14
Riley
He loved her.She stood, her feet rooted in place, hair dripping, chilled, for several long minutes. How could she have gotten herself into a mess like this?
And did she love him too? Running her fingers over the invisible scars from his repeated bites, her emotions jumbled—need, desire, hope, despair all twisting and winding through her. He made her feel safe. And taking his blood? She’d never felt anything so exhilarating. Fear took over.
If she stayed, it would be forever. She’d be bound to him, unable to live without him. Unable to resist the lure of more of his blood. Alive, but…would she still be human? Would she end up as cold and alone as he was?
Digging through her bag, she found her phone. The battery was all the way down to twenty percent, but that would be enough to get her a taxi. She had to get out of here. Go back to her hotel, lock herself in until her flight.
Room service and Irish television. That would still be a vacation, right? As she shoved her stuff into her small duffel, she wished she’d never picked Ireland for her last trip. Hawaii would have been much better. Or Alaska.
But after she pulled on her tank top, she swallowed hard over the lump in her throat. Declan’s shirt was draped over one of the bed’s posters, and she took it, slipping her arms into the sleeves. It smelled like him, and she needed…something. Some piece of him to keep with her.
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she glanced around the lavish bedroom. Could she really leave him like this? Her every instinct told her to stay, but fear urged her to flee. At the stairs to the first floor, she stopped. She couldn’t just disappear. He’d worry.
In the sitting room, she found a piece of paper and a fountain pen.
Declan, I’m sorry. I wish there was another way. But I’m human, and I want to stay that way. The past two days…I can’t tell you what they’ve meant to me. I…care for you more than I thought possible. I think…I might love you too. But I have to go home. For whatever time I have left, I have to be…free.
Love, Riley
After she set the pen down, she glanced at her hand. The ring she’d bought herself as a medical school graduation gift—a simple gold band with a trio of small rubies—glinted in the overhead lights. She’d leave him something of her as well. She had no heirs, and unless his blood was the miracle cure she’d prayed for, she wouldn’t be wearing it much longer anyway.
Slipping the band off her finger, she placed it in the center of the note, then called for a taxi.
* * *
Her hotel roomstill had the Do Not Disturb note on the door when she trudged down the hall a little after 5:30 a.m. The sun would be up soon, and she’d made it back inside without encountering Patrick’s gang. If any of them were still…walking around, they wouldn’t know where she was.
Dropping onto the bed, she ran her hands up and down her arms, relishing the way the expensive fabric of Declan’s shirt tickled her fingertips. She missed him already. His scent. His voice. The way he made her feel just by looking at her.
But this was for the best. Only bothering to remove her shoes, she slipped under the covers and cried herself to sleep.
* * *
Declan
He knew as soon as he walked in the basement door. Riley was gone. Her presence had filled his space—his life—the entire time she’d been here, and now…
Racing through the underground rooms, he scented the air. No other had been here. She’d left…on her own? In the sitting room, he found her note, and as he read, the feral scream that tore through him echoed off the stone.
The sun would rise in less than half an hour. Already, he felt its pull. The desperate need to rest, to hide away and ensure he lived until nightfall. Not yet. The steak he bought for Riley went in the ice box—the first time he’d had reason to use the thing since he’d had it installed—and he sank down at the small kitchen table, her ring clutched in one hand, his phone in the other.
“Clontarf Hotel. How can I help you?” The desk clerk’s pleasant voice grated on his nerves, but he forced himself to remain calm.
“Riley Scott’s room, please.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Ms. Scott has asked not to be disturbed. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Yes.” After a click and a beep, he cleared his throat. “Riley, please do not leave like this. I cannot come for you until nightfall. But I need to see you. To talk to you. If you go back to America, I fear…for both of us.” After leaving his number, he paced until the lure of sleep became too much to bear. He collapsed face down onto his bed, inhaling the scent of her—of the two of them—surrounding him. He would get her back. He had to.
* * *
Weak cries echoedoff the stone walls. Declan descended the stairs with his crossbow at the ready. As he hit the last step, he froze. In the cell directly across from him, a pale, naked female was bound to the wall, arms and legs spread wide, a chain tight around her neck. Protruding from her left breast, a black dagger glinted in the light from the oil lamps. Blood dripped from the wound into a cauldron suspended over a low flame.
Curls of blue smoke wound through the room, and as Declan inhaled, strength infused his limbs. What magic was this?
