Maggie took on an alarmed expression, but Melissa calmed her. “It’s okay, Maggie. Why don’t you go wait for Diana in the lobby while we run all the tests and get Ramona comfortable.”
The FBI agent’s gaze skittered to Diego, but then she did as Melissa asked. When Diego glanced at Melissa, however, he got the sense that her use of the word comfortable had been a euphemism.
“She’s not going to die,” he said, and walked to Ramona’s side. He almost wished he hadn’t gotten near. Up close it was impossible not to realize her poor state. Short, labored breaths barely registered from beneath the oxygen mask covering her face. Her heartbeats were shallow, and as he placed a hand on her arm, the chill of her skin said death had taken root there.
“We need to get her to Intensive Care and start transfusions and medications,” Melissa explained. With that, the nurse beside her waved to two orderlies waiting just beyond another set of doors. They quickly opened them and took over wheeling the gurney.
Melissa and the nurse followed, the young woman filling in Melissa on what she had prepped.
Diego lagged behind, wanting to stay out of their way so that they could do their work. When they got Ramona settled in Intensive Care, he watched them put a variety of different IVs into her arms and hand. After that, they swapped the portable oxygen bottle for a ventilator, wiring Ramona up to that machine as well as an assortment of other monitors.
When they finished, she seemed even more diminished in the tangle of wires and tubes running in and out of her body.
Before leaving, Melissa instructed the nurse to take a couple of vials of blood so they could run some tests. It was only then, when she had done all she could, that Melissa stepped to his side.
She spoke softly, her attention half on Ramona and half on a spot on the curtain behind him. She couldn’t meet his gaze, which was not a good thing. “I’m worried that some of her organs have begun to fail. The transfusions may help stabilize her and keep her from going into total system failure. We’re also giving her platelets and medications to curb some internal hemorrhaging.”
Melissa didn’t say it outright, but the message came across clearly. “How much longer does she have?”
With a shrug, the young doctor said, “No more than a few hours, if what we’re doing now doesn’t work.”
His gut burned and his heart clenched in his chest. Sucking in a rough breath, he said, “Can you give us some time alone?”
Melissa nodded and motioned to the nurse, who walked over and introduced herself. “I’m Sara. I’ll be staying on call as long as Ramona needs me.”
“Thank you.” He turned from them and walked to Ramona’s side. He took her cold, limp hand, sandwiched it between his. Bending, he kissed her forehead, but no sign of awareness came with his actions.
Melissa eased a chair over to him and with a grateful nod, he moved it to the bedside. Once again his hands wrapped around Ramona’s. He released his control on the vampire to give her warmth, and closed his eyes, but maybe it was better that he hadn’t. The beast recognized Ramona’s fragile hold on life. The heart that pumped too fast in a failing effort to support her body. The shallow, rapid breaths that accomplished little.
Bringing her hand to his lips, Diego whispered, “Please don’t leave me.”
Even though their time together had been short, he couldn’t fathom life without her any more than he could imagine turning her. But those were the only choices now—let her die or make her undead.
Those words repeated in his brain like a litany while he sat by her side, hoping for some sign of improvement. But if anything, each visit by either Sara or Melissa only confirmed the beast’s earlier diagnosis. It had been a couple of hours since they had brought her here, but her condition had barely improved. If anything, the steady drop of her vital signs in the monitors foretold what would happen.
Sara came in and set up another round of blood and liquids, her movements brisk and efficient. But as her gaze caught his, the tears glistening in her eyes were impossible to miss.
He didn’t know how long it was after that when Ramona’s hand twitched in his. He jumped up and leaned toward her. Her eyelids fluttered open and a pained smile came to her face.
His name slipped from her lips and she tightened her hold on his hand.
“I’m here, amor,” he said, and she murmured something else, too weak for him to hear even with the trace of vamp power he had released. He bent closer and this time the words were clear.
“Take me home.”
“Take you home?” he repeated, thinking that if he took her away from all the equipment, she would…
“I want to die at home,” she said, louder and with unwavering conviction.
He met her gaze and touched her cheek, hoping to dissuade her, but she reached up, removed the oxygen mask, and once again made her plea. “I want to die at home. In my own bed. In your arms.”
Dios, why had she added the last, the one request he couldn’t refuse?
With a nod, he said, “I’ll go tell Melissa.”
Chapter 23
D iego must have sensed her urgency and communicated it to the others, because they wasted no time in disconnecting her from the various monitors and IVs.
She struggled to hold on to consciousness, but it faded in and out like a television with a bad antenna, leaving her hearing only snatches of conversations. The one thing that stayed steady was Diego. He remained at her side, his hand holding hers.
