Spartan Resistance

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “No, I’m not.”

  Mariana swallowed. She had questioned the wisdom of what she was doing dozens of times already. Each time, she had remembered the heated anger that had touched her when the reporters in Macapá had asked their ignorant questions. If that was the level of understanding among humans, then someone had to speak out. Why not her? She had already put herself on the path, after all. She did understand vampires, more than any human she knew except for the very few humans who were privileged to work with them.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Mariana told Brenden truthfully. “I wouldn’t change my mind about this if you weren’t, but I’m glad you are.”

  He glanced at her, his dark eyes unreadable. Then he turned silently back to scanning the road.

  The art gallery was in the Borghese Villa and had been there for at least two centuries. There were hundreds of people gathered on the broad steps leading up to the graceful arches at the front of the building. The arches themselves were lit with spotlights from a dozen different places and the lights were playing across the front.

  The media were in full force, standing behind rope lines with their recording equipment in hand. Laszlo helped her out of the car, while Brenden stood solidly to one side, watching everything and everyone with a suspicious scowl. They began to climb the steps, but progress was slow because everyone was stopping and talking to each other.

  “Do you want to…?” Laszlo asked, nodding slightly toward the media.

  Don’t flirt with them. Don’t try to deliberately engage. They’ll be suspicious if you do. Deonne had been firm about that point. If they approach you, answer their questions but don’t try to lead them. They will have watched the same footage we did. They will ask, but they’ll be testing you first to see if you’re the real thing. If you try to manipulate them like a professional would, they won’t cooperate.

  Most of what Deonne had said that afternoon resonated with Mariana as common sense. She understood exactly what Deonne was trying to explain. So she took Laszlo’s arm. “Let’s just go in.”

  They climbed the steps slowly, one step at a time, with long waits between. Brenden stayed level with them, on Mariana’s other side. He didn’t speak. Instead, Laszlo gave her a potted history of the artists who were being featured in the show, their styles and their strengths and weaknesses. Mariana had already researched the artists and the gala itself, but she nodded in the right places.

  “That’s her! Mariana! Mariana Jones!”

  “Laszlo! Bring Mary over!” came other calls.

  Laszlo looked down at her. “That is your cue, I believe.”

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Mariana asked him.

  He shook his head. “I’ve never understood why the nets were so fascinated with my life. But if it helps you now, then fine. Use me. Fame is all an illusion, anyway. Here, let’s skirt passed these kind folk and go over to the rope line.”

  The journalists standing at the ropes were all strangers to Mariana, even though Deonne had made her study mug shots of dozens of them. None of them had been in Macapá, but Deonne had also anticipated that, too. “The journalists in Macapá were political hounds, good at going after blood when they scent it. The media at the gala are society reporters. Their viewers want gossip and glamour and they know it. If you can provide both, they’ll be thrilled and you’ll be their next darling.”

  Laszlo took the lead. “How are you all this fine hot August night?” he called out as he approached, Mariana’s hand firmly in his. “Deedee, you look lovely. Is that Isabella Creighton you’re wearing?”

  All the journalists were smiling. Laszlo was well liked and Mariana had just caught a glimpse of a possible reason why.

  “How was Evergreen, Laszlo? You didn’t stay long.”

  “Alas, no. I had to return earlier than I planned, but that turned out to be a good thing.” He lifted Mariana’s hand and kissed the back of it, making her shiver.

  “Mariana! Can you tell us who designed your dress?”

  Mariana smiled. “Certainly. Cybelia Silver.”

  “Cybelia Silver is the vampire designer?” someone asked.

  Mariana knew they knew the answer to that as well as she did. She kept her smile in place. “Yes, she is. Cybelia has been following fashion and design her entire life. Five hundred years provides an unbeatable apprenticeship. I’m delighted to wear her creations and so pleased that she can now openly declare her profession to the world at large.”

  “Vampire whore!” The scream came from higher up the steps and heads snapped around to see who was screaming.

