The perfect storm
Vincent POV
I returned to my office, digging through the bits of rubble, locating the journal. Again, I read through the passages, looking for something I once saw.
"Her blood was like ambrosia, healing the deepest wound in an instant. Had she not shared it with me, I would have surely died in that fire." So even the donor blood wouldn't do. Whatever this connection was, it caused me to be tied to her for recovery. I had to protect her by whatever means necessary.
Even if it meant forsaking her health.
Another drink of the whiskey only added bitterness to the thought. How could I consider using her more? Would I let her die to save thousands? There had to be a way around this—inevitability. Nursing the bottle, I sat quietly in my office, watching the light slowly disappear behind the horizon. Luckily, I hadn't felt her presence since I left her.
