Chaos and Moonlight (Order of the Nines Book 1) (33 page)

“Judah, this is going to be fatal if we don’t do something fast,” Rhiannon said, pressing hard on the hole from which blood continued to pour out. “We’ve got to get this cleaned as much as possible and get some blood in her, or she’s…”

“Shut your mouth,” Judah spat out. “She won’t die. She’s not going to die.”

Zillah’s porcelain skin was beginning to turn an ashy gray as the very life that flowed within her continued to cover his forearms and thighs.

“No. No.” He shook his head. His eyes darted back and forth between the open wound below her rib cage and the thready pulse that barely made movement in her throat. “No,” he said again. He pulled his arm out from under her, laying her limp body on the floor. Kneeling down, he released the straps on his own bulletproof vest, and with one hand at the base of his neck, he pulled off his black T-shirt. He immediately began trying to wipe off as much of the blood at the surface of the wound as he could.

This couldn’t be happening. Their relationship had been nothing short of a black void for the last few hundred years, but he’d be hanged if this was how it all ended.

Zillah’s chest started to rattle, the rise and fall of her small breasts growing more and more infrequent. He had to do something drastic, fast. If she died, there was no point for him anymore.

“Give me some water.”

Without hesitation, Taris jumped up from his perch at Zillah’s feet and sprinted across the dingy floor. A quick hop put him over the bar, and another catapulted him back onto the floor, several bottles of water in hand.

“Here,” Taris’ hands shook as he handed Judah a few of the bottles. He followed suit when Judah ripped off the tops and began to pour them into the wound. As they poured, the angry flesh exposed more of itself, and the serious nature of the injury came to light.

“It’s blown out her rib cage, probably the bottom lobe of her left lung,” Rhiannon whispered.

Without another word or thought, Judah lowered his head to the ripped skin and began frantically running his tongue over the edges. With every lap, he had to fight the urge to scream. Between passes, he would painfully fish for the end pieces of her ribs embedded into her side. He sobbed as he set them back into place and continued trying to begin the healing process.

“The only way she’s going to survive this is if she feeds, Judah.” Taris tried to put a steadying hand on his shoulder, but he pushed it away.

“I know that. Just let me…just let me help her.” Judah sobbed again before he tried to make another lick. He held the skin together, finally sealing the wound with another frantic lap.

The taste of her blood lingered in his mouth. It lit him up from the inside out, and his every nerve ending screamed for more. But there was something else, something more within him that begged for him to save her, to do what he knew he needed to.

“Judah, give her to me or Taris,” Achan whispered. “You know it’s nothing, man. Just hand her here.”

A guttural growl rose out from Judah’s chest and echoed off the walls of the bar. Planting himself next to Zillah’s pale body, he lifted her into his arms and pressed her tight against his chest. He expertly flicked one of the sharp stars in her belt loop loose and pressed it into the muscled flesh at his collarbone.

“What are you doing?” Rhiannon screamed, stopping his hand before he could press in. “Do you know what will happen if you feed her?”

For a moment, he took his eyes away from Zillah and stared into Rhiannon’s face.

“I would—” he stopped, choking back a sob. “I would rather have her hate me for the rest of her life than live the rest of mine without her.”

He pressed the blade into his skin, instantly springing forth a river of deep crimson.

“Come on, Zillah, wake up,” he whispered as he opened her pale lips with his fingers. He positioned her head so that the flow of blood landed mostly in her mouth. With his other hand, he massaged her throat, trying to get her to swallow. “Wake up,” he sobbed. “Please, wake up. I don’t care if you hate the fact that I breathe. Just please, wake up.”

A tense hush settled over the bar. Even the skipping sound of the dance tracks that blasted through the speakers flanking the stage seemed muffled. Everyone nervously watched Judah as he continued to bleed out into Zillah’s mouth in the hopes her body would repair itself and she would pull through. It was like watching two trains racing full steam on the same track toward each other. Nothing but twisted metal and devastation would be left in its wake.

