Hey all, here's chapter two. A little shorter, but I wrote this story as a single piece. I just couldn't post it as a one-shot because it would be a 16k+ monster. So I hope these chapter breaks feel natural and make sense.
Enjoy!
It was a good thing he'd waited, in a way. Quinn was so desperate for it; his teeth were at full extension and fine as needles. Barely a prick of pain for her, before heat and sweetness flooded his mouth and washed everything else away.
God, such sweet relief. This was what he needed; what he craved. Even with the soulmate connection blown wide open, he could barely consider anything else. There was only room in his mind for three things: feeding, keeping pressure on her wounds, and not hurting her. Everything else faded to the back of his mind as he gulped and dragged down deep, shuddering breaths between swallows, revelling in his lungs responding fully again.
I knew you should have fed earlier. Rashel, mental voice clear as a bell, and distinctly disgruntled. No fear, though. That was good.
I know. I'm sorry. It was a little reminder to slow down, to remember their situation. With his brain clearing at a rapid pace, he started assessing – how soon could he stop? God, he didn't want to, but he had to.
A little longer. It wasn't the selfish little part of him speaking up, the part of him that wanted to gorge himself. It was the practical part of him giving an honest assessment. If he wanted to wait out the next couple of hours, he needed more. Could she afford it, was the next question.
Just. They might just get away with it. He just had to hope there would be a willing donor or a few extra blood bags on the ambulance for the ride back. That or a reinforced gurney to strap him to, to stop him trying to bite the paramedics.
Rashel's mind bubbled with amusement. No secrets with a fully-established soulmate link. Let's hope for blood bags, shall we?
He gave a mental hum in agreement, lips twitching against her throat. The little movement was enough to remind him of their physical bodies. That's enough. It didn't feel like it, but his muscles had stopped screaming at him and his mind had lost the cloudy fog he hadn't even realised had settled over it until it was gone.
Reluctantly he pulled away, careful to draw his teeth out as painlessly as possible. He kissed her again softly once his teeth had retracted before slowly sitting up again, enjoying the returned ease of movement. He licked his lips clean, noticed the bloody marks his hand had left on her jaw and grimaced. He looked around for something to clean them with, and came up empty. Rashel lifted her hands to look at her sleeves, found the hems as wet as his shirt. She tried wiping her face with her arm, only smeared the blood further, and lay back again with a resigned sigh. 'Doesn't matter. I look like hell anyway; what's a bit more blood?'
'I'm sure the paramedics won't mind you not being red-carpet worthy for them,' Quinn assured her, his grasp of humour returning with his breath.
'Speaking of which, how long now?'
It was nearly ten. 'It's been about an hour and ten minutes, give or take. Nearly two hours to go.'
Rashel let out a slow breath. 'This is going to be a long two hours. And this is from someone who stayed chained to a bed for two days straight with nothing to do.'
Quinn started, then rolled his eyes as if exasperated with himself. 'Of course you woke up early. Why am I not surprised?'
Rashel snorted. 'I woke up when you were carrying me to the office. You were a shitty prison officer by the way, didn't even check me for weapons. You missed my knife by the length of my shin.'
Quinn gave her a mock glare. 'Well, I was rather distracted by some mystery vampire hunter who had me convinced I was going insane.'
Rashel summoned up enough energy to smile at him. Her gums were still too pale. 'I'm flattered.'
'Of course you are. You're the one who thinks the ideal Valentine's Day present is a wooden fighting stick.'
'That's what you get for introducing me to Jez and Morgead.'
Quinn grumbled something about West Coast hooligans. Rashel patted his hand comfortingly.
'Careful Quinn, you're showing your age.'
He would have elbowed her if she wasn't injured. 'For three hundred and seventy eight, I think I'm doing pretty well.'
Rashel very clearly eyed his bare torso, then nodded in agreement. 'No arguments here.'
Quinn glared at her. 'Your timing is awful.'
She chuckled, her stomach jumping under his hands, then stiffened. A noise somewhere between a hiss and a groan dragged out of her, and the light hearted mood broke completely. He found himself leaning over her, murmuring reassuring nonsense, one hand clasping hers as she rode out the pain, the other pressing against her wounds and hoping she hadn't just damaged herself further.
