But the despair in Drake’s eyes told her the truth, and Ashlyn wanted to die in that moment. For three years she had avoided her father and Toryn, fleeing her destiny until even Lord Li had believed her to be dead. When she’d returned, Kou had led her to believe that her father was the enemy, driven mad by shift, but in reality Lord Li had been a victim of Kou’s manipulations and cruelty. His last months had been spent suffering at the hands of a monster. If Ashlyn had accepted her birthright and returned to Toryn following Lord Angelo’s defeat, then maybe her father would still be alive today.
“He’s gone,” she choked out, and began to cry, except that she had no tears left, and her sobs only invoked pitiful tremors in her already trembling ribcage. Hers was the crippling, heart-rending grief of a dying daughter, the lamentation of a broken warrior. There was no reprieve.
Drake lifted her closer, crushing her to him in an awkward embrace as he ran. “I know,” he said, and his voice was raw, like he’d been breathing hard from running too long, except that Ashlyn knew vampires didn’t need to breathe and Drake Lockhart could never get winded.
The sound of his boots against the ramp to the airship clanged in her ears, and Drake said, “We’re here, Ashlyn, just stay awake,” before Sara’s shrill voice cut in with, “Careful now. Where is she hurt?”
“Her right arm was torn open. I’ve sealed the vein. She’s nearly bled out.” Drake spoke as he ducked into the airship, heading down the corridor towards the infirmary. Ashlyn numbly focused on keeping her eyes open, fighting the urge to squeeze them shut under the harsh fluorescent lights inside the ship.
“She’ll need a transfusion.” Ashlyn heard metallic squeaking as Sara yanked open a file cabinet. “What is her blood type? I can’t remember. Where is her file?” Desperation was creeping into the scientist’s tone.
Drake placed Ashlyn on the operating table, easing her down carefully and lacing the fingers of his right hand through hers. “We have the same blood type,” he said, brushing strands of frosty hair back from Ashlyn’s face with the cold metal fingers of his gloved left hand. “Take mine.”
There was a brief pause as Sara considered this, and Ashlyn stared up into Drake’s face, blinking furiously to abate the sting of her dry eyes and trying very hard to stay conscious. Now that she’d been yanked from her own delirium into the real world, emotions were ricocheting back and forth inside her, each one opening a fresh and painful wound upon impact. She wanted to sleep, she wanted to die…she wanted to wake up from this awful dream and be back in Endro, far away from Toryn and Kou and the horror of reality.
Drake held her hand tighter, his eyes burning straight to her soul.
“I don’t know about that, Drake,” Sara said at last. “Your condition…your blood might have contagions that could…affect Ashlyn.”
“She won’t turn.” Drake’s voice was sharp. “Please. She is dying. My blood has healing properties. A direct transfusion is the only way.” He didn’t release Ashlyn’s hand, instead jerkily raising his silver glove, unbuckling the straps with his teeth, and dropping the heavy contraption to the floor with a loud metallic clank. He offered his wrist to Sara, and the light gleamed off the scar tissue that covered his forearm. “I’m ready.”
Sara hesitated, clearly flustered. Skye appeared beside her, and his expression was grave.
“Drake, can you guarantee that she won’t become a vampire if you give her blood?” the blond swordsman asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“Can you guarantee that she’ll live if I don’t?” Drake countered, and Skye glanced at Sara, clearly expecting a response.
Sara’s face was white. “I- I can’t guarantee anything,” she stammered. “But every moment we wait changes the odds.”
“Then let me save her,” the vampire hissed, and even in her half-conscious state, Ashlyn could feel the angry heat radiating off him in waves. “You know I’d never do anything if I thought it might hurt her.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” Skye said, nodding. He glanced down at Ashlyn, seemingly considering the options. Finally he turned to Sara. “Do it.”
The scientist rushed to the cabinets and began pulling out equipment, and Ashlyn watched her silently. Skye distracted her by suddenly holding something to her mouth, and she looked up at him, feeling the dampness of the canteen’s opening against her lips.
“It’s only water,” he said. “Drink.”
She was immediately frustrated to find that she was too weak even to swallow, but she let the water trickle down her parched throat, and it was soothing nonetheless. When she had drank it all, he moved away, touching a hand briefly to her shoulder for reassurance.
Her eyes eventually drifted shut, lulled by the comforting warmth of the infirmary. She listened quietly as the people around her spoke in hushed tones, and began to drift off to sleep, only to be interrupted by Drake.
