Alistair materialized through the doorway like violence given form—clothes shredded, blood painting him in abstract patterns, Maeve's body cradled against his chest. Her head lolled back, throat exposed, a crimson line marking where fangs had opened veins.
"Take her." His voice scraped raw.
Three footmen surged forward. Nicholas directed them with sharp commands. "Guest chamber, second floor. Mary, hot water and clean linens. Thomas, fetch the physician's kit."
I moved toward Alistair. His hand shot up, palm flat—a wall between us.
"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "Your scent, the child's heartbeat—I can't. Not after tonight."
I froze. "Is she alive?"
"Barely." He sagged against the doorframe, every line of his body screaming exhaustion. "The elder was feeding when I found them. Deep. Methodical. Another minute and she'd have been drained."
"The elder?" Nathaniel stepped forward, all hunter now. "You engaged it directly?"
"Had no choice." Alistair dropped into the nearest chair like his strings had been cut. "It had her throat. I hit it from behind, managed to break its grip."
"And it let you take her?" Skepticism sharpened Nathaniel's tone.
"Let? No." Alistair's laugh held no humor. "We fought. It threw me through two trees, nearly tore my arm off. But dawn was coming. It had to choose—finish me or find shelter."
"So you ran."
"I grabbed Maeve and ran like hell itself chased us." He pressed palms to his eyes. "It followed to the forest edge, screaming promises about what it would do when darkness returned."
"Where did you shelter?"
"Root cellar near the old mill. Spent twelve hours pressed against dirt and decay while she bled out drop by drop." His hands fell. "Started back the moment sunset touched the trees."
"The elder could return tonight." Nathaniel's hand found his stake. "We should assume it will."
"Yes."
"The household's armed. Patrols established. We're as ready as we can be."
Alistair pushed to his feet with visible effort. "I need to wash. Change. Prepare."
He left without looking at me, each step too controlled, fighting visible tremors.
Nathaniel headed for Maeve's room, throwing words over his shoulder. "I'll assess her condition. Apply what remedies we have for severe blood loss."
The hall emptied, leaving me with choices that all led toward disaster.
I climbed the stairs.
Our room door stood ajar. I pushed through without knocking.
He stood shirtless, already washed clean, with fresh clothes laid out.
My thoughts tripped over the rest: his body was beautiful—cut with strength, startlingly alive for what he was—and a fierce, grateful relief rose in me that he still existed, as living as a vampire could be.
"I told you to stay away."
"You tell me many things." I closed the door, turned the lock. "I rarely listen."
"Helena—"
"You're shaking." I crossed to him, close enough to see muscle tremors beneath skin. "When did you last feed?"
He ignored my question. "I'll manage."
"No, you won't." I pulled the silver stake from my belt, held it between us. "You need strength for what's coming. Real strength, not whatever you're running on now."
"I'm not leaving this house to hunt while that thing circles our walls."
"Then don't leave."
His eyes snapped to mine, gray gone silver with understanding. "Absolutely not."
"It's practical—"
"It's insane." He backed toward the window, putting distance between us. "You want me to feed from my pregnant wife? Risk draining you both?"
"I want you strong enough to fight." I followed, matching each retreat with advance. "Strong enough to protect what's yours."
"By risking what's mine?"
"By trusting your control."
"My control is fiction." His back hit the wall. "Pretty lies I tell myself while hunger gnaws through everything human."
"Your control kept Maeve alive through twelve hours in a root cellar." I stopped just outside arm's reach. "Your control brought you back here instead of feeding on the first peasant you passed."
"Helena—"
I drew the stake across my palm. The pain was clean, sharp, immediate. Blood welled in a perfect line.
"Christ!" He jerked like I'd struck him.
"You need this." I extended my hand, scarlet already pooling. "We both know it."
His whole body changed—pupils blown wide, chest heaving though he didn't need air, every muscle coiled with want. The monster surfacing beneath the man's careful control.
"Take it." I stepped closer.
"No."
"Alistair—"
"I said no." The words tore from his throat. "Get out. Now. Before I—"
"Before you what?" Another step. My bloodied palm inches from his chest. "Before you take what you need to keep us all alive?"
His hand shot out, circled my wrist. Not to pull closer—to hold at distance. We stood frozen, my blood dripping between us, each drop hitting the floor like counted seconds.
"You're playing with fire."
"I'm playing with ice." I pressed against his grip. "Ice that needs to thaw enough to fight."
"I could kill you."
"You could." I met his silver gaze straight on. "But you won't."
"Your faith in me is touching." His fingers tightened, still holding me back. "Also potentially fatal."
"My faith in you is all we have left." Blood ran down my arm now, warm and insistent. "So either take what I'm offering, or watch that elder tear through everyone while you're too weak to stop it."
His control cracked—I saw it happen. The careful mask slipping, hunger flooding through, decision balanced on a knife's edge.
"Please." The word escaped soft as breath. "Trust yourself the way I trust you."
"You're a fool."
"Yes." I turned my wrist in his grip, offering the wound more fully. "Your fool. Now stop arguing and drink."
He stared at me, at the blood, at the space between salvation and damnation. The house around us held its breath, waiting to see which way the monster would turn.
"Helena—"
"I'm not leaving." Each word carved in stone. "I'm not backing down. Take it or don't, but decide now."