Vampire's Kiss (22 page)

But its eyes tracked me with a disturbingly human expression. Its face was bloated and its tongue swollen, but not so much that I couldn’t see humanity there. I knew with chilling certainty that this Draug had died young.

“What do you want?” I demanded, though I knew the thing wouldn’t answer me. It just kept prowling closer, while I kept edging away.

But it didn’t strike. It simply studied me, as though I were just beyond recognition. The inaction was freaking me out more than the attack had.

“What are you?” My voice sounded hysterical, and I checked myself.
Calm.
This thing was staring at me—did it have rational thought, too? I measured my tone. “
Who
were you?”

It didn’t like that. With a feral jerk of its body, it hopped to its feet. I shrieked.

The Draug walked just along the ledge, not caring about the drop—its eyes were only for me. I glanced from it, to the ledge, and back again, deciding there was no way to shove the thing over without falling myself.

It prowled closer, like a wildcat about to pounce. Whatever humanity I’d seen on its face was gone. The only thing in its eyes now was bloodlust.

It bounded for me, and I dodged it, jogging backward and reaching for my throwing stars. Thank God I’d worn my boots with my weapon of choice tucked in them. Last time I faced a Draug, I’d stupidly gone out unarmed. I rarely did
that
anymore, if I could help it.

Keeping my eyes glued to the monster, I slipped my fingers into the makeshift holster at my calf and touched them: four shuriken stars. I pulled them out, keeping my movements slow and smooth. I palmed them—my coldly perfect, reassuringly sharp, best-friend-forever steel.

The temptation was great to throw like a maniac. But I held still. Watcher Priti had taught me this. Cool deliberation. Monklike focus.
I am roots in the earth. I am water that flows. I am grounded. I am Watcher.

I threw. My beautiful shuriken struck a perfect landing, sticking in the creature’s cheek. But the thing continued to stalk toward me, my star doing a sickening wobble in its flesh.
I backed away. I threw again. My star lodged in its throat. And yet still the thing kept coming.

“I am grounded. I am Watcher.” But I
wasn’t
a Watcher, not yet. And I worried I was no longer quite so grounded, either.

I had two stars left, one in each hand. I tightened my grip, and the razor-sharp steel cut into my fingers, but they were a part of me, and I didn’t care.

Where to target? Other words came to me.
A stake through the heart does them in.
There were no throwing stars in that sentence. I didn’t have a weapon to impale it. Surely there was another way to destroy a Draug.

It bared its teeth ever so slightly, the upper lip curling, trembling, revealing a mouthful of disturbingly white teeth. And a pair of fangs—they were small.

A Trainee.
Or what was left of one.

My stomach lurched. This had been a boy, a teenager like me. I forced the thought from my head. His young fangs were no less deadly.

I had to do something. I targeted the left side of its chest. Maybe if I threw hard enough, I could nick the heart. I raised my hand to throw.

It leapt then. So fast. Too fast.

Before I could act, the monster had its arms around me, squeezing. Nails like talons sliced into me. Impressions flooded me—the sound of fabric tearing, a blast of cold, and then the warmth of my own blood, pulsing from my body, streaming down my forearm and at the small of my back.

The Draug grunted, a throaty, squealing sound, like a stuck pig. It shoved me away and jerked its head down, clamping its mouth over the wound on my arm. Its jaws worked
spasmodically, trying to get purchase. I pulled away, and its fangs tugged my flesh as I wrenched free, leaving my skin ragged and torn. But its claws were in me again, piercing my upper arms.

My blood.
I saw my blood running down the Draug’s face, watched that swollen tongue lick its lips clean, and I heard myself scream, the sound a hollow echo in my brain. The creature came at me again, hungry for my bloodied flesh.

My stars.
I still had two stars. I wrestled one arm free and stabbed the monster. I’d aimed for the heart, but its face got in the way, and I slashed at the cheek instead, ripping it. The skin hung open, dangling from its jaw like something in a bad zombie movie. The thing let loose a terrifying sound, a growl as if it were the devil himself I’d angered.

The Draug swatted my hand, and the star flew from my grip. Tears stung my eyes, fear paralyzing me. The creature looked bloated and useless, but sheer, unfathomable strength drove its punch.

Was this how I’d die? I wished Emma were here by my side. I thought how Ronan would find my mangled body. I regretted that most of all.

We grappled, and the only thing that saved me from instant death was my size. I was tiny and wily in its bloated arms, but despite my desperate wriggling, I couldn’t manage to slip completely free.

I felt its fingers in my hair, yanking hard, craning back my neck, immobilizing me.

The Draug let go, but sweet relief was cut short when it grabbed my ear instead. It pulled until the skin tore at the
seam, and that catalyzed me. It was such an odd thing to focus me—so specific, so surreal. But I was
not
going to lose an ear.

I still held one star. I couldn’t stake the Draug with it. But I could blind the thing.

I gripped the star hard, till I felt blood pool in my palm, and then I slashed at its eyes, and again, until there was a sickening pop, and blue drained from the Draug’s eye, drizzling down its cheek, a revolting indigo in the twilight.

With a roar, it threw itself into me, raging and feral, all power and wild fury. We went flying. My back crashed onto the ground, and the thing slammed on top of me. It began to squeeze. I wiggled, but the Draug had me pinned tight. It was suffocating me, crushing me, stealing the air from my chest until my ribs creaked. And then there was a hideous snap, followed by a stabbing so sharp, so intense, it stole all thought from my brain. A rib.

