Rhys wandered the dark streets, heedless of where his feet carried him. Nothing mattered now but Megan. Four days had passed since the accident, and she was still lost to him, locked in a coma. He had gone to see her every night. Her parents no longer questioned his right to be there. Not wanting Megan to be left alone, her mother and father were taking turns staying at her bedside. Evelyn stayed during the day, George at night. Rhys arrived at the hospital late at night, after exhaustion and worry had taken their toll and her father finally succumbed to sleep.
And now Rhys again stood at her bedside. Unmindful of her father, asleep in a chair, Rhys held Megan’s hand, speaking softly of his love for her, of the life they would have together if she would only awaken. Even though he wasn’t sure she heard him, he went on, reminiscing about the nights they had spent together, the times they had made love.
“Megan, my sweet.” His fingertips brushed her cheek, traced the curve of her lips. Her face was as pale as the pillowcase beneath her head, her skin as cool as his, her breathing shallow. How much longer would she lie there, unmoving and unaware, before he lost her for good?
His gaze moved to her throat, to the pulse slowly beating there. If he brought her across, would it restore her to good health?
Or condemn her to spending an eternity in the horrible state she was now in?
And how was he to know?
Three long weeks passed. Fear and concern for Megan drew Rhys and her parents together. Rhys found himself genuinely liking George and Evelyn. They were good, honest people, openly expressing their gratitude to the doctors and nurses caring for their daughter. Rhys knew they were naturally curious about the man who claimed to be engaged to Megan, but their questions were tactful, and they didn’t pursue subjects he was reluctant to discuss.
He knew they wondered why he always arrived after dark, even on the weekends, why he never went for coffee with George or accepted any of the donuts or homemade treats Evelyn sometimes brought to the hospital to share with the staff. He considered telling them what he was but, in the end, years of discretion kept him silent. It was one thing for Megan’s parents to think of him as somewhat mysterious, another entirely for them to know the truth.
George and Evelyn spent hours talking to Megan or reading to her. A radio played constantly in the background in the belief that it might stimulate a response.
Rhys continued to speak to her as well, sometimes vocally, sometimes mentally, but there was no response. She didn’t speak, didn’t open her eyes, didn’t move. Some of the bandages had been removed, revealing ugly bruises on one side of her face and along her right arm.
Earlier that night, the doctor had called Megan’s parents into his office. Curious to hear what the physician had to say, Rhys had dissolved into mist and followed them. The news hadn’t been good. As gently as possible, the doctor had explained that, with every passing day, it became more unlikely that Megan would regain consciousness. He also advised them that there was a possibility she would regain consciousness but be in a vegetative state, meaning she would have lost all cognitive neurological function. She could be awake and appear normal, but if the cognitive part of her brain ceased to function, she would be unable to respond to her surroundings.
Distraught, Evelyn had sobbed, “It would be better if she died! She wouldn’t want to live like that.”
“There’s always a chance she’ll wake and regain all her faculties,” the doctor said. “But I thought you should be prepared for the worst as well.”
With a nod, George led Evelyn out of the doctor’s office.
Rhys had been back at Megan’s bedside when they entered her room.
He was there now, his hand lightly stroking her brow. It was almost two in the morning, and the hospital was quiet save for the soft shushing of rubber-soled shoes as the night nurses checked on their patients, and the ever-present wheezing and beeping of life-support machines. Megan’s father slept in one of the chairs, his brow furrowed with worry even in sleep.
As he had every night, Rhys tried to connect with Megan’s mind. Tonight, fear and a sense of doom caused by the doctor’s gloomy prognosis drove him to persist longer than usual. Intent on the task at hand, he did not notice as the minutes and hours passed, until he felt the warning tingle that signaled the rising of the sun.
He was about to kiss her good-bye when her voice sounded in his mind.
Rhys?
Megan! Hope flared in his heart and soul. Megan, can you hear me?
Where am I? Where are you? It’s dark, so dark.
Heat from the rising sun prickled along his skin. Moving quietly, he went to the window and closed the blinds. Open your eyes for me, Megan.
I can’t. What’s wrong with me? Am I dying?
No, love, you’re in a coma.
Then how can we be talking?
I don’t know. I want to try something.
What?
I’m going to give you some of my blood.
He smiled faintly as he sensed her revulsion. It might help heal you.
Afraid she would object, he didn’t wait for a reply. He bit into his wrist, and, after gently parting her lips, he held his arm over her mouth and let a few drops of his blood trickle onto the back of her tongue, hoping they would slide down her throat.
He would have given her more, but a nurse chose that moment to pause outside the door.
Turning his back to the nurse, Rhys closed the wound in his wrist, bid the nurse good night, and left the room.
Outside, he took a quick moment to admire the sunrise before willing himself to his penthouse.
He was back at the hospital at sundown the following night. Earlier that day, he had touched Megan’s mind. Even though she hadn’t answered, he had assured her that he loved her, missed her, would see her soon. He was whistling softly when he arrived at the hospital, unable to contain the hope that his blood had worked a miracle, that he would walk into Megan’s room and find her sitting up in bed, smiling and happy.
