“What doesn’t work?” Chase asked.
“The bond thing. You were with Chan. You couldn’t save him.”
Chase’s expression tightened. “I didn’t do it.”
The grief she felt for her cousin bubbled up inside her along with the pain. “You let him die?”
Guilt came and left Chase’s eyes. “I tried to save him, but he wasn’t like you.” He looked at the door as if impatient. “How long does it take to get from the vet’s office?”
She didn’t answer. “What do you mean he wasn’t like me? He was my cousin. We’re from the same bloodline.”
“Same bloodline, yes, but he was weak. No spirit. No fire in his belly. You push yourself. You’re a fighter. He had no fight in him.”
“Chan fought for me. He pulled me through the first turn. He didn’t owe me anything, but he stayed with me. He cared. If not for him, I don’t know what would have happened.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t a good person. I said he was weak. I tried to get to him to run, tried to help prepare him for what he was going to endure. He wouldn’t even try. He lay there and let himself get sicker. Even if I’d bonded with him, the chances of him surviving were so damn low. And I’d have…”
“You’d have what?” she asked, finding it hard to breathe.
“He wouldn’t have survived. He had no fight in him. And if I’d tried, I wouldn’t have been able to…”
“To what? And how do you know he wouldn’t have survived if you didn’t even try? You let him die.”
Chase exhaled. “I wanted to save him, I couldn’t.”
Her head pounded; her heart ached. “I don’t want your blood in me.”
The front door swung open and slammed against the wall. Della could barely sit up, but she did enough to see Steve storm in. He growled, a low ominous sound, aimed at Chase; then he rushed between them and dropped to his knees beside her.
She felt his hand on her brow. “You’re burning up.” He slid one arm under her. “I’m taking you to Dr. Whitman’s office.”
“No, you’re not,” Chase said behind him. “Put her down!”
Steve pulled away.
Pain gripped her midsection and she curled up in the fetal position.
Through tear-filled eyes, she watched Steve charge Chase. Magical bubbles spilled from the shape-shifter, no doubt his plan to change into something fierce.
Chase grabbed Steve before he completed the change and pushed him against the wall.
“Listen to me before you morph yourself into something that can’t reason. If you don’t want Della to die, you’re going to have to do exactly what I say. I know what I’m talking about. It’s why I came here.” Chase looked back over his shoulder at her. “And we’re running out of time.”
Out of time. Out of time.
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Chan stood beside her. He smiled that crooked silly grin of his. And this time it felt different. He wasn’t here with her. She was with him. Clouds floated past.
It was okay, she thought. Death didn’t suck nearly as bad as she thought it would. And Holiday was alive.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Della must have passed out. Or maybe not completely out. She heard Chase explaining things to Steve, but it sounded like they were walking away, getting farther and farther from her. Or maybe she was the one leaving. And it was okay. She let herself be swept away.
Something woke her up, or brought her back. She felt a prick in the center of both her arms. Something warm flowing through one of the needles into her vein.
Tightening her eyes, she longed for something. What was it?
Then she knew. It was that place. A place of lightness, and light. Soft breezes and calm. She remembered Chan. Being with him.
Instinctively, she knew she wasn’t with him now. Vaguely, she recalled him waving to her through the clouds. Good-bye. It had been good-bye. She’d pleaded for him to stop moving away, but then realized he wasn’t the one leaving. She was. “No,” she said, realizing what it all meant. Worried about the consequences. It had been her deal with God—to save Holiday and the baby. But something, maybe gravity, had pulled her back.… No, not gravity. It had been figures. Two of them, wearing long robes, and as they brought her back the one with light blue eyes had whispered, “Not your time.” Then she heard it. The water. The falls.
Death angels.
Right then she realized she wasn’t so cold anymore.
“Hey.” Steve’s voice had her opening her eyes. He knelt beside her, checking the needle taped to her arm. His brow bore deep worry lines, and his eyes were filled with concern.
She blinked. More awake, she realized that pain still gripped her chest, but not nearly as bad. She saw the catheter in her arm and realized what was happening.
“Stop it,” she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper, and she tried to pull the needle out of her arm.
“No.” Steve caught her hand. “What Chase said makes sense, Della. You’re getting his antibodies. Your fever’s dropping.”
She wet her lips. They felt so dry. “He said I’d be … bonded to him.”
Steve’s grimace deepened as if Chase had told him this, too. “I won’t let that happen.” He brushed her hair from her sweaty brow.
She heard a moan, and turning her head, she saw Chase. Stretched out on the table, he looked unconscious. “What’s happening?” she asked.
“Your blood is going into him, he’s going through what you were.”
She continued to stare at Chase. His back arched in pain. Her pain. He shouldn’t have to … “Stop it,” she said, and again tried to pull the needle from her arm.
“We can’t stop it.” Steve caught her hand. “He made that very clear. If I stop it now, he’ll die. He has to go through with it to survive.”
She closed her eyes, but hearing Chase’s moans sent a memory of the severest pain coursing through her body. Tears filled her eyes. Why had he done this?
She swallowed, her throat raw. He had saved her, but why hadn’t he done it for Chan?
He was too weak. She heard Chase’s words, but it still hurt.
Steve touched a moist cloth to her lips as if he knew how thirsty she was. “You’re still running a fever, but it’s coming down. You should be fine soon. Just rest now.”
He pressed a kiss to her brow. “I’ll take care of you. I’m right here.” But even as he said it, she felt the blood being pumped into her veins. Chase’s blood.