Page 88 of Blood and Magic
More memories burst through my mind’s eye—the stink of vampires, the stab of sharp fangs in my neck, the taste of rotten blood in my mouth. And then…Mill. Blood-soaked and limping. The sensation of strength suddenly filled my bones, lifting me off the cold cement floor, forcing away the darkness in my soul. It had been so cold, so desolate. I was sure I was dying. But there he was, burning it clean with his vitality. It had ripped through me like an inferno, and whatever had been done to me was suddenly undone.
“Mill…I think we died,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes and chuckled. “Again?”
I laughed and glanced around. Even though this was a perfect replica of my cliff, something was off. The sun had been setting for hours…days. The wind hadn’t blown, not once. And the birds were chirping gleefully, not a predator in sight save for us.
“Where are we?” I asked. “Is this a memory?”
He shrugged. “I don’t care one way or the other.”
“Vermillion, keep her here,” Morwyn said. “You both stay here, understand me? I’m not losing you again. I’m not?—”
“We have to go back,” I said.
He shrugged. “It’s nice here, isn’t it? We could stay.”
“We agreed that life was worth living,” I said. “Me and you. You and me. Together.”
The sound of Mill’s chuckle filled me with joy, and his amazing smile lit up his face. “I guess you’re right.”
I remembered most of what happened, the tumult of images assaulting me. I should have panicked. I’d been drained and fed vampire blood. I’d been beaten and abused. But I’d also had my revenge. I tore Marx’s heart from his chest and ripped his head off his body, and he wouldn’t be able to hurt my family any longer. Up until Mill found me, I’d been so weak, sure that I would die, sure that Marx would turn me into one of them. Could a shifter even turn into a vampire? I didn’t know. But that sudden surge of strength…that wave of fire…
“Did you save me?” I asked.
“You saved me, baby girl,” he said. “We saved each other.”
“Maeve, Goddamn it!” Guin’s anxious voice filled my senses, lighting a sense of urgency in my soul. Something powerful overtook me, like pack magic but stronger, more furious, and overbearing. It demanded I respond. Kodiak.
Mill lay back down, and I rested my head on his chest again, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“So we agree, then?” I said. “We’ll go back?”
He tangled his hands in my hair and sighed. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. I’ll go anywhere with you.”
“On the count of three.” I held him tight, refusing to let him go. “One… Two… Three…” I closed my eyes, and our Eden drifted away.
I’d never given much thought to dying.
My mother passed when I was eleven, and though I understood all things must come to an end, I didn’t fully comprehend the precarious tightrope upon which we mortals walked until the Grim Reaper gave mine a good shake.
But I’d looked that fucker in the eyes twice now and told him to beat feet.
When I opened my eyes again, a wave of pain and nausea hit me so fiercely, I immediately rolled to the side and heaved up whatever was in my gut. It tasted awful, and I kept going until it was all purged. My body ached, and my head pounded between my eyes. Every muscle protested my movements, but a cool hand greeted my forehead, and a calming energy floated through my nerves, soothing the anguish back into dormancy.
“There she is,” said a familiar voice. Guin.
“Decided to rejoin us among the living?” Sol asked, squeezing my hand.
“Where’s Mill?” I croaked. Someone had taken a sandblaster to my throat, but none of that was as urgent as locating my mate…my Mill.
“He’s right here,” Morwyn said, touching my neck to check my pulse. “We couldn’t get you two apart. You’ve been clinging to him since we brought you in.”
I blinked to my left and found Mill squinting at me through bleary, tired eyes. He looked like shit. His cheeks were sunken, and his skin had turned a deathly pallor that made me want to cry. I imagined I looked worse.
“What happened?” I tried to say.
“Shh.” Morwyn held a straw to my lips, and I sucked back the most delicious water I’d ever tasted.
