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Especially if the dhampir was already weak from blood loss and dehydration.
It was a slow, agonizing way to die.
The blood-wine wasn’t enough. He needed fresh blood.
I looked at the switchblade, then at my wrist.
No. Hell, no.
I jumped up and paced across the tiny dirt floor.
I’d done what I could. Whether Zaq lived or died was on him.
I was a slayer, for chrissake. And he was my target.
I wasn’t supposed to keep him alive.
I’d already stuck my neck out to win him this reprieve. I would not allow him to drink my blood.
He groaned. I swung around and stared at him.
His eyes popped open. He stared up at me, his pupils dilated. “Mom?”
That’s all he said. A single, fearful word.
One goddamn word, but my chest felt like it had caved in.
I swore and slashed open my wrist.
16
ZAQ
I burned. Everywhere.
My arteries were on fire. It felt like I was being consumed from the inside, cell by smoldering cell.
And I ached like a mofo: my head, my stomach, my joints. Even my fingers and toes hurt. Merely moving my head made me want to throw up.
So I didn’t move.
I lay where I was, even when my muscles cramped. I was so damn hot, my mouth dry as a crypt, but drinking—swallowing—would take energy I didn’t have.
I was dying, and I didn’t care. It seemed…interesting, that’s all. At least on the other side, I wouldn’t hurt anymore.
Something moved.
No, someone. A woman.
I peered up at her, but something had happened to my eyes. I opened them wide, but everything was ghostly gray shadows.
“Mom?”
She didn’t answer me. Agitation squeezed my lungs. Why didn’t she answer me?
Sadness and yearning twisted in my chest. If I hadn’t been lying down, I’d have doubled over. It had been weeks since I’d seen my mom. If I could just hug her one more time, tell her how much she meant to me.
“Love you,” I said. But I was pretty sure my lips didn’t move.
