep with little effort. Ignoring the searing pain that follows, I clench my fist and hold it up to Andros’ mouth until it fills with my blood, then I rub his throat, hoping it will help him ingest it. My other hand slides through his hair over and over. He swallows and I move my bloody hand to his chest. Afraid to hope, I wait for the smallest movement to tell me it worked.

His chest rises and falls. Once. I hold my breath. It does it again. And again, slowly picking up rhythm. I close my eyes in relief. When I open them, he’s staring at me.

His tongue darts out and licks the last trace of my blood from his lips. “What did you do?”

I open my mouth to tell him, but the words never form.

Understanding dawns, but it’s quickly replaced by despair and a simmering anger. “Why couldn’t you let me die?” His voice is raw, as if I took away his one chance to leave this world behind, and it strikes a familiar chord. True despair. I’d asked my mother the same question over and over after I’d woken up.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHARLI

Ihate hospitals. Actually, hate isn’t strong enough. I loathe hospitals. The sterile walls, antiseptic smell, cold tile floors. The cheap vinyl that sticks to your skin when you sit. I wrap my arms around my knees and squeeze them tightly. MacKenzie’s analyzing Andros’ blood to find out what Martin pumped into him so she can create an antidote for it. My blood might have saved him, but the poison racing through his veins won’t let him fully heal. I pluck at my sleeve, wondering if I should donate more blood in case he needs it.

Susan sets a coffee in front of me. Within minutes of us arriving at the hospital, she was here. Handling the paperwork, taking care of me, and stalking MacKenzie for updates.

“Charli, why don’t you let me take you home? Or at least let me get you something to eat?”

Flashes of Martin and what he wanted to do tumble through my head until all I want to do is tear my clothes off and stand under a scalding hot shower. Four others wanted the same. Every time I close my eyes, I see the twisted expression in their bright eyes. I shudder. If it hadn’t been for Andros…

I’m here. Hang on, sweetheart.

Teague?

Macklin comes striding in first. He pulls me up and holds me close, murmuring how fucking sorry he was they weren’t here to save me. I grip his shirt in my fists and cling to him, needing his big body wrapped around mine. A wall against the world. His warmth seeps into my bones, chasing away the cold that I’ve embraced since the attack.

Searing guilt and the bitter taste of regret flood my mind through our connection. Teague. I lift my head to stare at my mate standing beside us.

“It’s okay,” I whisper.

“It’s not,” he adamantly insists in a low tone.

All the blue in his eyes is gone, leaving only turbulent grey in its place. I reach out a hand and place it on his cheek, needing to know he’s real. His eyes briefly close as a fine tremor courses through his body. I can’t imagine him listening to the attack on the phone and being helpless to do anything.

When he opens his eyes, I can barely feel the maelstrom of emotions swirling in him. My brow furrows, wondering why he doesn’t want me to know.

Susan walks up to us. “Andros is still fighting, but until MacKenzie has a working antidote, he’s not going anywhere. I tried to take Charli home, but she wouldn’t leave. I’ll stay here. Why don’t you three go home for a bit?”

Macklin’s arms loosen, but I shake my head, unwilling to give up my safe haven. He shifts until he can pick me up. “Thanks, Susan. I’ll return to relieve you.”

Teague brushes a light hand down my back and takes the lead, getting all three of us back to their place. Macklin sets me on Teague’s bed, but I immediately stand.

“I need a shower.”

“It’s two a.m. You need sleep,” Macklin gently protests. “At least an hour or two.”

Tears slip from the corners of my eyes as I glance away and rub my palms up and down my legs, attempting to erase the feel of Martin’s dirty hands on them. “He…I need a shower.”

Macklin growls, and I cautiously look up and see his deep blue eyes glowing with fury. I flinch. He sucks in a sharp breath and pivots away from me. Not wanting him to think it’s him, I place a hand on his back.

“It’s not… Their eyes glowed. Not the same as yours, but like they could see in the dark,” I rasp, unable to get their bright yellow eyes out of my head.