Werewolf and Vampire Mate [Book 1 Complete]

chapter seven.

April

In the back of the SUV, there is a packed go-bag in case of emergencies.

This definitely qualifies as an emergency.

Inside, I find some clothes and a first aid kit. I wrap a bandage around North's injuries, stemming the blood flow as best I can. I get him into some clean clothes and help him limp across the Yale campus.

We try to avoid attention, but people stare at us as we go. Oh well. I'm not embarrassed; I don't care about petty things like my reputation on campus anymore. I don't care about standing out, I have no desire to make myself as quiet and unseen as possible, like I used to. It's hard to remember why that seemed to matter so much.

We limp up the stairs and finally arrive at the door I have been aiming for. I lift a hand and knock harshly. North sways beside me, like he's on the verge of collapse. Blood has soaked through the bandage and begun to wet the shirt he wears.

The door opens and Harper's surprised face greets us.

"What are you–" her question dies in her throat when she sees the blood. "Oh my...what happened? Are you ok?"

"We need to come inside, now," I tell her.

Her room is a little messy, but I've seen it worse. The second we're inside, North falls onto the bed and practically passes out.

Harper hurries over to his side, cupping his cheek. "What the hell happened, April?"

I bring my hands up to my face, trying to keep it together. "We were attacked."

"By who? Other werewolves?"

She doesn't know about vampires yet; I was hoping not to tell her, to protect her from it. "Listen, you need to keep him here, alright? Get him water, redress his wounds. I'll be back when I can–"

"Where on earth are you going?" She demands, standing from where she sat beside North. "I am sick of you keeping secrets from me! I want the truth, April!"

"And I will explain it to you," I sigh with defeat. "All of it, Harper. But right now, the man I love is in danger and I have to figure out a way to get him home. So stay here, look after North. He's going to try and come after me, but he won't be healed for a day, maybe longer. You need to keep him here, where he's safe. You're the only one that will be able to convince him."

Harper glances back at North's sleeping figure apprehensively.

"You were born for this, Harp," I tell her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "We both were."

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I put the SUV in park and turn off the ignition, staring up at the looming house in front of me.

This is my only choice, I tell myself as I trek up the long driveway. I have no one else to turn to.

Even to save him, I know Reed wouldn't want me to be standing here, on this front stoop, staring at this wooden door.

But I love him and I will do anything to save him. Even things he wouldn't want me to do.

I raise my hand and tentatively knock.

Faintly, I can hear the sound of voices and the steady beat of music. It switches off after a moment.

The door swings open and there Nik stands.

He is in an utter state of debauchery, his white dress shirt unbuttoned down to his sternum, lipstick staining the collar, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand.

He blinks, taking me in, like he can't quite comprehend that I'm standing in front of him.

Yeah, I can't quite believe it either.

The last time I saw him, I threw myself at him—literally—and then vowed to never speak to him again about five minutes later.

"April," he says my name slowly and I hate that it sends a shiver of something racing up my spine.

Behind him, in his spacious entertaining area, are two half-naked women and a shirtless man. All young, attractive. Model types, the kind you'd see at New York Fashion Week or strutting down the sidewalk in Paris.

I shift uncomfortably, swallowing down a tiny pang of jealousy. I've no right to be jealous and I know it.

Nik lifts the glass to his mouth and swallows down the rest of his drink in one gulp. I squirm beneath the intense scrutiny of his stare. I feel like he's reading me.

"Time to go," he calls over his shoulder to his small posse. They grumble and whine, but gather their clothes and slip past me, heading down the driveway, all tangled together and trying to stay upright, clearly intoxicated.

Nik rakes a hand through his mussed hair and motions for me to come inside, but I don't move. I refuse to.

"I'm glad you're here," he says quietly and my face pulls into a scowl.

"I'm not here for that," I snap, not really knowing what 'that' refers to. "I'm not here for you," I clarify.

He leans against the doorframe, cocking his head. "What are you here for, then?"

"I need your help," I say and my voice cracks. "The pack was attacked. Reed..." It all hits me at once; the despair and the panic and the fear.

Tears well and then cascade down my cheeks. I turn my head away, hiding behind my hands.

Warm arms encircle me and I fall against his hard chest, letting out a sob. I keep seeing that little girl's eyes as she died, Reed being led away with a rope around his neck.

Lips touch the crown of my head, a hand rubbing up and down my back soothingly.

"Is he dead?" Nik whispers and I jerk back.

"No!" I snap, my anger quickly replacing the devastation. I wipe furiously at my cheeks. "He isn't dead!"

Nik sighs irritably, like this faintly annoys him. "Then where is he, exactly?"

I sniffle, trying to compose myself. "I don't know," I admit quietly. "They took him."

"Who?"

"Vampires."

A crease between his eyebrows, Nik rubs a thoughtful thumb along his bottom lip. "Tell me more."

"There were so many of them. More than I could count. They came in from the forest and attacked at night. They killed half the pack, took the rest as prisoners," I explain. "And..."

"What?"

"They burned in the sun."

He inhales sharply. "Nightcrawlers."

I shake my head. "What does that mean?" But he turns away from me, striding deeper into his house. I have no choice but to follow. "Nik! What is it? Tell me, please."

He is unbuttoning his dirty, rumpled shirt, casting it aside. It flutters over a maroon chaise as he strides up the stairs. His legs are far longer than mine; I have to jog to keep up.

"Nikolai!" I bark and he comes to a stop on the landing, not far from his bedroom door. The muscles in his back flex as he turns to face me. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling behind him, haloing him in light and brandishing his hair golden.

He looks like an avenging angel, all taut, lean muscles and smooth skin.

"Nightcrawlers," I repeat, my throat dry. "What does that mean?"

His expression is solemn. "It means your worst nightmare has come, April."

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