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“How are you feeling?” I croak. “Did the nurses clean you up properly?”
Dad nods stiffly. Clearly, he’s too weak to talk.
Brushing a hair out of his face, I reach down and gently stroke his cheek. His skin feels warm and soft. I want so much to cry but the tears refuse to come. After a while, I release his hand, pull up a chair and sit by his bedside. Resting my head in my hands, I murmur silent prayers.
Dear God, or whoever is out there listening, I know I’m not perfect. I know I’m as guilty as the next person for only calling on you in my time of need, but please, if you can hear me, let my father be okay. I’ll do anything, just please grant me this wish.
Closing my eyes, I clasp and unclasp my hands, trying in vain to make contact with the astral plane. For a while, it all feels completely hopeless, like I’m talking to myself and no one is listening. Then I pop open my eyes and settle back to the current moment. Instantly, I sense that I am not alone.
Even before I turn around, he’s penetrating my senses, making my skin rise into goose bumps that travel the length of my shoulders, neck and back. I draw in a sharp breath. My whole body tenses. Slowly, I find the courage to turn around.
Holy fucking shit.
Nick Craven is standing in the doorway.He’s wearing an elegant black overcoat with a high Mandarin collar and thegrey-and-blackscarf I made for him. He looks what I can only describe as magnificent. With hiswarm, olive complexion and irresistibly full lips, he’s back to his breathtaking best, and all memory of the creature I saw in the kitchen swiftly evaporates. This is the real Nick; the man I fell in love with, the man I wanted to marry.
With predatory grace, he strides across the room toward my father’s bed, his movements smooth and slinky as a tiger.He makes no eye-contact with me; his only focus is my dad. Hastily, I get to my feet and back away. I need to keep as much distance between us as possible.
For a second, Nick hovers over the bed. My father gazes up at him with a serene expression. It’s like they have a secret understanding between them. Then Nick pulls his hand from his pocket and I stifle a scream. On the index finger of his right hand is what can only be described as a metal claw with flexible joints. Attached to the tip is a long, stainless steel blade that extends upward in a poised, ready-to-strike position.
The sight of it makes me queasy. I want to intervene, want to call for help, but I’m rooted to the spot like a statue.
Slowly, Nick raises his left hand and pricks one of his fingers with the blade. Then he gazes deeply into my father’s eyes and tells him quietly to part his lips. Obediently, Dad does as he’s told, and Nick pushes his bleeding finger into his mouth.
“That’s right,” Nick murmurs. “Take it all in; drink from my blood eternal.” After a few seconds, he retracts his hand. “When you awake, you shall remember nothing.” Then, without looking at me, he sweeps out of the room.
My shoulders sag and I start breathing again.Did that really happen?
Hesitantly, I walk over to the bed and gaze down at my father. His eyes are closed and his face looks the picture of peace. Faint traces of blood stain his lips. I stare and stare at him, trying to fathom what the hell I just witnessed. And then I see the colour return to his cheeks, and a dewy sheen washes over his skin like a magic wand, making him look about ten years younger.
I let out a loud gasp.Fuck! What has Nick done to him?
Slowly, my father opens his eyes and blinks up at the ceiling a couple of times. Then he turns his head and looks at me, a broad grin slapped across his face. “My dear, what on Earth’s the matter? Why are you crying?”
I bite my fist to stifle a sob. Words have deserted me. I can’t believe it—his voice has returned to normal. It’s like the stroke never happened.
“Where am I?” He sits up on his elbows, his hair all matted and dishevelled.
“Don’t you remember?” I whisper through my fingers.
“No. What is this place?”
“Queen Victoria Hospital.”
He lifts his brow questioningly. “What am I doing here?” When I don’t reply, he pushes back the blankets and tries to climb out of bed, but the tubes in his arms prevent him. “For goodness sake, what is all of this?”
“Jesus, Dad, don’t you remember? You’ve had a stroke.”
My father frowns at me and wags his head from side to side. “What stroke? I’ve never felt better in my life.”
“Think hard, Dad. You’ve been in hospital for a week. Don’t you remember what happened before the ambulance came? Before I got home and found you?”
“No. All I remember is going out to water the plants, then, after that, everything is blurry.”
“But you collapsed, Dad. We had to bring you here in an ambulance and everything. Think hard.”
“I told you, it’s all a blur.”
Unbelieving, I race out into the corridor and shout for help. Within seconds, Annie and a male nurse arrive on the scene. They’re both shocked at the transformation in my father: not only is he sitting up and smiling, but he looks about forty-five.
