His mother’s cries rose in the distance. Choking grief strangled him.
“I can’t read her thoughts,” Gracie cried, her hand pressing to his mate’s face. Blood seeped through her fingertips as she cradled her head on her lap.
Hair, the color of fire, threaded with gold, caught his gaze. Annalise’s hair.
His mind turned like a dial, memories colliding into one. Annalise’s smile, her laugh, the way she stubbornly argued with him. Her lips. Her softness. The gutting weight of her tears. The taste of her happiness. The tart flavor of her temper. The musk of her lust. The decadent essence of her love.
She was bleeding. Bleeding. His mate...
His muscles bunched and he struggled. His father filled his view. “You must control yourself, Adam. She’s hurt.”
“Anna!” He grappled, desperate to break free and go to her. “Please!”
His father’s hands loosened. “Let him go to her.”
One by one, the other males loosened their grip and Adam crashed to his knees beside Annalise’s wilted form. “Give her to me.”
Gracie’s concern welled up like a tidal wave. Her apron wore Annalise’s blood. He pulled her limp body into his arms, the drenched material of her gown seeping onto his skin.
“Where is she hurt?”
“Her head and her arm.” Grace rushed to the dresser, returning with the pitcher. She tore her apron into rags, wetting them and sopping up the river of red that rushed from Annalise’s temple. “She’s losing so much blood.”
“Ainsicht...” He rocked her on his lap, cradling her close, listening for her pulse. The featherlight beat rippled delicately. He pushed into her mind, commanding her to open her eyes.
“Annalise, look at me. Do as I say!”
She lay limp and unresponsive in his arms.
“She can’t hear you,” Gracie whispered.
“She has a head trauma,” he cried, looking up at the men who he trusted to advise him. “What do I do?”
They stared back, not a single one offering a solution.
“Help me!” he screamed. “I’m losing her!”
“You have to give her your blood,” Gracie said. “Adam, she’s lost too much. You can still save her.”
His body convulsed with worry as he pulled Annalise’s failing body onto his lap, cradling her protectively to his heart. “Get the Bishop. Go now!”
His sister raced out of the room. The men crowded into the hall.
He pulled Annalise’s frail form to his chest and wept into her neck as blood continued to seep from her wound. “My love. Don’t leave me.” He buried his face in her hair, holding her tight as tears burned his face.
What have I done?
Chapter Forty-One
Cain’s mind snapped to alertness as immortal blood rushed over his tongue down his throat. His fingers twitched, burning from the inside out where torn ligaments and muscle were exposed to the open air. His eyes burned like acid. Hysterical cries surrounded him.
His throat pooled with blood and he choked, unable to speak.
“You must drink, my sweet boy.”
Softness cradled his withered body, mangled and burning in pain. A cool cloth pressed to the lacerations of his face.
“Abilene, that’s too much.”
“He needs more!” His mother’s cries registered, the taste of her blood filling his mouth.
“You’ll drain yourself. Enough.”
“He can have mine, Mother.” Larissa’s scent pierced the pain as her fluttering vein pressed to his lips. “Take what you need, brother.”
His fangs reflexively impaled her vein, and warm, lifesaving blood rushed into his mouth. Tissue and sinew connected, sewing wounds and regenerating flesh. The pain was deep and the weakness deeper.
Flesh formed over shards of glass buried in his muscle. He’d have to use his claws to dig them out later. For now, he needed to heal. He needed to get to Annalise.
His mind turned to her, meeting nothing but silence. His ears focused on any distant sound, but too many shouted nearby. He needed to scream for silence, but he needed blood more.
Pulling his mouth away, he swallowed the thick liquid coating his lips and tongue. Each breath tore like razor blades along his ravaged throat.
“Anna...” he rasped, his vocal cords shredded to ribbons.
“Shh, don’t talk, my love.” His mother’s trembling hand pushed his hair aside. Her tear stricken face filled his view, and he knew by the sorrow in her eyes that his injuries were life threatening.
“Momma—” He choked as he tried to speak.
“Drink more,” Larissa coaxed, pressing her wrist back to his lips.
His muscles screamed as he placed an unsteady hand on her arm. Where was Anna? He could scent the blood, not all of it his.
A shadow blocked the moonlight. He blinked as a tall, dark figure stood over his sister. His eyes were too full of blood to see clearly. Pain skewed his vision as he blinked.
“Silus,” the male called. “Take your wife into the house.”
“I can’t leave my brother—”
“Larissa,” Silus snapped. “Do as the Bishop says.”
“Silus, fetch a makeshift gurney. We have to get him away from here. Abilene, go see to your other children.”