Revelations in Blood

by Patricia D. Eddy

  “I do not have medical training,” Bayard said as Philipe coughed weakly. Blood trickled from the injured vampire’s lips. “I am afraid he is dying.”

  Nic stared down at Evangeline. She hadn’t woken, and though she’d only had a few sips of his blood, she breathed easily now, and the fingertip bruises along her throat had started to fade. He hated the idea of leaving her, even for a few minutes, but Bayard had risked his life for all of them more than once, and Philipe looked like he’d been through hell.

  “Get his shirt off,” Nic said. “I will be right there.” He met Sylvie’s worried gaze. “Will you stay with Evangeline? I do not want her to wake up alone.”

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  After Nic lay his life mate on the bed and brushed a lock of hair from her face, he squeezed his eyes shut. What had the bastard done to her?

  “Hey, Nic. Look at me,” Sylvie said as she grabbed his arm. “You’ve probably got less than an hour before you’re flat on your back. Don’t waste time in there. I’ll take care of E, but you need to get back in here bloody quick and feed.”

  “Not unless she asks me to.” The lump in his throat roughened his words. “I fear…” Gesturing to the still oozing puncture wounds on her neck, he swallowed hard. “I know the violation I felt when Antonio forced me to drink human blood. To have another vampire feed from her…” He balled his hands into fists to stop himself from punching a wall. “What if she cannot stand for me to touch her that way ever again?”

  “She loves you. She’s not going to let you die.” Sylvie pushed him towards the door. “Go. Let me see if I can help her.”

  Nic braced himself against the door jamb as he waited for Bayard to peel off Philipe’s bloodstained shirt.

  “Je t’amie, je suis désolé,” Bayard murmured softly. “I should never have stopped looking for you.”

  “You could not have found me.” Philipe’s raspy tone reminded Nic of his own voice after so long unused languishing in Longo’s cell. He turned his head, squinting. His lips twitched into a weak smile. “Nicola. Your life mate is a brave woman.”

  “I know.” Gesturing for Bayard to move away, Nic sat next to Philipe, using the well-worn shirt to wipe the blood away from Philipe’s side. Where once the Frenchman had been on the edge of heavyset, now, Nic could see every rib.

  “The bullet is still inside him. Get two bottles of blood.” Digging in the medical kit, Nic withdrew the tools of a trade he hadn’t practiced in years. Scalpel, clamps, long, narrow forceps, and a suture kit. “There is no anesthetic, my friend.”

  Philipe squeezed Nic’s arm. “I have suffered more pain in the past three years than you could imagine. I am free now. With my love. I can manage.”

  If the man hadn’t been bleeding to death, Nic would have corrected him, told him about his eighteen years of captivity. But instead, he nodded. The scalpel shook in his hand until he forced himself to blow out a steadying breath. He needed blood. Soon.

  “Close your eyes, Philipe. Do not watch this.”

  Blood welled along the incision. Nic slid the forceps into the wound as Philipe groaned. “Stay still,” he snapped.

  Bayard raced back into the room, dropped the bottles on the bed next to Philipe, and pressed down on his lover’s shoulders. “I am here, mon ami. Deep breaths.”

  The sound of the metal forceps scraping against the bullet guided Nic’s hand, and when he pulled the silver fragment from Philipe’s kidney, the man passed out.

  Swiftly, Nic sutured the wound. “He will recover. But you must listen to me carefully.”

  “Whatever he needs.” Bayard stroked Philipe’s cheek. “Is Evangeline all right?”

  “I do not know.” Nic picked up one of the bottles of blood and stared at it for a long moment, desperately hungry, but knowing he only had one hope—Evangeline. “Philipe was starved. Possibly for the entire time he was in captivity. He will be ravenous, but if you let him have his fill, he will be sick. Small amounts. Every hour until he is strong enough to walk.”

  “Every hour. Oui. Thank you, Nicola.” Bayard helped Nic to his feet. “If you do not feed soon, you will be worse off than Philipe. Go to her.”

  “If she will have me.” Nic trudged back across the apartment and cracked the bedroom door. But when he saw Evangeline crying in Sylvie’s arms, he turned, headed for the nondescript gray sofa in the center of the room, and collapsed onto the cushions.

