toward the kitchen and the door leading downstairs. The bloody carcass they dragged moaned in pain, somehow still alive.
Eric reached the hall as they passed by, took one look at the body, then pushed between the guards. “Let me.” He easily lifted the unconscious man. “Where?”
Blake led the way. The basement looked more like a cross between a torture chamber and some old castle’s dungeon. Divided into six cells, three on each side, the walls were made from titanium and steel. Each cell door was bolted with multiple, reinforced locks.
It was the perfect place for new vampires while they recovered control over their minds and bodies. When first turned, the hunger was overwhelming. It was either safely lock them up, or have a rampage littered with dead humans left in their wake.
Blake entered the first cell on the left, set up with a complete medical station and supplies. Eric followed and laid the man on the bed, then glanced at her, his eyes dark, haunted. Blake searched the room, as if not sure what to do. The other guard stayed outside the room.
Briskly, with forced confidence, Cat moved to the unconscious man’s side and began checking his wounds. “Tell me what happened.”
Blake fisted his hands. “He was attacked by wolves. We found him at the perimeter of the area he was patrolling. I don’t even know how he’s still alive.”
She tried hard, but didn’t recognize the man. “Who is he?”
Blake glanced up, startled. “Henry O’Brien.”
She stared at the injured man, her heart skipping a beat. “Irish? This can’t be him.” His face was swollen, contorted unnaturally in places. Naturally carrot-haired, the man now sported tufts of crimson.
Eric laid a hand on her shoulder and she jumped. Glancing into his deep blue gaze, she took in his scent, his radiating warmth, and pulled herself together.
“Help me undress him. We need to clean his wounds.” She turned to Blake. “Get the transfusion equipment out of the cupboard. Tell Sam to bring down an armful of bagged blood from the refrigerator.”
Burying her sorrow for Irish, and her anger at the damnable wolves, she filled a large metal bowl with warm water and began bathing the man.
Soon enough, she uncovered many deep gashes, furrows, and multiple bite marks covering his body. “What the...”
Eric and Blake hovered over her, staring at some of the bite marks she pointed out.
“Since when do wolves attack in their human form?” she asked. Most of the bites were canine. But a few, courtesy of at least two different people by the size of them, matched human mouths.
“I’ve never heard of a shifter doing this kind of thing,” Eric replied, his brow wrinkling in confusion.
“Neither have I.” She directed him to bring the sewing kit, sniffed each wound for any kind of poison known to hurt vampires, and when she found them clean, began stitching the poor man back together.
On the other side of the bed, Eric helped Blake set up the transfusion system, sliding a needle into Irish’s arm and hooking up the first bag of blood. It would take too many for him to even respond, much less to begin healing.
And she worried they didn’t have the time. Beneath her hands, Irish’s body was cooling. “Damn it. This isn’t fast enough.”
She made up her mind without a second thought. Biting her wrist, letting blood flow freely, she shoved it between the man’s lips, then massaged his throat until he swallowed. “Keep stitching him up. It doesn’t have to be pretty, but we must stop his bleeding,” she ordered the men.
They hastened to do her bidding.
When her wound healed, she bit it open again, and again. Ten minutes later, feeling a bit woozy, she asked for a chair and a cup of blood for herself.
“We can feed the man. You’re about to pass out,” Eric stated harshly, though his gaze was filled with something she thought might just be a hesitant respect. For her .
“No. I’ll be fine,” she replied. Her blood was
Eric reached the hall as they passed by, took one look at the body, then pushed between the guards. “Let me.” He easily lifted the unconscious man. “Where?”
Blake led the way. The basement looked more like a cross between a torture chamber and some old castle’s dungeon. Divided into six cells, three on each side, the walls were made from titanium and steel. Each cell door was bolted with multiple, reinforced locks.
It was the perfect place for new vampires while they recovered control over their minds and bodies. When first turned, the hunger was overwhelming. It was either safely lock them up, or have a rampage littered with dead humans left in their wake.
Blake entered the first cell on the left, set up with a complete medical station and supplies. Eric followed and laid the man on the bed, then glanced at her, his eyes dark, haunted. Blake searched the room, as if not sure what to do. The other guard stayed outside the room.
Briskly, with forced confidence, Cat moved to the unconscious man’s side and began checking his wounds. “Tell me what happened.”
Blake fisted his hands. “He was attacked by wolves. We found him at the perimeter of the area he was patrolling. I don’t even know how he’s still alive.”
She tried hard, but didn’t recognize the man. “Who is he?”
Blake glanced up, startled. “Henry O’Brien.”
She stared at the injured man, her heart skipping a beat. “Irish? This can’t be him.” His face was swollen, contorted unnaturally in places. Naturally carrot-haired, the man now sported tufts of crimson.
Eric laid a hand on her shoulder and she jumped. Glancing into his deep blue gaze, she took in his scent, his radiating warmth, and pulled herself together.
“Help me undress him. We need to clean his wounds.” She turned to Blake. “Get the transfusion equipment out of the cupboard. Tell Sam to bring down an armful of bagged blood from the refrigerator.”
Burying her sorrow for Irish, and her anger at the damnable wolves, she filled a large metal bowl with warm water and began bathing the man.
Soon enough, she uncovered many deep gashes, furrows, and multiple bite marks covering his body. “What the...”
Eric and Blake hovered over her, staring at some of the bite marks she pointed out.
“Since when do wolves attack in their human form?” she asked. Most of the bites were canine. But a few, courtesy of at least two different people by the size of them, matched human mouths.
“I’ve never heard of a shifter doing this kind of thing,” Eric replied, his brow wrinkling in confusion.
“Neither have I.” She directed him to bring the sewing kit, sniffed each wound for any kind of poison known to hurt vampires, and when she found them clean, began stitching the poor man back together.
On the other side of the bed, Eric helped Blake set up the transfusion system, sliding a needle into Irish’s arm and hooking up the first bag of blood. It would take too many for him to even respond, much less to begin healing.
And she worried they didn’t have the time. Beneath her hands, Irish’s body was cooling. “Damn it. This isn’t fast enough.”
She made up her mind without a second thought. Biting her wrist, letting blood flow freely, she shoved it between the man’s lips, then massaged his throat until he swallowed. “Keep stitching him up. It doesn’t have to be pretty, but we must stop his bleeding,” she ordered the men.
They hastened to do her bidding.
When her wound healed, she bit it open again, and again. Ten minutes later, feeling a bit woozy, she asked for a chair and a cup of blood for herself.
“We can feed the man. You’re about to pass out,” Eric stated harshly, though his gaze was filled with something she thought might just be a hesitant respect. For her .
“No. I’ll be fine,” she replied. Her blood was
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