I gasped for air, struggling, but there was no getting free. There was no fighting anymore. My vision started to dim. The thing wanted to kill me, and I couldn’t stop it. I would die.

Was dying.

I heard myself call out nonsensical things, crying “No,” over and over, until just the one word stretched into a single, pathetic wail.

But then the thing lifted up, stiffening. Its eyes shot open, and its body convulsed. Sludge like black tar spewed from its mouth. Screaming through my blinding pain, I skittered backward, free of the monster.

Only then did I see Ronan.

R
onan stood over me. Ronan had killed the beast.

Our eyes met and held for an eternity. I panted in staccato breaths, but my chest was so tight, I thought I might suffocate under the pressure. My breathing was shallow. I was certain I’d broken a rib, but had I punctured a lung, too? I wondered if I might drown in my own blood.

His expression was so grave. Would he yell? Surely he’d guessed I’d been spying on him. Would I die, knowing only this excruciating pain and Ronan’s anger?

But he didn’t scold; instead, he knelt before me. “Ann.” He grabbed me to him, but his hold was gentle, and I felt the tug of his fingers in my hair as he cradled my head in his chest. His Scottish accent came out thick and guttural. “Ach, girl. You’re a powerful wee thing.” He stroked my hair, and I wondered if his tenderness was because I was dying. “You’ll get yourself killed someday.”

“Someday?” Did it mean I wasn’t dying? My chest spasmed, trying to get enough air. Tears ran hot down my face, but it wasn’t because I was crying. My body had taken over.

“Steady on now. You’re going into shock.” He put a hand at my back to support me and ran his other along my torso, his fingers moving over each rib, his touch gentle but firm. He didn’t watch as he did it; rather, his eyes stared blindly into the distance in intense concentration. “I need to make certain you’re in one piece.”

He grazed a spot on my lower right side, and I flew about an inch off the ground. I yelped. “Hurts.”

“Be still.” His tone was stern, but I saw the concern clear on his brow. “If a rib has snapped in two, it could pierce an organ.”

That stilled me, all right.

He used his thumb now, drawing along the edge of the rib. The pain was so unbearable, I wondered if I might faint from it. I bit my lips to not make a sound, but tears ran unbidden down my face.

He squeezed my shoulder. “Breathe.”

Each breath was an agony, and now I was scared if I inhaled, I’d puncture a lung. I shivered uncontrollably, trying to shake my head but quivering too hard to do so.

He rubbed my arm. “Breathe,” he ordered. “
Now.
In and out.”

My chest was too tight. The gray sky grew dimmer, and distantly I registered how odd the light became as darkness closed around my vision. But still I took only tiny sips of air—the pressure across my ribs was too great. My ears began to buzz.

“Annelise.” His tone was unforgiving. “Stay with me.”

He gave me a quick shake, and I inhaled sharply then, crying out with the stab of pain. I hunched over, leaning into it. I made unintelligible sounds—it hurt so badly.

But I was breathing regularly again, and the world became clear again. My scalp and lips prickled with cold, like numbed parts returning to life.

“Now keep breathing,” he said.

I did, and I found my voice, too, complaining between breaths, “But…it hurts.”

“Hush. I need to make sure the lung wasn’t punctured.” He put his hand near my mouth. “Exhale. When a lung collapses, air goes in but doesn’t come out.”

I did as he told me, afraid to do otherwise. Biology was hideous enough;
my
biology was unthinkable.

“No,” he said, “your lungs are good.”

Simply hearing that my lungs were intact eased my chest until my sips of air slowly elongated into longer, steadier inhales.

His eyes went to my bloodied arm. “But this…” He gently took my arm, turning it this way and that. Then, scooting back, he peeled off his black sweater.

He kept a slim wooden stake strapped to his left forearm. I imagined the stake that currently protruded from the Draug’s back had once been attached to Ronan’s
right
arm.

But then my eyes went to his shirt, a plain white cotton tee. I could see the planes of his chest and the faint shadow and texture of hair running in a line down his chest.

“What—?”
What are you doing?
I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t finish the thought, because Ronan had begun to strip off his undershirt, too.

My cheeks blazed hot, and I looked away, then back again. But he’d slipped his sweater back on and had begun to tear the white cotton T-shirt into strips. He worked silently, and I wondered if he was as self-conscious about all this as I was.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” he explained.

“Of course,” I stammered. “It’s okay. Since drinking the blood, I’ve been clotting quickly.”

“It’s not your healing I worry about. It’s your scent.” He met my eyes, looking grave. “The blood will call the others.”

“You mean I’d be bait?” I gave a nervous laugh. “Like chumming for sharks?”

But he answered in all seriousness, “Precisely like that.”

He wound the strip around my arm. The fabric was still warm from his body, and ironically it gave me a shiver. He knotted it off and pulled me to standing, supporting me for a moment at the elbows.

His hands went to my face, cupping it. I held my breath again, but this time for an entirely different reason. His eyes were so green and so deeply locked with mine, but I didn’t for a second think he was doing his hypnotic thing. I knew in my heart, in this moment there were just the two of us—no magic, no vampires, no compulsion—just Ronan and me. Not taking his eyes from mine, he tenderly smudged the tears from my cheeks. The gesture cracked my heart as surely as my rib had been.