Shaun retched at the sight. Despite the almost-beheading, Lawrence refused to die. His one hand waved impotently at his neck, trying to hold onto his lolling head.
“What the fuck,” Kit whispered.
“Knife drawer,” Rake said, as if that explained everything.
Shaun got up and pulled the knife from Lawrence’s chest, then kicked Lawrence’s feet out from under him, sending him crashing down.
This time, Shaun didn’t hesitate. He drew the blade acrossLawrence’s ravaged neck, back and forth and back and forth until Shaun severed Lawrence’s head from his body.
Only then did his creator’s remaining limbs go still.
What Shaun hadn’t expected was the bright flash of pain when Lawrence turned to ash. From a quick glance around him, he wasn’t the only one reeling. Kit’s face had contorted into a grimace where he lay on the ground, his gaze fixed on where their creator’s body had lain scant moments before.
The fucked-up, fractured, fraying tie between Shaun and Lawrence had broken. The bond’s absence was like the removal of a rotten tooth; Shaun could almost prod at the empty space where it had been, touch that place inside of himself and feel its stark, sudden absence. When he did, it was a mixture of numbing pain and satisfaction at the removal of decay.
Shaun no longer felt Lawrence’s touch on every part of his being. He was free from the monster who had taken his life. Free to love those he knew wanted him back.
Shaun searched for Rake. He wasn’t anywhere in the hallway, so Shaun staggered into the living room, relaxing when he saw Rake holding DJ on the sofa. Rake had removed the collar—it was discarded on the floor in two pieces, some of the metal spikes scattered around it.
Shaun’s relief at seeing it destroyed was short-lived as Rake spoke, his voice trembling. “DJ won’t wake up.”
Shaun examined DJ from top to toe, seeing no physical injuries.
Kit crawled into the room, legs evidently still in the process of healing. “It’ll be dead blood,” he said.
“Dead blood?” Rake asked, wrinkling his nose.
Shaun helped Kit to his feet, Kit leaning hard against him to remain upright. “He used to do it sometimes when he wanted a break from dealing with me,” Kit explained. “Injected me with the blood of a dead person. It’s toxic to us, but in small doses just sends you into a coma.”
“How does DJ heal from it?” Shaun asked. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper thanks to the damage to his voice box.
“You could try to pull it from him yourselves, or wait a few days and it’ll clear from his system. Probably. I’m not sure, as I was unconscious every time he gave it to me,” Kit said with a conflicted expression.
“I need him now,” Rake choked out.
Shaun’s eyes stung at how broken up Rake sounded. “Then we try to suck it out of him?”
Rake nodded. “I need him to be all right.”
“He will be,” Shaun promised. He could only hope that, even in death, Lawrence wouldn’t make a liar out of him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rake
“Be careful not to ingest any of the blood yourselves,” Kit said from where Shaun had helped him into a half-destroyed armchair. Rake watched Kit’s legs spasm, realising that his vampire healing had kicked in. The back of Rake’s head tingled, reminding him of his own injury. He resisted pressing a finger to it, even though part of him wanted to.
Careful to heed Kit’s warning, Rake lifted one of DJ’s limp arms and brought his wrist to his mouth. Shaun did the same on DJ’s other side, meeting Rake’s eyes.
Shaun’s fangs slid out, and he sank them into DJ’s soft flesh before his face contorted. “It tastes horrible.”
Rake sliced DJ’s skin open with one fang. Rank blood filled his mouth. It wasn’t hard to avoid swallowing it, seeing as he couldn’t stand the taste at all. Any time he got enough in his mouth, he spat it out over the side of the sofa. Rake didn’t care about ruining the vintage rug—the house’s interior had been damaged beyond recognition already.
He and Shaun continued to pull the poison from DJ, switching up to new veins every so often to target the different areas of his body. Exhaustion filled Rake. He was batteredand beaten from the fight, but Shaun was worse. He kept listing to the side, and hadn’t removed the hand pressed to his abdomen. Every movement had him wincing. Shaun needed more blood to heal.
Torn between his responsibility for both Shaun and DJ, Rake lifted his head. “Lie down, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ve got this from here.”
Shaun blinked slowly. “Are you sure?”
