K. R. Treadway
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Blood and Lace: Chapter 13
🕑 Added 2024-03-10 15:00:08 +0000 UTC(A/N - This is an exciting upload for me, because this is the FINAL chapter that was previously available—in a rougher state—online. Every Blood and Lace from here on out will be seen for the first time only on this Patreon. See you next week for Chapter 14's debut!)
Della perched on a branch thirty feet above the picnic table and gazed down at Nicholas. This far away she couldn't hear his heartbeat, but she could see his breath easily enough. Ten minutes ago he had tried to sit up, then collapsed with a groan. He hadn't moved since.
I’m a madwoman.
The thought was distant, like someone else was thinking it. Almost everything was distant. After the outburst where she'd nearly killed Nicholas, all the raw ugly feelings had retreated back below, where she was used to them, where she could control them.
She had once prided herself on keeping her more dangerous emotions in check, but lately they kept slipping the leash—and Nicholas seemed able to draw them out like a demented sorcerer. His anger when recalling her treatment at the townhouse had brought forth an answering surge of her own rage. And then that careless remark equating her doomed battle to animals fighting over scraps…he had struck a flint over an open powder keg.
Were his words so wrong? I surely attacked him like a beast.
Even now her anger still radiated dully, a glowing coal amidst ashes. It didn't seem to be directed at Nicholas anymore. Maybe the attack had satiated it. Or maybe the attack had never been about Nicholas at all, and his only misfortune had been to trigger it.
She watched another plume of his breath. Could he have fallen unconscious? It was too cold for him to be out this long in just a light jacket, but she didn't dare go any closer. The best course of action was to let him think she’d left. Della would wait until another pedestrian came along, confirm he was okay, then get out of Nicholas’s life and possibly the city.
The night had begun in disaster, risen to a place of delicate joy she couldn't bear contemplating, then plunged back into darkness. It was a fitting coda to her ill-conceived, arrogant confrontation of Lord Layne. That catastrophe should have ended her life in humiliation, but she had been saved by Nicholas. The reckless human hunter below her had provided an impossible second chance, and she had spurned this miraculous gift like a petulant brat throwing a tantrum.
She had spurned him.
Nicholas…my strange hunter…
The man who was too compassionate to survive for long had reaped nothing but pain for his kindness. Miseries for mercies, she thought bitterly. Tonight she had likely smothered that compassion. When you reach out with goodwill and are repaid in venom, over and over, a new lesson takes hold. The heart hardens, becomes more suited to the tasks you’ve set it. More suited to the ugly truths of the world. Like her.
Forgive me.
Another painful wave of regret coursed through her. It was the only emotion—apart from that stubborn spark of anger—that refused to get back in its box.
Below, Nicholas shifted on the shattered table top. Della tensed. He slowly brought his hands up to clutch his upper arms. She watched his limbs trembling and realized he was beginning to shiver, almost violently. He needed to get inside quickly.
She stood up and looked along the path that followed the open cut. No one was visible, not even in the lighted sections. And she could hear no one on the darkened trail they had travelled before. The thought triggered an involuntary recollection of sheltering trees and his large calloused palm against hers.
Stop this childish dawdling. You have to go down and help him. She could almost hear the voice of her long-departed mother. And you willtreat him gently, Della, or be proven as the creature he thinks you are.
Resigned to the truth of the words, no matter who spoke them, Della climbed back down instead of jumping, doing her best to be quiet. Fifteen feet from the ruined table, when she could hear Nicholas's breath shuddering from the cold, she deliberately stepped on a branch. Nicholas went stiff for a moment, then the shivering resumed, obviously out of his control. Della walked towards the edge of the table, making each step obvious, until she was close enough to see that Nicholas’s eyes were open. He would spot her if he turned his head, but he didn't.
“Nicholas.”
He made a sharp sound of frustration somewhere between a growl and a sob. “You came b-back.” The words were jagged from the cold.
“I…never left. I was waiting for someone to come help you.”
“N-no one comes here. I t-told you.”
Della swallowed. Seeing him like this, knowing she was the cause, stirred intense feelings of guilt she didn't know she was capable of. But that was why Nicholas was dangerous. He kept unearthing emotions from the foundations of her past, long-lost relics brought into the light and put on display for the world to see.
He’s not the one who’s dangerous, girl. Again, her mother’s voice.
“I've come to help you,” she said.
He laughed. It was a sharp, hostile sound. “Think you’ve…done enough.”
She took a step forward and he recoiled, the movement making him hiss in pain.
“Don’t,” he gasped. “Don’t touch me.” Now he glared, face tight with anguish. “Every time I t-touch you there's a price to pay.”
Della’s stomach went hollow at the truth of his words. Is it too late to give instead of take?she wondered. Aloud she said, “You’re going to freeze out here.”
He whipped his head back to stare at the sky, as if he couldn't bear to look at her. His words, when they came, were low and surprisingly clear. “Della…do you have any idea how fucking angry I am right now?”
She stood motionless. There was no answer to give.
“I’d tell you,” he continued, “but I'm t-too fucking cold and bruised to think straight.”
