Elisa moved to the back door, stepped out into the night and paused, taking a steady breath. It would be okay. She refused to believe Jeremiah might be getting worse, headed down the same path as Victor and Leonidas. He was just having a hard time dealing with what had happened with Leonidas. Mal could have told her where he was going. She needed to talk to him about that. She wanted him to trust her. Her emotions wouldn’t go haywire in this type of crisis.
She took three steps toward the smokehouse, and pain drove her to her knees. It erupted in her mind, an agony that stole her breath, knocked her to her side in the dirt. So overwhelming, it took several seconds to realize it wasn’t her pain. A cry of need and desperation, an explosion of fear, like a drowning swimmer being swept out far beyond the shoreline, losing everything he knew, nothing to hold on to. She reached out on instinct, and gasped at the sense that her wrist had been grabbed in a bruising grip. Red finger marks appeared on her outstretched forearm, an imprint of need so strong it translated to a physical mark.
Kohana stumbled down the stairs in his haste, but he recovered and was at her side in a blink. She caught hold of his shirt, fighting the pain. “Tell Mal we have to come to them. We have to come now.”
30
WHEN they pulled up in the Jeep, she managed to get past the chaos in her head to see Jeremiah. He was writhing on the ground in the communal enclosure. His elongated fangs had torn open his bottom lip, but he’d also gnawed at his arms, for there were bloody punctures up and down them.
“I need to get closer to him,” she said, the moment Mal joined them at the vehicle. “He needs to know I’m here.”
To see Mal’s face she had to squint through the blinding ache in her head. The vampire was in her mind, knew what was happening. Not for the first time, she appreciated how much time that bond saved, though when his gaze fell to her clawed arms, Kohana had to step in.
“She didn’t do that,” the Indian said shortly. “I didn’t see it happen to the first arm, but the marks appeared on the second as I was bringing her here. He’s doing it somehow.”
“He didn’t do it on purpose. Mal.” Elisa bent down over her stomach, which was churning in agony. “Please.”
Mal lifted her out of the Jeep. As he hefted her up against his chest, she spoke into that muscled wall. “He’s in my head,” she whispered. “He’s afraid. He’s so afraid, Mal. I know you can’t let me in there, but you need to get me close as you can. And please . . . go to him.”
He took her inside the first gate, Kohana bringing a stool so she could sit in that secured space. If her head wasn’t so full of Jeremiah, she would have flashed back unpleasantly to the last crisis that had trapped her in this small area. But she wasn’t trapped this time. This was different, entirely, and her focus was all on Jeremiah.
Mal, please go to him.
He was still holding her, bent next to the stool, but now he nodded. She got a hazy glimpse of his serious face as he gestured Bidzil to open up that inner gate. Jeremiah rolled over, tearing up the ground, and a sob caught in her throat. She hadn’t seen Victor’s or Leonidas’s impulse control and rationality defeated by full-blown, incessant bloodlust—the battle had already been lost when she came into their lives. She hadn’t witnessed this; a mind with a conscience and moral structure deteriorating, a soul who’d been through so many nightmares already that it should have been lost long ago. And would have been, except for the will of the boy who refused to let go, hanging on with bare fingernails.
He was fighting it, fighting so hard . . .
Kohana leaned over her, closed his hands on her arms where she’d started to dig into her own flesh. When she looked up, Mal was moving with purposeful strides toward the boy.
She was disoriented and suddenly terrified that he would deal with it as Danny had dealt with Victor that long ago night, that same determined look in his eye as she’d had. But that wasn’t her fear. It was Jeremiah’s, a trapped and wounded animal.
No, Jeremiah. No, don’t, love.
But he was on his feet, making agonized grunts of pain, running away. He charged the opposite end of the enclosure. As she cried out, he hit the fence hard enough to knock him backward. He rose again, rushed at another side, with the same result.
Jeremiah, he’s not going to hurt you. Come to me. Come to me.
Suddenly he was there, thrusting his arm through the small metal opening of the gate, scraping his knuckles. Mal was right behind him, but Jeremiah was fully in her head, so she saw what he was about to do right before he got there. She met him, closing both hands over Jeremiah’s bloody one. In a blink, he’d reversed the hold and yanked her off the stool, so she was on her knees on the opposite fence side.
It’s okay. It’s all right. I’m here, Jeremiah . . .