When he realized there was no way he could pour any more blood into her body, Judah pulled her away from his chest and licked his thumb before passing it over the puncture wound. He continued to massage her throat, hoping and praying she would make it through. He pulled her closer to him and squeezed his eyes shut, his body gently rocking back and forth. The chill in her skin started to ease, and from their skin-to-skin position, he felt the subtle stirrings of her heart beginning to beat in its normal rhythm. His lips began to quiver and move in silent prayer. He would only have a few more moments with her like this before the bottom completely fell out.

She would need time to heal. The outside of her body may have been back to normal, but knitting ribs and muscle back together was something that would require more than just the quick fix he’d provided her. Standing on wobbling legs, Judah cradled her against him. Inching his foot under his discarded black shirt, he kicked it up in front of him and grabbed it with his fingers. Draping it over her bared chest, he walked silently toward the door of the club. He swiftly kicked open the door and walked out into the dusky evening sun.

One by one, they followed suit, collecting their weapons in silence. Taris walked over to the bench where Sarah sat, a look of complete confusion spread across her face.

“What just happened?” she whispered.

Taris scooped her up in his arms and pressed his lips to hers in a quick, hard kiss.

“You remember when I told you that Judah always hoped his wife would come back someday?” he whispered as he walked.

“Yeah?”

Casting a quick glance at the dead form on the floor that used to be Morrigan, he turned them toward the door

Taris tried to fight it back, but a damned solitary tear fell from his eye.

“He just got his wish.”

Sarah’s face twisted. “I don’t—I don’t understand. All he did was heal her, right?”

Taris let out a sigh. “We don’t just exchange vows when we marry each other. We exchange blood.” He sighed again and squeezed his eyes tight. “The last time Zillah had Judah’s blood coursing through her was probably about four hundred years ago…on their wedding night. And now, Jesus, when she wakes up, she’ll have about five hundred years of memories running through her as well. He either should have done it all those years ago when we realized she’d been traumatized to the point of losing everything, or not at all.”

Sarah tried to fight it but a sob escaped. She didn’t have to process what he’d said or think too hard about what he meant. It all made sense. Judah’s wife didn’t leave physically. She left mentally. She’d been there with him the whole time, always within arm’s length and yet so far away.

“Please take me home,” she sniffled and buried her head in the crook of his neck. “I just want to go home.”

* * *

Pushing his way through the metal door, Bane exploded into the alleyway. His vision was hazy. He was teetering on being officially bled dry. The road map of pain that was his body was about to give out. As he stumbled toward the open road, a pair of headlights beamed in the distance. The closer they came, the brighter they blazed. Bane hit his knees on the asphalt, crumbling beneath his own weight as the brakes squealed to a stop just in front of him. The glossy black paint glinted underneath the harsh streetlight that was starting to glow against the afternoon dusk. A wide door pushed open, and he saw a pair of large boots hit the pavement.

“Hey, sugar, you lookin’ for a date?”

From his spot on the ground, Bane craned his neck. If he’d had the strength to smile, he would have. Instead, he collapsed on the ground.

Stellan let out an exhausted sigh, stepping around the potholes and trash bags in the alleyway over to Bane. He lifted Bane’s body over his shoulder and set him in the passenger seat.

“This is against my better judgment, but you at least deserve one more shot at being a decent being.”

The house was deathly silent.

After the long, quiet ride home, Achan showered and crawled into his bed. He said nothing to no one. He had stripped completely out of his Kevlar and arsenal in the foyer of the house the instant he’d walked through the front door. His T-shirt was left on the stairs, along with one boot, then another a few steps up.

Rhiannon disposed of her weapons in much the same fashion. Once she was safely inside her home, she finally let her guard down, and she cried the entire way up to her room. Whether she was shedding tears of joy or tears of complete and total broken desolation, Taris couldn’t tell.

He left Sarah in the van.

From the doorway, Taris watched as Judah carefully maneuvered his way around Achan’s shoes and Rhiannon’s Kevlar vest with a still-unconscious Zillah in his arms.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Taris called up the steps. Judah turned and glared down at him with bloodshot eyes. His chest was heaving.

“Don’t you fucking move,” he spat down to him. He took the stairs faster and kicked open the door to his bedroom. He stepped in, and Taris could hear the rustling of bedsheets. After a few moments, Judah came out again, quietly shutting the door behind him.

