“Not promising anything, Abbs.”
“But you haven’t even heard what I want from you yet,” I objected.
He remained quiet for a second then said, “You have enough of me already.”
Whatever that meant; his time, maybe? I’d ruined his life for the past however long. “Look at me.” He refused and I raised my voice, which made it crackle because after a night of ranting my throat was always raw in the mornings. “Look at me, Damien.”
He grabbed my hand, pulled it away from his face, and put it back on his chest where he clamped it down with his own. Only then did he lower his gaze to meet mine and I half-smiled. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
He grunted.
Before he could look away again—because I needed to see his expression when I asked—I said, “Promise you’ll let me die.” He immediately scowled and I felt his heart beneath my hand speed up. “If it’s between death and becoming a vampire, I choose death.” His lips pursed and I had the urge to run my finger across the surface of them. “I’m slipping, Damien. I’m weak and I can’t keep anything in my stomach.”
“Christ, Abbs. You’re not going to die, okay?” His voice was ragged and yet firm. “I won’t let you. Go to sleep.”
It was imperative he make this promise. If it came to letting me die or giving me his blood to let me live, he might weaken. I could never become a vampire. “Promise me. Never let me take your blood. This is important, Damien.”
He stared at the far wall.
“I won’t be Liam’s slave. Don’t make me become his slave. I can’t. It would destroy me. Promise me no matter what happens that you will let me die.”
“No,” Damien said abruptly.
I stilled. “What? No?”
“Yeah. No. Now go to sleep.”
I was shocked. Scars killed vampires. He had to promise me this. I was dangerous as a vampire. If I told him what I would be capable of, then maybe he’d realize how serious this was. The Scars would hunt me down if they knew. I’d be a threat to myself and to everyone else. “It’s against your laws to let anyone take your blood, so—”
“It is against Scars’ laws. You’re not a fuckin’ Scar,” Damien said.
Shit. I had to tell him. We were getting too close to my birthday. “Yeah, but—”
His eyes shot to mine and they blazed with anger. “What the fuck do you want from me, Abbs? I can’t give you that promise. End of discussion.”
No, it wasn’t. I sat up, but kept one hand on his chest. “So you’re going to let me become something evil? Something you hate? You’d rather I take your blood and go through the Transition, then what? Take the pleasure in killing me as a vampire? Because you know I’ll kill a human. You goddamn know it.” I pounded my fist into his chest. “You don’t get to decide, Damien.” My fingers curled into a fist in his T-shirt. “Do you know what I’ll be able to do as a vampire? Do you know what happens when I turn twenty-five—?”
Damien threw me to my back and was over the top of me in a second. His hand grabbed my chin so hard I winced and couldn’t speak. His cold stare drove into me like daggers as he said, “End. Of. Discussion. Abigail.”
His cell rang and he jerked his hand from me and climbed off the bed. Then he reached into his back pocket and took out his cell. Tapping on the screen, he held it to his ear. “What?”
I tried to hear the conversation on the other end, but whoever it was talked too swiftly and the voice was muffled. Damien said nothing, merely listened then hung up.
“Damien?”
He wouldn’t look at me, merely turned on his heel and stalked from the room. I heard him pace back and forth for a few minutes, and then the front door opened and slammed shut.
The front door.
I panicked. My heart raced and my breath came in short gasps. Had he left me?
Was he leaving me here alone to die?
I didn’t want to die that way. Not alone. Not without him.
But I deserved this fate. To die alone and cold, struggling for each breath, thirst so intense that it strangled me. I deserved Damien’s hatred and condemnation for putting him through months of this.
I lay on my back. Hoping to hear the door open. Praying he’d come back any minute. It never opened. Minutes turned into hours and still Damien didn’t return. By nightfall, he still hadn’t returned to put the chains on me.
And then the blood-craze took control and Damien was forgotten, everything was except the rage for blood.
I HEADED BACK DOWNSTAIRS to the Tomb, still reeling that Rayne was a Scar. Fuck, it was great news and yet it bothered me because it put Rayne in danger, and that was the last thing I wanted and not what she needed.
I’d sensed something in her. Something different. Shit, her emotions had filtered into me when she’d been in the shower after I first brought her to Toronto and then again when she freaked over Ryker being in the sub-basement. It also explained why I had trouble reading her thoughts.
Fuck, that’s why she’d been so fuckin’ important to Anton.
Jesus. He had to have been using her for her ability, whatever that was. Her weight loss had dulled her emotions and, along with it, her ability. That’s why I hadn’t known she was one of us, but knew there was something different with her.
Waleron’s words repeated in my head. Did I save Rayne because I never saved Gemma? Was I trying to fix my past through Rayne?