Not Every Wound Bleeds

Failure always tastes bitter. This time, I choke on it under what feels like a mocking stare.

I don't have self-preservation? Rich words coming from a vamp.

The moment my feet touch solid ground, I wrench my wrist free from his grip and shove him away with everything I have left. The bastard barely moves, but it matters little to me. 

The second I break contact, the pain returns with such blinding violence that the edges of my vision blur. I grit my teeth and straighten before he can notice the way my knees threaten to give.

“I didn't ask you to catch me.” 

He studies me for a few seconds more than necessary before answering. “I'm aware.”

I bite back a curse. I refuse to waste another second on him. I refuse to let him watch me struggle, either.

Bracing my weight, I side-step his broad frame, slipping back through the glass doors leading off the balcony and into the sitting room I'd come through to find another way out of this gilded cage.

I manage exactly two steps.

Then it hits me again. A sharp, white-hot agony strikes the side of my neck like a physical blow.

Odin's beard!

My hand flies to it instinctively, pressing hard against the skin to hold back a scream. I pause, my breath catching as my fingertips trace a raised, throbbing heat where the skin should be smooth. 

I stop breathing entirely. That wasn't there before. Icy dread chills me inside out despite the heat burning in me. Is this because of the bite? Am I changing?

I don't have time to process the thought. The fire in my neck flares again, brighter and sharper than before. 

I try to take another step forward, but my right leg refuses to obey. It feels heavy, unresponsive, as if the muscle itself is turning to stone.

Don't show it, I command myself. Do not let him see you weak.

I lock my jaw, holding the groan building in my throat. I force my posture straight, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw aches.

He suddenly stands in front of me again. What the—

“You're shaking.”

His eyes narrow slightly, his gaze shifting from my face down to my trembling knees.

“I'm fine,” I hiss. Damn it, he noticed. I take another step, but the floor feels like it's shifting beneath me. “Get away from me.”

“You can barely stand, Eira.”

“I said, I'm fine.”

I am a hunter. I have marched through freezing winter storms with broken ribs. I have tracked vampires for days on an empty stomach. I do not get taken down by a phantom fever.

I throw my weight forward, determined to push past him and reach the oak door.

“Stop moving,” Kaine orders, his voice losing a fraction of its infuriatingly casual detachment. “You are only making it worse.”

“I don't take orders from leeches,” I spit.

I barely make it another few paces before my ankle twists, and the world tilts violently. I catch myself on the edge of a side table, the wood groaning under my sudden weight. 

I draw a sharp, agonizing breath, waiting for the gray spots in my eyes to clear. 

Just a little further.

I push off the table, forcing my trembling limbs to move. This time, my legs give out entirely.

Before I can hit the floor, cold, solid hands catch me by the waist. Kaine hoists me back up, his grip unyielding against my sudden, weak attempt to shove him away.

“Let... go,” I wheeze, my fingers tearing at the dark wool of his coat. I want to strike him, I want to slash a blade across his perfect face, but my arms feel like lead weights hanging from my shoulders.

“Enough,” Kaine says.

The fight drains out of me all at once, leaving behind a hollow, terrifying exhaustion. The world loses its color and I drift into a haze of heat and shadows.

When the haze clears for a moment, the cold night air of the sitting room is gone, replaced by the flickering warmth of the corridor's wall torches. The crimson carpet passes beneath us, though my feet aren't touching it. Kaine is carrying me.

I try to speak, to demand he put me down, but only a faint breath escapes my lips. I hate how effortless it is for him. I hate how solid his chest feels against my cheek.

A voice drifts over my head, muffled as if heard from underwater.

“Master! What happened?”

I turn my head slightly. It’s the blond vampire with the glasses. 

“The mark…” Kaine's voice rumbles near my ear, low and tight. “...something is wrong.”

“But that shouldn't be possible.” His voice is laced with a panic that feels entirely out of place for a monster of his kind. 

“Get Celine to my chambers. Now.”

I am back in the heavy four-poster bed. The dark velvet drapes are pulled wide, and the room is flooded with the strong, medicinal scent of crushed herbs and something heavily metallic.

A new face hovers in my blurred vision.

A woman. No. Another vampire, but older, her dark hair streaked with silver and her sharp features set in a deep, troubled frown. She wears a practical, blood-red tunic instead of the lavish clothes the others wear. Celine.

Cold fingers press against my pulse point, then slide up to the side of my neck, right over the burning mark.

I flinch, a gasp tearing from my throat as a fresh wave of pain rips through me.

“Hold her still,” she commands.

The pain eases just a little, as strong hands settle down on my shoulders, pinning me gently but firmly to the mattress. I look up into Kaine's emerald eyes, shadowed with something unreadable as he keeps me from thrashing.

“Look at her eyes, Kaine,” she says, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. She pulls back my eyelid, inspecting it closely before checking the veins running along my wrists.

I follow her gaze down to my arms. 

Pale, glowing silver lines branch beneath my skin. 

I blink several times. 

Surely, I am seeing things.

“This is bad,” Celine breathes.

Bad? My veins are bloody glowing! I start to writhe around.

“Explain,” Kaine demands, his grip on my shoulders tightening.

“The mark is rejecting her but that alone wouldn't be a problem. The real problem is it's compensating by feeding on her life force instead.”

I go completely still. 

Feeding on my life force? 

Mark? 

Just what kind of twisted mark did he leave on me?

“And what will happen if it continues?” Kaine asks, the pressure of his hands on my shoulders increasing.

Celine looks from my silver-mapped wrists up to Kaine’s grim face, her voice ringing with chilling dread. “It will consume what's left of her life force. She won't survive the night, Master.”