“No fucking way. Don’t take this wrong, but I do not want to end up with fangs and a hankering for blood.” Rachel took a step back, moving up the stairs.
“I’m not going to force you.” I twisted my lips. “Mierda, a little blood won’t turn you into a vampire. We’d have to exchange blood at least a couple of times, and then you’d have to be drained by me or another vampire.” I put a hand on Ivan’s shoulder. “Same for you, wolf. Except I’m not giving you a choice.”
He wrapped his hand around my calf. “What about the bullets?”
I shook him off my leg, but not because it didn’t feel good—on the contrary, it felt way too damn nice. “I’m going to dig them out first.”
Ivan grunted. “I always hate this part.” He pulled his shirt over his head, every inch of his upper body flexing like he was one giant muscle. Werewolves, God love them. They were built like brick shithouses for a reason.
The tanks of the supernatural world, they were as dangerous as any vampire, but had less trouble fitting in with the human populace seeing as how they had no light or food restrictions. He stretched out on the mattress. I let my eyes rove his body, looking for bullet holes.
Right.
“How many times were you hit?” Rachel asked. “And where? I’m not sure Lea can find them.”
A frown curved my lips as I turned to face her. “Why would you say that?”
“You’ve been staring at him for a good minute and don’t seem inclined to start. I figured they must be hidden well. You know, since he has no shirt on.”
I whipped around and dropped to my knees, horrified at my own behavior. Time to get this under control in more ways than one.
“I need a knife that isn’t silver.”
Ivan reached around under him, wiggling his hips to get to his knife. He pulled it out and handed it to me. Only a small pocketknife, but it would do. I flicked it open, then looked over my shoulder at Rachel. “I’m giving you until I finish with Ivan to decide. A small amount of my blood and healed in less than an hour, or I heal Ivan and he takes you to the nearest hospital, where you stand a chance of being picked up by very bad men, thereby putting all three of us in unnecessary jeopardy yet again.”
I turned my back to her as she sucked in a sharp breath and then let out a pain-filled groan. “I think I hate you right now.”
I shrugged. “Ivan’s going to join you in that.”
“I doubt it,” he muttered.
I put the knife tip to the first bullet hole. “Let me know if that changes when we’re in the middle of this.” I pushed the blade in, ignoring the quiver of his muscles around it and the way his heart rate picked up. I treated him like I would a vamp I was interrogating. No emotion, no slowing of the knife. A job to be done and done efficiently.
The first bullet popped out in good time. Then the second and third. Blood smeared everywhere, and it was a good thing I’d fed on the train or the smell would have undone me. On the fourth and final bullet hole, he put a hand on mine, stopping me as I put the blade to the edge of the wound.
“Give me a minute. I need to breathe.”
“No.”
“Lea, a minute won’t cost us.” Rachel put a hand on my shoulder, and for the first time I really looked at the scene and allowed it to sink in. Ivan was bleeding profusely despite my tidy work and his skin had turned as white as the mattress below him. Or as white as the parts not covered in blood. My hoodie sleeves were saturated in it. Ivan’s eyes were closed and his breath came in ragged gulps. “Maybe I hate you a little.”
I snorted. “We aren’t done, and the last bullet is deep.”
“Do it. Get it done,” he whispered, his whole body tensing. I put a hand on the left side of his chest and eyed the last wound. It was going to be a bitch; there was no way around it. I dug in, moving quickly—at least I could spare him a little pain by acting quickly.
The bullet popped out with a ting on the floor. He groaned and passed out.
I pulled my hoodie over my head and tossed it aside. I’d changed my mind about giving Rachel a choice. It was going to piss her off, but it would be easier on her in the end. If she was “forced” into taking my blood, the blame was mine. Not hers. I could do that much for her.
“Rachel, I’m going to give him blood. You’re next.”
“You can’t fucking make me drink your blood.”
I found the pulse in my wrist and pierced through to the vein with the tiny knife. The cut welled up and I pressed it to Ivan’s mouth. “I’m not letting you put all three of us in jeopardy because you suddenly want to be a squeamish princess diva.”