Chapter 427: So Warm (Part One)
"Save her without killing anyone because you don’t want to hurt anyone else anymore... but you can do this... can’t you?"
Heila’s simple, pleading words fell on Ignatious with the weight of an avalanche, knocking aside his defenses and excuses until the only thing he could accept was the truth he’d been avoiding.
"I’ve hurt innocents before," he said, reaching out hesitantly with his charred, blackened hands. Each movement caused new cracks in his burned flesh to form and a small rain of ash fell to the white snow beneath him with each movement until he very gently brushed the surface of Heila’s hands. "How can you trust me now?"
"Because when you joined us, you came to me and asked if the Tuscans would be willing to provide your meals," Heila said softly. "You said that you needed to feed on the strongest prey available. You sounded like Sir Savis, like you were borrowing his words. But, you weren’t satisfied when I brought you to them the way that Sir Savis was when we let him fight his prey. You were relieved."
"The Tuscans are very large," Ignatious explained almost absentmindedly as he stared into Heila’s soft, grass-green eyes. "I think it’s impossible, even for me, to accidentally kill one of them while feeding. But Lady Heila, you’re very small. It takes so much restraint to feed on the Horned Clan that, before Mistress Nyrielle exiled me, she never allowed me to try. One last time," he said, glancing at the trembling walls of the icy prison that held Ashlynn hostage. "Are you certain that you wish to do this?"
"You’re restraining yourself now, aren’t you?" Heila asked gently. It took all of her will to keep her eyes on the trembling, injured vampire instead of looking anxiously in Ashlynn’s direction, but right now, the only thing that would help her lady was helping Ignatious and so she would not look away from him.
"Please," she said, extending her wrist. "Take what you need, and rescue Lady Ashlynn before it’s too late," she said, unable to keep a tremble of urgency out of her voice.
With a stiff nod, Ignatious pulled her wrist to his lips, opening his mout wide to reveal loing, sharp fangs. In his burned and blackened hands, her wrist looked as pure and white as the snow on the ground and smaller and more delicate than the neck of a swan. Yet beneath that soft, pale flesh, he could see the powerful pulse of a woman whose heart quickened with a mix of anxiety and fear as he prepared to strike.
"This will hurt," he whispered. "But only for a moment," he said, giving her a final warning before sinking his fangs into her soft, tender flesh.