Chapter 47

*reposted after Wattpad screwed up

*make sure you read the one before this.  I updated twice*

I hate drama and sap, but every good vampire story needs drama and sap.  ;)

I'm counting this as the last chapter.  There's one more after this, kind of an epilouge that will tidy things up, but I'm posting it at a later date.  I'm just too tired at the moment.

Thanks guys for all of your support.  Now it's time for Nikki to go crash.

Feed me with comments and votes?  Hmmm?

-Nikki

Chapter 47

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Miriam didn’t remember screaming.  Her mouth was open—but nothing came out.  Nothing but endless, tortured silence as Eliot fell.

He stumbled forward, face clenched in pain, but he didn't make it far.  The light went out of those amber eyes even before he hit the floor…

His last act was to reach out, pushing her back out of Alazzdria’s reach.

She stumbled back into a rickety table laden with junk as Eliot crouched onto the floor with a thud.  Desperate his fingers had reached up, encircling the staff of carved wood sticking from his chest.

But he was too late.

Miriam didn’t know how long she stood there.  How long it took for the horror of it all to sink in—but she couldn’t see.

Tears streamed down, blurring her vision.  Smearing everything into madness.

She couldn't see.

“…Heal him,” she heard someone insist, though their voice seemed to reach her as if from miles away.  “You can heal him!”

Her head lolled back and forth, as someone shook her, ice cold hands on her shoulders.

“You can heal him,” Alazzdria insisted, voice impatient.  “I know you can—you’re the one.”

But Eliot was already dead.

Miriam couldn’t even bear to look at him, face pale and ashen.

“I can’t,” she heard herself croak.  Weightless, she slumped to the floor, utterly broken.  “I can’t…”

Alazzdria’s eyes were molten.  Burning silver.  “You can,” she hissed.  “You must.  You just—”

Her head cocked, gray eyes wide.  The next moment the door flew open, revealing the hulking shape of Sage with Hazel at his shoulder.

“Eliot!”

Those black eyes widened, taking in Eliot’s body.  Then, they narrowed into black slits.  "What the—"

The next moment Alazzdria was darting past him.  She was quick.  Like lighting she easily skirted his grasp and bolted for the shadows.

With a growl, Sage took after her, but it was already too late.

Too late…

Like a ghost, Miriam forced herself to crawl to him.  She couldn’t look—she tried to turn her face away, but in the end she had to.

He looked like a statue made of stone.  Those red eyes stared up at nothing.  Empty.  His skin had lost that ivory hue.

Already that beautiful face had turned a sickly shade of blue.

Mummified, Sidney had said.

“Eliot…”  Her voice was just a croak, fingers running helplessly over the cold length of his arm.  Up into that thick red hair, and down…

To brush the edges of the wooden stake still sticking from his chest.  Right where she knew his heart to be.  Without hesitation, she reached down to wrench it free, and tossed it across the room.

“He’s dead?”  She didn’t turn to the door to see Hazel standing there, staring with an expression of mild shock on her pretty face.

She just let her fingers run through that auburn hair, tuning everything else out.

“He can’t be dead…”  Hazel murmured—though, for all Miriam heard her she might as well have been underwater.  “He can’t be.”

But he was.  She held him, stiff and cold and empty…

No light in those amber eyes.

No.  The thought seemed to come from nowhere, but it gave her the strength to reach down, fingers lacing together over the gaping wound.

He couldn’t be dead.

This was Eliot.

Cold, mocking Eliot, who had healed her—in more ways than one.  Eliot, who had brought her back to life.

He had save her.

She had to save him…

Let it come, the voice ordered.  Just stop fighting.  Heal him.

You can do it…

Numb, her fingers fanned together, hovering just around the torn skin.

“I love you Eliot,” she whispered.   It was impossible—stupid.  She hadn’t known him for longer than a just few days.

How could that be enough to love?

But she did.  She knew in her heart that she did.

She loved him.  And even though every ounce of logic she had was telling that it was insane, she wanted to save him.  She wanted to heal him.

Just like he had her.

It was a while before she realized that the tears had stopped.  Her eyes were closed, but the moisture on her cheeks had dried and gone.

Her fingers were steady and sure as they lingered over his chest.

And she was warm.  As odd as it seemed, and a faint heat had started to prickle beneath her fingers.  Nothing painful, just…

Warm.  So warm, that her eyes flew open in shock.

The first thing she saw was Sage.  He was watching her, eyes wide.

“Holy shit,” he croaked.

Hazel was beside him, tugging helplessly on a black curl.  “Oh, Eliot!”

It was then, that Miriam felt the soft kiss of fingers tips trailing up the side of her cheek.  Cold and gentle as if she was made of glass.

“What happened?”

That voice…

It was impossible.  Hopeless.

But she glanced down anyway and deep into a pair of red eyes that stared back.  Eyes full of amusement and some confusion too.

“What happened?”  Eliot repeated, fingers slipping beneath her chin.  “You were crying…”

“She did it.”  The murmur came from Sage, who had stumbled back to lean against the wall with one hand braced on his sister’s shoulder for balance.  Hazel herself was fanning him with a pale hand.

“She’s really one of those seven things...  The witch was right."

“Alazzdria.”  Eliot’s gaze narrowed.  He glanced over, where the bloody stake still lay on the floor nearby.  “Where is she?”  He tried to sit up, but Miriam pushed him back down, hands on his shoulders.

“She’s gone,” Sage admitted.  “I went after her, but the bitch was too fast—”

“She’ll be back,” Hazel said darkly.  “Just like always.”

But at the moment, none of that mattered.

“You’re alive.”  It was the only thing Miriam managed to say before she leaned down, pressing her mouth against his.  Shock held him still—for about a minute—before he was kissing her back, lips soft against hers.

“I’m alive,” he murmured, when she pulled back, lips still pressed against his.

Some other time, Miriam figured could worry about prophecies, and being a vampire,  and whatever changes that meant.  Maybe then, she could try to unravel whatever mess Alazzdria had sparked.

Later.

Right now, as Eliot pulled her into his arms, she could forget it all.

This was all that mattered.