Prophecy: Child of Light (Vampires Realm Series Book 1) (Reading Sample) - Felicity Heaton (novels to read for beginners .TXT) 📗

should have fought beside you from the beginning, then you wouldn’t be hurt,” she said. Her brows furrowed into a worried look and she touched his shoulder again.

“It is not you fault.” He pushed himself up onto his feet, his left arm dangling limp at his side. He stretched and gritted his teeth, his fingers clutching tightly at his shoulder.

“We should get that patched up.” She pointed to the wound. She wanted to tend to it, not only to alleviate her guilt, but because she needed him strong if they were going to make it through this. The battles that lay ahead of them were only going to get harder. They both had to be strong.

She followed him over to the bench where he’d placed his jacket and helped him slip it on over his good arm. He winced and sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth when she placed it over his injured shoulder and she gave him an apologetic look.

His eyes met hers and she didn’t bother hiding her concern. She ignored his weak protests as she manoeuvred herself under his good arm, letting it rest heavily on her shoulders and supporting his weight. Taking a deep breath, she started walking with him back to their hotel.

* * * *

Prophecy settled Valentine on the edge of his bed and gently pushed the jacket off his bad shoulder before slipping it down his good arm. He looked pale. His skin was white and sickly and he kept swallowing, evidently trying to keep control of the pain. She waited for him to push her away but he didn’t. He just looked at her and she in turn stared at him.

His eyes moved to rest on the wound and hers followed suit.

There was blood everywhere. The sharp metallic smell of it tainted the air, making her stomach gurgle. Looking down at his shirt, she could see the blood soaking through. It created a sticky dark patch that stuck the black material to his skin. The wound looked deep. Her eyes flickered to the buttons on his shirt. She would need to remove it in order to clean the cuts. Werewolf saliva acted as an anti-coagulant and with vampires, it had a tendency to slow the healing. She had to clear the injury of as much of the saliva as possible. Some of it would have been absorbed into his body already, but she could aid him by removing the rest.

She took a deep breath and edged her hands towards the row of buttons. Her eyes met his. Her fingers curled into fists and she withdrew them slightly, trying to build up the courage to remove his shirt. He couldn’t do it himself, not without the use of his other hand.

She reached for the top button, fumbling with it as her fingers shook and moving swiftly onto the next one when it gave way. She kept her eyes fixed on her hands, not looking at his body as she gradually exposed it.

She was surprised that he was letting her do this for him. She’d half expected him to shut her out of his side of the suite once they’d made it back to the hotel, but here he was, sitting quietly on the edge of the bed and silently watching her every move. He was as still as a mill pond apart from the occasional twitch of his jaw muscle when the pain became too much and he gritted his teeth.

When she reached the last button, her eyes skipped over his chest and came to rest on his hurt shoulder. She carefully peeled the shirt back, ignoring the way he breathed in sharply each time she accidentally hurt him. She couldn’t help it. She was being as gentle as possible as she drew the sleeve down his arm and over his hand. She didn’t remove the rest of his shirt. It was better that it kept half of his chest hidden from view. That way she would be able to concentrate on what she was doing.

Walking into his bathroom, she gathered everything she could find that could be of help to her, deposited it on the bed beside him and then went to her bathroom to do the same. She emptied the fruit bowl that was in the living area and filled it with warm water from the sink in his bathroom. She walked slowly back into the bedroom, trying not to spill any of it, and placed it on the low table beside the bed. She glanced at Valentine, checking that he was still all right. He was staring at the wound and looking paler by the second.

She grabbed one of the washcloths and stared at it. It was white. Why was hotel stuff always white? It was the most ridiculous colour on the planet. There was no way she could use it. The blood would stain it and she’d never be able to get it out. The last thing they needed was the maid seeing a bloodied cloth.

She spotted the bag that Valentine had brought with them sitting by the door into the living area and opened it. Rifling through the clothes, she found the tunic top that Valentine had taken from her room when he’d kidnapped her. She gave it one last look and found she didn’t have the heart to tear it to shreds. Carrying it with her, she bunched a section of it up in her hands and dipped it into the water.

He winced when she dabbed his shoulder with it, applying tentative strokes to his skin to clear away the dried blood before moving on to the actual wound.

