Page 90 of Immortal Bastard (The Order of Vampires)

“I said stop!” Dane screamed.

Desperate to break them apart, he reached for the heavy stick and lobbed it through the bars like a javelin, gasping as it soared directly for his sister’s face. Isaiah’s broken hand twisted with inhuman speed, ripping his flesh from Cybil’s bloodied teeth and catching the stick with startling accuracy, protecting Cybil.

A deep, angry growl snapped through the air as he fisted the offensive object and squeezed. His battered, swollen hand dripped with blood as the thick shaft snapped in two and fell to the ground.

No way. No way could he be that strong. He’d been in isolation for two years living off rationed blood. How could he have possibly kept up his strength?

The broken hand gently caressed Cybil’s unharmed face then disappeared. Chains rattled, then Isaiah lunged at the steel bars and bared his fangs, hissing viciously!

Dane staggered back, tripping into the wall. The bars shook and he was certain Isaiah wanted to kill him! Plaster loosened from the joints as chains rattled wildly and Isaiah roared. It was then that Dane understood. A meager cell could not detain an immortal of his strength. Something else kept him there, and he had a sickening suspicion he knew what it was.

Cybil jumped and snarled, excited by Isaiah’s fury. Only then did Dane hear the muffled moan from the cell on the other end of the hall. Juniper.

Eyes wide, he looked back at his sister. “I’m sorry. I have to go get help.”

She hissed at him with bloody fangs. Heart pounding, he ran as fast as his feet could carry him toward the door to the Safe House above.

Isaiah roared and Cybil screeched excitedly. Juniper let out a muffled scream, unsure what was happening. He’d been in such a rush to find help he’d almost missed the moment he ran past the witch’s cell, the moment the torches on the walls all blazed several feet high and touched the ceiling, setting the whole corridor aglow.

He’d almost missed it in his panic as he raced to find the bishop and get help, but in the back of his mind, he knew exactly what he saw.

Only one thing could make the flames of the torches flare and spark like that. And it didn’t require free hands, or sight, or even speech. It only required one simple thing. Magic.

CHAPTER 14

A sense of revitalization awoke within Delilah and her mind roused. Comfortably lost between a dream and reality, she moaned softly as her mouth worked. Pleasant. Hot. Satisfying.

No, wait…

Her eyelids snapped open and she screamed, only to choke on whatever was in her mouth. Oh, fuck, she knew what it was. Blood. He was feeding her his fucking blood!

The thick, sticky fluid coated her tongue and she gagged, dry heaving over the side of the bed as every muscle in her body locked.

“You’re going to make yourself sick!”

She angrily pointed a finger at him and spit on the floor. Tears blurred her eyes as she tried to breathe, not wanting to focus on the metallic taste drowning her senses.

“You,” she wheezed. “How could you?” She gagged again and wiped her mouth on the back of her arm. The trail of pink saliva turned her stomach even more.

“This is ridiculous. You needed to feed.”

The copper taste of death was everywhere, in her sinuses, down her throat, filling her belly like bile on a rocking ship.

“You’re purposefully making a dramatic—”

His words cut off when her shoulders tensed and she covered her mouth with a heave. Too late. She vomited the crimson contents of her stomach all over the floor.

Her lungs labored, yet she couldn’t draw in one useful gasp of breath. She vomited again. The sight was even worse than the horrific sound, but nothing beat the ungodly smell.

Her body convulsed with shivers once her belly was painfully hollow again, and she fell back onto the bed, panting and sweating. How had this become her life?

He came to her side, and she weakly swatted his touch away. “Don’t.”

“Enough!” he snapped, catching her flailing arm and dabbing her face with a cool cloth. “I will not be pushed away when you’re ill and in need.”

She was in need of normalcy. Her eyes struggled to stay open as nausea swam through her in waves. “How could you do that?” The violation of trust was unfathomable. But for trust to be betrayed it would first have to exist, and that was impossible.

“Pintura, do you have any idea how malnourished an immortal has to be to suffer the sort of weakness you suffered last night? You needed nourishment.”

She hissed at him, a completely animalistic response, but she didn’t care.

“You’ve been digesting my blood for days—”

“I knew it! The other women said as much! You had no right to feed me your blood!”

“I had every right! You. Are. My. Mate.”