by Michele Hauf
“Lord Creed Saint-Pierre, you have my promise to peace. And you may call Princess Masterson your own.” Ridge glanced over his shoulder. “Get this vampire gone from here! Jones, clean up this foul mess!”
The mess must be the thick sticky liquid Creed lay in. His own blood. Half of him, surely, pooled on the cement floor.
A hand gripped him at the ankle. He screamed but heard no sound. Other hands grasped at open, seeping parts of him. They handled him roughly, as if something to discard with a toss.
So much pain. His flesh was peeled away, his bones exposed. He could no longer heal quickly for he’d been torn to shreds.
As consciousness flickered, he thought of the most beautiful color in the world. Blu. And he smiled.
BLU HUNG UP THE PHONE and then threw the whole thing against the penthouse wall. It smashed, scattering electronic bits and plastic.
“What is it?” Severo, who had stopped by after he heard Creed had gone to the compound on his own, got to her as she began to shake.
She shoved away his embrace and gripped the kitchen counter.
“Who was it? Creed?”
“Ridge, my father’s second in command, who has just taken leadership of the Northern pack. He said I could pick up Creed a mile out from the compound. They laid him in a ditch. That means he’s not in good shape. He could be dead, Severo!”
“He could also be alive. Let’s go. He won’t survive for long in this sun.”
SEVERO TOOK THE COUNTRY road going ninety. His Jeep handled the road well enough, but he struggled to keep it straight on the loose gravel. Blu wanted to leap, shift to wolf shape and race across the countryside. But this way was faster, so she clutched the dashboard as tightly as her jaw.
“There are blankets in the back,” he said as they rounded a curve that set the Jeep on two wheels for a jawtensing few seconds. “You’ll need them. The compound is ahead, but I don’t know where—”
“There!” Blu released the door latch and bounded out, her feet hitting the ground and racing to meet the speed of the vehicle.
The glint at the edge of the ditch was not a jewel or metal—but blood. She could smell it before she could see it. Blood and the acrid scent of smoke. The sun burned him!
She landed on the blood-soaked grass beside what must be her husband but looked like a mass of man-shaped meat. His face was flat on the ground, arms splayed and legs bent. He bled everywhere. Huge gashes cut through his back. There was more blood and bone exposed than flesh.
Why had the wounds not healed?
Because there are so many.
Blu immediately knew her father had instituted his favorite punishment upon Creed—one thousand talons. A werewolf never survived beyond two or three hundred. One rarity had seen her father reneging the punishment after one hundred, because he wished to save his best warrior.
She pressed her palm aside the bloody mass of Creed’s neck. His throat was torn, but there she felt a pulse.
Severo appeared in the ditch with blankets in hand. “Is he alive?”
“Barely.”
“Cover him from the sun. I’ll carry him to the Jeep.”
ALEXANDRE ARRIVED an hour after they’d returned to the hotel. Blu would not answer the door and appreciated that Severo had stuck around. Nothing could make her leave Creed’s side.
Piles of bloody towels lay heaped on the floor. She’d washed her husband’s wounds but tearfully realized he was one entire wound. The strips of flesh that had been spared were few. The sun had burned his back and the wounds festered.
But he was in there. He must sense her presence, feel her careful touches. Touches that must pain him, and she regretted them while she knew they were necessary.
“Stop crying,” she told herself. “You have to be strong for him. He did this for you.”
And he was still alive. That was better than dead. It had to be.
A quiet knock at the door did not dissuade her from the task of wringing the towels in the washbasin and rinsing them for reuse.
Severo peeked in. “How is he?”
“I think he may be healing. It’s hard to tell. But he moaned a few minutes ago. Alexandre, hello.”
“Oh, hell.” The tall vampire rushed to the bedside and held a palm over his friend’s chest. He moved it over Creed’s body, as if a metal detector used to determine pulse. “He will live.”
“You promise?” Blu asked, tears welling much against her will. “Please, Alexandre, promise me.”
