Page 85 of Fated to Her

“Cyrus!” I scream in panic, realizing my blood in her system isn’t healing her, which means her body is refusing the transition.

Her entire body is limp, and I hear her heart stop, just giving out. My father appears by my side; I pass my screaming son to him and begin CPR, my hands going to the center of her chest as panic grips me.

“Cyrus!” I scream, doing chest compressions.

She needs his blood. Feeling a rush of air, his scent invades my senses before he’s kneeling beside me, biting into his wrist and holding it over her mouth while I continue pumping her chest, trying to keep her blood flowing enough for his to get in her system.

He desperately slices his nails down his arm then holds the wounds on his wrist open with his fingers, bleeding himself out over her stomach, his blood leaking onto her gaping wounds and spilling onto my hands. I continue pumping her heart, trying to keep her blood pumping, but I know she won’t have much blood left in her because most of it has spilled out of her and onto the ground. My father tries to soothe our son as he screams, yet I can’t tear my eyes from her, her body going cold beneath my hands with each passing second, her skin turning gray.

“Don’t stop. Her wounds are healing,” Cyrus says, his thumb on her chin pulling her mouth farther open as he forces more blood down her throat. His eyes look past my hands at her stomach; she’s healing, but why is she so cold? Why is she turning gray?

“She’s going to die,” I choke, my throat becoming clogged at the thought of losing her. I can’t lose her; I would rather die than spend a day without her.

“I can feel the bond. She isn’t dead yet. We wouldn’t be able to feel her if she was dead. We just need to keep her heart pumping until my blood reaches it,” Cyrus says.

He’s oddly calm while I’m dying inside seeing her like this. Cyrus is odd like that; he is the calm to my madness, though he has his own craziness that can consume him. Right now, he is calm and focused, and I peer down to see her abdomen has closed completely. I can smell fire burning around us in different directions and know my pack members are burning what is left of Sam.

Tears slip down my face. I can’t even remember the last time I cried. My father’s hand drops on my shoulder, making me look up at him. My son is clutched in his other arm while Cyrus works on saving our mate. I continue to pump her chest, feeling her ribs breaking beneath my hands, but I don’t stop, knowing it’s the only thing keeping her heart beating.

“She will be okay, son. Addie is strong,” my father says.

I nod, hoping he’s right. Needing him to be right; I won’t live without her.

Cyrus is tapping her face and checking her eyes, prying her eyelids open.

“Come on, Addie,” I hear him whisper, pushing her other eyelid open. Her eyes have turned red. Her pupils, still dilated, but the color has changed, which is a good sign, meaning his blood is spreading throughout her system, hopefully fast enough. Yet I still hold my breath, expecting the worst. My father behind me hums.

My son’s quietened his screams, and the change in the air, smoke, and the scent of my father’s pack closes in around us. I stare up to see them all peering at her; even Porter has a solemn expression as he stares down at her then looks at my boy in my father’s arms. Cyrus now panics, the first sharp points of his panic hitting me when she still doesn’t wake. She should have awoken by now, her body healed, but my hands are the only thing keeping her heart going.

“Addie, please,” I hear him beg her, my heart breaking at the sight of him clutching her face, her red eyes peering up, vacant and hollow, her face still slack and drained of life.

“We were not fast enough,” Cyrus gasps before he breaks down, falling back on his butt in the dirt. His entire body heaves with sobs, and the bond grows weaker before dying out completely. A cold feeling settles over me, agony tearing through my chest, making me scream.

Some pack members howl into the night honoring her. Yet I feel nothing but pain, and I fall backward against Cyrus, who clutches me, his hands wrapping around my chest as he screams in anguish against my back. My entire body is shaking as I stare at her dead body lying at my feet. Three hundred years and not once have I seen him cry; he’s always so strong with his emotions, but her death has broken him. Broken me, and I pray it takes me with her.

I can do nothing but stare at her. I feel dead inside, until I hear a thump, making my gaze dart to her chest. I have to be imagining things because thirty seconds go by, and I place my head in my hands only to hear another. Cyrus stiffens behind me, his cries stopping as we both listen.

Everyone falls silent; you can hear a pin drop. Another thump, this one louder and stronger, and I move toward her, dropping my head on her chest and feeling her heartbeat against my ear, slowly picking up the pace. it beats rapidly like a hummingbird’s wings flapping against a strong wind. I clutch her face, my tears spilling onto her, then she gasps, her back arching off the ground. Her eyes widen like she’s been submerged in water for a long time as she sucks in a breath.

Cyrus shakes his hands, clutching her like she is our lifeline, and she is. Without her, life isn’t worth living. She tries to talk, gasping before she sniffs the air, her fangs protruding. I notice the moment she comes to, everyone scatters except my father. Newborn vampires are dangerous, unpredictable, and savage, yet I see tears slip down her face as she peers up at us.

“Our baby?” she stammers.

“I have him. He is fine,” my father tells her, her eyes darting up as Cyrus pulls her up against him.

“Sam?” she says, her eyes darting around in panic.

“Dead. He will never come near you again,” I tell her, cupping her face in my hands.

Her eyes dart to my pulse in my neck before she looks away. I can feel bloodlust rolling through her, feeling her fear of feeding on us. All her senses are now heightened, and I know she’s a crazed mess in her head, yet she tries to focus on what is going on. She’s fighting her urges as she reaches her arms up toward my father, wanting our son. I pull her hands down, my heart breaking for her, but she can’t touch him yet, not until we are sure she won’t hurt him.

“Not yet. I can feel your hunger, Addie, and you don’t know your own strength yet,” Cyrus tells her. Sadness bleeds into her through the bond, but she nods.

Her eyes dart around the forest, and it has to be weird for her to be able to see in it. “My sister?” she whispers before darting to her feet with blinding speed. I blink, and she is gone.

“Shit!” Cyrus says.

I’m confused.