“I love you,” I whisper as another tear rolls down my cheek.
“Are you just saying that because you think I’m going to die—for real this time?”
I look up, glaring at the cheeky grin on Lucas’s face. “Not. Funny.”
He chuckles and bends his head down, kissing the top of my head. “I love you, too. And I’m not going to die. Not like this. If I die, it’s going to be way more epic.”
“Stop talking about dying,” I rush out, teeth on the verge of chattering. I’m getting annoyed with him for not taking this seriously, and I know it’s a defense mechanism. It’s easier to be annoyed than terrified.
“I’m not going to die,” he says like he believes it. Then he falters on his next step, and I realize how heavy Lucas actually is. There’s no way I can physically hold him up. He’ll crush me.
I throw out my hand, ready to telekinetically stop him from falling, but he recovers, moving with vampire speed.
“Don’t do that,” I say, and this time my teeth do clatter together. “You…you should conserve your energy.”
Lucas doesn’t reply with a witty comeback this time, frightening me even more. Sweat drips down between my breasts, and my heart is hammering so fast in my head I can feel the pounding.
Lucas straightens up and grits his teeth, pushing forward. We shuffle down the sidewalk, and he hunches over from the pain. The blood is seeping through the sweater, through his jacket, and is dripping on the sidewalk now.
Shit.
We need to pick up the pace, but Lucas can’t move any faster. Tears burn in the corners of my eyes, and part of me wants to turn around and run to the front of the bar, finding the asshole who slashed Lucas, and cut him from the inside out.
Let him know how it feels.
My rage makes the streetlight above us glow brighter and brighter, until the bulb explodes. Another couple who’s walking the opposite way down the street startles and jumps, bumping into us.
“Sorry,” the guy says and lowers his eyes to Lucas’s stomach. “Whoa, you okay?”
Lucas looks up, making eye contact. “I am fine. You didn’t see anything. Keep walking.”
The guy looks at Lucas like he’s crazy. “You don’t look fine, buddy. Did the glass from the light hit you? You could sue the city, you know.”
Shock takes over Lucas’s face, and he leans back against me. He’s not healing, and he can’t hold anyone spellbound? What the fuck is happening?
“He’s fine,” I growl, and my eyes flash blue.
“What the hell?” The guy scrambles back and scurries away, pulling his date along with him.
“Callie,” Lucas pants. “What…what’s happening? I…I don’t feel well,” he says, looking puzzled at his own words. “I haven’t felt anything but good in over a thousand years.”
“You’re going to be okay,” I say, and my voice breaks. I hate that it feels like I’m lying. Hands shaking, I wrap my arm around his waist, putting pressure on the wound. Tears blur my eyes, and my mind gets ahead of me.
What if Abby can’t stitch him up? Will he bleed until there’s nothing left? Can I bring him enough blood to replace what he’s lost? I’ll start with letting him drink as much as he needs from me and then…and then…I don’t know.
But I’ll go pull the first warm human off the streets if I have to. I’ll cast a spell on them and let them stand there willingly as Lucas drains them dry. I’ll do anything to save Lucas.
The thought should scare me.
Should shake me to my core.
I’m nothing like my uncle—like Lucifer—and I’m not a killer.
But right now…right now, I’d sacrifice anything—and anyone—if it saved Lucas.
No matter the cost.
Chapter 2
“Easy,” I say and reach for the car door. My fingers, covered in blood, slip off the handle. I wipe them on my pants and reach for it again, this time yanking it open. I’m shaking, trying hard to hold it all together. If I come apart…no, I can’t think like that.
Lucas is going to be okay.
I’ll figure out what’s happening.
I’ll make him better.
I’ll do anything.
Lucas hefts into the car, wincing with each movement. “I’m going to be pissed,” he starts, stopping and closing his eyes, and he presses his hand against his stomach, “if the blood doesn’t come out of the leather.”
“Seriously?” I close his door once he’s in and run around to the other side of the McLaren. I’ve never driven this thing and was too afraid to take it out before.
“Yes, seriously,” he pants. “It was a custom order. It took forever to come in.”
I wish the annoyance would come back, but seeing him looking paler than normal is sending me into a full-on panic. I look around for the start button, expecting it to be right by the steering wheel like it is in my Grand Cherokee.
“Here,” Lucas says, feebly pointing to it. I step on the brake and start the car, feeling the engine roar to life.
“I’m sorry,” Lucas says and goes to pat the dash of his car but stops himself once he realizes he’s going to get blood on it. I forget to put the car in drive when I step on the brake, and a group of people who stopped to admire the car when the engine started cheer.
“Breathe, Callie,” Lucas says again and reaches over, putting his hand on my thigh.
“I don’t remember how,” I rush out, tears streaming down my face.
“You have to breathe. One of us has to, after all.”
I squeeze my eyes closed again and force myself to take a deep breath. Dad, can you hear me? I need your help. Please! Lucas is in trouble, and I need you to save him.
I open my eyes, hoping to see my father standing before us, but no one is there. Instead, I see the people on the sidewalk talking selfies with the car in the background. Thank goodness for the tinted windows.
I take a quick look in the mirror and then shift into drive, waiting a beat for a car to pass before pulling out onto the street. We’re not far from Abby’s house, and I speed as fast as I can, all the while willing there to be a spot in front of her house.
A car is pulling away just as we pull up, and I snag the spot across the street from my sister’s large house, slamming on the brakes and making Lucas lurch forward.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt.
“Callie,” Lucas starts, sounding so weak. I put the car in park, and Lucas presses the button to stop the engine.
“Stay put,” I tell him and race around the car. He’s already trying to get out and seems more concerned with not getting blood all over his expensive car than the actual pain.
Until he gets out.
Then he winces and wobbles on his feet.
“You need blood,” I tell him.
“Yeah,” he agrees and wraps his arm around me, holding onto me for support. I telekinetically throw open the gate leading to Abby’s porch and help Lucas up the stairs.
“Abby!” I yell as I ring the doorbell. “Abby!”
“She’s coming through the hall,” Lucas tells me, able to hear much better than I can. The locks shoot back, and Abby opens the door.