  Mariana flinched and looked up, too. She caught a glimpse of a woman with very white skin, pale blue eyes that bulged furiously and ash blonde hair, before the woman screamed again. It was an inarticulate and primal sound. Then the woman leapt.

  At Mariana.

  She backed up instinctively, but that was all she saw of the woman before Brenden’s huge body moved in front of her.

  There were screams from everyone around them. Mariana tried to see past Brendan, but his arm snapped back, shoving her backwards. “Stay behind me,” he growled.

  “Mother-fucking vampire lover!” The scream came from behind her. “Take this!”

  Mariana started to turn. That was as far as she got. Brenden’s arms came around her and she was lifted up off her feet with the ease and power of an elevator and spun in a circle. She was mashed up with her back against him, his arms iron bands around her. She could feel by the way his chest and shoulders curved that he was hunched over her.

  Shielding her.

  He let out a gasp. Had someone hit him? What had “take this” meant?

  Something hot and wet was soaking into her dress, around her knees.

  Pure panic gripped the crowd around her. She could feel people pushing past, some of them tripping over her dress. Something snagged and tore.

  “Brenden, get her out of here!” Laszlo shouted in a voice that carried. It had a whiplash command to it.

  Brenden picked her up, his arm under her knees, the other behind her back. “Keep still,” he told her. “I’m going to jump.”

  “Laszlo!” she cried.

  “Rob will get him. Shh….”

  She felt him gather his strength. Then the upward launch, followed by absolute black.

  Brenden lowered her back to her feet as the dim twilight of the arrival chamber closed around them. He held her steady as she staggered, tripping over the hem of her dress. The fabric seemed to be clinging to her with dogged determination.

  She looked down and icy coldness grabbed at her chest. The lower half of her dress was wet, soaked through by something dark. The excess dripped onto the floor, pooling and gleaming dully.

  It was blood.

  “Oh…oh my God,” she breathed. Shock was making her tremble.

  Brenden grabbed her wrist. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re fine. Most of it hit me.”

  Something had hit his back, making him gasp. She remembered the sound he had made.

  The door to the chamber burst open and bright light flooded the room, bringing the blood into sharp contrast. Nayara and Marley hurried in and shut the door.

  “Camera is off,” Nayara said. “Quickly, get them off.”

  Marley was unfolding a big biological hazard bag and Nayara was holding up two hospital gowns.

  Mariana realized with growing horror that they feared the blood was contaminated.

  Brenden was already moving fast, tearing off his jacket, his mouth pulling into a hard grimace of disgust. Marley held out the bag and he carefully dropped it inside, as the back of it dripped steadily.

  “Everything,” Marley said shortly.

  “Mariana, you, too,” Nayara said gently.

  Mariana nodded. “Laszlo is still there.”

  “No, he’s here already,” Nayara said and tapped her temple. “Rob just confirmed.”

  Mariana tried to unfasten the dress, but her fingers were thick and uncooperative. Her mi
nd was sluggish.

  “Brenden, can you help her?” Nayara asked. “We can’t touch her.”

  Brenden’s hands on her shoulders turned her to face him. He was naked from the waist up, his trousers hanging on his hips. He studied her. “Deep breaths,” he said gently. “It’ll stop the shaking.” Then he gave her a small smile. “Either I undress you or we cut it off you. Do you mind?”

  Mariana shook her head. “Do it. I can’t feel my fingers.”

  “It’s shock,” he said clinically. “Lift your arm for me.”

  She held her arm out of the way and felt his fingers press against the antistatic fastener and slide downwards.

  The wet, heavy garment sagged open.

  “Lift it over her head,” Nayara advised.

  “Got it.” Brenden lifted the dress and it rose over her face, bringing the blood closer. Mariana’s shaking increased and a breathless little moan escaped her lips. Then the disgusting garment was gone.

  “Don’t look down,” Brenden told her. Then his hand slid under her chin and he lifted it, making her look at him. “You’re a contrary woman, aren’t you? Hold out your arm.”