“We have—”
“Just go.” The resignation in his voice tore into her. “You w-want an out? Here it is. Go away. You don’t owe me. I don’t owe y-you.” It was so much worse than the fury he claimed to feel. She would have welcomed that, or even hatred. The flatness in his voice was proof her actions had damaged far more than his body. She had wounded his spirit.
“I’ll go,” she agreed quietly, “once you’re inside and warm.”
“Della—”
“No. I may be an…animal…but I'm not going to let you freeze to death.” When he didn't answer, she chose to take it as a positive sign. “How badly are you hurt?”
He remained silent for a time, simply shivering. Then: “I don't think I can sit up.”
“Allow me to help you.”
Nicholas sighed. Reluctantly he lifted his hands. Della stepped up onto the bench and gripped them carefully. “Ready?” she asked. He nodded and she began to pull him up slowly. They didn't make it more than a few inches before Nicholas cried out loud enough to echo off the trees. She lowered him back.
“Nicholas?” There was a waver in her voice.
No answer. His face was a rictus of agony, and the shivering had begun to take on a hitching quality along with his breathing. He pulled his hands out of hers and clenched them into fists, waiting for the pain to subside. It went on for a long time. Della laid her hand on his shoulder before she realized what she was doing. She quickly pulled it away.
Nicholas spit out a curse. “M-may have to call our medical guy. But…left my phone.” He looked at her, eyes glazed. “Take my keys. Phone’s on th-the counter. B-bring it back.”
No. She wouldn't leave him. He seemed to be hurt even worse than she’d suspected. It would be easy enough to carry him, but she feared doing more damage—and if an onlooker spotted them…she shook her head.
“Nicholas, look at me.” Della leaned close so he could see her more easily.
This time he was much slower to focus on her. “Sometimes…your eyes shine…did you kn-know that?”
She nodded. “I need you to concentrate now. All right?”
He blinked a few times, and coughed. “Okay.”
“Listen carefully, we can't move you, and I can't go get help because you’re too cold.”
“It’s not s-so bad. Think I'm…getting warmer…”
“You’re not,” Della said firmly. “I’m going to have to help you heal. Enough to get you inside.” She took a deep breath. “You’re going to have to take some of my blood.”
Nicholas’s brow furrowed. Then his eyes flew wide. “No…” he tried to slide across the table and went rigid with an inarticulate shout.
“Stop moving. You’re making it worse.”
“Della…you can’t make me a v-vampire…”
She shook her head. “I’m not. You have nothing to fear. That’s an entirely different process. My blood will just impart some temporary benefits. That's all."
He stared at her, breathing heavily. In the near-dark his eyes seemed an inscrutable shade of taupe. "M-make me into a Renfield?"
"Renfield? I don't—oh.” She frowned. “No. It won't link us in any way. You’ll retain free will. In fact, you’ll be immune to Compulsion for a time.” Except my own, she thought, but didn't say it out loud.
His eyes remained on her, still and probing even as his body trembled and shook. “Will it…feel like it did before?”
Did he want it to? Della couldn't tell with his guarded expression. Finally she shrugged a single shoulder. “That requires direct contact. I can just drip the blood into your mouth. The healing effect will be the same.” Several seconds passed, but he said nothing. She issued a short, frustrated sigh. “Nicholas, you’re in pain because of me. Please let me do what I can.”
His eyelids flickered, breaking the stare. He looked away. “Fine.” Della’s heart lightened with relief. Lightened and also quickened at the thought of—
This is not the time for selfish desires.
She closed her eyes and brought her wrist to her mouth. Her fangs slid out with a thought and she lightly punctured her skin. The twinge of pain was accompanied by a thrill of anticipation that she tried to suppress. Nicholas had made it clear this was to be a clinical act of donation.
Della removed her wrist and checked. A single bead, much darker than the red of human blood, welled up. Perfect.
“Here.” She held out her arm. “You only need a few drops. Open your mouth.”
Nicholas’s hand seized her wrist.
She stiffened, glancing at him in surprise. His eyes, still that same opaque shade, were fixed on her face. Usually they made Della think of deep tranquil pools—dangerous but compelling. Now they reminded her of frightening ocean depths. Still…she couldn't look away. Slowly he brought her wrist down, never breaking eye contact. The rigidity within her gave way to a taut expectancy. Lower…lower…until his lips brushed her wrist. Then his tongue licked what was offered.
The moment he made contact the blood connection opened with a burst of pleasure. It was different when she was being fed from, sharper and more intense, made for a shorter duration. She found herself swaying, making short, breathy noises with each slow passing of his tongue over her skin. And he answered with a sated growl in the back of his throat.
“Just…a few drops,” she whispered.
He pulled his mouth away with a gasp. The bliss faded, but left a warm afterglow that seemed to soften all the rough edges in the world. Della started to pull her hand away, but Nicholas held it for a moment more. He quickly turned his head and planted a feather-light kiss on her palm, a sensation that made her breath catch for an entirely different reason. Then he released her arm and his head dropped back to the table.
His eyes slid shut and his breathing eased. His shivering already seemed to be lessening—but her own, internal and all-encompassing, had just begun.
