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“What?”
“I can—” Suddenly, he pinned Jackson with a panic-stricken stare. “You didn’t tell the blood-child what you intend.”
“What?” he said again.
“With the sweet one.” Hyper-quick glance up the stairs. Back to Jackson. “You must go. Now. Before he changes everything the wrong way.”
“I’m not leaving my uncle, you nut job. Help him. Now.”
The vampire’s bushy brows pinched together, his anxiety cresting into snarling impatience. “He will transform her, and murder the light within her if you do not follow your destiny!”
Between them, Garrett began to convulse and turn blue—and dropped out of view. Jackson reached for him, but he was gone. The entire world morphed away in a rush of sound. He couldn’t even think to flail until he was put back on his feet in the upstairs hallway that flashed into existence around him. Serge grabbed him by the biceps and spun him around to face a door that stood ajar.
“Do what must be done,” the vampire whispered, and abruptly released him.
Jackson turned around, staggering to keep his balance. The hall was deserted. “Son of a bitch.”
He stuffed the urge to run back to his uncle’s side. He’d never get there in time to do anything for him. Vampire blood really was Garrett’s only option, and Jackson would have to trust in Serge to provide it in time.
Movement caught his eye through the open door. Monica stepped into view, her attention riveted to something Jackson couldn’t see but could well imagine: Cassidy. This was her room.
And her, he knew he could save.
37
The Evening’s Business
Dominique found Cassidy where he left her that morning, laid in a bed under a brocade comforter and facing a window. Out there, over the sea, the last of the day’s light faded from the sky.
The last of her light wasn’t far behind.
“Finally,” Monica said and rose from the bedside where she had dabbed Cassidy’s forehead with a cloth. She wore blue jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, and sensible shoes, clearly prepared to be agile and unattractive to a newborn blood-drinker with no control.
“What is going on down there? Were those shots—” She faltered when she caught sight of his face, completely healed but still covered in the gore of battle.
He pushed past Monica and took her place at Cassidy’s side. Her breath came in shallow sips, and her heart made weak and erratic thuds, faltering every few thumps. The fighting spirit of the night before was gone. A corpse-in-waiting lay before him. His dying soul.
Cradling her face in both hands, he caressed her chapped lips and delicate jaw with his thumbs. Her skin felt clammy cool, her fever broken, the beast fading, taking her with it. “Cassidy. Cassie, mon amour. Mon tout. Écoute-moi. Listen to me.”
When she didn’t react, he dared a gentle shake. “I am here. Wake up. Please, please wake up.”
Nothing.
Too long. He had waited too long, his gamble lost. It was more than his desperate need to see her human spirit shine in her eyes one last time, to see her understanding and acceptance of what was about to happen to her. She also needed to be conscious to swallow the blood he would give her.
His insides convulsed in a sob.
“She was awake only an hour ago,” Monica said softly behind him. “She asked for you.”
He slumped forward and touched his forehead to Cassidy’s. Shattering grief threatened to pull him under.
A rush of breath against his face. A sigh.
“Cassie,” he said, voice breaking.
Her eyes opened into thin slits, filled with recognition and alarm, and opened wider. “I…ready.”
Relief seized him, followed hard and fast by bitter resolve. Yes, he would do the unthinkable. And he would do it to the absolute best of his ability. He would give her his blood, all the blood she needed and wanted. Now, all night, the next night and beyond. He would hold back nothing.