As the tension slowly seeped out of her and she relaxed by degrees back to the floor, she growled through gritted teeth. 'I'm an idiot.'
'I'm sorry.' He wiped one hand on his trousers, then brushed her hair back. 'I shouldn't have made you laugh.'
She shook her head, jaw still tense. 'Made myself laugh. Stupid,' she grunted through her teeth.
'Stop beating yourself up. You're starting to sound like Keller.'
Rashel grunted wordlessly, letting her head rock back to the floor with a soft thump, her breath slowly sighing out of her.
Two hours, she thought. Quinn, I don't know-
'You're going to be fine,' he said firmly, willing it to be so. 'Just lie still and don't laugh anymore. We'll get you through this.'
She didn't answer for a long time.
Alright.
She didn't sound like she believed him, but he didn't want to argue when she was so weak already. He wished he had a more reliable indicator than rate of blood loss that his blood was doing something – anything. It would take another exchange for that – for her features to start to change. And then she'd be dangerously close to becoming a vampire.
If they made it through this – when they made it through, he was going to insist on them always bringing an emergency first aid kit with them from now on. If he had to clip it to his belt like some strange accessory, he would. They should have had one in the first place, but because of the nature of the mission they'd been travelling as light and as fast as possible. They thought they'd be in and out. And they hadn't considered survival as a likely option had they encountered resistance. What's the point in a first aid kit when your only outcomes are avoidance and survival or death?
Never again.
He looked up as Rashel's hand moved, patting the side of her hip, blindly reaching for her canteen. He covered her hand with one of his for a moment, unclipping it from her belt for her. She opened her eyes to give him a weary smile, then focused on opening the bottle. Before she could get it open though, she groaned in exasperation, lifting one hand away and rubbing her fingers together. They slipped, slick with blood. The neck of the canteen was coated with it.
Quinn made to take it, hesitated at the state of his own hands and lack of something to clean it on. Rashel waved him away, grabbing a handful of her top over her chest, above the blood stain. She awkwardly cleaned off the bottle neck with the stretched fabric, grimacing in relief when Quinn helped support her head so she could drink without using her abdominal muscles.
Quinn listened to the water sloshing in the hard plastic. At least half full from the last refill. That should be enough to last until help arrived.
Rashel set the canteen aside rather than bother with the hassle of strapping it back to her belt. Quinn helped her slowly settle back on the ground before reapplying pressure to her wounds. He honestly had no idea how much that was helping now, if at all, but he needed something to do with his hands and if it stood even the smallest chance of helping, he'd do it.
Rashel rested her hands on top of his – no pressure, just for somewhere to put them and for comfort. She closed her eyes, exhausted. When we've won the war, I'm retiring, she thought, to make him smile.
He did for her, trying to hide how the haziness of the words worried him. Earlier she would have called him out on it, but now she just subsided into silence again – as if even that stray thought had drained her.
Part of him wanted to keep her talking, but he resisted. He could cope without the constant reassurance she was conscious. Let her conserve her strength. Instead he turned to analysis again – anything he could tell the medics when they arrived could help treat her faster. It helped pass the time. The clarity her blood gave him made it easier to figure out some things. He didn't think the bullets had hit her digestive system at least – Quinn had been on his fair share of battlefields through the centuries, and he couldn't detect the tell-tale stench of ruptured viscera. Something so simple to check, yet the lack of oxygen had clouded his mind that much it simply hadn't occurred to him. They still could have hit something like the liver, and he wouldn't be able to tell –
Actually, would he?
He patted her hands, then gently moved them aside, gingerly lifting her shirt away from her stomach. It was slick with blood, and he couldn't help but glance at the bullet holes – fairly high up, one just below her ribs on the right hand side, the other a few inches lower and to the left. They weren't what he was looking for, though. Her skin – far from the pale expanse he was used to – was turning a deep purple-black, like a bruise across her whole torso.
Quinn took a deep breath to steady himself. She did have internal bleeding then – a gentle press of his fingers confirmed it; there was very little give there, the skin taut with the pressure of blood building in her abdominal cavity.
It was bad, but shouldn't she have gone downhill faster than this? Unless his blood had started working fast enough to keep her stable. That was a possibility. It was the only reason he could think of for her to still be alive when it looked and felt like there was thick tar beneath her skin.
