Willow spent the next two days hunting at night and supplying Declan with blood while she pleaded with him to come back to her. There were many hours she lay awake and caressing his cheek while she waited for his eyes to open.
His heartbeat and breathing had returned to normal yesterday, and when she checked the wounds on his legs, they were little more than swollen, red blisters marring his flesh. The color had yet to fade from his skin, and the more time he spent unconscious, the more her anxiety grew.
Sometimes, she discovered herself pacing the barn and muttering like a crazed animal with no memory of how she’d gotten there. She felt like she was losing her mind as her emotions swung from despair to fury at the assholes who did this to him.
Her growing feelings of helplessness and uncertainty didn’t help. She was beginning to worry that he’d sustained too much damage and would spend the rest of eternity trapped in this realm of unconsciousness, and there was nothing she could do to save him.
Now, she sat beside him in the straw as she examined the sword for the hundredth time since arriving here. When she lifted it, the sun filtering through the slats reflected off the silver blade and cast shards of light around the barn. The weapon was amazingly lightweight for its length and killing ability.
She’d never seen anything like it before, and though she’d studied it for hours over the past couple of days, she still marveled at its beauty and feared its wrath. The blade was the color of mercury, and in the rays of the sun, it flowed in a way that reminded her of the Terminator, who turned himself into liquid.
Careful not to touch the blade, she turned the hilt over to examine the red-orange stone set in the center of it. When she looked closely, she could see deeper flecks of red and orange color deep inside it. And sometimes, she swore, those colors coalesced and swirled together. Like the blade, the stone was something she’d never seen before.
At three feet long, the sword was like holding liquid fire and sunlight in her hand. After seeing what it did to those Savages, it wouldn’t surprise her to discover that’s what it was. That somehow, the Savages or demons, managed to infuse the killing power of sunlight and fire into the blade. No markings etched the sword at all, and there was no way to tell where it came from, but she would eat worms if they discovered it originated on earth.
Declan’s eyes cracked open to discover Willow sitting beside him with her head bent forward and her blonde hair falling about her shoulders. His gaze fell to the sword in her hand as she ran her fingers over the jewel.
She looked so achingly beautiful with the sun spilling over her, but where had that weapon come from, and where were they?
He closed his eyes as he tried to recall what happened. And then he saw the sword plunging into a Savage and turning it to ash. What was that thing?
His eyes flew open in time to watch Willow stroke the blade. His breath caught, and he almost shouted at her not to touch it, but he was afraid of startling her. She pulled her fingers back and moved a few feet away to stash the sword somewhere.
Her face remained blank, but he sensed the fear churning beneath her outwardly calm exterior. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.
Willow’s head jerked up, her mouth parted, and she scrambled across the straw to kneel at his side. “You’re awake!”
Declan smiled as he pushed himself into a seated position. His stiff muscles protested the action, but he didn’t feel anything shifting around inside him, which meant no broken bones.
“I’m awake,” he muttered.
When she released a sound part joy and part sob, he clasped her cheek in the palm of his hand. She looked about to throw herself into his arms, but she held back as her lower lip quivered.
“I was beginning to think you’d never come back to me,” she whispered.
He pulled her close to kiss her forehead. “I’ll always come back for you.”
She released a small sob and rested her forehead against his. He cradled her cheeks in his hands, kissed the tip of her nose, and then her lips. She’d never been so happy to see anyone in her life. It took everything she had not to turn into a sobbing mess, but she’d made it this far without breaking down and wouldn’t start now.
“What happened? How long have I been out?” he asked.
“Too long,” she whispered as she wrapped her fingers around his wrists and pulled his hands away. Leaning back, she smiled as she gazed into his beautiful, silver eyes. That color was still staining his skin, but his eyes were back. “Three days.”
He’d left her alone and vulnerable to attack for three days. He’d been worse off than he realized. “Tell me what happened.”
Willow filled him in on the details of their run through the woods, the man in the truck, her conversation with Vicky, where they were now, and how she’d been hunting to supply him with blood.
“I knew you would heal,” she said. “I didn’t think it would take so long, and I was beginning to fear you’d never wake up. That you would stay trapped in this… this… state. And then there’s this.…”
Her voice trailed off as she pulled his hands away from her face and held them out between them. Declan’s eyebrows rose when he saw the color still staining his flesh. He didn’t feel out of control anymore, and he wasn’t overwhelmed by rage and the emotions of others; there was no reason he should still be in this almost demon-like state.
“The color,” he murmured.
“The color,” she said.
Declan turned his hands over between them as he tried to figure out why his body remained in this state.
“Do you feel in control?” she asked.
“Mostly.”
Willow bowed her head and leaned toward him. She slid her arms up and underneath his as she held him. When his arms enveloped her, she relaxed against him.
“It will fade,” he assured her as he ran his hands over her hair.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
“Never,” he vowed.
“I cleaned you up the best I could, but I didn’t take off your shirt. I know there’s something you don’t want me to see.”
Declan’s arms tightened around her before he released her and sat back. Clasping her cheeks again, he lifted her face until those gorgeous, violet eyes met his. Anxiety and something more radiated from her as she ran her fingers over his face before lowering them to his lips.