“You can’t kill us so easily. Unfortunately.” He swallowed and looked over Creed’s chest. “The heart is still pumping so it did not take the damage.”
Yes, Blu had been able to peer between ribs and see the thick, beating muscle. How his heart had not been torn open was beyond her understanding. She couldn’t imagine her father’s men purposely avoiding his heart to keep him alive.
But what better way to prolong the torture than to keep the victim alive?
Bile rose in her throat. She hated her father and the pack so desperately. And yet, Ridge had said something else when he’d called. Amandus was dead, at Ridge’s hand. He’d claimed leadership of the Northern pack.
She had lost her father and Ryan in less than twenty-four hours. Neither, however, was worthy of her sadness or tears.
“I have news,” Alexandre said softly. He turned his back to Creed and spoke to Blu and Severo. “The Northern pack has burned the sporting warehouse. They’ve taken a step toward peace. In fact, the one who claimed leadership—”
“Ridge.”
“Yes, he’s offered to stand good on the peace pact. I’m having the Nava tribe’s attorneys draw up contracts right now to return a portion of land to them. There is some land that we can determine, without doubt, was gained by nefarious means. It’s a beginning.”
“Possible only because of your husband,” Severo said. He put a hand on her shoulder. Blu appreciated the steadying warmth. He was one wolf she actually trusted. He tipped up her chin. “Ah? You wear his bite.”
She stroked her neck.
“You will not regret it,” he offered with kind eyes. Tugging aside his coat collar, he revealed a similar scar at the side of his neck. “The bond is like no other.”
“Your wife bit you? Do you drink blood?” she asked.
He nodded. “Only from my wife. It is an incredible experience. And you mustn’t worry, the blood hunger will not force you to take a victim out of desperation. You’ll have time to return to your husband’s side.”
“Thank you, Severo. For all you have done.”
“We’ll leave you two. If there’s anything you need, Blu, you have my number.”
“Yes, but I don’t know what to do. What can I do?” She looked to both men, finding hope in Severo’s eyes, but little else.
“I wonder,” Alexandre said. He grabbed her hand and examined it. “Have you the ring still?”
Blu glanced to the bedside table where she’d deposited the ring last night. “What can that do? Creed believed it might take away his magic.”
“Yes, and yet he also believed it could have the opposite effect.”
“But at the risk he may be reduced to ash if either guess is wrong. Besides, he’s been shackled. He can’t use his magic without having his bones crushed!”
“I wasn’t aware,” Alexandre said. “When did that happen?”
“Last night. As soon as we arrived at the clubhouse. It was so awful. They bound him magically.”
Alexandre rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “He needs magic, Blu. He’ll heal faster if he can utilize his magic.”
“Magic?” Severo asked.
“He’s an elder,” Blu said. “One of the first vampires who used to steal magic from enslaved witches.”
“Remarkable,” Severo said. “Yet the shackle spell does not take away his magic. Perhaps the Council would see to giving it back to him, just to heal. It is worth the risk to help him heal, no?”
“Death is the risk,” Blu insisted.
She glanced at Creed’s ravaged body. Death or what horrendous condition if she did not try to help him? Would he remain tattered and broken forever? Could he function like that? Possibly, but would he want to live that way?
Not forever. No man would, and most especially not this proud warrior. But she could not imagine life without him now.
Looking to Severo, she asked, “Do you think the Council would agree to giving him the use of his magic? What would he do with it? He’s incapable.”
“He needs air, open space, to utilize any magic he may have,” Alexandre said. “And his earth magic, as well.”
“If the blood works.”
“Yes, if. Severo, will you take her to the Council?”
“No, I won’t leave Creed.”
“The Council will not come to you,” the werewolf offered. “If you want to save your husband, you must beg mercy.”
“And quickly. Take this.” Alexandre handed her the ring. “Get permission, then we’ll bring Creed to a good spot. Drip the blood into his heart.”
Blu held the ring before her and tapped the glass. “I’m not sure.”