He ground his teeth as he pulled her shirt down again, frustrated that all he had to go on were vampire senses and guesswork. As soon as they got back to Harmony – and they would get back, he had to get her back – he was going to grab one of the medics and take an emergency first aid course. Stupid that he'd never done it yet, in all the time modern medicine had been around – but until recently, he'd never needed to. Vampires healed from almost anything. Certainly a little thing like blood loss or bullet wounds wouldn't kill them. And humans had just been prey. All he'd needed to know about their blood loss was how to inflict it.
Still, his lack of knowledge wasn't going to stop him trying. He reached out with his mind, trying to get a better grasp on her physical state now he was thinking clearly. What he found wasn't too surprising – her whole body felt off; non-essential functions shutting down while her core went into overdrive to keep her alive. The pain radiated out from her centre, flaring each time she took even a shallow breath.
And her breathing was getting slower. Now he listened, so was her heartbeat. Heavy, pounding, laboured – but slowing down.
'Rashel?'
Her eyes were closed, face tight with pain and exhaustion. She didn't respond.
She's tired, she's just tired-
'Rashel.' Firmer this time, louder. He squeezed her arm, shook it slightly. Nothing. Rashel!
She barely stirred, her mind sweeping hazily against his. He could feel no coherency in her mind – almost like she was on the verge of a deep sleep. This wasn't like before, just simple exhaustion. She was losing consciousness.
Shit. Shit.
He should have kept her talking; he shouldn't have let her close her eyes-
Focus. Think. Help her. Regret it later.
He'd hoped they could drag this out longer, but he had no choice now. He let go of her makeshift bandage and hoped it stayed in place as he moved to her head. He bit his wrist open again and cradled her head, tipping it forward so the blood would flow to her stomach, not her lungs. He tried to push down the panic at how loose her neck was, how she'd slumped into complete deadweight.
The soulmate bond swept him up, but there was no comfort this time. Even here she was limp, unresponsive. All those bright places in her mind seemed dim, even the thorny patches pale and wilting. She was fading.
Safe in their minds, not having to worry about jostling her physical body, he shook her hard. Rashel!
Her eyes flickered. He felt a small surge of life as she struggled to focus.
John?
I'm here. Try to stay awake, OK?
Mmn-
It wasn't a word, barely a noise. She was too weak to even drag a coherent thought together.
Rashel? Rashel, please...
It was no use. She was drifting out of reach – not physically, but... she was fading, somehow. She wasn't as here as she had been. She was getting hard to see, no matter how hard he focused. The landscape of her mind was dimming, becoming bland, desolate.
The other soulmates often spoke about a silver cord, connecting them. Something they could often see in the soulmate link.
Quinn had never seen it. Had felt the connection with Rashel, certainly, and when they were apart and communicating via telepathy, he could feel the link stretched to a thin cord. But when they were in each other's minds? No.
He saw it now. As Rashel faded, he saw it – barely the width of a hair, but still taut. Still connecting.
He grabbed it, pulled hard as if he could drag her back by sheer force of will. Rashel!
Her mind fluttered.
He gave another yank, using both hands this time. Then he was just pulling, hand-over-hand, like a line of rigging. I'm not letting you go. Not now. And I know you don't give up, so pull your own damn weight and help me.
He wasn't soft. He wasn't romantic. He wasn't one for flowery declarations of love until death and beyond. He was a simple man with a complicated, harsh life, and recently he'd become very good at giving orders.
And above all, he and Rashel were equal. He could only pull her so far – she had to be the one to choose to fight, to keep going. To take the life line he was throwing her. For all his brave words, every nerve was alight with panic. What if she didn't? What if she couldn't? What if-
He reached forward to grab again – and the cord wasn't there.
Instead there was skin, warm and rough. Strong fingers wrapped around his hand, calluses bumping over the taut ligaments in his hand.
He saw bright green eyes – fierce, determined, alive –
And a wave of pain washed him out of the link.
Quinn caught himself sagging towards the ground, blinked hard. His vision was clouded with black dots. Rashel's head was cradled against his knees, his wrist still to her mouth.
He pulled away, reeling, gasping through the cramps of oxygen starved muscles. He couldn't get enough air.
How long has it been?
Nearly half an hour since the last check, once he'd found a spot of clear vision to look through. He'd been giving her blood for nearly twenty minutes.
