Chapter Forty-Five
Willow didn’t knowhow long they ran or how much ground they covered before Declan started to falter. She kept glancing behind her but didn’t see or hear any Savages pursuing them. After their reaction to the sword, they might never follow them. Derrick had tracked them the first time, but he was too injured to keep up now.
Once he healed….
She had to get Declan as far from here as possible before that happened. Whereas the other Savages looked like they were done playing, Derrick wouldn’t give up until he had the sword and the two of them.
With the way Declan was bleeding, he’d have no problem following their trail. And he would bring the others with him, even if the sword terrified them. They may not have known what it could do, but they’d want it back.
Wrapping her arm around Declan’s waist, she helped support him when his knees buckled, and he almost went down. “You have to take some of my blood,” she said.
“No.” He willed his legs to support him again. “You’re injured.”
“Nowhere near as bad as you. If you don’t take some of my blood, you’re not going to make it much farther, and I’m not leaving you behind.”
“I’ll be fine; keep going.”
“Stop being such a stubborn asshole.”
Pain etched the lines of his face, but he gave her a small smile. “You’re such a sweet talker.”
She rolled her eyes but was grateful he was teasing her. She hadn’t known what to expect from him, given that the color remained; she was a little worried that if they made it out of this, he might never completely come back to her.
Biting into her wrist, she offered it to him. “Shut up and feed.”
Declan stared at the drops of blood on her creamy skin. He wanted to deny her offering, but he was ravenous, and he needed this connection to her again. The battle was over for now, but he’d lost control of himself, and his body remained primed for the kill as he tried and failed to calm himself.
Lifting Willow’s wrist to his mouth, he licked her blood away before biting into her flesh and lifting his gaze to her face. Bruised and battered, blood caked her swollen features, but the red and black color he’d seen earlier was gone. He didn’t have to look at his hands to know it hadn’t left him yet; he wondered if it would ever leave.
He closed his eyes as he savored Willow’s sweet blood while her essence and strength seeped into him. It wasn’t enough, he required so much more given the damage done to him, but it was ambrosia on his tongue.
The creak of a branch caused him to release his hold on her. He glanced around the woods, but all he saw were the shadows cast by the trees swaying in the growing breeze. Then a coyote loped out from behind a tree and disappeared into the woods. Declan’s mouth watered as he watched the creature go, but he was in no condition to hunt.
“We should get those bullets and the bolts out of you,” Willow said. “You’ll heal faster if we do.”
“Later. First, we have to put more distance between them and us. That sword won’t scare them away forever, and it will only be a couple of hours before Derrick heals enough to follow.”
Willow shuddered at the possibility and glanced at the sky. Clouds obscured the moon and stars, but Derrick wouldn’t need much light to hunt them.
“You should take more blood,” she said.
Declan cupped her chin and turned her wounded cheek toward him. He ran his thumb along the black and blue lump there. “This never should have happened.”
The low, gravelly tone of his voice was almost animalistic and more frightening than the horde of Savages. Would this out-of-control, ruthless part of him ever let go? Had she lost the calm, tender man she’d come to love?
The realization she was in love with him hit her almost as hard as the Savage who broke her cheek. Her fingers clenched on him as a lump rose in her throat. She suppressed the tears trying to break free as she searched his face and eyes for some sign that whatever had possession of him was losing its control. There was none.
She rested her hand over his on her cheek. “Come back to me.”
Declan’s fingers twitched on her cheek, and some of his tension eased, but when another tree creaked, fury boiled forth again. “We have to move.”
Willow buried her disappointment. It didn’t matter what he became or was becoming; she would love this version of him too.
Her blood revitalized him enough that he could run without her support for a while again. But the more blood he left on the forest floor, the weaker he became. He kept his growing weakness hidden from her until his vision blurred and breathing became increasingly difficult.
As his adrenaline continued to wane and the flood of emotions eased, so did his strength. He continued to draw on the pain suffusing him, but it wasn’t enough to fuel him anymore. He had bolts in his lungs and more in other organs.
Bullets still peppered his flesh; some had worked their way out, but others remained. His muscle and skin weren’t closing over those bullet holes as fast as they should. He’d sustained far too many injuries and lost too much blood for his body to heal at its normal rate.
