An Unacceptable Mate

Chapter Thirty Two

    "No!" I screamed, running for him and catching him as he fell. My hand touched to the stake before he could and yanked it out, throwing it as far away as possible. Tears began to fill my eyes as I hit my knees with his head on my lap.

He didn't move. Didn't breathe. Didn't open his indulgent eyes.

    "Acera?" I bawled. "No, you can't die, I just found you again...please...please don't leave me. Please, I need you."

My heart threw itself against my ribcage, drowned in panic, begging to be assured.

Inerra had left me. Left me to handle his younger brother as deep red blood spilled, darkening his black shirt, staining my quaking hands.

    "Acera, say something," I begged breathlessly, cupping the side of his face. There might as well have been a corpse in my arms. "Oh god, please say something. Anything."

I buried my face in his hair and sobbed, rocking forward to try and contain my grief.

I waited too long to realise that he was my perfect match, didn't I? He was promised to me and I'd been too proud to accept that a vampire was meant for me. Now I realised that if I'd had the choice of choosing which vampire was my mate, it would indefinitely, unequivocally be him.

After a few seconds of catching my ragged breath, I settled his head down and hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt. I tugged the cloak from beneath him and pressed it to his wound.

Damn him becoming the King of Darkness. Damn his mother. If Acera hadn't been injured so, I'd have gone after that bitch and hacked her head off with a chisel, making it a long, painful, well-earned death.

Swiping away any further tears, I managed to absorb most of the blood with the cloak before pushing that away and then peeling off his shirt to then use that. My gaze paused on his face. He looked so peaceful. His eyes would tell me the truth though. If they'd been open, they'd hold fear. Or maybe denial. Or regret. Or perhaps they'd have landed on me just as the stake punctured – a final goodbye.

    "Stop thinking," I spat at myself, applying further pressure to his chest wound. The other hand shook as it ran through his hair.

I curled my legs up and leant slightly against his side. My fingers travelled from his hair, down to trace his intricate features with a mixture of sorrow and fondness, then along his jaw. I leant in and kissed him there, appreciating the taste, the smoothness of his soft milky skin, slowly moving across to his lips. When I reached them, I hovered, closing my eyes. I tried to imagine him inhaling with anticipation for the kiss; tried to picture the way his eager embrace felt on my body.

    "I love you," I told him, though I knew it was too late. I might as well have been talking to nothing at all. "I'm so in love with you. God, I tried to fight it. Deny it. Hate you." I whimpered, pressing my forehead to his and squeezing my eyes shut. "I couldn't suppress it. I love you. I love you."

My lips touched his, soft and yet full of so many emotions; so many unsaid words. My heart convulsed, as if someone had put it under strain by clutching it with a fist and increasing their grip more and more every passing second.

It had been so long since I'd felt pain like this. It was worse than anything physical. It scarred you, mentally, for life. No medication could cure grief. Nothing at all. I'd experienced it too hard too young after my parents were murdered and somehow it felt even worse now. It was like their death and now Acera's had merged to form the vilest concoction.

All of a sudden, there was the sound of paper crumpling. I jerked up, eyes searching for the source of the sound. "No," I gasped, reaching for his hand. It had started to grey, going hard. I knew what happened after this stage occurred.