How could Alexandre be certain it would help him? He’d been a vampire centuries less than Creed.
Severo hugged her and examined the ring. “If you do not try it, he may never recover. The vampire is immortal, but a man can only take so much damage before his body simply gives up.”
“You think he’ll die if I allow him to heal without magical assistance?”
Both Severo and Alexandre nodded.
“Then let’s go.” She hastened out of the bedroom, with Severo behind her.
ABIGAIL ROWAN LIVED in a cottage Blu couldn’t help but label quaint. It was surrounded by lush flower blooms, manicured hedges and even had Welcome scrawled across the front doormat.
Blu knocked again, this time faster, louder and more insistent.
Severo hissed. “Be careful, Blu. Mustn’t do anything to rile her.”
“But we can’t afford to waste time. Creed is almost dead. Where is she?”
The door creaked open to reveal a thin blonde woman in white silk pajama bottoms and top. Her hair was tousled, as if she’d just risen.
“Oh, hell, no,” Abigail said.
“Did we wake you?” Severo asked.
“What do you think?”
“But it’s afternoon.” Blu stepped forward, but the witch didn’t move aside to allow entrance. “Can we come in?”
“No. You interrupted the first hour of good sleep I’ve had in days. What’s wrong now?”
“It’s Creed. He’s dying.”
The witch shrugged and made to close the door, but Severo blocked it with his boot.
“Oh, come on,” Abigail whined. “If you need to speak to the Council there are plenty other choices than me. I’m tired.”
“He needs his magic back.” Blu shoved the door inside and entered, forcing Abigail to step aside. She heard Severo apologize as he entered. “My father instituted his favorite punishment of a thousand talons against Creed, and now he’s near death. But Severo and Alexandre Renard both believe Creed may have a fighting chance if he can utilize his magic.”
“Not his magic,” Abigail said, her tone not so weary now. “Magic stolen from helpless witches.”
“They weren’t so helpless,” Blu snapped.
“Blu,” Severo cautioned. He bowed graciously to the witch. “It would only be until he can recover. Then you could shackle him again.”
“No.” Abigail paced before the glass coffee table. Even looking tousled as she was, Blu felt her power. She was no witch to mess with.
She could accept the justice meted out by shackling Creed of his magic. But that didn’t mean she had to kowtow to this woman because she had a beef against her husband.
“I won’t leave until you change your mind,” Blu said. “I can’t. He’s my husband. I love him. Have you never been in love, Abigail?”
“No,” she offered with disinterest. “And I can sleep with you here. Makes no matter to me.”
“Please. He risked his life to end the war.”
That got Abigail’s attention.
“You haven’t heard?” Severo spoke now. “The Northern pack has burned a sporting warehouse and the vampires are in talks to return some land to the wolves.”
“Amandus Masterson allowed this?” Abigail asked.
“He’s dead,” Blu said.
As final as those two simple words. She would not grieve that man any longer than it took to bury his bones in the ground.
Blu lifted her head and met the witch’s bold green eyes. “Ridge killed him. He refused to complete the punishment against my husband. Because of Creed the vampires and werewolves have agreed to peace.”
The witch exhaled. “I don’t know…”
A knock on the door startled them all.
“Oh, now what?”
“I called Ridge on the way here,” Severo offered.
The witch opened the door to reveal the hulking wolf. Ridge bowed politely and stepped inside. “I’ve come to beg for Creed Saint-Pierre’s life,” he said.
“Seriously?” Abigail took in all three of them. She was stymied. And she looked small and powerless. “Three werewolves come to beg for the life of one vampire? I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Please.” Blu took Abigail’s hand and clasped it between both of hers. “I love him.”
The witch rolled her eyes and tugged away from Blu. “Fine. But he gets shackled right after his recovery. If he can recover.”
TWILIGHT PURPLED THE SKY. The field out back of Creed’s estate had not been touched by fire. It was private, surrounded by woods on two sides, and fenced in on the other. Blu had carefully arranged a blanket and Alexandre laid his leader down.
