Vampires Realm Prophecy 01 - Child of Light

able to use his arm again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his fingers tense against his knee, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. She knew she was hurting him, but it had to be done. She just wished he knew how sorry she was.
    She mentally berated herself for what she’d done and then made a silent promise to herself that she’d never hesitate again, especially if Valentine was in danger.
    When she’d pulled the werewolf off him, she’d struggled to find the strength to kill it until she’d seen how hurt he was. In that moment, she’d felt power surge through her, making her feel invincible as she snapped the werewolf’s neck. She hadn’t felt like that before and she didn’t know where the strength had come from. It had felt strange and had left her fingers tingling and numb.
    A split second before she’d felt the strength rise up in her, she’d thought about what would have happened if she had hesitated still. Valentine would have been lost to her. The werewolf would have killed him. That thought alone had given her the power to kill it.
    Without him, she’d be alone in the world. No one else was on her side. Mathias wouldn’t work with her without Valentine there to make sure that he did. She knew that in her heart. He was only helping because Valentine had asked him to.
    Moving around to clean the cuts on his chest, she briefly glanced at his face. He was watching her hands as she worked, his brows knit and his lips compressed. She could see the muscle in his jaw tensing whenever she hurt him. He was doing an admirable job of hiding how much he was hurting and steeling himself against the pain. She returned her attention to her work, going to soak another piece of cotton wool in the water and then realising that it was as red as blood.
    She carried it into the bathroom and emptied it into the sink. She rinsed the bowl out and refilled it, staring into the mirror as it reflected nothing but an empty room back at her.
    Sometimes she wondered what she looked like and sometimes she wondered how others saw her.
    Valentine had called her a child more than once, but had also said she wasn’t a child. Other than Serenity, he was the first person to treat her like the adult she was. Her mother treated her as a child, her family treated her like a princess whom they wouldn’t speak to, and her brother treated her like a prize to be won or taken.
    She looked down to see the water running over the edge of the bowl and sighed. Shutting the tap off, she emptied some of the water out and carried it back into the bedroom. She glanced at Valentine while she soaked some fresh cotton wool, her eyes straying to the patch of his chest and stomach she could see. His muscles were tensed, clearly defined beneath his pale skin, and she could see the scar over his heart.
    She wasn’t a child.
    He knew it.
    He’d said it with so much fire in his eyes that she’d seen his desire for her through the drunken haze in her head.
    She applied the cotton wool to the deep gash that ran upwards towards his shoulder. He’d confused her that night. After the way he’d acted in Oxford, she hadn’t known what to make of his reaction to her, and then tonight he’d been so concerned about her that she didn’t know what to make of her own feelings. To wake to find him sitting near her, his sleep-filled eyes showing her that he had watched over her all day, had stirred something inside her and the way he’d touched her cheek tonight had made heat sweep through her veins.
    For one infinitesimal moment, she’d felt like one of the heroines from the movies she watched on the television in her room or the books she had Serenity bring to her. It had taken a lot to remind herself that it was forbidden, and was only made worse by the fact that he was an Aurorea.
    An Aurorea who had sentenced himself to death by helping her.
    An Aurorea who seemed to feel the same way she did.
    She stepped back and looked at the wound, avoiding looking at him.
    She had nothing to cover it with. It needed to be bound, not to help it heal, but to stop him from staining the sheets while he slept. She wondered if there were any places open where she could get bandages and things. A glance at the clock said it wouldn’t be likely. It was almost two in the morning.
    There was something else he was going to need too.
    Blood.
    She idly touched the marks on her neck. She had strong blood. She’d heard him say that before. Her blood was