Of Witches and Warlocks: The Complete Series

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

It was cold.

Opening my eyes, I discovered it was dark as well. I groaned and tried to roll over, but my body was aching. I was outside on the ground, and I had no idea how long I'd been there, whether a few hours or days. Vance had fed from me until I lost consciousness again.

"Vance?" I called into the darkness, but all that answered was silence. Not even the noise of a cricket broke the stillness, nor did any breeze stir through the branches. There was nothing.

Stretching out my muscles, I tried to remove the stiffness from lying down for such an extended period of time, before I tried standing. I had to lean against a tree for support, still feeling terribly weak over the blood loss.

Silently wishing for some form of lighting, I stumbled forward, attempting to get a bearing on which way I was facing. It was completely dark though, so I concentrated on the cabin in the woods and commanded my body to evaporate to it.

Amazingly it worked, but I still collapsed in an exhausted heap in the middle of the kitchen floor.

"Vance?" I called again, only to be greeted by more silence. This time I tried to connect with his mind. I could feel him, my body telling me he was somewhere close by, but the barriers were firmly up. It was then I remembered his improved hearing.

"Please, Vance. If you can hear me, come help me. I'm so weak and tired." I tried to appeal to some of the tenderness for my well being inside of him.

Nothing.

"Vance, I need you," I whispered again.

Crawling toward the small set of stairs that led to the bedroom, I eventually found my feet and I continued upward, gripping the wall along the way. I stumbled across the room and fell onto the bed in a heap.

Shuddering, I pulled the comforter around me, trying to get warm, while I listened for movement through the house. My eyelids soon grew heavy once more, and I drifted off to sleep.

"I'm leaving."

His voice woke me up, and I opened my eyes to find him throwing some things into a duffle bag. Glancing toward the door that led to the stairs, I could see the light of day shining up from the kitchen below.

"Where are you going?" I asked, trying to tap down my rising panic.

"Anywhere you aren't," he said roughly, continuing to pack.

I sat silently, watching as he moved about the space. "What did I do?" I finally asked in a small voice.

He stopped and turned to look at me with an incredulous stare. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not. I want to know why you're so angry with me you're willing to leave. I've been trying to help. Honestly. I'm doing the best I know how."

Dropping the duffle bag on the floor, he advanced toward me. "You haven't done anything. That's precisely the problem. You're constantly having to make sacrifices on my behalf—offering your blood to feed me, not to mention keeping everyone else protected." Gripping me by the chin, he turned my head from side to side, checking me over. "It's not right, Portia. Your health is suffering because of it." He dropped his hand and sat next to me on the bed, biting into his wrist and offering it to me. "Come on. Drink up. You need it."

The smell of his blood called to me, making my mouth water in anticipation, but I reached out and healed his wound instead.

"What are you doing?" he asked, perplexed.