Page 118 of Worse Fates

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One hour passes.

Then two…then three.

I count each one, holding Golden through his re-birth like if I hold on tight enough, I could transfer his pain to me.

After twelve hours, his throat was torn and he chokes on foaming blood as he thrashes back and forth, begging me to make it end.

“I love you, baby, I love you so much,” I beg, wishing for this nightmare to be over.

Then, I do the only thing I can to help, and my fist connects with the back of his skull, knocking him out.

My forehead drops into his sweated through curls, my heart opens and I cry into him for all this agony I’ve caused my sweet Golden. He doesn’t deserve this, not after all Jace put him through.

I try to make him comfortable, fill the tub with warm water and tenderly wash away the blood and dirt. Pour conditioner into his hair, and bring his curls back to life with my fingers. When cleaned, I wrap him in cotton and silks, lay him in a bed of the softest blankets and pillows I can find.

And for five, agonising days, I relive witnessing my brother writhe in fevered torment through Golden. Cristóbal shrieks from my nightmares, and Golden’s from my waking world, meld into one horrific melody that haunts me no matter where I go.

My soulmate’s only relief is when he passes out, or my fist against his head.

Cristóbal lasted seven days. Is that how long Golden will last? Are these our final moments? Him, out of his mind. Me, so burdened with regret and guilt I can barely move.

A part of me thinks I should just end his pain now, then rip this pathetic heart from my hollowed chest.

But hope…it digs a razor into my neck, a hair’s breadth from my jugular, and tells me to wait.

On the sixth day, I wake from a fitful sleep to find Golden sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, his head tilted up, bathing in the sunlight pouring from the open curtains, the slightest curve to his mouth. Heartbeat no longer the weak bird fluttering broken wings, it’s slow, as all vampires are, and so very strong.

And the prettiest fangs to ever grace a vampire poking between his cracked lips.

“Hello, Lucero Toledo.” He rasps, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

My feet move without thought towards him. Only to drop to my knees when I stand before the living embodiment of my heart, my head falling into his lap.

I weep when his fingers card through my hair. “Hello, Golden Ramnarine.”

Chapter Forty - Golden

I thought when I became a vampire I’d be like Lucero. Calm and collected, decked out in an expensive suit. Lips tilted in a sexy-as-fuck smirk that should be smug, but always gets my heart pumping, especially when he shows off his deadly fangs.

At the very least, I hoped I’d be my normal self.

But in the last three days, when the pain of turning thankfully left me, I’ve never been so weak. Keeping my eyelids open is a challenge, one I’m losing as I’ve spent more time asleep than awake. Even breathing is a struggle, like I’ve got the world’s worst flu.

“Lucero…” My voice comes out weak. A trembling half-whisper that has the density of thin glass.

“I’m right here, Golden.” And he squeezes his arms, reminding me I’m lying between his strong thighs. Head resting on his shoulder and draped in about a thousand duvets.

Somehow, a chilled shiver still has me huddling closer.

“I wanna go outside.” I run my fingers through his chest hair, yet after a few seconds, this small act takes the wind out of me and I have to rest my palm on his naked left pec.

He’s only wearing soft cotton black sweats, and normally I’d be very interested in all that body on display. Yet the idea of fooling around has me exhausted to the point of passing out.

“I’ve been trapped in our room forever.”

His long fingers play with my black curls. “I know, but you need rest.” Our eyes meet, and his worry is so palpable I look away, already knowing what he’s about to say. “And you need to feed.”