Page 59 of The Vampire Debt

“No,” he growls. There is confusion, hurt, and perhaps a little fear in his eyes. “You would cut me down…now?”

I pull my wrist from his grasp. He’s still so strong, even as hurt as he is. I could kill him in his weakened state, I’d already thought about it. But hearing him say that makes my stomach churn.

“I will not hurt you,” I say with as much calm and confidence as I can muster, grateful my voice doesn’t waver.

Alaric narrows his dark blue eyes that almost look completely black now. He doesn’t trust me, and why should he?

“Leave me, I will be fine,” he says his voice guttural.

He looks as if he will try to push himself up off the floor to protect himself from me. Alaric doesn’t trust me. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t either.

We hold each other’s gaze for several seconds before his energy fades. His eyes close again—either in defeat or exhaustion—and his head lowers back to the floor.

I brush his hair from his forehead and smooth my fingers over his pinched brow. I wait another moment to make sure he is unconscious this time then reach over him and grip the edge of his shirt, dragging the edge of the dagger across it. The cloth falls away with ease.

Setting the dagger on the floor, I fold the ripped edges of his shirt out of my way.

I dip the ripped rag back into the heated bowl of water then look at the horrible wounds on his back and let out a hiss. I focus on the task and try not to think about the fact that it doesn’t look like he’s even begun to heal yet, and what that could possibly mean.

With one hand on his shoulder, I pull him closer so that his chest rests against my thighs. I press the wet cloth to his back and his whole body goes ridged but he doesn’t wake again. I do my best to clean the area around the wounds first, moving carefully then covering a small patch of skin at a time.

Slowly, he begins to relax against me as he grows used to my touch.

Once the area has been cleaned, I rinse out the rags and soak them again, laying them over the deep slices in his back.

I sit back on my heels and wipe my brow.

It’s not the best, but it’s the best I can do for now. Shifting, I straighten out my legs and rest his head in my lap. And then, I wait. For what, I’m not sure. I suppose I am waiting for him to wake or for one of the housekeepers to arrive in the morning so they can take care of him.

A fluttering sound from within the manor startles me, and I reach for the dagger and grip it tightly, holding it out.

The sound moves closer as my mind goes back to all the demons from the forest.

Seconds tick by, punctuated by the ticking clock on the mantle. Then to my relief, Cherno flaps into the room. The animal’s movements grow more erratic than normal at seeing us on the floor, its master injured.

I drop my arm and watch the creature. It swoops down and lands a foot away then crawls over to him. It climbs up his leg and his arm, eventually settling against Alaric’s chest.

Something about that touches me. This creature loves him.

Alaric’s breathing seems to deepen, evening out some. The grimace of pain on his sculpted face has faded.

I watch him for a long time. My fingers find their way to his thick, silken hair, running through it in slow, soothing strokes before I realize what I’m doing. I pause briefly but don’t stop.

Asleep, he looks youthful and sweet, with no trace of the monster in sight. His skin is warm, and he’s very much alive, down to the beating of his heart. The tales I have heard all my life claim vampires are like the dead. Cold, with no pulse.

He seems to lean into me as I stroke his hair, though that’s most likely just my imagination. The movement seems to comfort him, so I continue.

I stay like that even when the demons grow louder then quieter as the night wears on, and even when the heavy tug of sleep pulls me down.

* * *

The next thing I know, something smooth and warm caresses my cheek. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t manage more than the smallest opening. My vision is blurred by exhaustion and my lashes weigh my eyelids down. Try as I might to fight it, sleep has wrapped me in its embrace.

The warmth that surrounded me vanishes before returning. My world shifts. I want to fight, but for some reason, I don't because I feel safe. Or perhaps I’m too tired to know to feel fear.

My body feels as though it’s floating, the gentle sway lulls me deeper into my slumber until I’m placed on something cool yet incredibly soft.

As the warmth leaves me once more, I try to protest.Don’t go,but I can’t summon the energy to speak.