“I’m not leaving—” O’Donnell didn’t get a chance to finish his protest.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Sinclair yelled. “This shouldn’t take long.”
Ignoring the king’s boast, Samuel broke the gutted Guard’s neck and tossed him aside.
The redheaded thlán scowled his displeasure at the order but bent to the females at his feet. He picked the angry, dark-haired one off the floor and threw her over his shoulder.
“Wait, wait,” she cried. The healing runes glowing above her heart sputtered and died as she fought. “Put me down. I’m not done yet.”
Securing the shrieking Anwyll with an arm around her thighs, O’Donnell ran to the nearest exit and away from Samuel’s incoming charge. His nephew kept his rifle on point but didn’t shoot at the fleeing pair. The lithe vampire leapfrogged a WSC felled warrior and pounded down the stairwell with the witch screeching at the top of her lungs.
Samuel’s focus narrowed to a pinpoint, every fiber of his being homing in on the frail female left alone in the center of the room. She was on her hands and knees, arms and legs shaking violently. Her white-blond head was bowed, and she was gasping for every breath.
Abby.
She turned at his approach. Otherworldly eyes the color of a cloudy morning sky and filled with pain met his wolf’s yellow. Bloody tears streaked her gaunt cheeks. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, stifling her sobs.
She was thin. Too goddamn thin!
Samuel’s human form shimmered, fur rolling over his forearms and upper back. Closing the remaining distance with a bestial roar, he slid the last few feet on his knees, remembering at the last second that she couldn’t be touched after coming out of the Rip.
Howling in frustration and fury, he dug his claws into the cheap tile near her shaking limbs, fighting the overwhelming need to hold her close. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that the contact would hurt her.
“Fuck, baby,” he said, gutted. “Lie down. Goddammit, stay still.”
“I missed you, too.” A tremulous lift of her lips almost broke him.
“What have they done to you?”
“Like the new hair?” Bending her elbows, she lowered herself awkwardly to her side with a grunt. “L’Oréal.” Her chest heaved with effort. “Pixie blond.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed hard. “I like it.”
Samuel divested himself of his gun harness and sword belt, afraid the gear might accidentally brush her skin. He let it clatter to the floor before placing his palms flat on either side of her torso, hovering above her curled body.
In his periphery, he noted the battle was over. Sinclair was gone, his warriors incapacitated. Noah was moving quickly in the direction of the stairs and the sound of Buck’s M4 discharging on the level below. Tucker spoke into his shoulder mic, calling for Jones to meet them out front. Ethan followed Noah, orange fire replacing electricity in his hand. Myles raced into the hallway, probably chasing after the king.
Samuel didn’t care about anyone or anything except the female beneath him.
Abby looked up, luminescent eyes circled with bruises and pinched with pain turning soft as they landed on his face. She swept the hair from his forehead, then tenderly cupped his jaw, thumb lightly rubbing his bristled chin.
She was pale and too damn skinny—but the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.
“You forgot to eat again,” he said, pushing the words through a clogged throat, dropping his lips beside her temple, allowing only his breath to caress her.
“It’s a good thing you’re here to nag me then,” she murmured.
He felt the bond throbbing to life, his wolf finding solace in having her near again. The clamoring emotions of his Clan quieted.
“Alphas don’t nag, we encourage.” His nose dipped to within a breath of the pulsing vein at her throat. He longed to stroke the rapid drumming, tempted beyond all measure to reaffirm life with his fingertips. His nostrils twitched. The desire to drink in her wildflower scent stalled by the knowledge he would be helpless to stop the sourness of pain tainting her sweetness. “Vigorously.”
She sighed, her fingers slipping along his jawline to tangle in the hair at his nape. “Thank you for coming for me.”
God, she was killing him.
“I’ll always come for you.” Didn’t she know that? “Always.”
Unable to resist a second longer, he inhaled.
Fear.
The stagnant scent spiked in warning, and he rolled away, placing himself in a defensive crouch in front of his weakened mate.
