“It didn’t occur to you when you yanked out the stake?”
“You have a remarkable poker face. Take off your shirt.”
I glared up at him. “No.”
“Either take it off, or I’ll rip it off.”
I knew he was trying to help, so I struggled to get my arms through the sleeves. My left one was useless, so Christian helped with the rest and ripped the shirt apart.
“This wouldn’t be a problem if we’d gone somewhere sunny, like Nevada,” I said in jest while he removed my shoes. “I could have worn a tank top.”
“Maybe you should make a rule about not getting impaled above forty degrees latitude.”
I swallowed, my throat parched. “You’re not—” My head hit the pillow. I’d forgotten what I was going to say, probably something about my not dying from this, but I was certain the weapon had punctured my lung and that was why it had been a struggle to breathe. Maybe I wouldn’t die, but I was going to suffer a slow recovery if the sun didn’t come out in the morning.
Christian stood in front of me, hands on his hips. “You’ll never make the flight tomorrow in that condition. They won’t even let you board the plane.” Without warning, he unfastened my pants and yanked them down.
My eyes widened, and when I reached out to stop him, my left arm wouldn’t cooperate.
“Jaysus wept,” he whispered. “Those are the biggest pair of knickers I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
I clenched my teeth. “It was laundry day when we left. I had to pack what was clean. Why are you taking off my clothes?”
“So you don’t gush all over the bed.” He scooped me into his arms and whispered, “Let’s go see if the shower fits two.”
I gurgled a profanity against his shoulder as we journeyed to the bathroom. Christian handled me like a rag doll, switching arms so he could shake out of his coat and shirt.
I glimpsed his back in the mirror, just as smooth and flawless as it probably was before he was staked. “I wish I could heal like you,” I grumbled.
He turned on the water. “I don’t see what you’re fussing about. You’re the one who can be used as a pincushion for stunners and impalement wood without falling into a state of paralysis.”
I bobbled my head around to look up at him as we stepped under the spray of hot water. “Is that a compliment?”
“Aye. Take what you can get.”
I hissed when the water hit my back, and he swung me away from the direct stream.
Christian was tall, and he peered over my shoulder to examine the wound. “The bleeding hasn’t stopped.” He pulled his head back and looked down at me, his voice gruff. “Take my blood, Raven.”
My fangs punched out, as if the offer had awoken some forbidden desire. I searched his eyes for smug satisfaction but found none. “I shouldn’t.”
“Do you remember what I said before? You’ll never know if Vampire blood affects you unless you try it. This is a controlled environment. I won’t let anything happen.”
“I don’t want to become your—”
“My what?”
I didn’t really know. I’d heard stories about Vampires drinking from each other and how, for some, it created a level of control. I wasn’t sure how that Vampire magic worked, but the look in Christian’s eyes told me there was something to it. “What exactly happens?”
He reached around and gingerly squeezed the ends of my wet tresses. “Your hair is as black as midnight. It looks like a blanket of darkness covering a river of blood.”
“Tell me what happens when you drink Vampire blood, Christian.”
“I don’t have all the answers because there aren’t any. Everyone is affected differently. It’s taboo for the maker and youngling to feed from each other if they’re the opposite sex. Makers have been known to hold their younglings in bondage with blood. Too much and too often can make a person feel compelled to obey, but that’s not the rule. Because of all the unknowns, most of us don’t engage in blood exchange with Vampires.”
Being in the shower felt strangely intimate, especially the way he covered my wound with one hand and washed me with the other.
“Have you ever fed anyone your blood?” I asked.