  Her head rested on something soft. Nic’s scent covered her. Evangeline opened her eyes, jerked up, and pitched half off the bed before Sylvie caught her. “Shite, love. Careful.”

  “Nic?”

  “He’s sewing up Philipe’s gunshot wound.” Sylvie grabbed an extra pillow and tucked it behind Evangeline’s back. When she sat down, the sympathy in her gaze brought tears to Evangeline’s eyes. “Do you want to get cleaned up? Nic might be a few minutes.”

  “My ankle’s broken. I can’t put any weight on it.” Her cheeks flamed. She wanted nothing more than a long, hot shower. Ached to wash the evidence of Luigi’s assault off her body before she had to face Nic again.

  “I’m a vampire, luv. I could carry you and still juggle buzzing chainsaws with my eyes closed.”

  Evangeline tried to laugh, but the reality of her situation and her cracked ribs turned the hoarse sound into a sob, and she buried her face in her hands. “Please. I can’t stand to smell him on me. And every time I close my eyes, I feel…”

  Sylvie brushed Evangeline’s hair away from her neck. “How many times?”

  As her tears spilled over, she let Sylvie pull her into a gentle hug. “Three. And…he…” Great, body-wracking sobs sent pain slicing across her chest. “He…forced me…to take…his blood. He’s…it’s like he’s…inside me… I didn’t…fight…hard enough.”

  Sylvie’s quiet shhh-ing sounds reminded Evangeline of her mother, and she felt like she was coming apart inside. “It wasn’t your fault, E. No one—not even Nic—is strong enough to beat Luigi.”

  “He took…my bond with Nic. I can’t feel him anymore. How is he supposed to…forgive me?” She started to hyperventilate, and the room spun around her. “Can’t…breathe.”

  Stroking Evangeline’s wrist in a slow, steady pattern, Sylvie pulled back and met her gaze. “Listen to my voice. I’m going to give you a series of numbers to repeat back to me. One. Two. Eighteen. Seventy-one. Thirty-nine. Fifty. Three.”

  Concentrating on the random list of numbers helped calm her, and by the time Evangeline reached the last number, her heart rate had dropped back to normal. “How did you know that would help?”

  “Spook training. Hostage rescue. Lots of panicking humans to deal with. Plus, when I was human…I had pretty bad anxiety. No one knew what it was four hundred years ago. Hysteria, they called it. But counting helped me.” Taking Evangeline’s hands, she squeezed firmly and stood up. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

  Sylvie half carried Evangeline into the bath, helped her into the tub, and turned on the hot water. “Hair first.”

  Little by little, the blood, the dirt, and Luigi’s scent disappeared, replaced by lilac soap and orange blossom shampoo. When Sylvie held a warm cloth to the wounds on her neck, something inside Evangeline broke. She needed Nic. He was her only constant in this new world she’d found herself in, and now…she didn’t know if they’d survive.

  She started to cry, and Sylvie held her, let Evangeline’s tears soak into her shirt until her sobs turned into weak hiccups. “He loves you, E. With everything he is. Nothing will ever change that.”

  If only Evangeline could believe that.

  When she was dry, wrapped in a towel and sitting on the edge of the tub, Sylvie rummaged through a drawer, coming away with a pair of loose fleece pants and a sweatshirt. “These should fit well enough. Once Bayard’s able to take a watch, I’ll go out and get you clothes that you won’t swim in.”

  Hobbling back to the bed with Sylvie’s arm around her waist, Evangeline struggled not to panic at
the empty room. “Nic…is he still working on Philipe?”

  “I’ll check, luv. You rest.” Sylvie patted her arm before she left, and Evangeline melted into the pillows. The pain from her bruised and broken ribs had faded to a dull ache, and even her ankle felt like it was healing.

  A quiet curse—Sylvie—from the main room—had her tensing. “Fuck me. I told you not to wait.”

  “I will…not…ask her. Not after…what he did…to her.” Nic’s slurred words were barely audible, and Evangeline got to her feet, limping awkwardly as she made her way to the door. “She needs…to heal.”

  “She needs you,” Sylvie whispered.

  Cracking open the door, Evangeline gasped. Nic lay sprawled on the sofa, his face ashen and his mouth slack as his head lolled to one side. Sylvie stood in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Bloody stupid.”