But he was too late. A current of magical energy similar to static electricity cascaded over his body. His skin prickled. The air in front of him distorted, and his vision blurred.
Chapter 27
“If you find a love that’s real—hold on tight and never let go.”
Bridget MacCarthy
The sweet familiarity of having Samuel’s nose stuck in her neck brought fresh tears to Abby’s eyes. His broad body all but covered hers while meticulously avoiding skin-on-skin contact.
He came for her.
Lightly brushing Samuel’s nape, she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling gently and releasing rhythmically while sharp pinpricks stabbed the tips. She didn’t care one iota, needing to touch him more than she feared the painful repercussions.
Given a second chance with her stubborn Ferwyn, Abby refused to waste it. Telling Samuel she loved him in the middle of an abandoned building following a bloody battle wasn’t exactly ideal. And saying it for the first time while looking like something the cat dragged in, wasn’t a girl’s dream scenario. But she needed to let him know how much he meant to her. How much he would always mean to her.
A flash of movement from the far side of the room grabbed her attention before she could get the words out. She stilled, and the corded muscles of Samuel’s neck tensed beneath her hand.
Derek stepped from behind a bullet-riddled pillar, his face contorted in rage. The magically tainted knife was poised above his head, fingers pinching the sides of the blackened blade. The macabre handle was aimed at Samuel’s back.
The commander lifted his head, dislodging her fingers.
Derek threw the dagger.
Abby didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think about the agony to come, knowing from Grace’s reaction earlier that if it met its mark and drew blood, Samuel would die.
The nauseating smell of lilacs nearly choked her.
Spears of ice cut into her flesh without mercy, the Rip’s immense power dragging her into the cold abyss. It took precious seconds for her sight to return and her brain to function through the blinding pain. The frozen image she faced caused despair to instantly grab ahold of her heart, crushing her more thoroughly than the Rip’s boundless pressure.
Samuel was on his haunches, stationed protectively between her and Derek. The substantial breadth of his torso angled perpendicular to hers. He had moved swiftly, but not swiftly enough, the sharp tip of the ancient blade halted an inch from his chest. His hand was in the process of either slapping the dagger away or capturing it in a clawed fist.
Samuel was fast. He was the príoh of an influential territory, a powerful male Ferwyn in his prime, a dominant Alpha, and an experienced warrior. But even if he somehow prevented the knife from sinking into his flesh, there was a chance he’d be cut in the process.
Determination fortified her spine. No way was she taking that chance.
Shoving aside the mind-numbing agony, Abby began the torturous journey to her knees. Standing would be an impossibility, so she didn’t even try.
The simple task of getting onto all fours was miserably slow, her body forcing its way up through an atmosphere as thick as quicksand.
Raising her hand through the freezing mud-like substance tested her will. Punching it through the bitter cold to grip the knife almost broke her.
The Rip fought her every step of the way, prolonging her torment until she felt her lungs shrinking beneat
h her ribcage. She needed to breathe—so badly.
But she couldn’t fail. Not again. Not with Samuel’s life at stake.
Clenching her teeth, she pushed.
Her heart rate dropped to almost nothing, her chest cavity filling with blood and fluid. She pushed again. Pressed forward until she finally grasped the dagger’s bone handle.
Muted colors seeped into the grayness of the Rip, mellow greens and hazy blues appearing on the very edges of Abby’s rapidly narrowing vision. Tall trees superimposed the walls at the fringes of the room, their bark turning from pewter to brown, their branches breaching the ceiling and stretching higher than she could see.
The blade in her hand changed from dull ash to shiny black, its hilt to spotted ivory. Vile magic soaked into her palms, filled her throat with bile, and lanced her barely beating heart.
Abby ignored everything and pushed.
Her eardrums ruptured, and her shoulder joint popped, but the knife’s point dipped away from Samuel and toward the floor. A floor that was eerily shifting from dirty gray linoleum to the olives and umbers of a lush forest.
Using her final ounce of strength and will, she turned to the male she loved, knowing she had driven her body too far this time.
