Page 34 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
Felicity bent over him, her hair drooping around her head. There was a bruise forming on her collarbone, and her cloak was in ruins. She frowned. “Why aren’t you healing?”
“I don’t know,” he lied.
There was a gash on her forehead. Blood dripped down her neck and landed on his lips. He stretched his tongue and shuddered when the honey-sweet liquid filled his mouth.
“Stay there,” Felicity said. “Don’t move.”
He heard her walk away and assumed she was dealing with the remains of the fledgling.
“Does she…” he started to ask before exhaustion robbed him of the ability to speak.
“Yes, it has the mark,” she said. Then she returned and helped him upright. His head lolled to the side. And blood gushed from his neck.
This was backward.Hewas supposed to be the one protectingher.
At the end of the alley, Mr. Ferris jumped down from his seat. The man’s black hair was plastered to his head, and his round face was as white as a sheet. When he spotted them, he rushed forward. Before he reached them, a chilling howl split the night.
Werewolves.
Felicity waved the man back. “Get the door!”
He hesitated for a moment before whirling around and doing as she’d asked.
“We’re out of time,” Felicity said between panting breaths. “I have no choice.” She gently laid Jonathan down, then rose and put her hands on her hips. “Get up.”
The order jerked his aching body into movement. He rose unsteadily to his feet.
She pointed to the carriage. “Walk.”
He shuffled forward. With each step, white-hot pain shot up his legs, but at least he was moving. He wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve.
“Keep waking,” Felicity said. Her voice was strained.
“Why are you helping me?” he asked. She could have staked him or left him to perish when the sun rose. That was what Marguerite would have done. She’d often said that a vampire who couldn’t protect themselves deserved to die.
Felicity ordered him into the carriage. When he was awkwardly sprawled inside, she removed a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it against his wound. “I don’t like you, Mr. Drake.”
“‘Jonathan,’” he croaked. “You called me ‘Jonathan’ earlier.”
She scoffed. “Fine. I don’t like you,Jonathan. You are a murderer. A creature of darkness.”
He pulled back his lips to bare his teeth, even though his fangs were not out. “Grr.”
She sniffed. “Precisely. But for now, I need you.”
Those words, even said with contempt, made his heart pound. When was the last time anyone had needed him? His siblings certainly didn’t. He was the carefree rogue, the flippant younger brother who only got himself in trouble.
He leaned into the warmth of her touch. “Thank you.”
The carriage suddenly halted. A moment later, Mr. Ferris wrenched the door open, letting in a blast of cool air.
Felicity draped an arm over Jonathan’s chest. “Why have we stopped?”
Mr. Ferris cleared his throat. “I am terribly sorry, Miss Sorrow, but I cannot take you to the haven.”
She tightened her grip. “What? Why?”
The friction against Jonathan’s wounds made him wince, but he did not complain.