“Did you see him?” Judah seethed, descending the stairs in rapid pace. He’d kicked off his boots so his footfalls barely made a sound against the stone steps. “Hmm? Did you see Bane?”

Taris was caught off guard by his sudden burst of anger. But he knew where this was going, so he braced himself. “Yes, I saw him.”

“You let him get away, too, didn’t you?” Judah stormed down the final few stairs and walked in front of Taris, standing no more than a breath away from him, staring him down eye-to-eye. “Fine time to take the moral high ground, Taris.”

Taris pulled in a deep breath and slowly let it out. The bad blood between Judah and Bane would only be worse now that Zillah was going to remember everything. It wasn’t that Taris didn’t want Bane to pay for the atrocities he’d committed. He knew he had to. For the nightmare that his life had become, he deserved no worse than the Spanish Inquisition, but it wasn’t his place to be the inquisitor. It was Judah’s task. It always had been.

“It wasn’t my place, Jude.”

“Bullshit! He was there, and you had a chance, and you did nothing. NOTHING!”

“You want to hit me, Judah? Hit me. Lay me out, pal. If that will make you feel better, then you go right ahead, but you know what I am saying is true. If I had ripped his face off and handed it to you, you would have resented me for doing what is yours to do. You want to channel some anger? Be angry at yourself.”

“Don’t try to play daddy with me, Taris.” Judah’s nostrils flared, and he bit back the angry growl that was threatening to rip out of him.

“I’m not playing shit with you! We kept your secret because you asked us to. For years, we begged and pleaded with you to let it all out, and you did nothing. What’s going to happen when she wakes up, Judah? Huh? You think she’s just going to embrace you and everything will be back to normal, the way it used to be? Fuck no, it won’t. It’s going to take time. And newsflash: I know where Bane is. I made sure the blood bond was fresh so I could find him, like Kalin could. His punishment is still yours to deal, and he knows it’s you. So when you get off your high horse and have a moment of clarity, you know where to find me.”

Taris turned and walked toward the door. He put his hand on the knob and looked at Judah.

“I tried, you know?”

Taris saw Judah making his way back up the stairs.

“Tried what?”

“I tried to make her remember. I did everything I could. But after a hundred years of trying to piece together someone else’s broken psyche, you get a little tired. I could only do so much before mine started to break, too.”

He stepped into his bedroom. From the doorway, Taris watched him sink down. Judah curled himself into a ball and lay down at the foot of the bed on which he’d placed Zillah. Taris’ heart sank so low into his stomach that he thought he was about to throw it up. Judah’s life had turned into a nightmare. The years he spent loving Zillah from a distance were only about to get worse. Taris halfway thought it might have been better if she had never remembered, or died. At least then Judah wouldn’t have to face the pain of rejection.

He felt like shit. He would go home to a woman he knew loved him and the happiness of knowing that she was not only safe, but that she was his for however long she wanted to be. It was a stark contrast between the way he used to live and the scenario he was walking away from. Inside the home he was driving away from was unrequited love, defined. In the home he was driving toward was the kind of love people read about. The house down the hill was full of heartache and pain.

Sarah glanced across the table and gave Taris a weak smile. She swirled the last remaining drop of liquid in the bottom of her wineglass and pressed it to her lips, tilting it back until she felt the warmth of it hit her tongue. The whole blood thing wasn’t quite as hideous as she thought it would be.

In the grand scheme of things, and compared to some of the other people who were now in her sphere of existence, her life change wasn’t that bad. She wouldn’t have to worry about aging or cancer or getting sick. She could handle the being old without being old part, but the two things that bothered her most about the notion were the contents of the glass that she just drank and the two elongated, pain-in-the-ass canines in her mouth. She’d damn near shredded her tongue on them at least a dozen times already, and they had only been there for forty-eight hours.

Taris made dinner and set the table bistro style. He’d spent the entire day in the kitchen, slaving over steak gorgonzola and sweet potato fries. In front of her loaded plate were two wineglasses. One was filled with a vintage Cabernet.