Page 210 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

She’s limp.

I rub my thumb beneath her jaw, and press more blood to her tongue.

“Drink. Please.” I press my face into her hair and drag in a shaking breath. “Please.”

As the minutes stretch, her pulse remains unchanged.

“Drink,” I urge, the command breaking in my throat.

Still nothing.

Then I feel the faintest movement—her lips stirring against my skin with weak, unconscious instinct before closing over the wound. She takes tiny sips and swallows.

A breath leaves me that I had not realised I was holding. “Yes,” I whisper. “That’s it. Good girl.”

She drinks again, more steadily now, and some of the tension leaves my body. I settle us more comfortably, my head falling back against the headboard as she drinks from my wrist, and without meaning to, I begin to hum.

The tune is old and simple, one the servants used whenever I woke frightened as a child. I had believed it belonged to them until years later, when one finally had the courage to tell me the truth.

My mother used to sing it to me. I have not thought of it in ages. Yet now it returns whole, rising quietly from somewhere beneath the fear as Kira drinks from my wrist.

Then I sing the words quietly, praying with every part of my soul that my blood does not make her sick.

Kira stopped drinking a short while ago. Her mouth loosened around my wrist after one final swallow, and her breathing gradually deepened into a heavy slumber.

Arken stands on the opposite side of the bed, two fingers resting against her throat. “She will sleep until morning now.”

“It’s not even midnight,” I say.

“Even so.” He watches her for another moment before turning his attention to me. “How much blood did you give her?”

“As much as she would take.”

“You look pale. You should rest.”

“I will. Downstairs.” I push myself to my feet. “I’m taking her back with me.”

“You are not taking her anywhere,” Susie says, appearing in the doorway carrying a pitcher of water. She sets it down and comes directly towards us. “She’s staying here, where we can look after her.”

It’s times like these that my begrudging appreciation for Susie is thwarted.

“No.”

She crosses her arms. “She needs to be watched.”

“I will watch her.”

Susie plants herself between me and the bed. “You nearly killed her.”

I do not defend myself. “Move.”

“Make me.”

“That is enough, Susie,” Arken says.

“No, it is not,” she objects. “He can’t just give her some blood and then carry her away as if nothing happened!”

“She’s mine.”