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An announcement was made, and the room slowly emptied. She paid the others no mind as she delicately stroked her fingers through Christian’s damp, sticky hair.
“That’s it,” she encouraged quietly.
His pulls strengthened, then a burst of white-hot pain seared through her body and she screamed. Her limbs shook violently as his mental block came down and she experienced a brief glimpse of the extent of his pain.
Her body couldn’t hold it. The enormity of his agony shot through her in a fusillade of sting that lit up every nerve in her body and stole her strength.
“Help her!” A rush of commotion filled the back of the room as Adriel yelled for assistance.
“Get back! You’re not permitted beyond the doors,” someone shouted.
“Remove Sister Adriel at once,” another male voice commanded.
“Eleazar!” Adriel’s voice spiked as a commotion ensued at the back of the hall. “Do not let this stand. He’s my son.”
The shared pain knocked the wind from Delilah’s lungs, and she collapsed to the floor, the cool molasses of Christian’s spilled blood drenching her sleeve and gown as she looked into his eyes.
Keep drinking.
His arm weakly lifted and he cupped her cheek. She blinked, her eyes heavy as his injuries drained much of her strength, and his thirst depleted the rest.
His mouth unfastened from her wrist, and he caught her hand weakly in his, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. “No more.”
Tears spilled from her eyes. “You need more, Christian.”
His lashes lowered. The sheer effort to breathe seemed to sap the little strength he had regained. “No. I’ve taken enough.”
“Christian.” She panicked when she felt him pulling back from her mind. “Don’t you leave me again. You have to keep feeding.”
He weakly smiled. “Pintura.”
The gash on her wrist started to close. She lifted a claw.
“Wait.” A shadow fell over them and she looked up, her body tensing at the sight of the bishop. “Let me help.”
She hissed, shooting to her knees to protectively block his broken body from further damage. “Don’t touch him!”
Christian’s hand brushed weakly over her knee. “Eleazar…is a friend…pintura.”
Her jaw quivered with uncertainty as she looked at Christian’s desperate face, so wrought with pain, and back to the bishop.
“I only mean to help him. My blood’s aged and powerful. I offer it freely to him so that he may recover quickly.”
A jagged breath ripped through her as she nodded and scooted back, desperate to see her mate healed. “Fix him.”
She covered her mouth, trying in vain to silence her whimpered cries. The bishop kneeled beside her mate and opened his wrist, pressing it to Christian’s lips. “Drink, my friend.”
Christian grunted and snatched the bishop’s offered arm, sinking his fangs deep and drawing heavily from the vein. The bishop grunted and braced as Christian gorged himself. Only then did Delilah understand how much he’d been holding back, always trying to put her needs first and keep her safe.
She watched the bishop shut his eyes as the feeding exerted him. She wondered if he too had felt the intense empathy she’d suffered during the flogging. The others had vacated the room, and they were now alone, just the three of them.
Christian grunted as he greedily took from the bishop. The elder’s veins bulged in his neck and arm as his healing blood flowed to her mate, his skin paling as his strength drained.
She couldn’t understand why he would show such compassion after ordering such barbaric abuse. Then she followed his downcast gaze and found the explanation.
“You love him.”
Eleazar’s dark eyes flashed to her. “I love all of them. They’re my flock, and I, their shepherd.”
She realized then that his job went beyond boring sermons and judicial duty. He loved them like a parent loves a child. He was their leader, a father, and when his children suffered, he suffered with them. This ancient immortal loved her mate like a son, reminding her that Christian reciprocated such affection, assigning the bishop as close a role to father as any bastard could ascribe.
“I’m relieved to see that you’ve forgiven him.”
Stunned that he would comment on her mistreatment of Christian, she narrowed her stare. “You’ll never do anything like this to him again.”
Not because she’d learned her lesson about discretion, but because she would never survive watching her mate punished like this twice. They would leave before she ever allowed anything like this to happen to him again.
The bishop read her thoughts. “Everyone is here by choice.”
Prepared to dispute his claim, because she saw what was in the cells below, she scowled, then considered what he was actually suggesting. Would she have been able to leave? She hadn’t been permitted to interfere with the flogging, but nothing had stopped her from walking out the door.
She recalled the moment Christian asked her to wait in the bishop’s office.
“Try to be brave, pintura. I’ll need your strength today.” He hadn’t ordered her to stay or even instructed her to wait. He only requested she do her best.
