by Isabel Wroth
Kerrigan snorted as she angled her arm over the plastic pitcher, setting the point of her ritual knife to her forearm.
“This will be the easiest way for Maksim to feed.”
She opened a vein before any of them could stop her, the blade so sharp she didn’t feel the pain until her blood started to flow.
“What the fuck! Doyle, stop her! Shit, get some towels, hurry!” By the time Reece dropped to his knees beside her with the obvious intention of grabbing her arm, no doubt thinking she was going to bleed out, the cut had already closed, and the pitcher only had about two cups of blood in it. Not nearly enough.
“It’s okay,” Kerrigan promised, gritting her teeth as she cut again. “I heal fast.”
Reece spluttered indignantly, raking his hands through his disheveled hair, glaring at her with pure venom in his gaze. “Fuckin’ warn a guy next time, will you?”
“It won’t be a habit,” she told him, hearing the small, pained and hungry noises Maksim made. “I’m sorry, Maks. I’m hurrying.”
“Stop… hurting,” he hissed furiously.
She shot a quick smile his way and shook her head.
“I’m alright. It’s not that bad. Just a little bit more.”
Kerrigan was dizzy by the time she managed to fill up the pitcher, her hands shaking as she set her knife aside.
Reece stopped her when she reached for the pitcher by smacking her hand away. “You’ll spill it, and all that will have been for nothing. I’ll take it in. Doyle will help you out here.”
She shook her head. “I’m going in. He’s mine.”
“Stubborn witch,” Reece grunted, and it wasn’t as sweet a compliment on his tongue as it was on Maksim’s. But he still picked up the pitcher and the straw and carefully carried it into the cell. “Fine. Fine. Keel over for all I care.”
Doyle helped her up, half carrying her inside to finally let her settle beside Maksim. Even with Doyle having warned her, she wasn’t prepared, but it wasn’t his desiccated, withered form that brought on the urge to vomit.
Maksim’s flesh was flaky and dry in places, bubbled and raised in horrible scars across his chest, legs, and arms, pulled taut over his bones until he resembled a thousand-year-old mummy.
Not a single strand of muscle or a cell of fat could be seen anywhere on his naked body, streaked with dirt and Goddess only knew what other kinds of filth.
He had patches of long silvery hair decorating an otherwise bald skull, his dry, withered lips drawn back to expose the gaps in his teeth where his fangs should have been.
He was indeed missing fingers: three on the one hand, two on the other. It was what the Wives had done to his face that utterly wrecked her.
Two large X’s had been carved across his eyes and sewn in place with some kind of crude black twine. His leathery skin was raised and red—raw—seeping yellowish fluid, bulging in strange places like something was tucked behind the swollen flesh.
“Oh, Maks, how are you even alive like this?” she choked out as she slid her arms under his shoulders, glad he couldn’t see her face when the cloth of her sleeves scraped and caught against his skin and bones.
Maksim, who had always been so powerful and larger than life, weighed no more than a stack of kindling.
Her tears hit his face with soft plops before she could stop them, but with her blood so close, Maks didn’t seem to notice.
Reece put his thumb over the top of the straw, slowly feeding her blood to Maksim as he groaned in ecstasy.
It took what seemed like a hundred sips from the straw for Maksim to be able to actually swallow, his lips and tongue the first to swell and fill with life.
When he could move his mouth on his own, Reece held the straw for him, and Maksim drank in earnest.
After a few minutes, Maksim’s skin plumped, muscle and sinew expanded as his veins filled. The silver cobwebs of hair fell out and thick, dark strands pushed from Maksim’s skull until he once more had a glorious mane of almost feminine curls.
By the time he finished the pitcher of her blood, Maksim had gone from looking like mummified skeletal remains to a soldier, captured and kept as a prisoner of war. Thin and starving, but very much alive.
He didn’t miss a single drop, and when Reece set aside the pitcher and straw, Maksim licked his lips and sighed in relief.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us yet,” she murmured, hastily dashing at the tears coursing down her cheeks. “Do you think you can walk?”
