Page 10 of Bonded Through Bite

Every heave makes the pain worse and worse and worse.

Sobs break free and clog my breathing. I cling to the toilet and fight to pull in some air, until finally, there is nothing left to throw up, and the dry heaves allow more air to filter through.

It takes a while to even my breathing out enough that I can reach for the toilet paper and blow my nose. It’s then that I realize Rafael is holding me up. I would be mortified if I had any energy left, but I only have enough to flush the toilet before slumping against it again.

“Want some water?” he asks, tension ringing clear in his voice.

This wasn’t what he signed up for. I’ve been careful to keep my condition a secret from him. I didn’t want him to treat me differently. I didn’t want him to check in on me or ask how I was doing.

When I was with him, I wanted to just… be. Forget. Talk about the latest hit song or what was happening in our favorite drama about high school vampires. We both loved the show for very different reasons, and getting Rafael riled up over the male lead was always fun.

Focus, Samantha.

“Please,” I croak in reply to his question. Rafael makes sure I don’t bowl over and crack my head when he releases his hold. I hear water running but keep my eyes closed and my breathing light, waiting for him.

“Here.” He holds the glass to my lips and I tilt my head and take enough to rinse my mouth. No way I’m drinking anything now.

“Did you find my purse?”

“Yes.”

It lands in my lap and I open it by feel. The familiar numbness is already spreading down my face and arm, but I manage to get a hold of the packet in the side pocket and pull it out. It takes several efforts to pull back the cover and get the small pill under my tongue. It should dissolve before I throw up again.

“Do you… want my blood? It will ease the hangover.” Rafael sounds stiff, like he doesn’t want to offer but still does. He thinks I have a hangover! Mentally, I give a tiny giggle at the idea. I would love to have a hangover.

“No. Thanks,” I say and then count to ten when the next wave of pain crashes over me. I just want to get home, to my own toilet with its very thick and soft bathmat and stockpile of towels on the floor.

“It really would help,” he says, sounding very stilted.

“No.” The word comes out with empty heaves and I clutch the toilet. Sometimes the meds work, sometimes they don’t. It seems I won the latter option in today’s lottery.

“Fine,” Rafael snaps and then he is there, holding me up again. As soon as the heaving eases, I sag against him.

It was sweet of him to offer, really. But I did my research a long time ago.

Vampire blood is great if you have a wound or a broken bone or anything that needs cell stimulation to heal. Cancer cells would have a field day with it; my presumed days left to live could easily turn into presumed hours.

Earlier, when I got my feelings hurt by him not offering, I only wanted to feel like he was sharing himself with me. I would have said no.

“Just… give me a second to get dressed, and I’ll get out of your hair,” I say, gathering my strength and leaning to reach for my dress that’s still on the floor. The movement makes cold sweat break all over my body but no nausea. Maybe I finally caught a break.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’ll call a cab.” My fingers reach the hem of the dress and I pull it closer. I can only guess how I look. There is a pretty good chance that the cab refuses to take me in, but then again, an ambulance ride to the hospital doesn’t sound like such a bad idea right now, either.

“Samantha.” His tone demands that I look at him. I turn my head slowly, fighting the stabs of pain, and meet his eyes. He’s angry—no, enraged, that much registers even in my mushy brain.

If I could be angry back and fight him off, we would both feel better, but I can’t muster the energy or the words. I drop my gaze to the packet on the floor and go for another pill.

His hand wraps around mine before I get the package open and he tugs it from my hand. His expression shutters when he reads the label. Then he hands it back to me and I get the second dose in and close my eyes again.

He’s not speaking and I don’t see the point either.

Blessedly, this time the medicine cuts down the worst edge of the pain and the tenseness slowly drains away. If I were at home, at this point, I would have my towels as a pillow and I could simply fall asleep. Now, I mentally try to shore up enough energy to move an inch.

“Want a shower?” Rafael asks. He’s still holding me.

“Tired,” I mumble, the drugs making my tongue sluggish.