But such was not to be. Even though she was now breathing on her own, Megan lay as before, pale and unmoving. George and Evelyn stood together at her bedside. The weeks had taken their toll on Megan’s parents. Her father’s hair had turned completely gray; deep lines of worry bracketed his mouth. Her mother, too, had aged in the last month. Evelyn never smiled now; the dark shadows under her eyes were evidence of sleepless nights and anxious days.
Two to four weeks, the doctor had said. If Megan didn’t come out of the coma in that time, the odds were she would lapse into a vegetative state and never recover.
Taking her uninjured hand in his, Rhys bent down, his lips brushing her cheek, her eyelids, the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat.
“Fear not, my love,” he whispered. “I won’t let that happen to you.” She didn’t respond, of course, and because he wanted her to know he was there, he reached for the link between them; he found only emptiness.
In that moment, he made up his mind. No more waiting. No more hoping and praying for a miracle that might never come. Tonight, he would bring her across. But not here. If it worked, she would wake with a ravenous thirst. It wasn’t something doctors or nurses were equipped to handle, nor was it something he wanted her parents to see.
He glanced at George and Evelyn. It would be cruel to take Megan away without warning them beforehand. They had suffered enough.
His decision made, he closed the door to Megan’s room. “George, Evelyn, why don’t you sit down? I have something to tell you.”
They exchanged glances, then sat side by side, holding hands. Evelyn’s cheeks were damp with tears. George looked mildly curious.
Rhys dragged his fingers through his hair. “I’m not sure how to say this except to say it straight out. I’m a vampire.”
Evelyn blinked at him.
“This is no time for jokes,” George said angrily. “My daughter is dying.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
Clenching his fists, George s
tarted to rise. There was no doubt in Rhys’s mind that the man was looking for any excuse to hit something. He had been through hell in the last month, and, up to now, he had managed to hold it all together.
Drawing on his preternatural power, Rhys forced the man back into his chair.
“What the hell!” George exclaimed. “Who are you?”
“I told you, I’m a vampire. Do you need more proof?” And so saying, Rhys bared his fangs and unleashed the monster within him. He knew what they saw. He had seen enough of the Undead to know that his face took on a hardness no human’s ever wore, that his eyes were blood red.
Evelyn opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged.
George stared at him. “Why are you telling us this? Are you going to…” His face paled.
With a shake of his head, Rhys retracted his fangs and willed the beast back inside. “I’m telling you because I’m going to take Megan to my place. I’m going to bring her across. I think it’s the only way to save her.”
“You want to turn my daughter into a vampire?” George shook his head emphatically. “I won’t hear of it.”
“George, let him do it.”
“Are you out of your mind, woman?” George exclaimed. “He wants to make her into a monster!”
“I don’t want to lose Megan.” Evelyn turned pleading eyes on Rhys. “Do it. If it will bring Megan back to us, do it.”
George brought his fist down on the arm of the chair. “Dammit, Evie, you don’t know what you’re saying!”
But Evelyn wasn’t listening to her husband. Her gaze was focused on Rhys. “Please,” she said, “save her for me.”
“I’ll do my best, but there are no guarantees.”
Evelyn bit down on her lower lip, obviously disturbed by the implication that something might go wrong. And then she squared her shoulders. “You’re our only hope.”
“Megan wouldn’t want this,” George said. “And if she knew what you were, she wouldn’t want you, either.”
“She knows.”
George stared at him, all the fight gone out of him.
“I’m taking her out of here tonight,” Rhys said quietly. “I want you to go talk to her doctor and tell them you’ve decided to take her home to die. I’m sure they’ll try to talk you out of it. Just stand firm. Sign whatever papers you have to.”
George nodded, though it was clear from the look on his face that he was against it.
“When that’s done, I think the two of you should go home. There’s nothing else you can do here.”
Evelyn clutched her husband’s arm, her expression growing even more anxious. “But you’ll bring her to us, after? You swear it?”
Rhys nodded. “When she’s ready to see you, I’ll bring her home. You have my word on it.”
Chapter 48
After the necessary papers were signed, Megan was wheeled out to the curb to a waiting ambulance. Once the nurse who had accompanied Megan returned to the hospital, George dismissed the ambulance. Evelyn sobbed quietly as she kissed Megan’s cheek.
Rhys lifted Megan from the gurney. “We need to go.”
“Remember your promise,” Evelyn said. Sobbing now, she kissed Megan’s cheek.
George stared at Rhys. “I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what you are.” His voice broke.” If anything happens to my daughter…”
Rhys nodded. “I hear you.”
Since George and Evelyn knew what he was, there was no need for subterfuge. Rhys removed the casts from Megan’s legs, then willed the two of them to his penthouse.
Doubts plagued him as soon as he laid her on his bed. What if it didn’t work? What if he took too much and killed her? What if his blood brought her out of the coma but left her body unable to move, her mind unable to function?
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he ran his knuckles along her check. She was cold. Cold and unresponsive.
Guilt burned through him. No matter how you sliced it, this was all his fault. If he had stayed out of her life, she wouldn’t have been looking for a wedding dress on that fateful day, wouldn’t have been crossing the street at just that moment. Wouldn’t be lying here, more dead than alive.