Rashel wasn't fully conscious, but she was breathing easily, her heartbeat steady and strong. Her colour, while no pinker, was better – clearer. She didn't look ill anymore. He couldn't feel as much pain coming from her as before. She was right on the verge of turning.
And it was all he could do not to sink his teeth into her. They were fully extended, throbbing, his whole jaw aching – and his control was almost gone.
He did the only thing he could think of. He staggered to his feet, nearly collapsing as his legs partially locked up in protest. He half-shuffled, half-fell towards the cave entrance.
He slumped in the mouth of the cave, shaking and gasping and burning. Everything, every muscle, felt like boiling lead had been poured into it.
Just a mouthful, just a little. Then it'll be fine, then you can wait-
He knew this voice for the predator, the tempter, the glutton. If he bit Rashel now, he'd bleed her dry.
Instead he lifted his coated, sticky hands to his mouth and swiped every drop of blood off them he could.
Rashel was right. Like licking up a puddle, it just made the craving worse. He had a taste – and there was so much more behind him.
No, no.
He didn't even dare go back for the shirt – not even because it may still be helping her. He knew that if he allowed himself closer, he wouldn't be able to control himself.
He huddled in the cave entrance, eyes narrowed against the rain, watching for any movement. Anything that might indicate an animal or an enemy patrol – anything that could give him some relief.
He just hoped Rashel would stay stabilised until the ambulance arrived, because he didn't trust himself near her until they got here and could look after her.
And if she doesn't? If she crashes again?
He didn't know. He couldn't think beyond when the ambulance gets here. That, now, was his goal – hang on until they arrive.
He turned his wrist to see his watch, and his arm cramped all the way up to his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, Quinn rode the pain out, checking the time.
Only five minutes since he had left her side. Still an hour... an hour and...
Quinn swore, resisting the urge to rip at himself in sheer frustration even as twenty five minutes slowly emerged in the fog of his mind. He couldn't think, he couldn't move, he could do anything. He couldn't help her for fear of killing her, and he couldn't leave her in case she went downhill without him there to help.
He tried drawing in deeper breaths, anything to help, but he was already panting. There was no relief there. There just weren't enough human red blood cells in his system to keep him going anymore.
That was the downside to vampire resiliency. It took a long time for them to suffocate.
Long enough for the ambulance to get here, please. Please. He didn't even know if he was praying or trying to cajole his body into cooperating.
The spots burst and spread in his vision. Even if something had run across his path – a mouse, a rat, anything – he wouldn't see it. Giving up on sight, Quinn closed his eyes, slumping against the cave wall. He didn't know if he could even pounce, should he be able to pinpoint something by hearing alone. His muscles were completely cramped, limbs locked up, and there were no stretches he could do to provide relief.
He didn't know how long passed before he gave up. All he knew was that after a while sound became all but meaningless to him. The battering rain, the roar of the wind – it all just faded into the background. It was something to drift away on. He could feel himself blacking out, slipping into unconsciousness by degrees.
He just hoped they found Rashel and she made it through. He didn't think he'd last.
He was right on the verge of losing himself when something broke the white noise he'd surrounded himself with.
Static. Radio static. And a voice – a familiar one, but there wasn't enough energy left in him to figure out who. It took long enough to figure out what the voice was saying.
'Quinn? Come in, Quinn.'
He couldn't move. Couldn't even open his eyes. He had seconds.
He shouted. Not vocally, but mentally. No words, nothing, just the loudest, widest-range yell he could muster. Anyone telepathic in the area should hear it – he just hoped it was enough to locate them.
Quinn? Quinn!
He fell into nothing.
Rumbling. Bright lights. Swaying.
Urgent voices. Beeping. Bright lights blurring as his head fell to the side. Rashel lying beside him, someone kneeling over her, hands clasped over her chest, arms pumping.
Rattling. Light – pale, diffuse compared to the strip bulbs above him. Pre-dawn light. Rashel vanishing, her gurney wheeling away, the medic still kneeling over her. Then a strong, lithe arm under his, heaving him up.
'Come on, up you get. Nearly there.' The familiar voice. He couldn't control his body, couldn't turn to identify them. They pulled him to the ambulance ramp, and hands reached towards him from the base of it. More hands, more support. His legs gave way, and the ground bounced up as hands tightened.
