Taken by a Vampire (Vampire Queen) - By Joey W. Hill Page 0,206

fluttering against her rib cage. Veins traced their way over the bone and then muscle surrounded them, like clay settling around straw, forming something solid, enduring.

It was odd to watch oneself be created. Skin adhered to the muscle. In the hollowness of her torso, a mass of organs started to fill her. Heart, lungs, all those things a doctor knew about. Brian would know what they all were, she was sure, and then she wondered who Brian was.

Her toenails and fingernails, her hair, came last. It was brittle, but it would perhaps get stronger. Because Evan liked her hair so much. Niall was fond of wrapping his hands in it . . .

She cried out at the painful joy of it. The return of their names was the greatest gift she could imagine Heaven bestowing upon a wretched, lost soul. Evan, Niall. Evan Niall Evan Niall . . .

“We’re here, muirnín.”

Evan Niall Evan Niall Evan Niall . . .

“It will take her a while to be coherent. Perhaps never. There was significant trauma to her brain.”

“Bollocks. You said she’d die. She’d never wake up. She’d never speak. She’s doing all that.”

“I said it wasn’t likely. The odds have been against her throughout. She continues to defy them.”

“Of course she does.” A hand closed over hers, those artist’s fingers stroking her. “She’s a constant discipline problem.”

“Always mouthing off, telling everyone tae truth about themselves. ’Tis damn irritating.”

She twitched, frowning, and those hands tightened on her. She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t. Something was missing. The emptiness . . . truly empty. There was no connection, no mind inside hers. Nothingness. It alarmed her, scared her in a way even the nightmares hadn’t.

“Gone. Marks . . . gone.” She was straining for something, but then she felt lips brush her face, her hands, and things eased.

“Wheest. It’s fine. We’ll fix it. But now ye have to rest, grow strong again.”

“You are the most perfect servant,” Evan said. His breath touched her still-numb face, but yet she felt it. “You’ll get better now, return to us. Niall has been a rabid bear. He stormed into Council chambers, demanding that Lady Lyssa—‘High Heid Yin of the whole bloody Council’—get off her ‘arse’ and help you. I’ve promised to have him severely flogged, but with you occupying my nights, I can’t get any work done. Marcus has sent me dire messages about the death of my career. I’ll have no money to feed Niall.”

The words were flowing water, gurgling beneath the surface, then coming clear again. She was a leaf spinning in the eddies, trying desperately to follow the current, to hold on to their voices.

“An artist who cannae do his art is like living with a fully stocked pincushion up your arse all day.” Niall was speaking now, his fingers tightening on her, helping her focus. Tears were running over her gaunt cheeks. Tears of joy. “I’d stake him, swear to God, except I’d follow him, aye? So I’m fucked unless ye come back.”

The gray was closing in again, but the touch of their hands wasn’t going away. She drew in a sigh, so very tired, but it was all right. She could sleep now. Somehow, they’d rescued her from Hell. How or why wasn’t important. They were her Masters, and she expected nothing less than miracles from them.

As she sank back into oblivion, but for the first time in weeks with a look of peace on her face, Niall’s and Evan’s gazes met over her body. When his usually stoic Scot reached across and gripped Evan’s wrist, hard, Evan put his other hand over Niall’s. They were both shaking.

“Fucking hell. She made it through. The lass did it.”

Evan wanted to agree, but he couldn’t trust it yet. Over the past several weeks, he’d endured every dismal daily report on her condition. Brian had frowned, scrubbed his hair to spikes in frustration, retooled his treatment formula. The next day, he’d prepare the same report. No obvious progress on removing the marks.

She’d just said they were gone, but they had no idea how clear she was in her own head. It would need to be verified. Stephen might have figured out a way to make her believe they were gone so they’d kill him and he’d get the last victory. He’d figured out the only reason he was being kept alive was to preserve a servant’s life, an ignominy that was small vengeance compared to the agony he’d inflicted on her.

In sync, both