7
Declan
Riley barely movedin his arms as he ran through the streets of Dublin. Soft, wispy breaths on his neck reassured him, though he worried at the weakness of her heartbeat.
At least he’d driven the Audi. Hitting the remote start when he was still a block away, he carefully slid her into the passenger seat, buckled her in, and jumped behind the wheel. He had to force himself not to peel out.
Don’t attract attention.
As soon as he turned onto the motorway, he glanced over at the unconscious woman next to him.
“Riley?” he asked softly. “Can you hear me?”
A tiny, pained sound escaped her swollen lips.
Fuck, he hoped that was a yes. “My name is Declan. I’m taking you to my home. You will be safe there, and I can take the pain away in a few minutes, but you have to hold on for me until then. Can you do that?” He took her hand, and her fingers fluttered against his.
The scent of her blood drove him mad, both because he wanted more of the delicious nectar and could not stand that his actions had caused it to be spilled. “Forgive me,” he whispered.
“Hurts…” The single slurred word opened up a crack in what was left of his soul. Fuck, he wanted to hold her. To comfort her.
“I know,acushla. Not long now.” If Riley opened her eyes, he could try to glamour her, though he wasn’t certain it would work. She’d recognized him. She’d remembered some of his feeding. Was he losing his touch? Or was there something special about her? Something besides the taste of her blood.
Declan pulled the car around the back of the castle, pressed a button on the visor, and waited for the metal gates to open, allowing him access to his underground garage. Five minutes later, he carried her into his bathroom.
The sweater landed in the trash first, exposing a blood-stained white bra, numerous bruises, and worst of all, a bullet wound that had barely missed hitting her lung.
He’d been so preoccupied with getting Riley out of there, he’d hardly noticed the wound in his own side. The scent of silver burned his nose, and he yanked up his shirt. “Fuck me.” The bullet had passed just above his kidney, and though he still bled, the injury was not mortal. It should have been. “You are a miracle, Riley. My miracle,” he murmured.
What he had to do now…he feared her reaction. Baring his fangs and ripping his sleeve open to the elbow, he pierced his wrist, tightened his fist, and forced his heart to beat, pumping his blood through his body to fall on her wound. The flesh started to knit back together before his eyes, and her breathing steadied.
When he pulled his arm away, it was coated with a mix of his blood and hers. His mouth watered, and he risked a glance at her eyes. Still closed. With a low groan, he ran his tongue down his arm, savoring the rich taste of her. She was exquisite. Better than anything he’d ever tasted. And those bastards would have tortured her, killed her, and dumped her body in an unmarked grave.
“You should be honored,acushla. Worshipped. Revered. Not abused and…damaged.”
The blood on her neck had dried, so Declan ran a cloth under hot water and gently cleansed her. Only a desperate vampire would ever try to consume dried blood.
Piercing his index finger, he pressed a drop of his blood to each of the six puncture wounds. She would bear no scars. He would see to that. Carefully, he checked every major bone, and cursed when he felt the broken bones shift in her wrist. “I did not wish to force this upon you, my sweet, but you will not heal without it.”
Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t respond. Listening, Declan cursed the slow, weak beat of her heart. Those bastards had taken too much.
“Trust me now.” Slashing at his vein again, he parted her lips and pressed his wrist to her mouth. “Drink, Riley.”
For precious seconds, she was still, but then…she swallowed. Once. Twice. Three times. “Enough.” When he pulled his arm back, she whimpered as if she missed the taste. “You like that? You are a strange human,” he said with a chuckle as he licked his wounds to seal them.
If she hadn’t been so recently violated, he might have bathed her, but instead, he carried her to his bed. Retrieving a set of pajamas, he donned the pants himself and then stripped her down to her panties and eased her into the soft, satiny black shirt.
“Riley. Can you hear me?” She whimpered, but did not open her eyes. Leaning over and touching his forehead to hers, he sent as much of his will into her thoughts as he could. “Rest now, Dr. Riley Scott. Sleep until sunset tomorrow, and I will explain everything.”
* * *
Riley
Softness surrounded her. And that amazing scent. The one from her dreams. Tobacco and spice and leather. Stretching, she forced her eyes open and stared at an ornate ceiling: dark magenta with gold filagree. The walls bore rich drapes in that same blood-red color.
Where am I?
She didn’t dare speak—or move anything other than her eyes. She’d been at the bar. Two pints of Guinness. And then…that voice. Deep and smooth, like dark chocolate.