A cold hand, which would warm on occasion. A vampire hand, her brain reminded her, not that she cared. She had seen the cruelty of humans, and Diego had been nothing but kind to her, so who were truly the monsters?
A cocoon of warmth surrounded her, and she heard a crinkling sound. A space blanket. She remembered it from the past, when they’d wrapped her in one to conserve her body heat. Then came the rock-solid strength of Diego’s arms, lifting her and bringing her tight to his chest.
She opened her eyes and smiled, comforted by the security of his embrace. He forced a smile and bent until his lips brushed against hers. He whispered, “Hold on tight.”
They were moving. Rapidly. A slight breeze washed over her and the world sped by, a blur of sights and sounds, with only one constant—Diego. His arms held her safely as he rushed her home, and she let herself go.
The hard strength of his arms receded, replaced by the familiar softness of her bed.
“No,” she protested, and gripped his wrist.
“I’m not going anywhere, querida,” Diego said. Gently he eased her beneath the welcoming warmth of the covers, but it wasn’t enough. With the absence of his embrace, her body began to tremble.
“Cold,” she said.
He tucked the space blanket more tightly around her.
She wanted more. “Hold me.”
The tremors racked her body and her skin took on an unnatural shade of white, nearly bloodless. Diego thought about slipping in beside her and holding her close, but his undead body lacked any heat in this form. As a vampire, however…
“Don’t be afraid of me.” He slowly morphed, allowing his demon form to emerge, and with it, the heat of the transformation.
She watched, fascinated instead of fearful, he realized. Cautious, he stopped halfway, leaving himself in
a state half human, half vamp. He undid the buttons on his shirt, kicked off his shoes and eased under the covers. Shifting to her side, he tenderly slid his arm beneath her head, pillowing it, and brought his upper body close, hoping the warmth would help.
Gently he reached for the covers to pull them over both of them, but as he did so he brushed her midsection. She moaned and her body jerked with pain.
“I’m sorry,” he said, but finished drawing up the thick bedspread and creating a haven of warmth for her.
Ramona snuggled near, the heat of his body providing solace. Besides the tenderness that brought agony with every touch, there was cold. Bone-deep cold that he helped to assuage with his presence.
But his proximity was about more than just his body heat. As she examined his dear face, she noticed the differences with the vampire awakened. His ice-blue eyes were an even brighter shade of blue, with hints of neon-green. Beneath his full upper lip the bump of fang was visible, and she reached up, traced his lip and then downward, to the sharp points.
She remembered his state the other night. This one was different. More human. More like the man she had come to love. With that thought came the recollection of the painting sitting across the loft, half finished. Raising her head, she peered toward it.
Moonlight illuminated the canvas where it sat on the easel. “I didn’t get to finish it,” she whispered, before dropping back down, her heart racing and her breath short from just that minor exertion.
As much as she tried to catch her breath, however, she couldn’t. The cold and pain in her midsection grew. With her breath rasping in and out roughly, she fought to keep control, but it was too much. She moaned and tears came to her eyes as she said, “It hurts.”
Diego gently brushed away a tear and cupped her face. “I know, amor. I know,” he said, recalling the agony his own body had suffered while he waited for death at the hands of the Inquisitor.
Her breath exploded from her and she arched up off the bed. He could hear her madly beating heart and the rush of blood spilling wildly throughout her body as the hemorrhaging increased. It wouldn’t be long now, he knew, and he tightened his embrace. There wasn’t anything but pain filling her consciousness now.
Her hands gripped him, harder than he would have thought possible, and he heard her whispered plea. “Make it stop hurting.”
He cupped her face and wiped away her tears. Her features shimmered as tears filled his own eyes. “I can’t, love, but…stay with me. I want you to stay with me.”
“I don’t want to leave you. We haven’t had enough time together.”
“Are you sure, love?” he asked, maybe because he still needed to be convinced about the rightness of what he was considering.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she said, and brushed a kiss against his lips.
After, she bared her neck, but even as he bent his head toward her and fully released the vampire, he realized she might already be too far gone.
“Forgive me, amor. It will only hurt for a bit,” he said, and with that, he sank his fangs deep into her neck and fed.
Her blood was powerless, offering little energy or rush, a testament to how debilitated she was physically. He barely drank from her for she was so close to death that he feared killing her himself. As he pulled away, her blood staining his lips and fangs, he realized how tenuous her grasp was on consciousness. He couldn’t delay.
Raising his arm, he ripped open his wrist with his fangs and brought the bloody flesh to her mouth. She jerked her head away, but he urged her on. “Drink, querida. You need my blood to stay with me.”