His fingertips slid down the side of her neck to rest in the hollow of her throat. He could feel the faint beat of her heart, hear the sluggish flow of blood wending its way through her veins, the labored sound of her breathing.
“If you’re gonna do it,” he muttered, “you’d damn well better do it before it’s too late.”
Murmuring, “Forgive me for breaking my promise, my love, but I can’t let you go,” he drew her into his lap and brushed the hair away from her neck.
He didn’t realize he was crying until the red of his tears dripped onto her cheeks.
“Forgive me,” he said again, and lowered his head to her throat.
She didn’t respond when his fangs pierced her skin.
He drank, and her blood was warm and sweet and more satisfying than anything he had ever known.
He drank until the spark of life within her guttered and then, biting into his own wrist, he held it over her mouth, lightly stroking her throat in an effort to make her swallow.
“Drink, my love,” he pleaded. “You’ve got to drink.”
Nothing. No movement, no fluttering of her eyelids, no change in her breathing or heartbeat.
“Megan!”
His blood dripped into her mouth, slid down her throat.
Slowly, so slowly that at first he thought he was imagining it, her skin grew warmer, color returned to her cheeks, her heartbeat grew stronger, steadier.
“That’s it! Come on, darlin’, fight!”
When she swallowed, he placed his wrist closer to her mouth. Relief poured through him when her hand came up, grasping his wrist to hold his arm closer.
“Megan.” Murmuring her name, he caressed her cheek with his free hand. “Drink, Megan. Take as much as you want,” he said fervently. “As much as you need.”
Megan reached upward. It was like rising from the bottom of a deep, dark pit with nothing to guide her. She had no recollection of how she had fallen, no explanation for the pain that engulfed her, no memory of anything but a shadowy figure with blazing red eyes….
“Rhys?”
“I’m here.”
She tried to open her eyes, tried to follow the sound of his voice, but the smothering darkness dragged her down again.
“Fight, Megan! Come on, love. Come to me.”
His voice rang in her mind. Rhys. If she could find him, if she could just touch him, everything would be all right.
She struggled through the thick blackness, clawing her way toward his voice, and slowly, ever so slowly, the inky blackness faded to a dark gray that gradually grew lighter even as her body felt lighter, almost weightless.
“Yes, that’s it. Come to me, Megan, my love. I’m here, waiting for you.”
“Rhys!” She fought her way toward him until, with a final burst of energy, she opened her eyes. “Rhys!” she cried. “Oh, Rhys, I had the worst nightmare! I tried and tried to wake up, and I couldn’t.”
Gathering her into his arms, he murmured, “I know, love.” He rained featherlight kisses on her cheeks, her chin, the tip of her nose.
“Why is my arm in a cast? What are all these bandages? Why am I wearing a hospital gown?”
“Don’t you remember what happened?”
“No, I…” She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time, then frowned. “You look different somehow.” Turning her head slowly, she scanned the room. “Everything looks different.” She wrinkled her nose. “Smells different.”
“Megan—”
“What’s happened to me? Why is everything so strange? Why do I feel so funny?”
“One thing at a time, love. You were hit by a car. You’ve been in a coma for almost a month.”
“A coma!” She stared at him, disbelief in her eyes, and then shook her head in denial. “No, it was just a bad dream.”
&n
bsp; “Then how do you explain the cast and the bandages?”
Confusion flickered in the depths of her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Like I said, you’ve been in a coma. The doctors weren’t hopeful that you’d recover. They said there was a good chance you’d be in a vegetative state for the rest of your life, and if you recovered, you’d never walk again.”
She stared at him. “If I was as bad off as all that, why aren’t I still in the hospital?”
“Megan, wiggle your toes.”
“My parents must be worried to death. Good Lord, what must they think?”
“They know everything. I spent the last few weeks at the hospital with them.”
“You did?”
Rhys nodded. “When we realized you weren’t going to recover, I told them what I was—”
Megan’s eyes widened. “I don’t believe you!”
“I told them I was going to take you out of the hospital and bring you here.”
“And they agreed?” she asked skeptically.
“Megan, wiggle your toes.”
With an exasperated sigh, she stretched her legs out and wiggled her toes. “Happy now?”
Uttering a wordless cry, he cradled her to his chest, a silent prayer of thanks rising in his heart.
It took him a moment to realize she had gone rigid in his embrace.
“You turned me, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice brittle as memories of Shirl and how her friend had changed after being turned jumped to the forefront of her mind. “That’s why I feel so funny, isn’t it! How could you do such a thing without asking me?” She pushed off his lap, then stood staring down at him. “How could you?” she repeated, her voice sharp with accusation and anger. “You promised…”
“Would you rather be back in the hospital, unconscious?”
“No, of course not, but…” She glanced around the room, only then realizing she could see everything clearly even though the lights were off. She could smell the oil and gasoline from a passing truck, the scent of garbage from somewhere down the street, the hint of rain in the air.
Maybe she wasn’t a vampire. There were all kinds of stories about people waking from comas with abilities they hadn’t had before.
Everlasting Desire Page 29
