Page 116 of Eternal Devotion

Mordecai, refreshed from having eaten and far more astute to my stupidity, reacted by tossing me off his lap. Not a light shove, but a pummeling ejection, like an airbag exploding and punching you in the chest—and I was familiar with that feeling.

I flew backward at such a velocity that I cleared the coffee table and landed in a tangle of limbs on the other side. If I’d ever questioned Mordecai’s strength, I had my answer. It didn’t help that I was severely weakened by what amounted to an extreme blood donation.

Wide-eyed and confused, I stared at the man I loved as he scaled the couch and landed on the other side. The liquid Bordeaux of his eyes bubbled with fury.

“What were you thinking?”

I wasn’t, I wanted to say. What did I do? The cylinders weren’t firing, and I hadn’t sorted out what had made him so angry.

He swiped a hand over his bottom lip, and it came away bloody. A new trickle appeared. Only then did I register the quality wasn’t quite right. When I bled—and I’d taken up skateboarding as an adventurous eight-year-old, so I’d bled a lot in my lifetime—it was always vibrantly red and… runnier?

The substance that coursed down Mordecai’s chin was so dark it was nearly black, and it oozed with the consistency of molasses.

The pieces connected. It was not my blood. When I’d accidentally head-butted him, he’d sliced his lip open. A conversation came back to me.

If a human ingests the blood of the cursed. Then, at the moment of death, they would rise in their new form.

I blanched like I’d been pummeled in the chest a second time. The breath left my lungs, and I sat back on my ass as a prickle of fear raced up my arms, down my spine, and over my scalp.

“Oh.”

We stared at one another as the gravity of my stupidity sank in. Mordecai wiped his mouth again, leaving a dark smear over his chin. The bleeding did not resume.

I had no energy to apologize and defend myself. My head spun like I’d gone too many rounds on the teacups. A profound tiredness made it hard to focus and keep my eyes open.

“I… I think I need to lie down.”

Mordecai’s anger dissolved, and he aimed for the kitchen, rummaging in the fridge. When he approached, he brought a tall glass of orange juice. He crouched and held it to my mouth.

“Drink.”

“Am I dying?”

“No. I was careful, but you’re weak.”

I drank the juice, and he helped me to my feet. Mordecai guided me to the bathroom and helped me clean up. Since he’d practically moved in, a towel covered the mirror. I removed it when I showered in the morning but always rehung it out of respect.

Once we were clean, he helped me scale the ladder and get into bed before crawling in beside me.

I shifted to face him, drowsy but not ready to fall asleep. I didn’t know what time it was, but it felt too early.

“Are you angry with me?”

“No.” He tucked a random piece of hair behind my ear. “You frightened me, is all. That would have been catastrophic.”

Maybe, but part of me wondered why. Wouldn’t it be a solution? Was existing as a vampire so terrible? Was it truly akin to a dreadful disease? A curse, as he so often put it. Cristofer’s opinion seemed to contradict Mordecai’s. If I understood correctly, ingesting his blood wouldn’t kill me on the spot. I could live the rest of my life as normal. The virus, or whatever it was called, would only take effect after I died.

Mordecai’s stance was unwavering. Before entering this relationship, he’d made me promise never to ask to be changed, because the answer would always be no.

I studied Mordecai’s mouth but wasn’t sure if it was safe to kiss him. I touched his cheek and tugged gently on his lower lip. “Where’s the cut?”

“It’s healed, love.” He moved my hand, kissed my knuckles, and tucked it between us.

“Already?”

Sorrow pinched the side of his eyes. “Already. Parlor tricks.”

“It’s a cool one.”