“I missed you,” she whispered. “I was so scared they would find us while you were still unconscious and terrified you’d never wake up again.”
“Nothing is ever going to take me away from you, Willow.”
She closed her eyes as she breathed in his fantastic aroma. She wished she could believe that, but after the events of this week, and with the color still staining his skin, she knew there were too many things seeking to tear them apart. However, she would fight for him, and them, until the day she died, and she would cherish every day they got to spend together.
“We have water?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’d like to finish cleaning myself.”
“I’ll get it for you,” she offered.
“No, I’ll get it. Show me the way.”
Willow pointed to the faucet. “I’ve been using one of the water buckets to hold the water and some rags from the truck to clean us.”
Declan kissed her forehead again before rising. His legs were a little shaky after not using them for three days, but by the time he reached the faucet, they were steady again. He lifted one of the empty buckets and slid it under the tap before turning it on.
While the bucket filled, he took in his surroundings. Waking in this place seemed surreal to him; he couldn’t believe he’d been out for three days while Willow kept them alive. He glanced over to where she sat in the straw with her legs pulled up against her chest and her chin on her knees. He loved her more than he’d ever believed it was possible to love another.
She was such a warrior that he sometimes forgot how young she was; he couldn’t forget it now as she looked so vulnerable. With everything she’d seen and endured, she was still innocent in many ways, and he was about to take some of that from her. He shut the water off and took a deep breath as he prepared himself for what was to come.
Untying his boots, he kicked them off and tugged off his socks before removing his jeans. The red and black color continued throughout his body. He didn’t know how long it would last. He felt mostly in control, but the demon part of him slithered beneath his surface, still primed for the kill and ready to destroy anyone who came near her.
What would have happened if someone attacked them while he was unconscious? He suspected he would have woken from his rejuvenating slumber to destroy any who dared to come after her. That was probably why the color remained while he slept, but why was it still apparent?
When he started unbuttoning his bloody, torn shirt, Willow closed her eyes, rested her cheek on her knees, and turned her head away from him. He stood for a minute before pulling the shirt off and letting it fall to the floor.
He recalled the last time he willingly took his shirt off in front of another. He was forty years old, and he hadn’t removed it; it was shredded from his body. He ran the cloth over his face, down his arms, and across his chest before lifting his gaze to Willow. She remained unmoving in the straw with her head turned away.
He sensed her curiosity, but she hadn’t taken the opportunity to learn the answers she sought while he was unconscious. And that only made him love her more. Though she couldn’t see it, Declan held the rag out toward her.
“Can you wash my back?” he asked.
Willow’s mouth went dry, and her eyes opened as she turned her head toward him. Despite the casual tone of his voice, she sensed something raw and desperate in him. And then she realized she was sensing it through their bond! A bond he’d shut down during their fight with the Savages.
Declan didn’t move as she unfolded her legs and rose with elegant grace from the straw. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he was hideous, yet she belonged to him, and he would cherish her for the rest of their days.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I can’t do it myself.”
Willow approached to take the rag from him. She frowned when she spotted the faint white scars crisscrossing his upper chest and pecs. His chiseled abs bore no marks. Those scars hadn’t come from this battle; all those wounds had already healed. But what would leave scars like this on a purebred vampire?
Feeling more vulnerable than he ever had in his life, Declan slowly turned his back to her. His shoulders went back as he braced himself for her reaction. Never before had he willingly revealed his worst shame to another, but if his back was anything like his chest, at least it wouldn’t be as bad as it was before she became his mate.
Willow barely managed to suppress a gasp when he revealed his back to her. She stood, staring at him until she realized too much time was passing. She was starting to make this awkward, and he might take her hesitation as a rejection.
With trembling fingers, she bent and dipped the rag into the water before rising to wash the caked blood away. As she worked, she wanted to hug him as badly as she wanted to find whoever did this to him and brutally beat them before plunging the sword into their belly.
Instead, she remained silent as she reined in her emotions. When she finished, she tossed the rag into the bucket and stepped closer to rest her fingers against one of the hundreds of scars crisscrossing his flesh. Most were so faint they were barely recognizable in the dim glow, but others were more evident against the muscles twitching beneath her touch.
His flesh was a roadmap of brutality, violence, and torture the likes of which she’d never seen before. Did he do this to himself, or did he have someone else do it to him to satisfy his craving for pain?
This kind of torture might have fulfilled his need for pain, but the idea of him allowing someone to do this to him made her stomach turn. The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t ask it, so she asked another.
“What caused this?” she asked.
“On my back, many things, but mostly a whip. On my chest, a knife.”
He hated that she had to see this, but it was only going to be a matter of time before she saw him completely naked; he’d always known that. However, this was one more thing from his past that he wished didn’t exist.
As she examined some of the scars, she began to pick out differences in them. Some of them were faded burns that must have gone all the way to the bone. Willow bit her lip as she ran her fingers over a much thicker scar running straight down his spine. It looked as if someone had carved him open, and she suspected that’s exactly what happened.
“Who did this to you?” she whispered.