“Ashlyn,” he said, and his voice was soft but urgent. “Stay with me.”
“You…stay with me,” she retorted hoarsely, angry at being awoken. She was at once irritated and exhausted, and in her grief-stricken and weakened state, Drake’s uncharacteristic display of affection was as frustrating as it was comforting. With a monumental effort, she managed to open her eyes again, and turned her head slightly to see what was happening.
Sara was pushing something into Ashlyn’s wrist, attaching her to a long tube that was already hooked into Drake’s arm. Ashlyn had never seen Drake without his silver glove before, and the complex web of scars starting just above his wrist and continuing up the inside of his arm was both horrifying and fascinating. There were so many crescent-shaped ridges crowded onto the skin of his forearm that some of them overlapped onto each other like some kind of morbid patchwork quilt.
She watched fuzzily as the blood began to flow from his body into hers, and felt an immediate jolt as the foreign blood touched her veins. “Your arm,” she whispered. “What…are those?”
“Bite marks,” Drake replied.
Skye appeared on Ashlyn’s opposite side, eyebrows knitting as he surveyed what must have been extensive damage to Drake’s entire forearm. “How many bites does it take to turn you into a vampire?”
“This wasn’t done to turn me,” Drake answered, and the brevity of his answer spoke volumes.
Ashlyn had never questioned why he wore the silver glove, but now she found herself wondering what else he had kept hidden from her- and also wondering just how extensively Lord Angelo had tortured Drake before turning him into a vampire. Most of Drake’s wounds healed with little or no scarring, so these bite marks must have been inflicted while he was still human.
She could feel the blood strengthening her, little by little. Hesitantly, she tried to squeeze Drake’s hand, and was pleased when her fingers responded.
His gaze locked once more with hers, and Ashlyn took a deep breath, feeling almost like time was standing still, trapping the two of them together in a strange limbo. With her delirium slowly dissipating, she felt like she could finally see him clearly, and the events of their last meeting crowded her mind uncomfortably. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about right now, but with Drake holding her hand and staring deep into her eyes, his blood flowing into her veins, it was impossible to focus on anything else. She could tell from his expression that there was something he wanted to say too, but it certainly wasn’t the appropriate time or place.
“Tag is…dead,” Ashlyn rasped, turning her head towards Skye and breaking eye contact with Drake. “I wounded Kou…but he escaped.”
“You did good, Ash,” Skye said firmly. “We left Trace and Ellis in the Heavenly City. If Kou is still on the northern continent, they’ll find him and kill him, and we can finally end this.”
She nodded faintly, a lump in her throat. If her dad had still been alive, Skye would be reprimanding her right now for running off alone for the third time in a row. Somehow Skye being nice to her was a million times more soul-crushing than Skye yelling at her for being a
n irresponsible brat.
The light in the room was brightening, her surroundings gaining an astonishing clarity with every passing moment. Ashlyn glanced at Sara, who was standing a few feet away from Drake, holding a clipboard and chewing nervously on her lower lip. She could see every detail of the scientist’s finely pretty features, even noticing a tiny smudge on the lens of the older woman’s glasses.
Strength was flowing through her muscles, enveloping her entire body, and her skin was tingling. The blood was working. She was healing. Heat unfurled in her core and began to spread through her limbs. Ashlyn frowned. It didn’t…feel right. Something was wrong.
Pain spiked unexpectedly in her chest, and she gasped, arching off the table as the agony blossomed out in a solid wave, the heat sweeping through her body. It burned like someone had dumped a bucket of hot coals on top of her, and Ashlyn wailed helplessly, desperate to escape the feeling.
About the Author:
Charity Santiago is a native of southeastern Arizona and a writer since childhood. She wrote her first manuscript, Guinea Pig Code!, at age nine. When she’s not writing books, Charity spends her time wrangling children, watching Sylvester Stallone movie and contributing to the entertainment section at the blog “The Creation Experiment.”
Charity currently has four books published on Amazon Kindle: A Carol for Ben, a contemporary holiday romance, and the Lady of Toryn trilogy, which consists of Return, Regret, and Redemption. She is currently hard at work writing Blood Lust, the first installment in a sexy new paranormal romance series.
Connect with Charity Online:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/cinephilemama
Blog: http://charitysantiago.blogspot.com
Facebook Fan Page: http://www.facebook.com/charitysantiago
Table of Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Excerpt of the third and final book in the Lady of Toryn trilogy
About the Author
Regret (Lady of Toryn Trilogy) Page 16