Maksim took a moment to think, turning his cheek to rest on her shoulder for a moment. “I can.”
“Good, let’s get the fuck out of this damn dungeon,” Doyle declared.
Maksim’s chuckle was still a little rough, but it was so beautiful to hear.
“Yes, let’s.”
“I pulled all the curtains,” Reece reported, ducking his neck under Maksim’s arm to help get him to his feet. “It’s a straight shot up the stairs and down the hall to the nearest bathroom. There’s a big tub in there. No windows, so it’ll warm up fast. Kerrigan, you need to eat. Doyle and I will go get something. What else can we get while we’re out?”
Kerrigan thought about it as they climbed the stairs, glad Doyle was right behind her with his hand on her back in case she got dizzy again and lost her footing.
“Another vehicle, preferably a van with no windows and a way to transport Maksim if we get stuck in the sunshine.”
She stumbled a little, feeling emotionally, physically, and magically drained to the point where she couldn’t summon up any extra luxuries.
“Some clothes and shoes, and the location of the nearest morgue.”
Maksim snorted, weaving like a drunk as they took the last few stairs to the landing.
“I know I look hideous, love, but I’m quite alive. No need to put me on ice.”
Kerrigan went up on her toes to press her lips to his cheek, right below the irritated flesh so crudely sewn together.
“You won’t win any beauty contests right now, but I need some things from the morgue to fix you up.”
The lions helped her get Maksim into the bathroom, and before they left, Reece lifted up the cooler with the bagged blood and set it beside the tub.
“You got this?”
“We’ll be okay. Thank you, Reece. Could you please call Astrid and give her an update while you’re out?”
“Yup, will do.”
Reece shut the door behind him, leaving Kerrigan alone with Maksim in the chilly bathroom that was thankfully free of ghosts. She looked up at him, unable to keep from wincing at the ruin of his face, struggling to keep her composure.
She wanted to fall apart and weep for the agony he’d endured while she went on in ignorance, believing him dead. But he wasn’t dead; he was here and real, and he needed her to keep it together.
“I know you don’t like the taste of it, but we brought some bagged blood for you. Would you like one while I get the water going?”
His beautiful lips, now smooth and pink, quirked into a wry smile. “After tasting the ambrosia of your blood, anything else will taste like garbage. But my body needs as much blood as it can get, so yes. I’ll suffer through it.”
“Okay, here’s the wall, or do you need to sit?” Now that they were alone together, she felt awkward as hell, not sure what to say.
“I can stand; it feels good. Kerrigan?”
“Mmhm?”
“Will you think me weak if I confess I’m afraid to let go of you and find this has all been some cruel dream?”
Her lips trembled, her throat closing to the point where it was difficult to swallow or take a full breath. She didn’t care that he was caked in filth; she leaned in and wrapped her arms around him.
Maksim jerked like she’d laid into him with a whip, but before she could pull away and ask if she’d hurt him, he hugged her back so fiercely it hurt.
“I will never look at you and think you’re weak. I don’t want to let go either. I missed you so much.
Every day, and I thought you were gone forever. I didn’t know a knife to the heart wasn’t nearly enough to kill a vampire. Ilex only told me this morning that it’s the best kept vampire secret in the whole world… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I left you here.”
The breakdown she’d been trying to avoid happened, and instead of taking care of Maksim, he was the one to soothe and shush her, resting his cheek on her hair.
“Kerrigan, my sweet little witch. I tried to tell you I wasn’t dying, that I wasn’t going to leave you alone, but Price coated that knife in some potion that acted as instant desiccation, and I couldn’t force the words out. There was nothing you could do. I wanted you to leave. I wanted you as far away from here as possible.”
Kerrigan wept until she didn’t have a single tear left, and for a long time, they stood there together, not speaking, just holding one another.
