Ecstasy in Darkness

“Turn me,” she said to McKell—as she had the thousand other times since he’d said those damning words. You’re the one infected.



“We don’t know what happened to Johnny,” he replied. Again. And just like before, he banged on the glass panel in their cell. “Tell us about Johnny, damn it!” But he’d warned the agents away, so no one responded.



She’d never seen McKell so panicked. And that he was for her, well, if she’d still harbored any doubts about his feelings for her, she no longer did. He wanted to change her, not because he viewed vampires as superior, but because he loved her and feared losing her.



A sudden pain tore through her chest, and she groaned.



McKell rushed back to her side, cupping her jaw and forcing her to look up at him. Black dots were winking in front of her, weaving together, forming a solid wall.



“Ava.”



“Turn me. You’re the one who insisted.”



“I know. But … I’m so afraid. I would rather you infect a thousand others and live than risk poisoning you with my blood.”



“You won’t kill—”



“You don’t know that. Not for sure. We have no idea how Johnny responded after the initial exposure, and I think we both remember the way he screamed.”



Yeah. Johnny’s pain-filled scream still haunted her. “I love you, and I’m willing to risk anything to be with you,” she said, and she meant it. Maybe it had taken nearly losing him to realize the truth, but she did. She loved him.



“No. Besides everything else, you’re not ready. You said so yourself before we got here.” His grip tightened on her. “There has to be another way to save you. There just has to.”



A terrible thought hit her. What if she’d exposed him to the disease? They’d kissed, and he’d drunk from her. “Oh, God, McKell. What if you’re sick?”



His hard expression didn’t change. “I’ve been watching for a symptom. Nothing so far.”



She’d lied to him, she realized. She wouldn’t risk “anything.” She wouldn’t risk him. She would rather die. And she just might. Because there was no way in hell she would sleep with anyone else. Even to save herself.



Tears burned her eyes, eyes that now felt like they’d been rubbed raw with sandpaper. Another symptom for her? What did it matter? she thought next, nearing hysteria. Finally she’d committed to someone, and she was going to lose him.



“Ava, damn it!” McKell punched the cot, right beside her temple, and she bounced up at the force he used. “I love you more than I love myself. Do you hear me? I wasn’t exaggerating earlier. I love you so damn much, I hurt. There has to be a way to fix this. To save you and keep you human.”



Another pain tore through her, and she squeezed her lids shut. That didn’t help, even a little. Only managed to hurt her more. To hold her cries inside, she bit her lip until she tasted blood. Rotten blood. She gagged, and McKell patted her back, leaning closer to her. Gradually she became aware of a gnawing, gut-wrenching hunger … of McKell’s divine scent …



A taste, one taste, she thought. Of his skin, his blood, his organs. That would ease the pain. Surely.



“Ava?”



Her eyes widened when she realized the direction of her thoughts. Oh, God. She wanted to eat him.



Gasping in horror, she flattened her palms on his chest and pushed him. “Go! Please! Go!” The tears rained in streaks of acid, scalding her checks. “You have to go.”



“I’m not leaving you.”



“Go to the queen. Kill her. Because if you stay here, I’ll try and kill you. And I would hate myself, McKell. Please.” The last left her on a choking sob.



If he replied, she would never know. The voice … consuming her, becoming all that she knew.



You stupid bitch! You weren’t supposed to become infected. Now I can’t use your body.



Ava found herself wanting to apologize. She loved that voice. It was the calm in the storm, her anchor. She frowned. No, McKell was her anchor. She hated that voice and she—was edging toward McKell, teeth sharpening, she realized. Gasping again, she reared back.



“I’ll fix this, sweetheart,” McKell said flatly. “I’ll fix this, I swear. I have no life without you.”



Thirty



McKell kept an eye on Ave as he paced through their cell. She hadn’t leapt at him and attacked, but she was poised to do so at any moment. He could have busted out and probably should have. He’d drunk from her, he was strong enough, wasn’t sickening, but he couldn’t force himself to leave her.



