Page 64 of Feathers From the Sky

“Give her yours.”

“No.” He scoffs, holding his hands up and backing toward the door. “Margot will be here soon with the car. Maybe she can help you figure out this clusterfuck. I’ll be the muscle, but I’m not turning her.”

Glancing around me, I realize he’s right, and I’m fucked. She’s already started the Ascension. I don’t know if she can complete it as a hunter, but if she stops drinking, she certainly won’t be able to.

But I don’t want her beholden to me.

She’ll think I’ve done it on purpose, and for some godforsaken reason, what she thinks of me has become…an issue. My own Ascension was with someone I’d loved and trusted at the time—planned for—and it had still been traumatic. I can’t have her thinking I turned her just to bring her through it. That I’d wanted to take advantage of the desperate thirst and craving of the transition. The mindless state ofneedthat will drive her to beg for everything I can give her.

Not that I don’t want to give it to her, because Jesus Christ, now it’s entered my mind, I have to fight to shut it out.

When I run out of blood from what Nico has brought me, she whimpers and opens her eyes. This time they focus with more clarity. Her lip quivers, and a tear beads at her lash line. It’s like her hand reaches into my chest and squeezes, bleeding me and breaking me. I never wanted this. I never wanted to feel fucking anything for her, and I certainly never wanted to see her like this.

“Roman?” her voice rasps, and I can tell she’s confused.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” I tug her closer. Her skin is so pale it looks like porcelain. She doesn’t even look real. Her lips are crimson from the blood, silky black hair plastering to her skin, sticky and tangled. The tear breaks loose, sliding down the side of her face to land on my arm where I’m holding her.

“I’m so thirsty,” she says, and I take a deep breath. I don’t want to tell her, but I have to.

“Yeah, that’s..that’s normal.”

Her eyes narrow the slightest bit, a muted version of the many glares she’s given me before. As if suddenly aware of her partial nudity, she tries to cover her chest, but her hand slides down weakly after only a moment. I consider grabbing the blanket from her bed or some sort of clothing to make her feel better, but I don’t want to move. She’s not okay yet.

Might never be okay again.

Carefully adjusting her, I lift my wrist to my mouth and bite. She blinks a few times, staring at me. I tear the skin, remembering how Victoria had done for me. The wound has to be big enough for the blood to flow.

“No,” she whispers, reaching for my arm.

“Yes, baby. You have to.” When she hesitates, I continue. “You’ll die if you don’t, Gwyn.” I hold my wrist over her mouth, and she snaps it shut. I use my other hand to cup her face, trying to be gentle with her. “You might not survive it either way, but you have to try, alright?” Her eyes flutter closed, and I’m not sure if it’s weakness or willpower. Her refusal hadn’t been something I’d considered. The small amount of blood I’d given her has brought her back from the brink, just enough so she could tell me no. My breaths come faster, and my chest hurts.

She can’t refuse. I simply won’t allow it.

“You can’t leave me too,” I whisper, letting her feel the truth. She opens her eyes wide, and her lips part. “Please.” She flinches as if I’ve slapped her, but I’m not budging. I’ve lost the two people I care about most in this world, and whatever the fuck Gwyn has become to me? I’m not losing her too.

“Roman.” Her voice cracks, and her head lolls to the side as she shivers. She’s grown weaker in the few moments since she last drank. Adjusting, I pull her farther into my lap, nestling her head against my shoulder as she softly moans.

I can’t risk waiting any longer. I lift my wrist, taking a pull of my own blood into my mouth.

And then I tilt her head.

Honey-brown eyes meet mine as I press my lips to hers.

23

GWYN

I’m so cold,and my mouth hurts.

It feels like I’m floating, and it’s hard for me to form words. It’s almost like coming out of sedation. When I was little, I used to get terrible headaches, and the doctors decided to do a CT scan. Because I was always fidgeting and couldn’t lay still, they’d knocked me out. The test was pointless since they found nothing, and when I woke up, I remember being frightened. Nothing was quite right; the air was thicker, the lights were brighter, and it wasn’t my dad holding my hand but the nurse. Her calming voice hadn’t been enough, and I’d kicked and screamed until my dad was allowed in.

But Roman is here now. He’s so warm and gentle, and I want to melt into him. I am content in his arms, his voice soothing, and part of me wonders if it’s actually a stranger. Perhaps thisversionof Roman is a stranger.

Or is he?

Maybe I’ve been meeting small parts of this Roman all along. Has he always had this potential for softness and never allowed me to see it?

Is he doing this kindness only because I’m dying?

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