by A. Vers
His scent was stronger now, spicy, and I knew his blood would be the same. I went up on tiptoe and feathered a kiss against his jaw. It was clumsy and showed my lack of experience. But I respected him immensely, and it was all I could think of to show it.
“Morgan.” My name was gruff from his lips.
I turned my face to answer.
He was so close, so hot. The slight stubble on his cheek scratched at my skin. My mouth watered and I could taste the heady beat of his heart on my tongue as it thrummed in my ears. I wanted him to kiss me like Ames had. I wanted him to—
“Well, look what we have boys.”
Ryder grabbed me and shoved me behind him. I peered around his arm as a group of teenagers in baggy pants and dark bandannas approached. Many of them carried weapons of varying levels of danger.
“Ryder …” I breathed.
He stiffened. “I see them.” His focus seemed to go outward, taking their measure or counting their numbers. Maybe both. “Can we help you fellows?”
One of the boys near the front grinned. “Just figured we would watch the show. Ain’t that right, gents?”
His companions smiled too and gave affirmations that a show would be welcome.
Ryder’s hand on my arm tightened. “Sorry, boys. But the theatre is back across town. If you hurry, you may catch the last showing.”
They exchanged glances. “I think this is the best show we will find tonight.” The one in front spoke again. “But, if you let me have a turn with the girl, I promise we will leave right after.”
My brows came together in distaste.
A turn?
“I’m going to draw their focus, Morgan,” Ryder breathed, barely moving. “When I do, take off for Lokworth. You should’ve never come to town.”
His words sliced into me. I pulled back, gazing at the back of his head. “Ryder—”
“You’re not human. You don’t belong here. I should’ve taken you back as soon as I saw you.” His head remained turned towards the males. “Go back to where you belong. Go, dammit.”
I stumbled backward and he let me go. My eyes burned. But I couldn’t stop staring at him, even as my vision clouded. His head started to turn. I spun on my heel and ran before he could see the tears pouring from my eyes.
There were shouts, but I hit the trees and kept going. Then slowed. Then stopped under the shadowed canopy.
The distant smack of flesh hitting flesh made me shudder as I gazed back the way I came. I could barely see the lot. Even with the soft glow of amber lights.
Could I really leave him? I took a step toward the light.
Ryder’s words still stung, but he had been trying to save me from the beginning. And he was fighting so I could get away.
He was outmatched.
As the humans were at Lokworth. I hadn’t stood up and fought more when they brought them to our school. Now, two were dead. And Ryder would be next.
He stood no chance against so many.
I curled my hands into fists. Neither did I. But I wouldn’t abandon him. Couldn’t leave him to this fate because they scared me. Or because I was unsure.
He said I didn’t belong in the human world. And maybe he was right. But I also didn’t belong in the vampire world. My parents made sure of that.
There was a masculine cry of pain in the distance. Lilac light filled the surrounding trees.
Ryder.
I took off running, praying that I would make it back to him in time. No one could match a vampire’s speed. And for the first time since my parents sent me away, I was grateful for what I was.
I just hoped it would be enough.
Chapter 27
Ryder
I swung my fist as the first male approached. There was a sickening crunch from his nose and blood flew. Rage simmered beneath my skin, beating and burning at my gut.
Morgan would never forgive me. Never listen to any apology I tried to make. And I hated myself for feeling like I owed her one.
She was a vampire. I was a human. There was no place for either of us in the other’s world. But I had not felt like we were so different. She liked movies, cheered for the good guy, and cried when the hero’s old lady was kidnapped.
There was not an evil bone in her body. She was sweet and beautiful. Smart and articulate. I had a feeling she had a wry sense of humor and her smile, when she would smile, was earthshaking.
And I had to run her off so the thuggish sleaze-balls didn’t touch a single lock of that gorgeous black hair of hers.
But if Morgan was safe, that’s all that mattered.
