Blood Like Poison (33 page)

Although that did cause a trickle of fear to ripple through me—living an existence like Bo’s for eternity, only without Bo—I only hesitated for one short breath before I came to the conclusion that no cost was too high. 

“I don’t care.  I’m willing to risk it to save him.”

“Bo would never forgive me.”

“Yes, he would.  Eventually.  Besides, he’s worth it.  He’s worth anything.”

Lucius eyed me, a smile curving his lips.  “You love him.”

It wasn’t a question, it was an observation.  A very good, very accurate observation.  There was just no denying it anymore.

“Yes.  And I can’t lose him.  Not yet.”

“But there are other risks.”

“You mean the bond?”

“No.  I mean a risk to your life.”

“What other risk?  Bo didn’t say anything about—”

“Bo doesn’t know.”

“What?  Why?”

For the first time, I started to feel a little suspicious of Lucius.  He was telling me that, after all this time, there were things Bo didn’t know, things that Lucius himself hadn’t told him.  But why?  Why wouldn’t he have told Bo everything?  That just didn’t make any sense.  It seemed to me that Lucius was trying to convince me to let Bo die, something I would never do.

“You know that Bo is dying,” he said.  When I nodded, he continued.  “At first, he was so disgusted with what he’d become that he refused to drink human blood at all.  It wasn’t until revenge took hold that he began to use the blood bank supply to sustain himself.  But only until he could find his father’s killer.  At that time, I saw no reason to tell him what he could do to humans.  He had enough self-loathing without all the finer details.  Since he began tracking and killing the Uccideres and draining them—poisoning himself—it hasn’t been an issue simply because the poison affects the thirst, suppresses it, so that he doesn’t crave fresh human blood like he would otherwise.”

I nodded, resisting the urge to gloat when I told Lucius, “Bo told me that.”

“What he didn’t tell you, what he doesn’t know, is that when a vampire drinks from a human, he feeds on more than just the blood.  That is why animal blood cannot sustain us in an equal manner.  We feed off of
life. 
Each time a human is fed upon, it drains them of a portion of their essence, shortening their lifespan. 

“I’ve seen humans, after having been fed on only twice, turn into something akin to the walking dead.  They become decaying, mindless shells of the people they once were.  Their lives, the minds and bodies, become dominated by a hunger of their own.  They’re insatiable, violent.  Some, it only takes one feeding, some more.  Again, it depends on the person.  Stronger humans can take more…abuse than their weaker counterparts.  But a vampire can never be sure which variety he’s feeding upon.  That’s part of the risk.”

I chewed my lip as I considered what Lucius was saying.  What if he was telling the truth?  Bo had admittedly already fed on me once, and, though many would probably argue the point, I seemed to be fine.  But what would another feeding do to me?  Make me some kind of zombie?

I thought of the recent reports of suspected mad cow disease and I wondered if they had anything to do with the rash of vampire attacks.  Though I wanted to know, I refused to ask.  I didn’t want to be swayed, dissuaded from saving Bo for any selfish reason.

“I’m willing to take the risk, but I have one question.  Why didn’t you tell Bo?  Whether he technically needed to know or not, he
deserved
to know.”

Lowering his head, Lucius at least had the good grace to look contrite.  “Bo was so devastated by what he’d become, by his father’s death, by his own survival, I didn’t have the heart to tell him what a danger he was.  Not until it became necessary anyway.  And, fortunately, it hasn’t become a necessity.”

“Until now,” I clarified.

“Until now,” he agreed with a somber nod.

With dread and anxiety gnawing insistently at my stomach, I took a deep breath and straightened my spine.

“Well, it doesn’t matter.  Bo’s worth it.  He’s had too much pain and anguish in his life for it to end without him finding justice for his father, and he won’t be able to do that dead, so…”

I thought I saw a flicker of admiration flash in the green eyes of Lucius, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. 

“Alright then.  Come,” he said, offering me his hand.

On shaking legs, I rose, letting Bo’s head fall gently back to the couch as I took Lucius’s hand.  I knelt beside him on the thick rug, my face right in front of Bo’s grayish-green one.

I looked to Lucius for direction.  His expression was one of sad resignation, but despite his reservations, he nodded toward Bo.

“Give him your throat.”

Feeling the tremor in my fingertips, I released Lucius’s hand, not wanting him to know how afraid I was.  I looked at Bo’s sweaty face and my resolve strengthened. 

Scooting forward, I leaned over him, positioning my neck directly over his mouth.

“Is this good?”

“Perfect,” Lucius replied quietly.  “Now we need to stimulate him.  Bo,” he said, speaking sternly.  “You need to feed.”

I closed my eyes and waited.  I had no idea what to expect, but I felt like I had a pretty good idea of what to fear.  I just wanted Bo to hurry up and bite me so that I wouldn’t start thinking of all the reasons I probably shouldn’t be doing this.