She felt Maksim sway slightly and was furious with herself for not keeping it together long enough to take care of him.
She kissed his dirty skin and gently pushed away, grabbing a towel with one hand to set on the lip of the white marble tub.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Even abandoned for six months, the house was still stocked with luxuries like towels and soap.
Stupid Wives and their stupid convenience spells.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Squeaky clean and six liters of bagged blood later, Maksim was nearly back to looking like his former self. He’d been so dirty she had to empty the tub and fill it back up twice before letting him lounge in the steamy water.
Kerrigan took her time running a soft, soapy cloth over every inch of his body, happier and happier as time went on, cherishing each one of his sighs of enjoyment.
She took her time washing his hair, stripping off her pants to sit on the ledge behind him, her legs in the water on either side of his shoulders, his head cradled in her lap.
She carefully dabbed at the infected looking cuts where his eyes should have been, examining the angry flesh more closely.
“I don’t want to open these up until I have a donor pair of eyes for you.”
Even as gentle as she could possibly be, she saw him flinch and was glad she’d left her satchel within reach.
“Donor pair?”
Kerrigan hesitated to answer, not having thought about how distasteful the practice of necromancy might be to Maksim.
“I can put you back together, but it will require some body parts from the morgue. Will it bother you to have eyes and fingers donated by a recently deceased human?”
Maksim didn’t immediately answer, and slowly—as though worried she would shy away from his touch—curled what fingers he had left around her calves.
“Will I be able to see you? Touch you with all ten fingers and feel your skin on mine?”
“You will,” she confirmed. “Not to brag, but I was the best student in my class.”
A smile immediately stretched across his face, his warm chuckle filling the room. “Of course you were. No, love. It won’t bother me.”
“Okay. I have something to dull the pain you must be feeling until we can get to the morgue. It won’t be very pleasant, but—”
“I’ll take it,” he said abruptly. “Please.”
“Of course.” She leaned sideways to grab her bag, rummaging to find the wax paper envelope full of willow bark, thankful for the crazed rush of adrenaline that had driven her to swipe every healing herb she had in her bedroom into the satchel.
She picked out several thick pieces of bark and put them in her mouth, chewing and chewing the bitter brew until her mouth was full of saliva.
She poured some water in the cup she kept in her bag and spat everything but the bark into the cup, swirling it around to mix it all up.
She set the lip to Maksim’s mouth, softly urging him to drink. He made a face and coughed a little after swallowing. “What is that?”
“Oldest potion in the world. Willow bark, water, and witch spit. Told you, gross.”
He lifted his shoulder in a careless shrug. “If it helps, I don’t care.”
“You should feel the effects in about a minute. How long ago did Vivica do this to you?” She cupped his cheeks, her thumbs sweeping across his cheekbones.
Maksim sighed, relaxing muscle by muscle as the willow bark went to work.
“Several years. I’m not quite sure how many. It was a small price to pay to keep from suffering her attentions.”
Kerrigan stilled in the process of reaching for the damp cloth, a terrible tremor wracking her as his words penetrated her exhausted brain.
“Her attentions? That disgusting hag touched you?”
Maksim gave a soft snort, lifting his hand from where he’d been holding onto her ankle, reaching for her hand on his face, turning his lips to her wrist to nuzzle her pulse.
“She spent far too many years thinking she was beautiful. It gave me untold pleasures to recount the many ways in which she was disgusting. I’m a bit surprised she took my eyes instead of my tongue. Honestly, I considered it a gift to not have to look upon her hideous face.”
Numb with shock, Kerrigan couldn’t move. She just sat there, staring down at her mate, speechless, unable to get past the vomit-inducing images of Vivica—twisted, bent, saggy, and so fucking ugly—putting her gnarled hands on Maksim’s body.
“She touched you?”
“I believe she thought if she managed to seduce me, I would be more compliant. Rest assured, love, nothing she did arouse any passion in me. I’d have staked myself rather than touch her rancid flesh and betray you in such a way.”