  “Nic.” In four painful, loping steps, Evangeline reached his side. Kneeling next to him on the sofa, she brushed her hair away from her neck. “Feed. Now.”

  “No.” His response rumbled in his chest, but there was no edge to his tone, only weakness. “Not like this.”

  “Yes. Exactly like this.” She spared Sylvie a quick glance. “What happened to him?”

  The bodyguard rolled her eyes. “Antonio took several bags of his blood before forcing him to drink bottled blood and locking him in the Conclave prison. He almost drowned getting out, then we had to beat up Antonio and threaten him to find out Luigi was behind it all. And he hasn’t slept. Vittoria gave him a shot of adrenaline five hours ago. It wore off, he dosed himself again—against her advice—and now, he’s about to pass out.”

  With a huff, Sylvie grabbed Nic and hauled him to his feet. His knees buckled, and he sagged against her. “Take my other arm,” she said to Evangeline. “The two of you need some privacy, and I need a bottle of blood and some peace and quiet so I can try to track down Luigi.”

  Sylvie helped both of them back into the bedroom, though Evangeline limped mostly under her own power. Nic collapsed onto the bed, and she pressed herself to his side as Sylvie shut the door.

  “Feed,” she whispered.

  He reached up to cup her cheek, and as his thumb ghosted over the bruises under her eyes, he shook his head. “You are too weak.”

  “Not for this.” Tears welled. “I need this, Nic. I can’t…feel you. He…he took our bond away and I don’t know how to get it back. Please.”

  Grunting as he propped himself up on the pillows, Nic urged her to straddle him. “I do not like seeing his marks on you.”

  “Why haven’t they healed?” The lump in her throat choked her, and she swallowed hard.

  “He did not want them to. He did nothing to seal them.” Sliding his hand into her hair, he sighed. “I have told you often…we are not kind creatures.”

  “You are.” Evangeline squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, some of the haze cleared. Her life mate, her husband, the man she’d risked everything to return to lay against the pillows, pale and wan. Leaning closer, she kissed him. A faint burst of warmth bloomed in her core, and though she ached to feel the intense, driving need his touch had evoked the last time she’d kissed him, the spark reassured her enough to tease the seam of his lips with her tongue. He parted for her, and the taste of him soothed the aching hole in her heart.

  “Feed,” she whispered. “I need your mark on me, Nic. Not his.”

  He swept his hands down her back, cupping her ass and holding her firmly against him as his need jutted against her core. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.” Angling her head, she held her breath as he bared his fangs. Her heart thudded against her chest, but as soon as he pierced her skin, the sensation of his lips, his tongue, and his hard length under her chased away her fear.

  Evangeline tried to shift her hips, desperate for more friction against her sensitive nub, and Nic reached a hand between them, into her pants, down to her mound to tease her slick folds. “Nic…more,” she begged.

  When he slipped a finger inside of her, Evangeline imploded, bucking against his hand as he pulled from her vein. Nuzzling his neck, she drew in his scent. The reassuring beat of his heart against her lips drove her on, and she bit down, desperate to reforge the bond between them.

  His blood flowed over her tongue as he tensed and sealed her wounds with his kiss. “Evangeline?”

  As her tremors subsided, she laved her tongue over his neck. The taste of him lingered on her lips, and as she caught her lower lip between her teeth, she hissed. “Ow.”

  Nic cupped her cheeks. As his intense gaze bored into her, she read the shock on his face. “Merda. Your eyes…”

  “What?”

  “Cara…they’re…you must see for yourself.” Lifting her gently, he carried her into the bathroom and set her down in front of the mirror, his arms wrapped around her waist. “I did not notice when we found you…I thought you were still wearing your contact lenses.”

  She didn’t want to look. Not after tasting his blood. Nor did she want to part her lips. Shaking, she closed her eyes. “I’m scared.”

  “Evangeline. You are my heart. My life mate. Your blood—merda—if you will not look at your reflection, look at me.”

  She twisted in his arms, and he smiled at her when she risked peeking up at him. His color had returned, his eyes held their customary intensity, and he stood taller, stronger. “You healed me, cara. And look.” Nic brushed his hair away from his neck. Two faint, silvery scars, the beginnings of renewed bonding marks, glowed in the overhead light. “These are not from a knife. You marked me. As I have marked you.”

