If the antidote is going to work, I have to get him to drink it without him accidentally biting off one of my fingers in the process.
I try to pin both of his arms down at his side, careful of his wound at first before I give up on keeping the bloody cut clean and just try to get him to stop moving. Here’s hoping that the antidote really will cure everything.
Blood is everywhere. This close, I can’t miss the bite. His t-shirt sleeve was cut short enough that it didn’t offer any resistance to the sharp claws and fangs of a lurker. It’s nasty, but if Chase got away with only one chunk out of him, the antidote will fix him.
I just have to get it in him.
Right when I have him where I want him, his teeth start to chatter so frantically, I have no fucking clue how I’m going to do that. Finally, I let go of his arms—and immediately have to lean back to avoid getting hit in the face when he starts bucking wildly, throwing his arms up in the air as the venom works its way through him.
Hot tears sting my eyes again. I rub them roughly with the back of my dirty, bloody hand. Suck it up, Xandra. We’re not going to sit here and watch Chase die.
The plan hits me like a lightning strike, terrifying yet electrifying at the same time.
Leaning over, pressing my tits against his flailing chest, I crush my lips against his. The part of Chase that’s stillChase, that’s still aware of what’s going on… it responds to me. He relaxes slightly—at the very least, he stops thrashing so violently—and presses his mouth hungrily against mine.
Only he’s not hungry to feed. He’s hungry to touch. To taste. To kiss.
To fuck.
His hand goes to my lower back, shoving me further against him. I gasp. He thrusts up against me.
I have hope.
If we get out of this in one piece, I’ll fuck him. I’ll kiss him. I’ll pretend to be Hallie until he recovers if I have to… anything to keep Chase Knight in this hell on Earth with me.
So while my twin’s fiancé’s tries to fuck his way through our clothes, I thrust my fingers through his hair with my left hand, holding him in place. I reach out with my hand and, thank fucking God, I swipe the antidote on my first try. I grab it and try to pop the stopper with one hand.
It’s impossible. If I’m going to do this, I need both hands. It would probably help if I could see what I was doing, too. But thatmeans breaking away from Chase and hoping he doesn’t start convulsing again.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’ve given up any hope that Maverick will help me at all.
I have to do it. Hoping it works, I jerk away from Chase, a flash of relief running through me when I don’t take any of his hair with me when I untangle my fingers from the strands. Sitting up enough to see what I’m doing, I use both of my hands to yank the stopper out without spilling any of the antidote. It’s stuck tight and I curse, straining to get it out.
Without me there to occupy him, Chase starts groaning and bucking and growling. I nearly go flying, and it’s all I can do to keep the antidote from sloshing out of the vial once I finally do get it open.
Kissing worked once before, and I just hope like hell that it will again. Cooing “baby” to get his attention, I slam my mouth against his, calming him enough that I can scoot closer to his face. Then, lifting the antidote close to his chin, I use the edge of my teeth to bite down hard against his bottom lip.
Chase gasps at the shock of my fierce action and the sudden pain, and he opens his mouth just wide enough that I can shove the vial in between his teeth.
The last drop of antidote oozes out of the glass tube when the pain from my bite is overcome by whatever is going on inside of Chase. He gargles on the antidote and I rub his throat with my left hand, trying to get him to swallow. I keep the vial in place, holding it tightly with my thumb and pointer finger so that there’s nowhere for him to spit it out.
So relieved that he’s swallowing, I let down my guard.
My fault.
I never expected Chase to clamp his teeth down right on top of the antidote vial.
I know instantly that one of my fingers is broken, if not both. Slivers of shattered glass are stuck in my hand and Chase’s tongue, and I only hope that the antidote will fix that, too. I can’t even tell if the shards have cut me because my hand is already coated, slick with blood from Chase’s bite mark.
I don’t feel any pain, though. Oh, no. That’ll come later.
I’m still straddling Chase, but the antidote has accomplished one thing, at least: he stopped moving again, no taser required. His breathing is labored, more of a whimper than anything, but he’s alive.
And that’s all that matters.
Keeping him between my legs, I shift forward, scooting on my knees until I can reach his face. With the pointer finger on my undamaged hand, I pluck at his eyelid. Yes. Not a single hint of lurker in his gaze. Not a single speck of black ink save for his pupil. They’re still the same beautiful pretty blue shade as they were this afternoon.
The antidote worked. It had to have.