  She held out her arm, then the other as the gown was threaded onto her shoulders. Tugging told her it was being fastened.

  Brenden was studying her, his black eyes bereft of any of the scorn or dislike she had seen in there for the longest time.

  “Thank you,” she said. It sounded weak even to her.

  “For what?”

  “For keeping your promise. You took care of me.”

  Surprise widened his eyes. Then she caught a glimpse of something that might have been pleasure, before it was all wiped away and his usual scowl returned. He began to strip off his trousers and Mariana turned away.

  “Come quickly,” Nayara urged them, reaching for the chamber door.

  “Showers and examinations for both of them,” Marley called. “Laszlo, too.”

  * * * * *

  Chronometric Conservation Agency Headquarters, Villa Fontani, Rome, 2265 A.D.

  They were hustled into the medical area, past a crew of people carting buckets and wearing full hazard gear, who trooped into the arrival chamber as they left. The clean-up crew.

  Mariana didn’t look down at her legs and feet until she was in the shower, with hot water pounding against her shoulders. By the time she had the courage to look, only a few pink rivulets remained, but it was enough to make her start trembling again.

  There was a tap on the cubicle door. “It’s Deonne. I picked out some clothes from your room. They’re on the bench.”

  “Thank you.”

  “When you’re done with Marley, we’ll be in the command center. How does coffee sound?”

  “Heavenly!”

  * * * * *

  Marley’s examination was thorough, but fast. “I’ve tested the blood and it is clear of any known pathogens,” she told Mariana. “But I didn’t like your reaction in the arrival chamber, so I’d like to check your vitals.”

  “It was just shock,” Mariana assured her. “I’m over it now.”

  “It’s the first time she’s been the target of public hatred,” Brenden said, making them both look around. He had stepped silently into the room and was leaning against the door with his arms crossed. He was back in his normal clothing—normal for Brenden.

  “Privacy, Spartan,” Marley told him and waved him out of the room.

  “I’ll go,” he said easily, not in the least upset at being ordered about by a human. “I just wanted to tell you the blood wasn’t human.”

  “Bovine,” Marley said shortly. “I figured that out.”

  Brenden straightened up from his lean. “Will you be long?” he asked.

  “Five minutes,” Marley said. “Ten, if you stay here.”

  “Going,” Brenden said. The door closed behind him.

  Marley smiled at Mariana. “He’s a lamb under that gruff exterior.”

  “Not with me.”

  “Is that why you went out with Laszlo Wolffe instead?” Marley asked.

  “Instead of Brenden? What makes you think I had that choice? That I even wanted the choice?”

  Marley patted the bed. “Lie down for a moment, please.” It was a neat way of changing the subject. She prodded and listened and frowned for a few minutes, then nodded. “You’re fine. Have something to eat and drink very soon. It will help disperse the adrenaline. I believe they’re waiting for us in the command center. I’ll let you get dressed and meet you there.”

  * * * * *

  Deonne had picked out a pair of figure-hugging trousers from Mariana’s wardrobe. Mariana didn’t like to wear them very often, because they made her self-conscious about her hips and her rear. The pants were very unforgiving.

  The top was not one she would normally pair with the trousers and she put it on reluctantly. It was short. Too short for the trousers and if she breathed hard or lifted her arms, a band of flesh showed. But she was stuck with the selection. She couldn’t wear a medical gown, which was the only other choice.

  Likewise, the shoes were dark brown pumps with heels, not something she would consider wearing with either the trousers or the top.

  Mariana sighed and bent forward from the waist and ran her fingers through her drying hair. There was no comb, no makeup and no jewelry. For the time of night and the situation, that was fine, but it didn’t help her feel comfortable as she stepped into the command center. Predictably, everyone gathered around the table looked up as she walked in.

  Laszlo came over to her. “Heavens, you look edible,” he murmured. “The dress was stunning, but mmm….” He kissed her temple and Mariana shivered.

  He studied her. “You’re okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she assured him. “I just need to eat.”