When he brought his wrist to her lips once again, she placed her mouth there and sucked. She licked at the blood oozing from his wrist, and her feeding stoked his vampire passion.
The animal wanted to feed from her again, but he knew to do so would bring certain death. He curbed the desire and patiently waited until her mouth stopped pulling at the wound, which healed almost instantly.
Her eyes were glazed as she looked up at him. “Sleep,” he said. “You need to rest so my blood can restore you.”
With a barely perceptible nod, she dropped off, and he lay down beside her, searching for any signs that the vampire’s kiss had taken hold. Time passed and the familiar fever that came with a turning failed to appear.
Her heart still beat rapidly and weakly. Her breath was close to nonexistent, and she wouldn’t rouse at his urging.
She would die, he thought, even with his turning her. Grief nearly overwhelmed him, until he realized he had to try again. He couldn’t lose her.
He slashed his wrist once more and brought it to her mouth, but her lips remained slack. He settled for letting the blood drip into her mouth, and eventually she swallowed.
He repeated the feedings off and on all night long, until the morning brought a knock at the door. Slipping from her side, he tossed on his shirt and answered it, finding Diana and Ryder on the threshold.
Diana looked ready to drop, her olive skin sallow, with deep, dark circles beneath her eyes. Ryder had his arm around her, as if she needed his support, and maybe she did. She was a bit unsteady as they entered.
“How is Ramona?” she asked, but Ryder seemed to immediately know.
“You turned her.” The accusation was thick in his voice.
“Don’t condemn me for something you wish you could do. For something you might have already started,” he said, jerking his head in Diana’s direction.
She shook her own head and laughed harshly. “Don’t make assumptions, Diego. You don’t know that.”
“I feel it. I feel you. You’re not human anymore.” He was unprepared for the sadness that crept into her eyes and into those of her lover.
“Did she ask you to do it?” Ryder said.
“Yes, she did. I wouldn’t have done so otherwise.”
“How thoughtful of you.” He sneered, but Diego cut him off with an angry slash of his hand.
“Enough. What happened with van Winter?” He had determined that if human justice failed, vamp vengeance would not.
“We found what appears to be the originals behind a bookcase in his apartment. I think John Henry will testify in exchange for a lesser plea, but we’re still working on that,” Diana said.
“And Ramona? What about her part in it?” he asked, wondering what good it would do if she lived, if she had to spend her life behind bars.
“Van Winter is claiming that she was aware of what she was doing, and signed the paintings, but the evidence says otherwise. She may have to testify—”
“If she lives,” he interrupted, and looked to where Ramona lay in bed, deathly still. “I’m not sure I turned her in time.”
Ryder went to lay a hand on his shoulder, but Diego brushed it away. “Don’t pity me. Or her. At least we were willing to take a chance at happiness.”
“If you need anything, call,” Diana said, and despite his earlier rebuff, she embraced Diego tightly.
He remained stiff in her arms for a second, but then relented, sensing the weakness in her body, but the determination in her heart.
“Thank you,” he said, and she stepped back to Ryder’s side.
They left and he returned to Ramona.
The transformation he had sown with his bite germinated later the n
ext day.
He had struggled through a long, arduous night, cutting his wrists open time and time again to feed her. All during those long hours she had tenaciously clung to life, preserving hope within him.
When the sun began to rise, he had to scramble to move the four-poster bed away from the morning light that would shine in through the many skylights and rob him of energy and Ramona of what little life remained.
As the day brightened, his natural metabolism called to him to rest.
A shrill ring of the telephone woke him several hours later, but as it did, he became aware of the intense heat emanating from her body.
Her transformation had finally begun.
Chapter 24
I gnoring the phone call, he ran his hand across her forehead. Her skin burned beneath his palm, but her heart still beat as fast as a hummingbird’s.
Maybe too weakly for her to survive.
Cradling her cheek, he passed his thumb across the flush of unnatural color there and called her name.
“Ramona. Wake, my love, and feed,” he urged, hoping that yet another sampling of his blood would provide the needed fuel to keep her body going through the change.
In the background, the shrill ringing of the phone was followed by Ramona’s voice on the answering machine. At the loud beep that followed, Diana’s voice came across the line.
“Van Winter got a plea bargain deal negotiated already. Prosecutors were afraid his money could help him buy his way out of a prison term. They decided that ten years without parole in exchange for nailing John Henry for murder was a good outcome. I’m sorry,” she said, and hung up.
Rage filled Diego and yet it didn’t matter. He would exact his own punishment on the man if Ramona died. He might even do so if she survived, because justice had to be served.
Desire Calls Page 22