I ducked as one thug swung a bat at my head. But I wasn’t fast enough to avoid the knife that sliced my torso. The line burned, doubling me in half. I grunted and stumbled. It was all the opening they needed. They fell on me, kicking and beating every inch of exposed skin they could find. I huddled in on myself, trying to protect my internal organs.
“Ryder!”
I rolled my eyes to the source of that voice, not believing my ears. Or my eyes. The punches and kicks stopped as footfalls neared in the night.
Morgan stood on the edge of the lot, her gaze wide but glowing lilac with her anger. With her bloodlust. She took a step. The men chuckled.
“Aww, his girlfriend came back,” one said.
Her gaze narrowed on him.
“No,” I gasped, hand on my side as I tried to breathe normally. “Morgan, go.”
Still she advanced. Gruff hands grabbed me by the collar, hauling me to my feet. Something sharp laid against my neck. I went still.
Morgan’s hands curled into fists as her lips peeled back from steadily dropping fangs. “Get away from him,” she cried and ran toward us.
They didn’t budge.
One caught her about the arm, pulling her against his body as he leered at her. His hand roamed up her waist. She made a sound, one of fear and disgust. My vision went red.
Moving despite the pain, I kicked my heel back. The guy holding me howled as his kneecap popped audibly. I slipped past the grabbing hands of his buddy and slammed my fist into the face of the male holding Morgan. He stumbled backward, releasing her. I snared his face in both hands and wrenched with all the strength left in my body. There was a terrible crack, like a gunshot, and he crumbled. Morgan jumped away from him. Her eyes were wide, confused.
But I couldn’t comfort her. Couldn’t explain it.
I grabbed her hand and ran.
We sprinted over the parking lot and the remaining men gave chase. My eyes darted, searching for somewhere to hide. To catch my breath.
An old watch building for the junkyard loomed. It seemed wreathed in an angelic halo. Or maybe that was the blood loss.
I hauled Morgan up the small set of stairs and pushed her inside before me. Slamming the door, I fumbled in the dark for any lock that might be there. A single deadbolt was the only way to keep them out. Footsteps pounded outside. Heart hammering, I slid it home.
Something heavy hit the door. It rattled in the frame but remained in place.
I pushed Morgan back behind me, shielding her even as my torso screamed with pain from every motion I made. The hot trickle of blood over my ribs told me the knife wound was deeper than I thought.
“I thought I told you to go,” I hissed at her through clenched teeth.
Her fingers gripped my arm. “I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t let you die like Eliza by doing nothing.”
I wanted to remain unfeeling to her words. Uncaring. Callous. But my eyes fluttered.
She cared enough to come back.
Some evil vampire she was.
My fingers flexed over her hip. “Can you fight at all?” I asked as shadows began to pass the lone window set in the front of the small hut.
The thugs were surrounding us.
“I have never tried.” My stomach sunk. “But I remember how our warriors moved. How they trained. Maybe I can ... emulate them.”
“If they grab you, drop your weight. Kick, scream, claw. D
o whatever you have to in order to get away. Do you understand?”
Her hands tightened as a single form filled the window opposite. Backlit in the lights beyond the junkyard, the male’s face was garish. Insane. “Yes,” she whispered.
I knew her eyes were still glowing that soft purple in the dark. Hell, I could see the haze on the hut around us.
But they didn’t know she was a vampire.
An idea began to form.
“Are you thirsty?” I asked, stomach turning at the very notion of her feeding from someone. Though, at that moment, I wasn’t sure if it was because she had to feed or because it would be from someone else.
She made a sound. “I highly doubt now is the time for that, Ryder—”
“Could you feed on them?”
She went deathly still behind me. “That is suicide. The Council would kill me.”
“I’m bleeding, Mor. I could fight them at full strength. Maybe. But like this?” I gave a small shake of my head. “Worst-case scenario, maybe we can wait them out. But what if they attack first?”
“Ryder …” She fell silent. “I can’t feed from humans.” There was such conviction in her voice. Such pain.
