Diminutive and frail, she remained on her knees next to the sofa. As he watched her tremble, something in his chest caught, as if he had been pinched on the inside. What the hell?
“Are you okay?” he asked reflexively, kicking himself internally for being so weak.
She didn’t look up. “No. I’m hypoglycemic. I’m going to faint.”
“What does that mean?”
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “My blood sugar is too low. I need sugar.”
He stood. “Where is your kitchen?” She didn’t even look up. “Hey. Look at me.” His voice was softer than he had intended.
She looked up, her eyes full of tears. Oh shit. Women’s tears undid him.
“How can I help you?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I’m not here to torture you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “No, you’re just here to kill me.”
She was right, and for some reason, it made him feel like shit. For the first time in his centuries of life, doing the right thing didn’t seem like the right thing to do.
Just moments earlier, she had been full of fire, and now she was an empty shell. He needed to get her to eat, but couldn’t go unless she came with him because of the cord.
“Can you stand?” he asked.
She didn’t react, but stared listlessly at the floor, still shaking.
He pulled her up by the shoulders. Eyes glazed, she teetered slightly. He scooped her up into his arms before she collapsed. He didn’t know anything about her condition, but she said that food would help. She had told the detectives that she had gone to the convenience store because her blood sugar had been low. That was hours ago.
He strode toward a door to the right of a boxy, old-fashioned television. “Can you die from this?”
Her eyes were closed. “Why do you care?”
He wished he knew. He pushed the door open with his foot. Bingo. It was the kitchen. Still cradling her in his arms, he opened the tiny refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice, trying to avoid whacking her head on anything in the process. When he set her on the Formica countertop, she was able to keep herself upright, so he headed for the cabinet next to the refrigerator, which seemed like the right spot for a glass. The cord on his wrist jerked, and he spun around just in time to catch her before he yanked her off the counter. He had forgotten he had bound her soul.
Growling a stream of profanity, he righted her and grabbed the juice carton. As he opened it, she leaned against his shoulder and sighed, which caused that uncomfortable pinching sensation in his chest again. He needed to get the juice in her before she passed out. He held the carton to her lips. “Come on, drink this. It will make you feel better.”
“Screw you.” Her voice was slurred and weak. Clamping her lips tight, she shook her head.
He growled in his throat and grabbed her lower jaw, pulling down to pry her mouth open. She shook her head again and jerked her jaw from his fingers. “You just want me strong so it’s more fun to kill me.”
“Slayers do not kill for fun.” It was his job. His duty to keep the Underveil controlled and contained. She believed him some kind of monster, and for some reason, that bugged the shit out of him. He shook his head. What should he care what a vampire thought of him? “Listen to me, Elena Arcos, you will—”
Ding-dong.
“Are you expecting someone?” he asked.
“No.” From the startled look on her face, he knew she was telling the truth.
Ding-dong.
She appeared to be holding her breath.
“Elena?” A woman’s voice called from far away. “You okay, darlin’?”
“Who is that?” he asked.
“My aunt Uza.”
“Is she human?”
Her eyes narrowed. “God, I’m sick of this batshit crazy human/nonhuman business. Of course she is.”
“Elena, honey, I know you’re in there,” the voice called from the outside of the house.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her from the counter to her feet. “Get rid of her.” Practically carrying her, he guided her to the door. “Fuck it up, and I’ll kill her too.”
“What a charmer.” She leaned against the front door. “I’m fine, Uza. Going to bed. See you tomorrow, okay?”
There was a considerable pause, then a chuckle. “Hottie-totty didn’t waste any time then, huh?”
Elena’s startled gaze swung to his.
“And drink the juice, honey. You’re gonna need it,” she called. “Have fun!”
Have fun?