  Swiping her finger across her front teeth, she felt two sharp points. “Are they…like yours?”

  With a gentle press of his fingers to her upper lip, he nodded. “Smaller. But like mine. And your eyes… I have never seen such a deep shade of purple. You are a vision, cara. Ti amo.”

  His confidence gave her strength. She could do this. Face her reflection. Tears burned her eyes, but as she blinked them away, she brought her hand to her mouth. All traces of brown had faded away, and silvery flecks danced in the amethyst depths of her irises.

  “My mother did this,” she whispered.

  “I do not understand.” Nic met her gaze in the mirror, concern furrowing his brow. “Your mother died when you were born.”

  “No.” Shaking her head, she turned and pressed her hands to his strong chest, needing to feel his heartbeat. “Marie’s alive. Luigi took her prisoner years ago. She’s the reason we escaped. The reason Luigi couldn’t…control me. But…she’s still trapped down there. Nic…we have to free her.”

  36

  Evangeline’s mother. Alive. And Luigi’s prisoner. Nic took stared at his life mate, at her newly purple eyes, the tiny fangs that perched on her lower lip, and wondered how much more their love could stand before one—or both of them—shattered.

  “Nic? Say something.” She clutched his arms, and as she tried to shift on her feet, she winced and hissed out a breath.

  Dio. In his shock, he’d forgotten all about her injuries. Scooping her up into his arms, he carried her back to bed. “Let me see your ankle.”

  As he probed the swelling, she winced. “I think it’s almost healed, but it still hurts like hell.”

  "Si.” The cuts and bruises on her feet had faded, along with the worst of the bruising around her eyes. The twin scars from Luigi’s repeated attacks were still bright red, but no longer oozing or even raised, and just above them, Evangeline bore a very weak, very new bonding mark.

  With a sigh, Nic scooted closer and rubbed his hands on his thighs. The oversized sweatshirt and loose pants hid Evangeline’s figure, but the subtle swell of her breasts still beckoned him, and his cock stirred, pressing against the seam of his jeans. When she’d bitten him, he’d almost lost control and come in his pants, but then the feel of her pulling from his vein as he drank from her had registered, and worry had taken over.

  His beautiful hu
man…was no longer so human. Her eyes—now purple—carried the same haunted, terrified cast he’d seen when he’d burst into the police booth. And he’d ignored what she’d needed. “Where else are you injured?”

  With trembling hands, she lifted her sweatshirt, revealing a deep purple bruise along her ribs.

  “Lie back.” He ran his fingers over the mark as she shuddered. “You are healing quickly, cara. One rib? Two?”

  “I don’t know. The drugs…I was so dizzy. I felt a crack. And when we ran…it kept…clicking.” She reached for Nic. “I know we need to figure out how to stop…him. But…will you just hold me?”

  The raw need in her voice broke his heart. “I will always hold you, cara.”

  Once he’d settled himself against the headboard, he gathered her into his arms. With her head resting on his shoulder, her soft breaths tickled his neck. Tiny tremors shook her small frame, and when the first tear landed on his arm, the helplessness and fear of the past day threatened to overwhelm him.

  “Nothing could ever destroy my love for you,” he whispered as he rubbed her back. “I do not care how weak our bond is now. You are still mia sposa. Still my wife. My life mate. My heart.”

  “He told me,” she sobbed, “I’d bond with him. He was going to make me his blood slave and I’d have no choice. That soon…I’d do whatever he asked, without question. No matter how much he hurt me.”

  “Evangeline, look at me.” Nic purposely forced strength into his tone. “Right after we bonded, we fought. Do you remember?” Her brows drew together, and Nic kissed the little furrow between them.

  “You threatened to tie me to a tree and infiltrate the catacombs on your own.”

  “Si. I was wrong. And you shoved me onto my ass.”

  The corners of her lips twitched. “You deserved that.”

  “I did.” Nic tucked a lock of hair behind Evangeline’s ear and trailed his fingers over the new bonding mark. “Even if I wanted to…control you, cara—and I do not—you are immune to the incantessimo. Your strength, your spirit…he could never take those from you. Whatever he planned…he was always doomed to fail.”