Jake stared into her eyes for a moment and then gave the slightest nod and released her to drop back on the couch, murmuring, “Marguerite will know what to do.”
Nicole frowned slightly, but turned away and moved to grab the phone off the end table, only to set it back as she realized she didn’t know Marguerite’s number. It was in her cell phone contact list though, she recalled and moved quickly around the couch and end table to the door to the hall leading to the office and studio. “I’ll be right back, I have to get my cell phone.”
Jake closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing. He knew Nicole was in a panic, but so was he. He didn’t understand what was happening. He’d gone out to the hot tub in the hopes of ridding himself of the headache, and it had seemed to work. The pain had begun to ease almost before he’d got into the hot tub, the cold air seeming to ease his tension and clear his thinking. The pain had been completely gone within moments of stepping into the hot tub, only to be replaced by nausea instead. That had caught him completely by surprise. He hadn’t felt nausea in seven years. It was a most unpleasant sensation . . . and it had built so quickly. Within moments of getting in the hot tub, Jake had been leaning over the side, retching and throwing up blood, his body weak and shaking. Honestly, if Nicole hadn’t come out, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to get out of the hot tub on his own.
Jake didn’t understand what was happening. He was an immortal. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be able to get sick, yet he seemed to have the immortal version of the fricking flu. Vampire flu. Great. And a serious case of it. He was hot, feverish, weak, and throwing up blood . . . and his head was pounding like crazy again.
He was also crazy thirsty . . . and not for water. Jake supposed it was all the blood he’d thrown up, on top of already being low. He really should have taken care of the blood and fridge thing right away. That had been driven home when Nicole had helped him inside and bent over him on the couch. It wasn’t her sweet, spicy perfume he’d smelled, but her blood, and he’d been hard-pressed not to bite into her neck. Truthfully, if he’d had more strength and hadn’t felt so nauseous, Jake might not have been able to keep from chomping into the woman’s throat and sucking her dry, life mate or no life mate.
Another wave of nausea rolled over him and Jake reared up desperately from the couch. He knew he wouldn’t make it to the bathroom only ten feet away, but he had to try. He managed to get half upright before collapsing to his hands and knees on the floor. His back bowed as his stomach heaved and he stared at the cream-colored carpet with horror, and then a large red and black bowl was suddenly on the floor under his face. He caught a glimpse of Nicole’s hand before she released the bowl, and glanced to her as she straightened and moved away.
She was punching buttons on her cell phone he saw. Jake didn’t bother to try to listen, but turned his attention back to the bowl, recognizing it as the one that sat on the coffee table. It had held large frosted glass balls when he’d seen it earlier. They were gone now, which was a good thing, he decided, as blood poured out of his mouth and splashed into the bowl.
Halfway through this bout of heaving, Jake heard Nicole talking in quick anxious tones. He tried to stop and listen, but it was impossible. The blood was coming out whether he liked it or not. He had just given up the effort when he heard her say Marguerite’s name. Jake felt a moment’s relief knowing the woman would know what to say to keep Nicole from calling an ambulance. She would also know what to do in this situation . . . he hoped, and then gave up worrying about it as he began to heave again.
Chapter Eight
Nicole paced around the couch one more time and leaned to check the cold cloth she’d placed on Jake’s forehead. Once she felt that it was still cool to the touch, she quickly backed away and paced around the couch again, eyeing her patient from a relatively safe distance. Marguerite was the one who had suggested that. She hadn’t explained why she should keep her distance. Nicole was guessing the woman was worried that Jake was contagious. But if he had something contagious, then why were they both insisting she not take him to the hospital?
Nicole fretted over that for about the hundredth time since calling Marguerite, which was—half an hour ago, she saw, glancing at her wristwatch as she paced around the couch again. Marguerite had said help was on the way. Nicole presumed that meant a doctor or something, but how long was this help going to take? For cripes sake, Jake seemed to be dying on her here. He’d finally stopped throwing up blood about ten minutes ago, but not before tossing up a hell of a lot of it. She’d emptied the bowl four times, and that wasn’t counting what he’d lost outside. It was a big bowl. How much blood did a body hold? And how much did he have left inside him?
