It’s the only thought in my head. I can’t focus on anything beyond the way her eyes shifted, the way her soul seemed ready to vanish from this world completely.
She almost died.
I almost let her die.
I pace my bedroom, pausing to evaluate her wrist again. Cora should be here to stitch her up, but obviously that’s not possible. I don’t trust anyone else to try, and I never learned how to do it.
“Come on, little witch,” I whisper. “I need you to wake up.”
I run the back of my knuckle down her cheek. She doesn’t open her eyes, but her face twitches, as if she senses my presence. As if she wants to get away from it.
Another twenty minutes pass. The room is silent except for my footsteps as I pace the room. Back and forth, back and forth. We’re nearing twelve hours since the ritual, and still, she sleeps.
It isn’t until hour eighteen, when I’m checking her bandage for the hundredth time, that her eyes open. She blinks, taking in the room, before settling on me. She’s confused, disoriented.
It’s the only reason she smiles at me.
It’s a punch to the gut anyway.
“Grace,” I whisper.
Her eyes close again, and her mouth falls slack.
“No,” I say. It comes out harsh, like a command, and her eyes struggle to open once more. “Come on, Grace. Stay awake.”
I dip into bed beside her, carefully tucking her against my chest. Without a moment’s hesitation, I bite my wrist, roughly tearing the skin. Dark blood pools from my wrist and onto her shirt. I press it against her mouth, cupping the back of her head when she instinctively rears back.
“Be a good girl,” I say. “Swallow for me.”
Whether she hears me or she’s too weak to fight, Grace relaxes against me. She nestles her head against my shoulder, those warm lips latching onto my wrist. She drinks from me as if by instinct, as if she’s done it before. Between each swallow, she lets out a tiny, satisfied moan.
It’s the most beautiful sound in the world.
Vampire blood is healing, but I’ve only ever allowed one person to drink from me. It was Cora, as a child, when she was so beaten and bruised, she would have died without it. It was necessary, and yet, I vowed to never do it again. It made me feel weak, like a lowly animal, as if I’d fallen down the evolutionary chain.
Now, I’m glad to give it. I pull Grace closer, urging her to drink more, to take every drop she needs. There’s an unfamiliar sensation in my chest, one deeper than lust, fuller than joy. It’s a sensation I thought didn’t exist—that I’m now determined to keep.
Two days later,Grace opens her eyes for real. She blinks at me, and there’s nothing hazy in her expression. She’shere, eyebrows scrunching as she takes in her surroundings.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
The words are too sharp, more like a command than a genuine question. I don’t correct myself. I’m too busy studying her features, looking for any sign of distress or lingering injury.
Tell me you’re okay.
Tell me you’ll be fine.
“Did it work?” she asks.
There’s a streak of my blood on her throat. I’ve done my best to keep her clean, but it’s stained her shirt, creating a collar of dried blood. She’s been feeding off me for days, and while I haven’t felt tempted byherblood, I know I’m being reckless. I should have fed by now, and yet, I can’t bring myself to leave her.
“No,” I say. I swallow, keeping my gaze steady on hers. “It didn’t work.”
“Oh,” she says. With that single word, her entire body deflates into the mattress. She sags against the pillows, letting her attention drift from me. Her eyelids seem to grow heavier, as if she’s ready to go back under.
“But you survived, Grace,” I say. “That’s what matters.”
“Yeah, sure,” she says, scoffing. Tears fill her eyes, but shequickly blinks them away. “Did I…I don’t remember how it ended. Was I close before I called it? Would it have worked if I didn’t?—”