Samuel’s canines were down, his skin ashen, blond hair a washed-out gray. But his irises gleamed yellow, lighting the fragmenting shadows of the changing Rip, the bright metallic color infusing Abby with a strange sense of peace amid the excruciating pain.
She’d done it. Samuel was safe.
A bittersweet smile parted her lips, and the last of her air escaped.
Chapter 28
Abby appeared out of thin air, face down, right arm dangling like a sparrow with a broken wing. Samuel caught her on reflex before she hit the floor, the dagger plummeting harmlessly to his feet. Its wielder nowhere in sight.
He turned Abby over with careful hands, terror robbing him of the ability to retract his claws. Arranging her limp arm gently across her waist, he tucked her side against his stomach, stabilizing the limb while scanning for additional injuries.
Blood seeped out of her nose, her eyes, her ears.
He gently removed the bloody leakage above her lips with a bent knuckle. Fury, helplessness, and fear all warred inside his mind for supremacy, making it difficult to think.
Sinclair was a dead man walking; he just didn’t know it yet.
Abby’s eyes fluttered open, then closed again.
“Look at me.” Samuel infused his voice with compulsion, utilizing the crippled mating bond to add to its force. “Right now, Abby. Do it.”
“Bossy…Alpha,” she rasped, lids lifting slowly.
“Keep them open.”
“Can’t.”
“You can, and you will.” He rearranged her slight weight, attempting to keep the dislocated shoulder from jarring while he prepared to set her down. Releasing her was the last thing he wanted to do, but knowing his hold was inadvertently hurting her left him no choice.
“Don’t,” she said, tensing, “Don’t let go.” She weakly grasped his shirt. “Please.”
“I won’t,” he said, relenting. Lowering himself to his knees, he cradled her like a newborn pup. “Tell me why.”
Why had she gone back inside the Rip?
“Had to. I think the knife is cursed.” She coughed, fresh crimson dribbling from the corner of her mouth. “Couldn’t let it touch you.”
He swept the blood on her chin away with another light rub of his thumb, scarcely sparing the dagger a glance. His clanmates sensed their Alpha’s anguish and rushed to his side.
“Tucker,” he said, his whole world centered on the female in his arms.
“I got it.” Tucker carefully collected the deadly knife by its handle, and Abby went boneless the moment it slid into an empty sheath on his lieutenant’s belt.
“Noah, give me the fentanyl,” he ordered through ever-thickening canines.
Noah handed him the auto-injector, and Samuel emptied the painkiller into her thigh.
She gasped, spine arching in obvious agony.
His claws lengthened further, gums burning anew. Fur erupted on his hands, and Samuel was helpless to stop it, his failure to protect his mate making it impossible to control his wolf.
Abby shuddered, expelling a long sigh. Her breath smelled of copper and iron. Long seconds passed as he waited for her chest to rise. To take that next precious inhale. It didn’t.
“No.” Samuel leaned in until his nose touched hers. “Breathe for me, baby. Dammit, breathe.” He clamped his lips on hers and blew, pushing air into Abby’s lungs.
The prince barreled into the room, and then skid to a stop.
Abby’s ribcage expanded feebly.
“That’s it,” Samuel encouraged, relief surging through his veins. “Breathe.”
Her lids quivered, and her eyes opened. “Samuel?”
“Shhhh…” He pressed her cheek to his heart, her slack arm trapped between their bodies. “Don’t try to talk. Just rest now.”
“But I need to tell you.”
Samuel cupped the crown of her head; the stark disparity between his tanned fingers and bloodstained claws coiling around her lily-white hair was brutally grim.
“What?” he asked, dipping to skim his lips over her temple. Her cheek.
“I love you.” The words were said on a breath as soft as feather down.
Samuel drew back far enough to see Abby’s face; the eyes he loved, no matter what color, brimming with emotion. A brief smile touched her lips, and then her lids flickered closed. Her heart stuttered, its stalwart tempo faltering in paltry beats.
His brave, beautiful mate was dying.