“Bo,” Lucius repeated, more harshly this time.  “You need to feed.  If you want to find your father’s killer, you must feed.”  There was a hard edge to Lucius’s voice, one I suspected he thought might infiltrate Bo’s stupor and reach his foggy brain.

Still, there was no movement.  I could feel the tickle of Bo’s breath on my neck, but that was all.

Then Lucius shook him.  Hard.  “Bo!”

Nothing.

“Bo,” I said, thinking that my pleas might jar him awake.  “Please.  You need to drink.”

Nothing.

“Bo, please!”

Still nothing.

I leaned back and looked from Bo to Lucius and back again.

“He looks worse,” I said of his shiny skin and generally unhealthy pallor.

“If we can’t get him to respond, to drink, there will be no hope.”

I whirled on Lucius.  “Then do something!”

Lucius’s jewel-like eyes bored into mine.  “If I hunt, he could be gone by the time I get back,” he warned.

“Then I guess you’d better hurry,” I snapped coldly.

Reluctantly, Lucius stood, looked down at Bo for another few seconds then turned on his heel and he was gone.  I didn’t even see how he left the room.  He was just gone.  I didn’t see or hear the door open.  I didn’t see or hear him running or moving.  He was simply there one minute and not the next.

With a shudder, I turned my attention back to Bo.

“Bo, please wake up,” I pleaded, stroking his cheek.  “You can’t leave me yet.  I’m not ready.  We haven’t had enough time yet.”

My voice broke on the last and I swallowed hard.  I didn’t want him to hear my upset.  He needed my strength, not my weakness.

“Bo, if you ever had any feelings for me, open your eyes and look at me.”  When I got no response, I added, “Now!”

He was so still, he could already have been dead for all I knew.

I put my ear to his chest.  In the quiet, I could make out the slow, steady thump of his heart.  I knew that as long as I could hear that, there was still a chance to save him.

In repose, his usually animated mouth was relaxed.  His lips were not too thick, not too thin; they were just right.  Chiseled.  Hard.  Manly.  Perfect.

I reached out and touched the tip of my finger to them, tracing the smooth contour.  Impulsively, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his.

The intoxicating smell that was distinctively Bo’s flooded my nostrils and washed over my senses.  My throat clenched.  The prospect of no longer smelling that scent was unthinkable. 

I leaned back, just enough to lick my lips.  I thought I might be able to taste him, but I couldn’t.  I wanted to take it in, take a part of him into myself, to hide it away for safekeeping.  I wanted something of him that I never had to let go, something that would never fade or die.

I closed my eyes against the tears that threatened and pressed my lips to his once more. 

A sob shook me and my lips moved against Bo’s.  When it passed, I still felt movement beneath me.  I gasped.  Bo’s lips were stirring under mine, ever so slightly.  I increased the pressure and, much to my relief, Bo responded, deepening the kiss. 

By his fervor, or lack thereof, it was evident that he was still weak, but he was alive, alive enough to curl my toes and make me remember why I’d risk my life to save him, even for one more day.

My eyes flew open when the significance of his kiss fully penetrated my mind.  He was
awake. 
If he was awake, he could feed.

Pulling back just enough to break contact, I said, “Bo, you need to feed and I want you to drink from me.”

Bo groaned and shook his head in one firm motion.  He was resisting.

“Please, Bo.  I want you to.”  I kissed him again, hoping to draw him in with passion.  “Please,” I sighed into his mouth.

His breathing increased, becoming more ragged, but still he resisted.  “No,” he whispered.

“Bo, you will die if you don’t feed.  I know it’s going to happen eventually, but please don’t leave me yet.  Please.  I’m begging you.  I want you to drink from me.  I want to be bonded with you forever.  I want to feel you when you’re gone.  At least give me that. 
Please.”

When I pressed my lips to Bo’s this time, I was taking the proverbial gloves off.  I put my hand on his chest and leaned up, sinking into the kiss.  I let my tongue slide between his lips and glide over the silky interior of his mouth.  I reveled in the sweet taste of him. 

Again, he kissed me back.  Not exactly vigorously, but it was enough to let me know that he was quickly coming back to the land of the living.

“Bo,” I moaned, tearing my lips from his. 

Scooting up over him, I straddled his hips, crushing my breasts to his chest and pressing my throat to his mouth.

“Bite me, Bo.  Please.  Take it.”

My heart was booming inside me and I was suspended between desire and fear, a very heady combination.  Every sense, every nerve, was tightly focused on Bo and his mouth. 

When I felt his lips open and his tongue touch the flesh of my neck, I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.  My skin was hypersensitive and his cool tongue felt like ice—smooth, sensual, wet ice.  My belly trembled with want.

“Please,” I whimpered, shifting on top of him, craving the contact, the friction of his body against mine.

An instant before he gave in, I knew I’d won.  I felt it somewhere deep inside me, like he was coming home, and I was his home.  There was a flash of utter completion, of perfect peace right before I felt the sharp pinch of his teeth piercing my flesh.

CHAPTER TWELVE