  “Here!” Deonne called and placed a bowl with a spoon on the tabletop. She put a second one down. “Laszlo, you should eat, too.”

  “Come and join us,” Nayara said from her usual place at the top of the table. “We were just going over the footage until you got here. We need to debrief you.”

  “Me, too?” Laszlo asked diffidently.

  Ryan raised his brow. “You’re a part of this now. You were as soon as you tackled the protester.”

  Laszlo tackled that insane blonde woman?

  But Ryan was still speaking. “The world watched you side with vampires. I don’t know if that is what you intended, but that is how it will be interpreted. You will need our support, going forward.”

  Laszlo stood in the middle of the open area between the door and the big table, considering. “I don’t mind being thought of as pro-vampire. It’s a novel concept, to be considered political at all. I just…I know you people have major issues beside a group of fanatical protestors. I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You are invited, not intruding,” Nayara said.

  “Besides, we’ve already checked you out six ways from Sunday,” Brenden growled. “Get your ass over to the table and eat, will you already? Let’s get this mess over and done with.”

  Laszlo seemed amused rather than annoyed at Brenden’s irascible mood. He moved to the table and Mariana sighed with relief and picked up the bowl. She was starving.

  Then she saw the images spread in panoramic display across her end of the table and put the bowl down slowly. “Oh….”

  “Brenden,” Deonne snapped.

  “Sorry.” He reached to shut down the frames.

  “No, let me see them,” Mariana said quickly.

  Brenden shrugged and left them in place.

  Mariana held her bowl out of the way and studied the pictures. Someone took the bowl from her and she murmured her thanks.

  There were dozens of images, all taken from various angles and attitudes, which gave an almost complete three-sixty view. All of them had been taken within seconds of each other. Someone had arranged the images in approximate chronological order.

  It was odd seeing herself in that context. She was talking
to the media and their lights were bathing her and Laszlo, who was watching her speak. Brenden was behind them. He was already looking up the stairs, alerted by something neither of them had heard or noticed.

  The woman that had launched herself at Mariana looked just as untamed in the photos as she had when Mariana had glimpsed her. The woman didn’t seem to care who she mowed down in her effort to reach Mariana. Her feet were barely making contact with the steps and her whole body was leaning forward, straining to make contact.

  There was something in her hand. Something silver.

  “What is she holding?” Mariana asked, tapping the image.

  Brenden reached behind him, to pick up something from the desks lining that side of the room. Then he turned and tossed whatever-it-was. It glittered in the light from the table display and the lights overhead, as it turned in the air.

  Mariana flinched as it came toward her.

  There were six vampires standing round the table, not counting Brenden. But it was Laszlo who threw his hand out and snatched the thing out of mid-air. He held it up as he had caught it and cleared his throat. “Bit sharp to be tossing around like that.”

  “Everyone heals, here,” Brenden said and shrugged.

  “Remind me to say that next time one of you lies bleeding on my surgery table,” Marley said.

  “What does it matter?” Brenden said. “He caught it.” He shook his head. “Christ on a pony! Everyone is so keyed up. It’s not like we haven’t been accosted at a big public event like this before.”

  “Only this time they targeted humans,” Nayara said sharply.

  “Why don’t you go and check the feeds for more up-to-date news?” Ryan told Brenden.

  “I’ve got someone doing that,” Brenden said dismissively.

  “It wasn’t a suggestion.” There was ice in Ryan’s voice.

  Mariana felt the same surprise that made Brenden’s face sag in shock. He looked at Ryan, who stared steadily back. Silently, Brenden turned and walked out of the room, by-passing his office.

  Nayara moved toward the door as if she intended to follow him, but Ryan caught her hand and shook his head. “Not yet,” he said quietly.

  She returned to the table, her expression troubled.

  Laszlo cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said to everyone in general. He flipped the silvery object in his hand over a few times, then up into the air and caught it. It was an acrobatic movement that made Mariana smile as he held the thing out to her. But next to him, Christian was frowning.