The animal-like sound of Ryder’s cry of anguish chilled Michaela to the core.
Jesus charged up to help, as did Sebastian and Diego, but Michaela put on a surge of vampire speed and beat them all to the foot of the stairs. She raised her hands to stop them.
Maggie and Melissa joined the men. “Let us by.”
“You don’t want to go up there now,” Michaela warned, fearing what they might find.
“But you plan on going up? To do what? Finish him off?” Diego growled as he transformed to his vampire mode.
Michaela shook her head vehemently, surprising herself as much as the others.
There had been so much agony, so much grief, in that cry that her first thought was to try to relieve Ryder’s pain. “I know you don’t believe this, but I just want to help.”
“You’re right, I don’t believe it, Slayer,” Diego retorted hotly.
Anger filled her gut at his dismissal, but maybe it was a sign of her growing maturity that she didn’t let that anger chip away at her control. Instead, she removed her jacket and handed it to Jesus. “Would you hold this for me?” Then she reached behind to the small of her back and removed the small knife she kept there. She handed it to Jesus, along with every other weapon she had tucked on her.
“Jesus Christ, Michaela,” Jesus muttered as he juggled all the lethal weapons, keeping them out of reach of Diana and Ryder’s inquisitive niece Mariel, who had toddled over to see what was happening.
Michaela stretched out her arms, displaying her unarmed state to the doubters. “Satisfied?”
Diego eyeballed her as if still doubting her word, but finally relented. “Fine. But I go first.”
They climbed the stairs, followed by the others, and approached the bedroom door. Michaela knocked, but no answer came. With relief, she sensed the pulse of three life forces beyond the door. She peered at Diego.
“Three, but two are weak. Very weak,” he said with sadness in his voice.
She wasn’t about to wait out there and let them get any weaker. She entered the room, Diego at her back, tension in every inch of his body. The others hovered at the doorway.
Ryder rose from the floor as they walked in. Blood stained parts of his neck, chest, and forearm where the pink of newly healed skin showed he had been bitten.
Michaela ignored his nakedness and looked to where Diana lay in bed, deathly still.
“If you’ve come to stake me, just fucking do it,” Ryder said, his voice rough with tears.
She saw he was close to giving in to hopelessness. That he couldn’t believe he had survived alone for so long, and finally found happiness, to have it all end like this.
She knew the feeling all too well. Her heart went out to him. “Ryder, I—”
Pulling back his shoulders, he growled, “I won’t let you near them, Michaela. You’ll have to go through me first.”
Diego took a step toward him. “She’s not here to stake you or them. She’s here to help. As am I. All of us.” He indicated the small, tear-filled group crowded around the doorway.
Michaela hung back for a moment and waited for Ryder to look at her. “Please, Ryder. We may be able to help her.”
She followed Diego to Diana’s bed, where he split open his wrist. Jesus handed her back the small knife, and she prepared to open a vein in hers.
Between the power of Diego’s elder blood and her own Slayer energy, it might be enough to sustain the turning.
Ryder choked out an incoherent noise of gratitude and cradled Diana gently in his arms, tilting her head so Diego could lay his wrist to her lips. She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the offering so Diego parted her jaw and let his blood flow down into her mouth. Michaela sliced her own flesh and reached over to mingle her blood with his.
She just prayed they weren’t too late.
#
Diana stood at a crossroads between light and dark, torn between the two.
Her father had returned with the light, his hand outstretched, inviting her to come home with him, to reunite with all her loved ones who swirled around behind him in the tunnel of gleaming, brilliant, and joyous white radiance.
“Hi’ja, come home. There’s no reason for you to continue to suffer. Or for your child to know pain,” he said, and as she watched, a young face flared forward from the light. A face like her own, but not. Her daughter's face. It was a young girl who had Ryder’s dark eyes flecked with gold and green, but with Diana’s unusual shape.
“Charlie?” she asked, filled with happiness, and moved toward the image as it drew her toward the tunnel. Suddenly, a surge of pain through her midsection reminded her of her daughter’s struggles for life in this world. The real world. To keep a life she had not yet experienced. And never would if Diana stepped into the bright light.
“No, papi. She deserves to live,” Diana said, backpedaling to the crossroads, then turning toward a darkness so dense and black that everything around her disappeared as she stepped into it. Ebony night surrounded her, and no matter how hard she tried, she could see nothing, feel nothing, as she moved farther and farther into its dark embrace.
Her breath came hard as the darkness became almost suffocating and the beat of her heart, slow as molasses in winter, filled her ears with its loud pulse.
Alive. She was still alive.
She took a deep breath and the darkness came with it, bringing with it feral needs.
To fuck.
To feed.