The surge of anger made her eyes burn and flood, making it feel as though someone sliced into a jalapeno and rubbed the juices in her eyes.
“I would never accuse you of betraying me. Whatever you did here, you did it to survive. I should have slit her throat.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Maksim told her, shocking her into open-mouthed silence. “Vivica was a beast of vanity. Predictable, not nearly as clever as she thought. There were others who were far more cunning and would have made my stay decidedly unpleasant.
“Vivica only wanted her beauty restored and convinced the others they needed my blood if they were to have any hopes of repairing their glamour.
"Truth be told, they left me mostly alone unless it was to bring me some poor sod to feed on or to torment me by cutting open their human sacrifices and letting the blood spill all over the ground when I was well on my way to starving.”
He spoke about what he’d suffered as though it had been a minor ordeal and not twelve years’ worth of horror and pain.
She had a hard time speaking past the lump in her throat, her fingers carefully tracing over the knotted scar tissue on Maksim’s right bicep.
It was a wide patch, almost bigger than her palm could cover, and she couldn’t tell what sort of horrible device had been used to create such a lasting reminder.
“And this? Why did she do this to you?”
“That gift and all my other scars were given to me by my maker. Now, there was a man who knew how to properly torture a prisoner. Thankfully, he’s dead. Long since dead, and so is Vivica. We have nothing to fear from either of them.” Maksim lifted his dripping hand to wave at the door. “One of your lions is coming.”
Kerrigan opened her mouth to correct him that neither Doyle nor Reece were hers, but one of them knocked on the door and cracked it just enough to be heard through the thick panel.
“We’re back, Kerry. Got clothes for Maksim, the van, and food for you. Can I come in?”
She squeezed Maksim’s shoulder and got a nod. “Yes, thank you.”
It was Doyle who came in with the bags of stuff, making a happy sound when he set it all down on the vanity.
“You look better already, bro. Reece is scouting for more donor blood and should be back shortly.”
“Thank you,” Maksim rumbled, at ease with his nudity in the way a shifter would be. “I am glad to know K
errigan has such generous friends.”
Doyle shot her a wink. “Her coven sister brought my best friend back from the dead, so we’re all pretty much family now. Found a kick-ass food truck park and got an assortment of choices for you, Kerry. Heavy on the steak to pump up your iron levels.
"When I called, Astrid shot me a portal with shit she thought you’d need to do whatever you’re gonna do with Maksim at the morgue.”
Doyle lifted a familiar black velvet backpack, the soft clink of glass on metal reached her ears, and she was glad to know she wouldn’t have to be improvising or using someone else’s tools.
“Thank you. We’ll be out in a little while.”
She made fast work of the delicious food while Maksim lingered in the bath, not having realized how ravenous she was until she was digging in the bottom of the paper bag for one more squishy, salty French fry.
Exhausted but feeling steadier, Kerrigan threw her trash away and helped Maksim out of the tub, finding an incredible amount of pleasure in drying him off.
Any excuse she had to run her hands over his recovering muscles, learning the shape of what he’d concealed from her in expensive suits for the entirety of their time together.
When she dropped to her knees to help him step into the thick sweats Doyle brought, Maksim set his hand on top of her head, awkwardly stroking her hair.
“This isn’t how I imagined we would share our first intimacies,” he told her gruffly.
She knew exactly what he meant but tried to make light of the moment. Again, she was thankful he couldn’t see her wide-eyed, astonished, and apprehensive expression when she got an up-close and personal look at his junk.
Thus far, she’d done her best to give Maks as much dignity and respect as possible, but it was right there, thick and hard, practically waving at her and begging for attention.
“Me either, but I’ve had lots of fantasies involving us and a bathtub.”
Maksim gave a deep, throaty sound, shifting his weight from foot to foot when she pulled up the pants to carefully settle them at his waist.
“I would very much like to hear these fantasies at a later date when I can see your beautiful face.”