Abigail immediately began the spell to reverse the shackles. It was much shorter then the original spell and, with but a clap of Abigail’s hands, Creed’s body reacted, lifting in an arch from the ground as if he’d been hit with defibrillator paddles, then collapsed, motionless.
Alexandre grabbed Blu’s hand and drew her away from Creed, leaning down to stroke the hair from her cheek. “I have never liked werewolves. I still do not like them. I was once taken captive and forced to fight in the blood sport.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex, I—”
“Doesn’t matter right now. What does, is that I’ve seen a remarkable shift of thought in Creed. And it is because of you. You are very good for him, Princess. I count you as my friend, and thank you for loving my best friend.”
He bowed and kissed her on the brow then dismissed himself, along with Severo, Ridge and Abigail. The witch didn’t say anything but, surprisingly, she clasped hands with Ridge as they strode across the field.
“This is it,” Blu said. “I hope this works.”
Unscrewing the small titanium stopper from the ring, she paused over her lover’s open chest. Blood scent tormented the air. It was not an odor she could normally stomach, but after spending hours over Creed’s bloody body, she had become numb to it.
The brief thought emerged: if her husband died she would be left to feed her new blood hunger alone.
“Please don’t leave me, Creed. I can survive the blood hunger alone, but never without your companionship. And you heard Alexandre. He’s your best friend. You don’t want to leave him, do you?”
She stroked softly over the ravaged flesh and muscle. “Does my blood still flow within you? Can you feel me, Creed? You said our heartbeats were now synched. Know that my heart beats only for you.”
If only her blood could bring him back now. Could it? What if she dripped her own blood onto his wounds? It was a better risk than the witch’s blood.
She clicked the minuscule glass vial with a fingernail and tilted it to watch the crimson flow along the glass.
If Alexandre were wrong, witch’s blood could kill Creed. But if Severo were right, he would die anyway. And really, what could a few drops of werewolf blood do for hi
m?
Kissing the glass vial, she then carefully tipped it over Creed’s heart. Five drops fell onto his beating heart and permeated the muscle.
“Come back to me, lover. We’ve only just begun.”
Nothing magical happened. The air did not change or begin to sparkle like some grand transformation scene in a movie.
Nothing.
Perhaps the shackle spell had depleted his magic? What had she expected?
Blu sucked in her lower lip and bent over him. Closing her eyes, she began a mantra, “Please heal. Come back to me.”
Hours passed. Creed remained motionless, save for a few twitches in his fingers and some moans. He was fighting to survive.
Blu continued the mantra.
Another hour later a breeze tickled the tall grasses, stirring up cricket song. Blu sensed a change in the air. She sat up straight.
A clover-sweet breeze sifted through her hair, drawing the long dark strands across her face. Air tickled her mouth, much like a lover brushing his lips over hers.
Blu closed her eyes and imagined Creed’s mouth at hers. She wrapped her arms about her shoulders and, sitting at her husband’s side, surrendered to the feelings of warmth and love.
“You’re doing this,” she whispered. “I can feel your kiss on my skin. It worked. The blood revitalized your magic. Save yourself, Creed. Come back to me.”
The wind began to swirl around them in a gentle tornado. Blu spread her arms and wiggled her fingers. The air caressed her like Creed’s kiss gliding over her skin.
And then a tremendous gasp of air brought him from the precipice of hell and back to this realm. Chest heaving, Creed opened his eyes and he cried out in agony.
Blu did not lunge to protect him, to try to make it better. He needed the air, so she stood and stepped back. The cashmere wrap she wore over her T-shirt slipped from her shoulder and rippled like a flag. It brushed Creed’s face.
Hours passed as she watched the wounds knit together and the flesh become smooth and new. His arm, broken and distorted, mended and straightened, and his fingers clutched handfuls of grass.
When he was able to sit, naked save for the blanket across his lap, he stretched an arm, flexing the scarred muscle. He nodded, satisfied he had begun recovery.