Soon she would die.



No! Ava loved him. She’d offered everything he’d ever wanted. The love, of course, plus acceptance, challenge, and understanding. And then, a heartbeat later, that had all been taken away. She truly was dying, slowly wasting away. Soon she would kill. There was hunger in her eyes. Hunger for human flesh. He would give all that he was, even that, to save her.



Sexual intercourse and the exchange of blood, and possibly saliva, were the only ways to pass the disease. He could now be infected himself, as she’d guessed, but he honestly didn’t think he was. Hours had passed, a wretched infinity, but he was fine. Still strong. Like Bride’s, his blood must hold the cure. Except, the disease always adapted quickly. Because he’d been exposed, because he was well, he could drain himself into Ava and still not save her.



He could actually do more harm than good. Johnny’s scream …



There was only one thing left for McKell to do. He had to reverse time, and he had to do it now. Whatever was necessary, he had to stop Ava from becoming infected. That was the only way.



If he did manage to reverse time, though, she would no longer love him. She wouldn’t see him stabbed, wouldn’t realize her heart belonged to him, and might try to kick him out of her life. If he didn’t, she would die. So really, there was no contest. He simply had to reverse time.



Stopping time was easy. He simply thought, Halt, and it obeyed. Stopping the people around him, so that they didn’t realize time was passing, was easy, too. He simply thought, Freeze, and they obeyed. Making time whizz by faster, he could do that, too. But for the last hour, he’d been thinking, Reverse and Rewind and Backward, yet nothing had happened. He was running out of words to say, things to try.



You can do this. “Time bends to my will,” he gritted out. As Ava would say, “Time is my bitch.” Nothing. No reaction.



Ava watched him, licked her lips.



Concentrate. He had to try something else. He thought back to when he was a young child. Way, way back. He’d had no control of his gift, freezing time and people when he’d had no desire to do so, unable to freeze them when he did want to, but his parents hadn’t seemed concerned.



Let your worries fade, his mother had said in her gentle voice. She’d had long black hair and vivid violet eyes, her face so perfect it could have been sculpted by an angel. They merely block your passion for this task.



Besides his few conversations with Ava, McKell hadn’t thought of his mother in so long, his chest ached. How he wished she could have met Ava. Granted, she would have been horrified at first, because there’d been no one more timid than Carina, and no one more determined to ensure propriety was adhered to in the home, but with time, the two would have fallen in love.



He pictured his father, standing behind his mother, hands resting on the woman’s delicate shoulders. Now there was a man who hadn’t cared about propriety in any way. He’d loved his woman, though, and had striven to make her happy, despite the whisper about her infidelity.



Who is stronger? his father had asked. The complete opposite of his wife, Dante had looked as rough-and-tumble as a man could. Scars all over his face and arms, lips always thinned as if stuck in a perpetual scowl. You or time?



Me, he’d thought then. Me, he thought now. He squared his shoulders, closed his eyes. He blanked his mind. I’m in control. Time bends to my will.



Over and over he repeated the claim. About the hundredth time, he stared to believe. Yes, he could do this. He was strong. Stronger. He managed to release his worry, his cares, and pictured the threads of time as he’d had to do as a child. Those threads were woven together, a road leading forward, backward, side to side. Millions of tiny little lights traveled that road, all heading in the same direction. Only a few veered off course and moved along the curving side paths.



“McKell,” Ava said.



For her own good, he ignored her. I’m in control. Time bends to my will. As a child, he’d needed to touch the threads. To trail his fingertips in the direction he wanted to go. He reached out.



“McKell!” Such a hungry, hungry growl. She would jump him. Any moment now, and she would jump him.



McKell latched on to the threads, experienced a jolt of electricity, almost dropped them but managed to stop time as a warm current of breath wafted over his neck. Shit. He hadn’t heard Ava move, but she had closed the distance between them. Had almost bitten into him.



