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“I’m not going anywhere.” Her hand was on his cheek. “Oh, Declan, what have I done?”
He tried to smile, but grimaced instead as his gut rolled. He opened his mouth, but no words came. The haze that lingered along the edge of his vision swept across him like a curtain.
He closed his eyes and slipped away.
Chapter 20
Ana stared at Declan in disbelief.
She’d taken too much.
Her fingers were shaking, badly, as she traced them over the planes of his face. Declan’s breaths were shallow and she bit her lip as she looked down at him.
She’d not been strong enough.
The taste of him was still fresh in her mouth. Never had she felt so exhilarated. So alive . . . and so scared.
Never.
A sob escaped her and she rose from the bed. She began to pace, her eyes never leaving Declan’s ashen form. He looked like shit.
She flew to the bed, pressed her finger against the pulse at his neck, and swore savagely. It was weakening.
Hell yeah, she’d taken too much.
A ragged breath slipped from between her lips. If she didn’t do something he’d die.
She glanced around the room. Dingy walls, threadbare carpet, rickety furniture, and a television that was missing its screen. By the time her gaze returned to the man beside her, a decision had been made.
Her blood was his only chance.
Ana didn’t think about the consequence. What was the point?
If he didn’t take her blood he’d die. The man she loved would die.
The word whispered through her mind like a secret—love—and brought with it a certain clarity she’d not had before. She had history with this man. Infuriating, exhilarating, and painful history.
She thought of the night before and what it had felt like to have him inside her. To hold him close and breathe in his spirit.
She loved Declan O’Hara. Had loved the man for years. She would do anything for him, even this. She had to believe he’d be strong enough to take the change. Other than her brother’s lover, Cerise, she didn’t know another who’d been turned.
Ana slipped her leather coat from her body, leaving her arms bare. She settled onto the bed beside Declan, leaned over him, and swept her mouth across his.
He moaned, his eyes fluttered, but they remained closed.
She didn’t have much time.
She thought of Jean-Charles and his lover’s tragic end, but then quickly pushed it aside. She had no choice, and now neither did Declan. She would turn him.
It was the only way. She’d deal with the consequence later. If he ended up a raving lunatic beca
use of the change, that would be on her.
But she’d rather try than watch him die.
Her fangs broke skin once more and she sank them deep into her wrist. Almost immediately, bright red, life-giving blood formed along the puncture wounds. Ana gripped Declan’s head. “You need to feed.”
She held her wrist against his mouth, coaxing his lips open, forcing her blood onto his tongue. He moaned and turned from her. Nearly a minute went by and though her shoulders filled with tension, she pressed forward. He needed to drink.
