This Side of the Grave (#5 Night Huntress)

“Actually this won’t be a religious ceremony,” I replied with a faint smile, “but feel free to offer blessings anyway.”
Tate’s gaze moved over Bones and then down to our clasped hands. “Since when have you two ever cared about my blessing?” he asked dryly.
“I never asked for it and I don’t need it,” I replied in an even tone. “But you’re my friend, Tate, so I do care.”
I watched his face, waiting to see if he’d take the olive branch I’d extended, or throw it back at me like he had so many times in the past. Those
dark blue eyes met mine, emotions skipping across his expressive features like waves on a pond. First regret, then resolve, and at last,
acceptance.
“I hope you’re very happy,” Tate said, the words quiet but sounding sincere. Then, to my surprise, he walked over and held out his hand, but not to
me. To Bones.
Bones accepted Tate’s hand and shook it without letting go of mine; easy enough since I held his left hand with my right one. When they let go,
Tate glanced at me, smiled slightly, and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t bother asking to kiss the bride.”
Then he looked over to Don, whose eyes had closed during this exchange even though I could hear from his thoughts that he wasn’t asleep. His
chest hurt too much for him to sleep, and he had a new pain radiating down his arm that he recognized from a few hours ago. Still, I knew what his
answer would be even before Tate asked, “You up for this?”
My uncle didn’t know I could hear his thoughts. Didn’t know that I picked up on every word of his thinking this was a far better way to die than
before, when he’d been alone, hearing only the steady flat line of the EKG machine before everything had gone black, then awoke to Tate
screaming at my mother for what she’d done. I heard all of this, and though my throat burned from stuffing back the tears that relentlessly came, I
said nothing. Did nothing even though the very blood running through my veins could possibly prevent the next heart attack that I knew was coming.
This was his choice. I hated it—oh, so much!—because it was taking from me the only real father I’d ever known, but Tate was right. I had to
respect it.
“Let’s do this,” Don replied. His voice was raspy with pain, but the smile he flashed me was genuine despite that.
Tate picked up the phone by Don’s bed, telling whoever was on the other line to “get Crawfield, now, and bring her up here.”
To distract myself from falling all to pieces as I heard Don’s heartbeat become more erratic and listened to his mind try to shelter him from the
increased squeezing in his chest, I began to explain the intricacies of a vampire marriage ceremony.
“So, if a vampire couple wants to get married—which they’d better be damn sure about, because with vampires, it’s till death do you part or
nothing—it’s kinda like those old handfasting ceremonies. One of them, usually the guy first, gets a knife, slices it across his palm, and then says .
. .”
By the time my mother arrived, I’d repeated all the words and described my prior wedding to Bones, leaving out the more grisly details. She
looked at the four of us with slight confusion, but Tate didn’t give her a chance to say anything. He grasped her arm and took her into the hall, telling
her in a voice too low for Don to overhear what was about to happen.
I was glad Don’s eyes were closed again, because that meant I didn’t have to fight the tears that burst out of me. Tate liked the idea of
witnessing my rededication of vows to Bones even less than my mother would. Yet here he was, sternly telling her to act pleasant, dammit, and not
ruin this for Don because he didn’t have much time left.
That was excruciatingly evident. My uncle’s breathing was increasingly labored and he was thinking that it felt like he had a car pressed on his
chest, but he was fierce in his will to last long enough to do this one final thing. The EKG machine began to make warning noises, as if I couldn’t tell
from his thoughts and his skipped heartbeats what was happening. More tears coursed down my cheeks in a steady stream that wet my top and
stained the floor an ever darkening pink where they fell.
I took my uncle’s hand, hating how much cooler it felt with his rapidly decreasing circulation, and squeezed his fingers gently.
Bones covered my hand with his own, his strength feeling like it overflowed from him to permeate into my flesh. Such a stark contrast to my
uncle’s rapidly fading mortality and the approaching chill in Don’s fingers.
“Donald Bartholomew Williams,” Bones said formally. I startled at the “Bartholomew” part. I’d never heard Don’s full name before. Figures Bones
knows it, a part of me thought hazily as I tried to suppress my sob over the increased skips in my uncle’s heartbeat. Bones extensively researched
Don after finding out he was the man who’d blackmailed me into working for him all those years ago.
“Do you give your niece, Catherine, to be my wife?” Bones went on, brushing his fingers over Don’s.
My uncle’s eyes opened, lingering on me, Bones, and then Tate, who still stood in the doorway. Even though I knew how much pain he was in and
the effort that it took was palpable, Don managed to smile.
Then his hand clenched around mine, agony blasting through him that I heard in the sudden scream of his thoughts. His whole body stiffened and
his mouth opened in a short, harsh gasp—the last one he’d make. Don’s eyes, the same gray color as mine, rolled back in his head as the EKG
machine’s beeps became one horrible, continuous sound.
Tate crossed the room in a blink, gripping the bed rail so hard that it crushed under his hands. That was the last thing I saw before everything