The bite was deep, cutting into his shoulder on both sides of his body. There were a series of perfect teeth marks where the werewolf had bitten him several times, probably trying to get a better grip on him. She bit her lip while she cleaned his back, her brows furrowing when the voice in the back of her head told her that this was all her fault. Valentine was hurt because of her. She cursed the tears as they began to fill her eyes and brushed them away so he wouldn’t see them. He’d only think she was even more of a child if he saw how badly she wanted to cry. It was all so difficult to deal with. She just wanted to break down and give in right now and they’d barely begun their journey.

Picking up the cotton wool and cotton buds that she’d found, she soaked them in the water and began to clean the wounds on his back. She couldn’t bring herself to look at his face, didn’t want to see the pain in his eyes as she tried to clean the saliva out of the deep holes. He wasn’t bleeding as badly now so his body had probably begun to heal but it would be days before he was fully able to use his arm again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his fingers tense against his knee, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. She knew she was hurting him, but it had to be done. She just wished he knew how sorry she was.

She mentally berated herself for what she’d done and then made a silent promise to herself that she’d never hesitate again, especially if Valentine was in danger.

When she’d pulled the werewolf off him, she’d struggled to find the strength to kill it until she’d seen how hurt he was. In that moment, she’d felt power surge through her, making her feel invincible as she snapped the werewolf’s neck. She hadn’t felt like that before and she didn’t know where the strength had come from. It had felt strange and had left her fingers tingling and numb.

A split second before she’d felt the strength rise up in her, she’d thought about what would have happened if she had hesitated still. Valentine would have been lost to her. The werewolf would have killed him. That thought alone had given her the power to kill it.

Without him, she’d be alone in the world. No one else was on her side. Mathias wouldn’t work with her without Valentine there to make sure that he did. She knew that in her heart. He was only helping because Valentine had asked him to.

Moving around to clean the cuts on his chest, she briefly glanced at his face. He was watching her hands as she worked, his brows knit and his lips compressed. She could see the muscle in his jaw tensing whenever she hurt him. He was doing an admirable job of hiding how much he was hurting and steeling himself against the pain. She returned her attention to her work, going to soak another piece of cotton wool in the water and then realising that it was as red as blood.

She carried it into the bathroom and emptied it into the sink. She rinsed the bowl out and refilled it, staring into the mirror as it reflected nothing but an empty room back at her.

Sometimes she wondered what she looked like and sometimes she wondered how others saw her.

Valentine had called her a child more than once, but had also said she wasn’t a child. Other than Serenity, he was the first person to treat her like the adult she was. Her mother treated her as a child, her family treated her like a princess whom they wouldn’t speak to, and her brother treated her like a prize to be won or taken.

She looked down to see the water running over the edge of the bowl and sighed. Shutting the tap off, she emptied some of the water out and carried it back into the bedroom. She glanced at Valentine while she soaked some fresh cotton wool, her eyes straying to the patch of his chest and stomach she could see. His muscles were tensed, clearly defined beneath his pale skin, and she could see the scar over his heart.

She wasn’t a child.

He knew it.

He’d said it with so much fire in his eyes that she’d seen his desire for her through the drunken haze in her head.

She applied the cotton wool to the deep gash that ran upwards towards his shoulder. He’d confused her that night. After the way he’d acted in Oxford, she hadn’t known what to make of his reaction to her, and then tonight he’d been so concerned about her that she didn’t know what to make of her own feelings. To wake to find him sitting near her, his sleep-filled eyes showing her that he had watched over her all day, had stirred something inside her and the way he’d touched her cheek tonight had made heat sweep through her veins.

For one infinitesimal moment, she’d felt like one of the heroines from the movies she watched on the television in her room or the books she had Serenity bring to her. It had taken a lot to remind herself that it was forbidden, and was only made worse by the fact that he was an Aurorea.

An Aurorea who had sentenced himself to death by helping her.

An Aurorea who seemed to feel the same way she did.

She stepped back and looked at the wound, avoiding looking at him.

She had nothing to cover it with. It needed to be bound, not to help it heal, but to stop him from staining the sheets while he slept. She wondered if there were any places open where she could get bandages and things. A glance at the clock said it wouldn’t be likely. It was almost two in the morning.

There was something else he was going to need too.

Blood.

She idly touched the marks on her neck. She had strong blood. She’d heard him say that before. Her blood was strong but it carried even stronger visions. She didn’t know whether he’d be able to take them right now and there was a chance she wouldn’t