Concentrate. All the lights stopped winking, just sort of waiting for his next move. I can do this. He tugged, as hard as he could, his shoulders nearly pulling from their sockets. Nothing. The threads remained in place. Just like the other times he’d tried this. He didn’t give up, didn’t lose confidence.



He tugged again and again, his palms stinging, his entire body still vibrating with the electricity. When he stilled, he barely had any energy left. Damn it! There had to be a way to move these threads.



Okay. So. He took stock. Tugging obviously wouldn’t work, but he couldn’t let go because time would kick back up the moment he did, and Ava would start munching on him.



Ava. His precious Ava. He would return her to the way she’d been, so pink and fresh and vital … An image of her consumed his mind—and as easily as if he’d been pulling a feather on a string, the lights moved backward.



At first, he could only stand there, disbelieving and incoherent. How had … what had … But even those thoughts tapered off when he realized he was peering over at himself. He and Ava were still inside the cell, but she was on his lap, and they were talking and hugging.



Had he done it? Had he truly reversed time?



Emboldened, he tugged the threads again. They remained in place. What the hell? He nearly shouted in frustration. What had changed? What had he done differently? He thought back. He’d decided tugging didn’t work, and had then visualized Ava.



He pictured her again. Cheeks pink, skin fresh, body vital. The threads glided backward another inch, and he watched himself lift Ava off his lap and place her on the cot. Watched himself stride away from her—backward.



Relief and joy both flooded him, consuming him, overshadowing the painful jolts still working through him. Yes. Yes! He truly had done it.



He knew now he couldn’t manipulate time with force. Not when going in reverse. He had to manipulate time with pictures. Pictures of … who he wanted to see, when he wanted to see them?



He pictured Ava as she’d been in the van, and once more the threads glided back until he was viewing exactly what he’d imagined. He began sweating, shaking, the threads fighting for release, burning his palms. Come on. Just a little further. He pictured Ava on the street, walking beside him, at the same time tugging those threads so forcefully his bones rattled.



Seconds later, he saw himself, Ava, and the street. At that point in their lives, they hadn’t yet come into contact with the Schön queen and her men. Here, Ava was healthy, whole. This was it, then, the time frame he needed.



He almost let go. Almost. What would happen next? Would the man he was now disappear, along with his memories? No, he thought with determination. No. That couldn’t—wouldn’t—happen. He always remembered when he manipulated time in the other direction. Why not this way, too?



Only way one to find out …



Remember, remember, please remember. Deep breath in, hold … hold, release. He opened his fingers as the breath expelled from him. The threads jumped as far away from him as they could, bouncing together as they realigned.



The electricity abandoned him in a rush, leaving McKell burning, scalding, blistering like he did when he ventured into the daylight, and just when he was about to roar from the pain, he blinked, the pain faded, and he realized he was standing alongside Ava, not just watching but actually walking down that sidewalk with her.



“Wait,” Ava suddenly said, and he knew—knew—what was about to happen.



He had remembered.



He wanted to whoop as she stopped and withdrew her cell phone. Wanted to hug her as she frowned. Somehow he managed to stay where he was,



“Just got a text from Dallas. The Schön queen plans to target a couple. She’ll threaten one so the other will do whatever she wants. He says she can read minds, so we aren’t to think about what we would do to her if that happens.”



“He’s right,” McKell said, heart slamming against his ribs. This was it. He couldn’t mess this up. Had to keep Ava safe.



Her frown deepened. “How do you know?” Clearly, she didn’t remember.



Still. The question pleased him. Already he was changing the future. “Just do. Come on.”



She pocketed her phone, and he pulled her into motion. Faster, faster, his determination to save her so intense his shaking renewed. He led her away from her apartment building and to a nice coffee shop. Inside, he forced her into a chair and motioned distractedly for Noelle and the trainees, who had followed them, to find their own.



“Buy her the biggest butterscotch latte they have,” he commanded Noelle. “And do not let her leave. Do you understand? Her life is at stake.”



Confusion fell like a curtain over Noelle’s features. “O-kay. How, may I ask, is her life at stake if she doesn’t get a latte?”