It made me turn my head to look at her.
Her expression was crestfallen, closed off. “Please. Don’t ask me to,” she said. The first tear fell from her softly glowing eyes.
Shit.
I gripped her face, hating how dirty my hands were compared to the smooth alabaster of her skin. She needed someone like Ames to touch her. Someone clean of their past. Their destiny.
And yet, she didn’t move away. She closed her eyes and leaned into me, and my heart stopped beating.
The shadows in the window shifted, and the leader glowered at me through the glass. His eyes dipped from my face to the beautiful girl in my grasp.
Licking his lips, he placed the edge of a knife onto the grimy panes and dragged it down with a screech.
Morgan tried to turn. To look. I held her in place, pulling her against me even as I forced us deeper into the shadows of the hut. Farther from the window. The man smiled.
“Then we get out some other way,” I said, with a conviction I didn’t feel. I prayed more than I had in nearly ten years that I could get her out.
What choice did I have?
Vampire or not, Morgan was braver than I had ever been. Better. She had to get out of here. Even if I didn’t.
Chapter 28
Morgan
Ryder’s heart was thunderous under my ear. Every step he took made it speed. He was in pain. I knew it and could do nothing about it. His blood fragranced the hut, filling it with spice and something that was simply him. It made my fangs descend, and I had to pull away.
He leaned against the wall, his normally tan skin ashen in the dimness. “There were thirteen at last count,” he muttered. “One door, one exit.”
I nodded and looked around the small building. It was little more than a storage shed converted into a guardhouse. A toppled desk rested beneath the window and a box fan was unplugged and squashed into a corner. There was a broom, broken and placed against the wall. Never to be used again.
But nothing to make into a weapon. Or a distraction. We were trapped inside. The junkyard, by the state of the guard shack alone, was not used anymore. It was a relic on the edge of Easthaven.
No one knew we were here. No one but the humans circling outside.
Ames would try to find me once I didn’t show up for class. He would trace me by scent to town. But by then, would we even still be alive?
I turned to Ryder. His jaw was slack and his eyes glazed. The blood on his shirt glistened under the light of my eyes.
How bad was he hurt?
“Ryder?” I reached for him.
His hand closed over my wrist almost too fast. I winced as his grip tightened painfully. “Ryder? Let go.”
He blinked. A touch of clarity refilled his eyes, and his fingers loosened. “Sorry.”
“How bad are you hurt?” I asked.
His lips curved. “I’m okay.”
I snorted, gripped the hem of his shirt with my free hand, and lifted upward. And immediately flinched.
The knife wound was long, puckered, and seeping steadily. It cut through the beautifully chiseled lines of his stomach and side in one obscene go. I hissed.
“That bad, huh?” he murmured.
My anger was swift, all-consuming. As it had been when I hit the edge of the lot and seen the other humans over him. “Ryder, you need a hospital.”
He tried to pull back, to let the material fall. “I’ve had worse.” There was something about the set of his jaw, a tension that spoke volumes in the quiet.
Who had hurt him so bad in his past that this was nothing?
I pulled my hand free and ripped at the hem of my tank top. The material parted like paper. “Hold your shirt up,” I commanded.
Hazy eyes glinting, he did as I said while I wound the material around his torso. I was grateful the fabric held a bit of a stretch to it. He was thick with muscle. Muscle I had the oddest urge to touch despite our situation. I tied the bandage off and tried not to think about how insanely warm he was.
Turning away, I went toward the now empty window cautiously. The desk was made of metal and thin wood. I lifted it silently and placed it before the door, wedging it under the handle. The light in the room disappeared and my head whipped over.
One of the men stared at me, his dark eyes like coals in the blackness of his shadowed face. He petted the glass with a grin. I flipped him off, grabbed the box fan, and shoved it in the sill.
It did not obscure much, and I knew he could still see inside, but I had no intention of making it easy on them to do so. Soon his shadow moved off and there was a creak from just outside, then distant steps. I sagged a bit.