Mal’s hands closed on the boy’s shoulders, but not to yank him away. He was in her mind with Jeremiah. He could see the boy’s intention was not to hurt her. In fact, Jeremiah would have been holding her hand against his chest if the fence wasn’t in the way, his forehead pressed so hard into the metal it was cutting into the skin. She threaded her other hand through, cupped it over the back of his head.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right, dear boy. We’re here. We’re all here. No one’s abandoned you. It’s okay.”
Jeremiah was panting like a dog. Now a shudder racked him, and his hands flexed, sending shards of pain through her gripped fingers. She didn’t try to draw away a bit as Mal knelt behind him, put his hands over their locked ones, eased that grip. “Walk it out, boy,” he said quietly. “You’re a vampire; you can’t drown. You just hit bottom and walk back to shore. Walk out of those waves.”
Just like with Nerida and Miah, the two of them were perfectly in sync, holding the fledgling between them. In this moment, she could imagine a lifetime of doing this type of thing. With fledglings, with wildcats, learning each one’s unique needs. She could truly help him, so he wouldn’t have to be alone in it.
That was an odd thought, for sure, because he had a close relationship with his staff. But it was different, even closer with a third-mark, wasn’t it? Mal’s gaze flickered up to her, a brief thing where she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but then her attention was back on Jeremiah. She flooded reassurance into him, showing him the two of them were in lockstep around him, holding him so it didn’t take him under.
She tightened her grip on his skull, digging her fingers into his hair, which reached his shoulders now, a silky blond mane. When it was his turn to come to the house, she hoped to cut it for him, hoped she could give him some of the same experience Nerida and Miah had had tonight. If she could offer him one night of normalcy, a chance to see what was possible, it could lend him hope, strength against this.
I know you can fight this, Jeremiah. This isn’t who you are.
A strangled cry wrenched from his throat, his body shuddering anew, but the episode was lessening, his thrashing now becoming more of a rocking between them. She saw blood in the center of the enclosure and knew he’d thrown up, yet she sensed no hunger to him as the seizure ebbed. Just . . . weariness. A weariness so deep and profound she wasn’t sure if there was much difference between it and death.
No. I won’t let you give up. “Things are getting better, love,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “They really are. You should have seen Miah and Nerida tonight. They helped Kohana with his eggs. Brushed my hair. Things can be different. I promise. It’s your turn tomorrow. I’ll teach you to play checkers, if you don’t remember or know how. You can see all of Mal’s wonderful books.”
Jeremiah made another quiet noise. At length, he pulled out of her grasp, and backed away from Mal. As he came to his feet, he stood there, swaying. His eyes were fully crimson, his shirt bloodstained and torn. More blood dripped from his fangs to his chin. He looked monstrous, and when Elisa flinched at the thought, she realized it wasn’t her thought. It was his, looking at himself through her eyes.
That’s not what I see, she thought fiercely. I see a young boy that needs my help, as I always have.
The expression that crossed his face was so piercing she felt it in her own chest. She’d said something wrong. So wrong that she had a terrible feeling she could never take it back.
“Jeremiah . . .” She hooked her fingers on the gate, but he just backed away farther.
I won’t be able to come to the house. I’ll never be able to come to the house.
Turning away, he shuffled off toward his cell. Elisa saw the other fledglings watch him with eyes that were so old. They’d seen this before. And they all knew how it ended.
The ride back was quiet. Kohana took an ATV, and Mal drove Elisa. She sat in the passenger seat, hands clutched in her lap, not wanting him to talk, not welcoming even her own thoughts. He stopped at one of the overlooks, though. Turning toward her, he brushed his fingers along her cheek.
“Please don’t say it,” she said, staring out the windshield. “I can’t bear to hear you say anything in your terribly practical tone. Just because it’s happened that way for Victor and Leonidas doesn’t mean it will happen for him. He’s different. He’s stronger than they were. You know he is.”
“We don’t know how Leonidas and Victor were before they lost themselves to the bloodlust. You didn’t see that transformation.”
“Didn’t I just say not to do that?” She blinked back tears. Looking out at the panorama of stars and ocean, she saw a whole beautiful world that should be Jeremiah’s to explore, to experience. If she could give it to him, if she had to give up her life to give it to him, she would, without hesitation, a blink. Her life had not always been easy, but compared to Jeremiah, she’d led a princess’s life, every small joy and happiness magnified to a miracle.
“Whatever is happening to Jeremiah, whatever happened to Victor and Leonidas, I don’t think it’s going to affect the others.”