Metal tore into her flesh, cutting past the skin, driving into the muscle and all the way down to the bone.
Simon.
This time, before the darkness came, this time, he was her last thought.
And her regret.
Chapter 14
It was the pain that woke him. The sharp stabs of agony and the nauseating throbs that shuddered through his body. Simon forced his eyelids to lift.
Bright.
Too fucking bright.
His eyes closed. What the hell had happened? He and Dee had been driving down one long, lonely ass stretch of road. They’d long since abandoned the Interstate. He’d had her sweet scent in his nose. He’d wondered when he’d have her again, then—
Lights.
The crunch of metal.
A scream.
Silence.
His eyes flew open. “Dee!” Should have been a roar, but it came out more like a weak growl.
The SUV twisted around him. Bent, broken. Metal dug into his side, cut into his legs and held him pinned in the seat. The steering wheel—shit, it felt like the thing was trying to go through his chest.
He couldn’t see Dee. The way he was trapped, Simon couldn’t even turn enough to see her.
And he couldn’t hear her. Not the rasp of her breath. Not the thud of her heart.
But he could smell—gasoline, rubber, and blood.
So much blood.
His. Hers.
Not Dee. No, not her.
The rays from the sun poured through the shattered windshield. He could feel the sun’s powerful drain on his strength. Human. That’s what he was right then.
And a human couldn’t get out of this metal trap.
“Dee!” His cry was louder now, but there was still no sound from her side of the car.
A long sliver of glass had shot through his right arm and embedded in the seat. Gritting his teeth, tasting blood, Simon wrenched his arm up.
Fire.
“Dee? Babe?” He barely glanced at the mess he’d made of his arm. He grabbed what looked like part of the hood and heaved it back toward the broken windshield. He managed to shove it about four inches. I hate the damn sun. But those inches were enough for him to see. “Dee?”
Blood matted her blond hair. Her head hung limply from her neck, and blood dripped slowly, slowly, down her face and onto her lap.
“Babe?”
He should be able to hear her heartbeat. Yeah, damn it, his strength was low, but he should be able to hear—
Thud.
Weak. So very weak. His breath caught, and he waited for another beat. Waited. Waited.
Nothing.
“Look at me!” A scream. Fury, fear.
Thud.
But her eyes didn’t open and he could see why. There was so much blood around her. So many wounds. So much pain. Shit—it looked like someone had ran right into her. But they’d been hit from behind, not from the side, hadn’t they?
He shoved the broken metal again, freeing up more desperate inches. He could reach her now. Simon slid his fingers through that precious space and managed to brush her cheek.
Ice cold.
No throb from her heart.
Dying.
Dead?
The easiest way to kill a vampire…Everyone knew—make ’em bleed.
The bastard that had come after them, no doubt one of Grim’s Taken, had known just what he was doing.
He’d struck at dawn, when the sun would keep them weak. He’d left them trapped. Bleeding.
Not an easy death.
Slow.
Painful.
Grim would want them to die like this.
Sick fuck.
“Not the way for you,” Simon whispered and his fingers trembled as they feathered over Dee’s bloodstained cheek. He took a breath, tried to catch her sweet scent, just once more.
But he only scented blood now.
A soft tremble reached his ears, a small vibration. Her heart? Please, it had to be.
He caught the nape of Dee’s neck and managed to tip back her head.
No moan came from her lips. No whisper of life.
Too late.
No, no—he wouldn’t be too late. If she was gone—
Stay, Dee. Stay.
He wrenched his shoulder but managed to position his wrist over her mouth. He wouldn’t have much longer. He could feel the lick of cold in his own body. Not much longer.
But he’d give her all that he had.
His wrist pushed between her lips. “Bite me.”
She didn’t. Her fangs weren’t out. Her lips didn’t move.
“Bite me!” A snarl of fury. She wouldn’t die while he watched.
Thud.
The slightest press from her teeth.
Dee. Do it, babe. Bite me.
“Live,” he whispered.
Vampire instinct took over. He’d seen it happen before. Seen a vampire on the brink of death. His teeth had shot out and he’d latched onto his food without conscious thought.
Dee’s teeth sank into his flesh. His blood trickled into her mouth.
Take. “Take.” Everything.
Her mouth tightened around him and she began to feed in earnest, greedy gulps as the bloodlust rose.
He would not watch her die.
Her lashes began to flutter.
But fate would make her watch him.
“It’s done?” Grim asked as his hunter stalked into the room.
A smile stretched the hunter’s lips. Slow. Satisfied. “Both of them are bleeding out now. With the sun up, they’ll never get out of that damn metal.”
He nodded. “Good.” Fire had never been the best way to go. He saw that now. Blood, the slow drain, the agony of knowing what would come and being helpless to stop it—
As I had been helpless.
—that was the end for his enemies.
Grim turned away and stalked to his bed. The dancer lay there. Still alive, but low on blood. He’d let her keep living a while longer. He’d rather enjoyed her. “Which one do you think will die first?” Not that it mattered. But the one left behind would have the greater torment. If there was an attachment there, and his vamps had told him the woman and Chase were close.
Lovers.
The body’s needs and desires could make the soul weak.
“The bitch will go first.”
Anger there. His brows drew together. “Did something to piss you off, did she?” Not surprising. Dee had earned her reputation for a reason.
In another life, he might have admired her.
In this life, he just needed her dead.
“She took the hardest hits. She’ll die long before dusk. They both will.”
They’d better.
“Do you still feel him?” his perfect hunter asked.
Him. Chase. The guy Leo had turned years before. Grim closed his eyes, tried to focus and find the ungrateful bastard but—
Nothing. “Maybe he’s already dead.” Maybe. But the truth was that he hadn’t felt a connection to Chase since the Taken had traded with the warlock.
So Chase could still be alive, or he could be dead. Again.
He glanced over at the bed. The dancer was awake. She’d been awake the whole time they talked, but she’d kept her eyes closed. Like a good little girl, pretending to sleep.
Maybe because she didn’t want to see. Maybe she wanted to pretend she wasn’t involved in this.
Wrong.
His tongue slipped over the edge of his sharp teeth.
The dancer wasn’t getting out of his den alive, but maybe he’d Take her. Maybe.
She drank greedily, desperate, hungry, needing the blood that spilled onto her tongue. More. More.