Chapter Eighteen

Jon found Richie gently holding Mac’s head in his lap. He didn’t realize that silent tears ran down his face when he took her from his friend. Jon sat on his knees on the sidewalk with Mac’s upper body held gently in his arms, rocking her like a baby.

"I’m here, Mac," he whispered to her, as he pushed her hair back out of her face. "Heal yourself so we can get outta here."

Her eyelids fluttered open. "I can’t," she gasped, trying hard not to whimper in pain. "It’s too bad."

"You said you could heal yourself," Jon pointed out tearfully, "so do it damn it."

"Minor wounds, Jon," she reminded him, "these are anything but minor."

Jon didn’t like how raspy and shaky her voice sounded. He hated seeing his Mac broken and ready to give up.

"Don’t you dare leave me," he ordered.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, as she lost her battle with the darkness and drifted peacefully into unconsciousness.

"Mac," Jon said loudly, but she didn’t respond.

"Jon," Richie tried to be the voice of reason, even though he was feeling anything but reasonable, "we need to get help. Get her a doctor."

"There’s no time, Rich," Jon said, his voice dripping with pain. "She wouldn’t make it to a hospital. She reached out to me, she was so weak she couldn’t maintain the link."

"We’ve gotta at least try," Richie argued.

"Mac," Jon tried again, "moglie mia, please open your eyes again. I have to talk to you." He wanted her permission for what he was about to do, but whether he got it or not, he had to do it. "I won’t lose her. I refuse to let her go like this."

"What are you going to do?" Richie asked.

"Keep an eye out and warn me if anyone comes," Jon told him, as his fangs lengthened. He quickly rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. So upset about the possibility of losing her, Jon didn’t even feel the pain as his fangs sank into the tender skin of his wrist, puncturing the vein there. Tenderly, he put his wrist to her mouth. "Drink, tesoro mia. Please," he whispered in her ear, and then reached out to her mind repeating the request in her head, hoping that one way or the other she would hear him. Gently, he stroked her throat, encouraging her to swallow.

When he thought she had swallowed enough, he pulled his wrist from her mouth. A ragged piece of Richie’s T-shirt was thrust in his face.

"Here, tie it around your wrist," Richie offered.

Quickly, Jon tied off the make shift bandage and bent his head to Mac’s neck. He knew she couldn’t afford to lose anymore blood, but he had to take some. Three blood exchanges were necessary to change her, so that he wouldn’t lose her. Jon only sipped for a few seconds before lifting his golden head. "We gotta get her back to the motel," he announced to Richie.

"I’ll be right back," Richie assured him. Then promptly disappeared.

Jon sat holding her in his arms, hoping he hadn’t been too late, that she hadn’t been too far gone. Silently, he prayed he had done the right thing and that she wouldn’t be too angry over his decision, but he couldn’t just sit by and let her die in his arms.

When a small red four door car pulled up at the curb and Richie jumped out, Jon didn’t even question his friend about how he’d gotten them a car. He just gently picked her up and sat down in the back seat with her in his lap, and Richie closed the door he’d been holding open.

Richie was silent all the way back to the motel, but Jon continually whispered encouragement and endearments to Mac until they were pulling up in front of the place they had chosen when they first arrived in town. Jon had chosen the roadside motel for the ability to come and go from their room from the parking lot; the inconspicuous aspect of the place had appealed to him and the situation they were in; it certainly had nothing to do with the accommodations. It was nothing fancy, but then he and Richie had stayed in far worse back in the early days of the band.

Richie helped Jon get Mac settled into one of the room’s queen size beds, before announcing, "Okay, I gotta get the car back, but I’ll get a taxi back here. Will you two be okay until I get back?"

"I hope so," Jon replied, gravely.

"Jon," Richie began, "you did do what I think you did, didn’t you?"

"Do you think you could be a little more confusing?" Jon asked grinning.

"You changed her, didn’t you?" the guitarist accused.

"Not yet," Jon answered, "but I got the process started. It’ll take two more blood exchanges before the turn will be complete."

"But, Jon," Richie frowned, "she didn’t want to be a vampire."

"I will not lose her," Jon said, harshly.

Richie shrugged; he knew when not to argue with his friend, but somehow he knew there were going to be problems over this. "I’ll be back in a bit," he told Jon, as he left.

Jon paced the small room, continually looking at Mac lying deathly still in the bed. All he knew about a change was that it required three blood exchanges and that there was a lot of pain involved for the vampire-to-be. But, with as much pain as Mac had to already be in, he didn’t think she’d even notice, and at least this way with the change taking place her body would be able to heal itself.

Richie had been gone for over an hour when Jon removed the bandage on his wrist and reopened the wounds with his fangs. Once again, he encouraged an unconscious Mac to drink, then sipped from her jugular. He took it as a good sign that his previous bite had already healed itself, and she didn’t seem quite as pale as she had when they had arrived at the motel.
Jon had just gotten up from Mac’s bedside when there was a soft knock at the door, and Richie’s scent drifted to him. Without even stopping his pacing, he opened the door with his mind.

"How’s she doing?" Richie asked immediately.

"I think she’s doing better, but she still hasn’t woke up," Jon replied. He stopped pacing and ran his fingers through his already windblown hair.

"I’m not too sure this was a good idea, Kidd," Richie told him.

"Don’t you think I’m aware there will be hell to pay over this?" Jon asked, frustration in every word. "I know she’s going to be upset," he added softly.

"Oh," Richie paused, "I think upset is quite an understatement. I’m sure the phrase ‘conniption fit’ will apply."

"I’m sure," Jon replied.

"What happened with Caleb?" Richie finally asked the question he was dying for an answer to.

"I don’t know," Jon answered.

"What do you mean, you don’t know?"

"I hit him with a desk, then Mac called out to me," Jon told him, "I ran out to her. I’m sure he got away. He’s injured, but like me, he’ll heal quickly."

"He’ll be back then," Richie replied, nodding.

"If he’s that stupid, I’ll be waiting on him," Jon said menacingly.

After glancing at his watch, Jon walked over to sit next to Mac on the bed. Richie watched as his friend once again gave Mac blood and then drank from her neck. Every one of Jon’s actions dripped tenderness and love. The guitarist only hoped that Mac would realize how much Jon cared about her before she blew her top.