From within the cubby hole, I pulled out one of the last few vials I had of my uncle’s blood, and slid off the bed the way I came. Using the spring of the soiled mattress to help me to my feet, my teeth grinding to shards as the dagger wiggled in my lung, I drifted back toward the living room.

Stopper off, I swallowed two tiny sips and dropped two more into Scarlett’s unconscious, open mouth as I passed. With a dripping sigh, I sealed the vial to keep it from spilling and crumpled to the floor, a pool of warm blood forming under my head. All that was left to do was wait…

…and suffer.

It didn’t take long, though it sure felt like it had. After just a moment, a sensuous flush of energy trickled down my body, heating my cold skin. Goose bumps tickled as the overwhelming pain started to become manageable under the orgasmic rush of Lucifer’s claret. My eyes closed of their own accord and I lay there trembling as though I were spooning Keira Knightley.

More a stiff pressure than pain, I felt the dagger slip from my back, hearing it thud to the ground beside me, pushed out by the healing process. Then, with a last cough to rid my mouth of blood, I sat up and leaned against my armchair to look over at Scarlett.

She was still out. Her injures far worse than mine, she shuddered and twitched. Low moans echoed deep in her throat as the blood performed its miracle. Her leathered knees squeezed together and her hands, the disfigured one already on the mend, clutched at her ample chest in a way that was impossible to ignore. Trust me, I did my best.

Well…not really my best.

Chatterbox whistled low and winked at me. He was enjoying the show.

A moment later, Scarlett sat up with a start, her frantic eyes searching the room. Her now healed hand was on the hilt of her sword, white knuckles shining through the grime and blood. She saw me and exhaled hard, realizing where she was. She slipped back into the cushions of the couch, swiveling the sheath to lay the sword across her lap.