He drew back as if I’d slapped him.
And all I could think of was how much I loved him. I felt—what was the word he’d used?—consumed by it. In an instant, I let down the wall around my thoughts.
Read my mind, I urged telepathically.
For a split second, he looked confused. And then something shifted in his features—comprehension lit his eyes as all my feelings for him poured out of my mind like a sheer, overwhelming tidal wave.
“God, Violet,” he said with a strangled cry, and then gathered me tightly in his arms.
Somehow, we were back on the bed, our bodies tangled together. His lips were everywhere—my mouth, my chin, my throat. I struggled to pull his shirt over his head; he did the same with my tank top. Once they’d both been tossed carelessly to the floor, his lips found mine, nothing but bare skin between our pounding hearts now.
It all happened so quickly—just a matter of seconds, really. There was no time to think, to plan, to do anything but gasp in recognition when he drew away and gazed down at me in an eerily familiar pose—incisors elongated, his eyes rimmed in red and filled with desire, with bloodlust.
I must have cried out when his head dipped down toward my neck. I felt his teeth scrape against my skin as I tried desperately to roll out from beneath him.
There was a sudden rush of air as he slammed himself against the door, a look of pure horror on his face as I scrambled back against the headboard, cowering with the covers gathered over my half-naked body.
“Tell me now—did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice strangely calm.
I reached a hand up to my neck. It was fine—not even a scratch. “No,” I said. “It’s okay. Why don’t you . . . you know, go take your walk or something.”
He just stood there silently, the muscles in his jaw working feverishly as he struggled for control.
“I’m fine. Go on,” I urged. “We can talk in the morning. You’ll be okay after you feed.”
“No. That was too close.” He shook his head. “I can’t do this anymore, Violet. I tried . . . I really did.”
“What are you saying?” I asked, my voice trembling.
His gaze met mine, and all the air left my lungs with a whoosh. Pain, guilt, revulsion, self-loathing—they all battled for dominance there in his features.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
And then, just like that, he was gone.
Two full days passed before Aidan’s return. My friends tried their best to entertain me, but I mostly kept to myself, not wanting to ruin their vacation. “Don’t worry. He’ll be back,” I told them with forced cheerfulness, but I wasn’t sure I believed it myself.
I’d moved my things to the master suite, a shock of familiarity startling me the moment I’d stepped inside the room that had been his mother’s.
I recognized the plush carpeting beneath my feet—robin’s-egg blue with a dark brown pattern of scripty curlicues and little birds. I recognized the view outside the window too—it was green, as far as the eye could see. Rolling hills, a willow tree.
I knew this room. I’d seen it before, in a vision.
I tried to convince myself that if I stayed right there, he’d have to come back. After all, I’d seen it. Us, together. There. Apparently, we had unfinished business.
More than anything, I wished that Matthew had been there to help me through it all. But he wasn’t, and whenever I tried to call his cell, I got his voice mail—each and every time.
Apparently they’d both abandoned me.
Still, I was surprised when I woke up on that third lonely morning and found Aidan there, sitting in a chair by the window, his blond hair turned gold by the sun.
“You’re back,” I said, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “God, what time is it?”
“It’s nearly noon,” he said, his expression guarded, entirely unreadable.
My stomach growled noisily. “I guess I missed breakfast. Did you happen to notice if they’ve gotten lunch yet?”
He shook his head. “I’ve sent them all away for lunch, to a restaurant in the village. They won’t be back for a couple of hours.”
That was weird. “Okay,” I said with a frown. “Are you planning on telling me where you’ve been? I was worried out of my mind.”
“I had some business to attend to. Affairs to settle,” he said cryptically.
He was being purposely obtuse, I realized. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on here,” I demanded, annoyed now.
Looking almost grim, he reached over to the round, piecrust table beside the chair and retrieved a leather case.
“What’s that?” I asked, eyeing it curiously as he opened it, revealing what looked like an enormous hypodermic needle and a single glass vial.
“It’s my cure,” he said simply.
“Your cure?” I asked, my voice rising. “What? How?”
“Dr. Byrne gave it to me before we left New York.”
“That’s what he wanted to talk to you about?”
Aidan nodded. “He feels certain he’s perfected it. No way to know for sure, of course, but it worked with my blood and tissue samples, right down to the cellular level. With the samples we took from the vampire in Atlanta too. At least, that’s what he tells me.”
I glanced down at the humungous needle and then back up at him again. “So . . . now what?”
“Why don’t you get up and get dressed. I’ll go to the kitchen and find you something to eat, and I’ll bring it right up with some coffee, okay?”
I didn’t like this, not one bit. He was acting strange, oddly formal and aloof. “Fine,” I said. “Just give me fifteen minutes; I want to jump in the shower first.”
I’d never showered so quickly in my life. It was chilly, so I threw on a pair of jeans with a tank top and a hoodie and quickly ran a brush through my hair.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, he was back with a tray that held two slices of thick toast, a jar of jam, and a mug of steaming coffee. “This was all I could rustle up,” he said. “I think I got the coffee right, though—lots of sugar and cream.”
“Perfect. Okay, you talk while I eat.” I reached for a piece of toast and took a bite, settling myself into the chair opposite him.
“This is going to sound much worse than it is,” he warned.
I washed down the toast with my coffee, waiting for him to continue.
“It’s simple, really. I fill the syringe with the correct amount of serum. He’s marked it here.” He lifted it from the case, showing me the little dash made in black Sharpie. “And then I’m going to need you to inject it for me.”
“Like in your arm or something?” I asked. “Why can’t you inject it yourself?”
“This part sounds complicated, but it really isn’t, not if you think about it,” he said, then took a deep breath before continuing. “You have to inject the serum directly into my heart.”
“What?” I shrieked, setting down my mug so hard that coffee sloshed all over the tray. “Are you crazy? I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can. Look, it’s a heavy-gauge needle, nice and thick and just the right length. You hold the syringe here”—he grabbed it firmly in the middle, demonstrating—“just like you would your stake. Make sure you use plenty of force. Don’t worry, the needle won’t break.
“But you’ve got to inject it into the right spot, okay? You know how to hit a vampire’s heart; you’ve done it plenty of times before. Once it’s in, press the plunger all the way down with your thumb. And that’s it, Violet.”
“That’s what Matthew said I should do?” I asked, too stunned to say much else.
“Those were his specific instructions.”