And yet, he did, forcing it aside, because a part of him had become stronger than that need. The part of him that cared for her. He would do whatever was necessary to heal her and no matter what the voices whispered, he would protect her. From himself, if necessary.
‘Here we go,’ Creek yelled.
The creak and shudder of the plane touching down felt more like it was coming apart. He held on to her as they jolted onto the tarmac. The tires squealed in protest and the smell of burning rubber permeated the air. They were home.
Night was heavy on the city, dawn hours away. He left her with Creek while he found a limo not far from where they’d landed. It reeked of Tatiana. If she’d destroyed Chrysabelle’s portal, had she meant to trap them in Corvinestri? Maybe she’d already left in pursuit of them. Either way, the vehicle was his now.
The car was unlocked, so he threw it into neutral and yanked the parking brake into place, then he jumped out and wrenched the hood up, tearing the latch off the frame. Using the metal support bar meant to hold the hood open, he touched the solenoid to the positive battery post. Sparks bit his skin, but the engine purred to life.
An hour later, he eased Chrysabelle off the long backseat, carefully putting her over his shoulder. The acrid tang of smoke saturated everything. Velimai ran out to meet him. For once, the wysper didn’t seem to care he was a vampire.
Without understanding her signs, he knew she wanted to know what had happened to Chrysabelle. He carried Chrysabelle into the house without waiting for Velimai’s approval and did his best to explain quickly. ‘She made a portal to go to the Aurelian. She was punished for bringing me and the slayer with her. The comarré disavowed her and cut away the runes that got her in to see the Aurelian.’ He stopped at the stairs. ‘This way to her room?’
Velimai nodded and went ahead, leading him.
‘Why does it smell like smoke? Did Tatiana try to burn the house down?’
Velimai shook her head, made a sign with her hand like rolling waves.
‘Tatiana burned the boat.’
Velimai nodded.
Which was how she’d closed the portal.
Velimai pushed open a set of double doors. The master suite. She continued through the sitting room, pulling back the linens on a king-size bed.
Before he was close enough to set Chrysabelle down, the wysper signed something and ran into a different part of the suite. He maneuvered Chrysabelle off his shoulder and onto the bed, keeping her on her stomach. She whimpered as he broke contact, so he took her hand. Her eyes flickered open, but they seemed unfocused.
‘Shhh, it’s all right now. You’re home.’
‘Hmmm.’ Her eyes closed, apparently satisfied.
Velimai returned, towels draped over her shoulder, a basin of steaming water in her hands and a pair of scissors dangling off one finger.
‘Good.’ Mal sighed. ‘I guess I should go downstairs and let you clean her up. Creek will be here soon with his grandmother. She’s a healer.’
Velimai shook her head and held out the basin, nodding like he should take it.
‘You want me to help?’ He took the basin and set it on the nightstand.
Velimai put the scissors and the towels on the bed, then clapped her hands and pointed at his arm.
He held it toward her. ‘What about my—’
She swiped her fingers across the palm of his hand. Trails of blood welled up, then faded as his skin healed. She picked up the scissors, handed them to him, and gestured at Chrysabelle.
He’d had no idea wysper skin was so abrasive. ‘You need me to do it.’
She nodded, frowning as her gaze drifted to the unconscious comarré.
‘She’ll be okay.’ He hoped. ‘Scarred maybe, but okay.’ Scars that would be a permanent reminder of what he’d cost her.
With Velimai watching, he cut Chrysabelle’s blood-soaked gown off and began the arduous process of cleaning her wounds without hurting her further. She cried out weakly a few times but never fully woke up. At last, he’d cleaned as much of the blood as he could. He covered her to the waist with the sheet, then pulled a chair to the bedside and sat, waiting. Velimai did the same on the other side. They sat in silence, watching Chrysabelle. He was sure the wysper had as little idea about what else to do as he did.
The ticking of the clock on the nightstand filled the room.
From downstairs, a voice called out, ‘Hello?’
Mal started. ‘That’s Creek. Velimai, will you—’
The wysper was already out the door. A minute later, she was back with Creek and his grandmother.
‘Any change?’ Creek asked.
‘No.’ Mal’s gaze went to the woman beside the KM. Hanks of brightly colored beads surrounded her neck. A loose bun held back her gray hair, and behind thick glasses, her dark eyes watched him intently without a trace of fear or judgment.
Creek took the hint. ‘This is my grandmother, Rosa Mae Jumper. She’s a healer from the Seminole nation.’
‘You can help her?’ Mal asked the woman.
She tilted her head back like she couldn’t see all of him. ‘You live in shadow, dark one.’ She walked past him to the bed and held her hands over Chrysabelle. ‘This one is full of light. Too much light. She is unbalanced.’
‘Can you help her or not? All this mumbo jumbo does nothing—’
‘Watch your tone, vampire.’ Creek rested a hand on his grandmother’s shoulder. ‘Mawmaw, what do we need to do to help her?’