The craving was so strong, her body vibrated with tension as she fought to find a way out of the darkness, but it was all around her. Inside her. Trapping her in its grasp.
She screamed, the sound echoing in her brain and all through the miasma in which she was imprisoned. But no one came.
Where was Ryder?
Drawing in a deep breath, she gagged as something warm and metallic filled her throat. The darkness inside her came alive, pulsing and jumping with unexpected life. Intensifying the needs and cravings building inside her, creating wild desire. With no way to fulfill it...
Ryder's voice pierced through the silence and the chaos enveloping her. “Feed, darlin'. You've got to feed.”
“No!” she cried as the coppery taste filled her mouth again. Blood. It repulsed her as it slithered down her throat, making her choke.
In front of her, a dim, gray light slowly replaced the night in which she had been trapped.
“You need strength, darlin’,” Ryder urged.
She opened her eyes, meeting his concerned gaze. The warmth and smell of blood teased her senses again. Someone laid a bloody wrist to her mouth once more, and Ryder told her to drink. But she fought against it, hating the thick slide of it down her throat, and the way it seemed to awaken a core of emptiness deep inside her.
“She's rejecting the turning,” a man said, and the words bounced around the fog in her head. Diego? She tried to pull free of the miasma and focus.
“Let me,” a woman said. Michaela.
Fear pulled Diana free and back into alertness. Ryder. Michaela was going to kill him.
In a blaze of speed, Diana shot her hand out and grabbed the other woman's throat. Sudden pain erupted across her jaw and her brain.
Her first transformation. It ripped across her in response to the danger.
Michaela's eyes popped wide and she grabbed hold of Diana’s wrist, fighting to free herself.
“Stop, darlin'. She's here to help,” Ryder said, but all Diana could think of was being safe. Keeping him safe. She held on, instinctively aware that with just a little more pressure, she could end the other woman's life.
But Michaela did nothing to defend herself. Instead, she brought her free hand to Diana's mouth, displaying the cut on the fragile underside of her wrist.
A low growl built within Diana, erupting at the sight of the veins beneath Michaela’s skin. The excruciating pain came again in her jaw and her head. She jammed her eyes shut, fighting the agony.
“Feed, Diana. Feed from Michaela,” Ryder murmured urgently into her ear as he held her in his arms, his body so warm and strong against hers.
As warm and strong as she would be, if she let herself feed. The part of herself that was still capable of rational thought told her to obey.
Opening her eyes, Diana stared at the other woman and slowly released her grip.
Michaela sucked in a deep, shaky breath. Bright pink fingerprints marred her throat. But she smiled, and in a raspy whisper, said, “Good. Now feed, my friend.”
***
Pain erupted across Michaela's wrist as Diana plunged her fangs deep into her flesh and sucked her blood, gazing up at her, the gold-green of her human eyes replaced by the shocking neon brightness of a vampire’s.
Diana drank, drawing sustenance from Michaela's body. Pulling in the power of Michaela’s hybrid blood, which she hoped would be enough to sustain the transformation and keep both Diana and the baby alive. She fed so much that Michaela began to feel woozy. She feared she would take too much, might not be able to control herself, but Diana suddenly jerked away. Her body was shaking and covered with sweat as the change ripped through her.
Michaela watched in wonder, having heard about the change, but never having seen it firsthand.
A low growl of pain erupted from Diana and she screwed her eyes shut and arched her back, lost to the transformation.
This was when it could get dangerous. When the needs of the vampire took over, shoving aside all that the human had been, creating the monsters who lost all sense of right and wrong. Some of whom never got it back.
“God, Ryder,” Diana cried out, and grabbed Ryder's sleeve to pull him close. He’d hastily dressed in jeans and a sweater.
“I'm here, darlin'. I'll always be here,” he said as he held her, trying to keep her steady as she rocked violently back and forth.
Another low moan broke from Diana’s lips, and the baby did a roll in her belly, prompting her to reach down and splay her hands across her child. “Too soon,” she cried, then screamed in pain.
Michaela glanced at Diego nervously. Such pain often brought a lack of control in even a fully turned vampire, producing vicious violence and blood lust. Diego grimaced, but shook his head. Even so, Ryder’s hold on her tightened.
It hurt Michaela’s soul to think about what she would need to do to stop Diana if the worst should happen, especially since she didn't have her weapons to provide a painless death.
Death. The thought stabbed knife-like into her heart. In the short time they had known each other, she had grown to like and respect the FBI Agent. Ending her life—
Diego must have sensed what she was thinking. He moved toward her, determination on his features. But another agonized cry from Diana brought them both up short.
“Ryder, help me hold on! For the baby,” she pleaded. Then she turned toward her. “Michaela,” she begged. “Please...help me.”