Her worried gaze slid over Jake again. He’d lain moaning and writhing after his last bout with the bowl. It had looked like he was in agony. She’d thought that was scary . . . until he’d stopped moving and gone silent about five minutes ago. This was scarier. If his chest weren’t moving up and down—
Nicole stopped pacing and peered at Jake worriedly. His chest didn’t seem to be moving anymore. He’d been breathless when he’d first gone still, as if his thrashing and writhing had worn him out. While he’d lain still, his chest had been heaving with his effort to catch his breath. Now it didn’t seem to be moving at all. She took an instinctive step toward him and then paused, Marguerite’s words running through her mind.
No matter what happens, keep your distance. He will not die. He will be fine, but you need to stay away from him. You are the one who could be in danger, Nicole. Don’t get too close, and if he becomes active again and gets up and comes at you, you have to lock yourself in the bathroom or even leave the house. He could be a danger to you right now.
“Jake?” she said, shifting where she stood. “Jake, wake up.”
He didn’t react at all.
Biting her lip, Nicole took a step toward him and said a little more loudly, “Jake! Wake up!
There was still no reaction and she took another step closer, and then stepped back again, Marguerite’s words making her afraid. But she couldn’t just stand there. Marguerite had assured her he would be all right, but what if she was wrong? What if he needed CPR? She couldn’t stand it, she had to see if he was breathing, but she tried to be careful about it. The couch was three feet from the wall, leaving a walkway to the sliding glass doors. Nicole walked around into that space and leaned over the back of the couch so that it was a bit of a barrier as she gave his shoulder a shake.
“Jake, are you—”
He grabbed her so swiftly Nicole nearly bit her tongue with surprise. One moment Jake was as still as the dead and the next he’d snatched her arm and was trying to draw her wrist toward his mouth. She didn’t understand what was happening at first. She had no idea why he’d grabbed her, and then she saw his mouth opening and realized he was going to bite her.
Nicole immediately began to jerk her arm back. Weak as Jake was, she nearly broke free, and would have had she not glanced back to his mouth and spotted the fangs sliding down into view.
Fangs. Literally. Like a dog . . . or a vampire. Nicole didn’t just freeze like a deer in headlights, she went momentarily weak. Jake gave a sharp tug at the same moment and she went over the side of the couch. The action snapped her out of her shock and she was struggling again even before she landed on top of his blanket-covered form.
Screaming now, Nicole thrashed and kicked with her legs, pushed with her free arm and pulled on the one he was trying to get to his mouth, trying to break loose. She threw herself back and to the side, rolling off of him and onto the floor, hoping to break his hold on her, but he just followed, crashing down on top of her on the floor, her arm still gripped firmly in his hold. Now she was in a really bad situation. His weight was pinning her and preventing her from offering any real resistance. Nicole couldn’t retreat, all she could do was try to hold him off, pushing at his chest with her free hand and tugging at the arm he held, all the while screaming at the top of her lungs.
Nicole was so caught up in the struggle that she didn’t at first realize that Jake was being pulled away from her and that other voices had joined hers in shouting. But while she was just screaming in terror, these were calmer voices, barking Jake’s name as if they thought they could get through the madness presently clouding his mind and snap him back to his senses. Jake was fully off of her now, but he was still holding her and she was being pulled upward, but then someone reached around and pulled his fingers and thumb apart, freeing her, and Nicole fell back. She immediately scrambled backward several feet on her butt on the carpet, stopping when she bumped into something. Tipping her head back, she peered up at the woman behind her.
“Who—?”
“It’s all right, Nicole. My name is Nina and we’re here to help.” The words poured over her as warm and soothing as heated honey down a sore throat and Nicole felt herself immediately relax.
“Oh,” she murmured and then was suddenly caught under the arms by the woman and lifted to her feet.
“Why don’t we go make some tea?” Nina suggested, slipping an arm around her waist to steer her across the room.
“Oh, but Jake . . .” Nicole’s voice trailed off as she glanced around to see two men now kneeling on either side of Jake, holding him down on the cream carpet while a third man set up an IV of blood beside him.
“He’ll be fine,” Nina assured her, ushering her toward the stairs. “I’m more concerned with you. Is any of this blood yours?”