There were no heartbeats but mine and Ryder’s weak cadence.
How far had they gone?
I went back to Ryder and eased him to the floor before he passed out. Which, judging by his coloring, was a very real possibility. “They are somewhere that I cannot hear them.”
He nodded, a fine sheen of sweat coating his brow. “Plotting how to get in. Guys like that get off on terrorizing people. This is all part of the game.”
I sat beside him, holding him upright. “The door is barricaded, but the fastest way out. We would not fit through the window. But we can’t stay here, Ryder.”
“I know. And we won’t. But I can’t think of how to get out right now.” His words left me shivering. “Everything is so ... foggy.” He listed to the side.
Grabbing him fast, I rose onto my knees beside him, holding his face in my hands to make him look at me. His eyes rolled. Gods. “Stay with me,” I begged. His skin was warm and slick. Clammy.
His heartbeat was little more than a hummingbird’s erratic thrum in my ears. Flighty and too fast.
Blood loss. It was a classic symptom of a donor who gave too much. He had lost too much already. Real fear twisted my insides. He needed a doctor. And fast.
But how did I get him out?
Tears began to burn my eyes. I wasn’t the right person to help him. I didn’t know enough about fighting or saving people. I couldn’t even save my nanny five years ago. How was I supposed to save Ryder?
I stroked his stubbled cheek, biting my lip. “Ryder? What do I do? I don’t know what to do.” My voice cracked.
His lips parted and blood dribbled from the corner.
Nausea and terror beat me. “No.” I shook him a bit. “Ryder, damn you. Tell me what to do. How do I help you?”
He remained silent, still. His pulse was fading in my ears, the too fast purr slowing to a low thump that resonated into me like a punch to the gut.
I looked around, frantic.
There was no way out, and I couldn’t carry him even if there had been. He was too big. Too long. I bit my lip hard.
The pain was sharp, immediate, and heat spilled over my jaw. I let go of his face
and touched my skin. My fingertips glistened with blood. My blood.
My … blood.
I grabbed him and shook him. He groaned. “Ryder. I can help you. I can help heal you enough to get you out with me. But I can’t do it without your permission. Please. Wake up.”
Another soft masculine sound fell from his lips. “Mor?”
I almost wept with relief. “Yes, Ryder. I’m here. Can I heal you? Do I have your permission?”
His lashes fluttered, and he went still.
I prayed I was right.
Letting him go with one arm, I bit into my wrist with my fangs. The pain was gut-wrenching. Sucking hard, I filled my mouth with my blood and bent over him.
His lips were soft, slick under mine. A jolt went through me at the contact, but I didn’t take the time to marvel at it. Instead, I forced his mouth open and fed him my blood. He began to choke. I clamped my hand over his lips and leaned my forehead against his. “Swallow, Ryder. Come on, damn you.”
He thrashed under my hold. I climbed over his lap, straddling and holding him still by my weight alone. “Swallow,” I commanded, tears scalding my cheeks. “Please.”
He gulped, gasping through his nose. I rocked back.
His eyes were still closed and my blood stained his lips. I pressed my arm to my stomach to staunch the blood flow. “Come on,” I chanted. “Work.”
He was so still. So pale. I stroked his face and pushed his sweaty hair back. The tendrils were thicker than Ames’ hair. But just as soft.
The silence was deafening past the roar of blood in my ears. Every small creak of the hut set my heart hammering. And still I watched him. Waiting.
His pulse was the first thing I noticed. It grew steadily thicker, louder. I pressed my ear to his chest. The beat thumped against my skin. It was solid. Just as he was.
“Ryder?” I asked softly. “Ryder? Can you hear me?”
He grabbed my arms and slammed me back onto the floor. His forearm pressed over my windpipe. All the air left my lungs. His heat pressed over me and his teeth flashed in a feral snarl.
“Ryder?” I gasped against the hard bar of his arm. “Ryder, it’s me.”