Samuel clutched Abby close, threw back his head, and howled. His rage and pain emanated through the pack bond, his unfettered emotions bringing Noah and Buck to all fours, forcing a conversion.
“Mr. Hall, can you heal?” Myles asked calmly.
Too damn calmly.
Samuel could barely hear Abby’s feeble heartbeat. He tried to regain a measure of control, but his grief was too great, and he couldn’t block it from his clanmates.
Tucker swayed where he stood, clawed fists clenched at his sides, legs spread wide as though buffeted by a storm. Ethan grabbed ahold of his elbow to keep the lieutenant upright.
As Tucker continued to fight the change, the battle witch shook his head. “I only have the basic, first aid rune. I’m sorry.”
Noah and Buck whined, the wolves trotting in erratic, fast-paced circles near Samuel and Abby.
“Claim her.” Tucker stumbled from Ethan and plopped next to Samuel, landing heavily on his tailbone. He covered his head with gray pelt-covered hands. “Final Mark ties…”
“Her life to yours,” Myles finished for the struggling Ferwyn. “Excellent idea. It could work if you do it quickly. The halfblood doesn’t have much time left.”
A traditional claiming was a private affair, the ceremony binding two souls intensely personal. It usually involved sex, the third bite coming at the apex of a physical joining. Sinclair robbed them of that cherished moment, and Samuel swore the vampire king would answer for its loss.
He moved Abby away from his chest, her spine bowing as he lowered her with a palm between her shoulder blades. Her head fell back, and the newly whitened tip of her braid brushed the floor. Samuel bent to touch his mouth to the hollow of her throat, then slid his lips to her breastbone.
“Don’t leave me,” he begged, his heart squeezing painfully.
Abby’s lashes fanned bruised skin, her bloodless lips parting, fighting for the next breath.
Samuel sensed the intensity of Myles’ scrutiny.
“Turn away,” he snarled at the prince.
He didn’t give a shit who witnessed the claiming if it saved her life—but Abby would. Most of her chest would be bared to leave his Mark, and his shy female would be mortified by the exposure. Samuel couldn’t give her much under these fucked up circumstances, but at least he could ensur
e her modesty remained intact.
The vampire lifted a dark brow and turned around.
Tucker had already spun away, his face buried in his folded arms. Noah and Buck remained in wolf form, muzzles tucked near the beta’s feet. Ethan walked to the far side of the room, leaned his shoulder on a pillar and gave them his back.
It was the best Samuel could do.
“Abigail Colleen,” he said solemnly, tenderly brushing a bloodstained lock away from her cheek. “I will love and protect you always.” He traced the length of her curved throat, pausing over the shallowly beating pulse before carefully wedging a clawed finger under the strap of her sports bra. “I will guard your heart and those who are dear to it.” He sliced the stretchy fabric, peeling the torn material down and uncovering her left breast. “My Clan is your Clan, my pack, your pack.” His mouth hovered above her heart, breath whispering against her skin, “I freely seal my soul to yours and claim you as my own.”
Samuel opened his jaw wide and bit the inside swell of Abby’s breast. His upper canines pierced the flesh at the crest, bottom teeth thrusting into the softly curved underside. She jolted in his embrace, and he buried his fangs deeper.
The taste of her blood exploded on his tongue, and he drank. The smell of wildflowers and rain curled in his nostrils, and his lungs flooded with her scent. The mating bond dilated, the link vibrating between them akin to a tuning fork seeking the right pitch—the right tone. His heart rate soared, teeth and gums throbbing as more of Abby’s essence trickled down his throat.
The magic reverberated through his bloodstream, its power building to a crescendo inside his skull, latching onto his soul. The link tugged, stretching his spirit like warm taffy, enlarging it to encase Abby underneath its protective shell.
A claiming didn’t tear a Ferwyn male’s soul in half. It amplified it, expanding to shield its mate’s, fastening the two wholes together as tightly as sinew to bone.
Fae Touched (Fae Touched Book 1): Paranormal Romance Page 29