He couldn’t heal with a crossbow bolt sticking into his chest, damn it.
Raven gripped the bolt. He was weakening. It was strange—normally a crossbow bolt would bring him down, but it would not kill him. The shot had to go right through his heart to do that. This arrow had driven into his chest just below his heart, and the tip was protruding out of his side. But his hand was feeble. He could barely keep it wrapped around the shaft.
There was no way he would be destroyed before he could save Ophelia.
Growling like a wounded dog, Raven hauled on the shaft with all his waning strength. The arrow’s points tore through his flesh. Blood ran down his stomach, his crotch, his legs. All the blood from his feeding was pouring out of him. His skin was turning white. He held the arrow in his hand, but his body was not yet healing.
What in Hades was wrong?
Raven gripped the brick wall behind him, dragged himself off the blood-slicked cobbles. Now he saw the precious red fluid no longer flowed out of him like a river. The wound began to heal, more slowly than ever.
Was it something about the crossbow bolt?
Then he understood. Taking Ophelia’s power was supposed to destroy him. He’d assumed it would happen quickly, maybe in a blinding flash of flame, or a big agonizing poof where he turned into dust.
He’d never thought to ask what exactly would happen. Not that he would have trusted the vampire queen Jade to give him the truth.
Dredging up the rest of his strength, he shifted shape. How was he going to find Ophelia?
He tried to glimpse into her thoughts. Vampires could do it with their prey. Get into the thoughts of the mortal they wanted. But he couldn’t with Ophelia.
She was not prey, after all.
He tried to connect with her thoughts, speak to her that way. He knew of vampires who could do that with a lover.
Ophelia, he shouted, through his thoughts. Where are you? It’s Ravenhunt. Speak to me through your thoughts. Lead me to you.
“Ravenhunt?” Ophelia whispered.
She was rubbing her head against the table, twisting it, and trying to move up and down. The surface was wood, and the blindfold had snagged on splinters. She could work it free. “Ravenhunt, are you here?” she whispered.
Love, I’m speaking in your thoughts.
He’d said that before. It hadn’t made any sense. “You cannot do that,” she whispered.
Vampires can. All you have to do is think but do so as if you are talking to me, and I will hear your thoughts, too.
Could she? She shut her eyes, with the blindfold still covering them, but looser, and she thought very hard. Ravenhunt, can you hear me? I’m trying to send my thoughts.
In her head, she heard a gentle deep laugh. You don’t have to work so hard. Let your thoughts flow naturally, but think of me, as well, and we can speak this way. Now tell me where you are.
I don’t know. Even in her thoughts, it came out as a desperate and frustrated wail. Then she realized the true miracle in all this. You are alive? I saw the bolt hit you and the awful way you collapsed. I thought you were dead.
For some reason I was weakened and it was harder for me to pull out the arrow and heal. Love, I have to get to you. Can you see anything?
They blindfolded me, the wretches. They wrapped me in a blanket. To protect themselves from touching me, I guess. Then they put me on a table, which is really just a slab of wood, and they clamped metal straps over me so I can barely move. But I’ve almost got the blindfold off, which is no easy task, let me tell you, when I cannot move my hands—
You’ve almost got it off. Ophelia, how?
The fabric of the blindfold snagged on the rough table, and I’ve been wiggling around as much as I can to work it free.
You are amazing.
Even in her thoughts, he sounded awed. It will only take me a few seconds more, I think. Wincing, she pushed her head hard against the table and forced her body to move a little, up and down, by forcing out all her breath in her lungs so she was slim enough to wriggle under the strap.
The blindfold pulled up, along with her hair. Her teeth sank into her lip to smother a cry of pain. The fabric knot wasn’t pressing into her head anymore—the blindfold was loose. She shook her head back and forth. The blindfold fell down, lying over her nose. She could see!
Euphoria lasted seconds.
She could see and now she knew what sort of room she was in and what surrounded her. Sickening. Horrible. She lay on a table in the center of a dark room. Faint light came in high, small windows. She was in a basement and those windows let in the glow cast by street flares outside.
Her eyes grew accustomed to the faint light. It was still hard to understand everything she was looking at. Some things were too shrouded in shadow. Rows of wooden shelves lined the walls, and the light reflected on dozens of glass jars. It looked like a basement filled with preserves—
A hand floated in a jar.
Ophelia jerked her head to the side, fighting the urge to vomit. Gathering courage, she looked again. Was that an eye? It was round and white and could have been a pickled egg, except for the round blue spot that must be an iris. She gagged and forced herself not to look away.
The body parts must be in alcohol. That explained the strong odor.
Was she supposed to end up that way? In pieces in jars?
Ophelia, can you see yet? It was Ravenhunt’s silky, reassuring baritone, speaking softly in her head. Where are you?
It was as if he was with her. Her panic eased. All she had to do was bring him to her and she would be safe. She believed in him.
In her thoughts, she told him about the body parts. Even in her mind, she could hear how she fought not to cry. She quickly described the rest of the basement room: the damp stone walls and the table that stood along the wall; stacks of dusty books, measuring rulers, paintbrushes, quills, and bottles of ink. But nothing she could see helped to reveal where she was.
Can you see anything outside? he asked.
She peered at the windows. They were above her and to her left, since she was flat on her back. She could see the sky, and the tops of buildings.
Off-key singing came from outside. A couple stumbled past the window. She could see the torn hem at the bottom of the woman’s skirts and her black buttoned boots and the man’s shiny boots, his breeches, the bottom of his tailcoat. Both staggered.
There had to be a public house here.
But really, there was a public house at every corner.
In her thoughts, Ravenhunt coaxed her. Could she see buildings. People? Signs?
She twisted her head to look out the window that was behind her. It was the direction the drunken couple had come from.
There is a sign for an inn, she told Ravenhunt. It’s the Eight Bells. I’m in the basement of the building that is opposite it and up one, I think.
Good. That’s all I need, Ophelia.
Footsteps sounded outside her door, and there was a rattle at the lock. Someone was opening her door.
They are coming back, she thought desperately. It’s too late. A doctor is going to cut me open. You’ll never get here in time—
I will be there in seconds, angel. I promise you.