by J. K. Coi
Now, as Baron drew a wet, soapy cloth over Max’s bruised and battered body, he tried very hard not to think of the past, but couldn’t help wondering what she had been doing with her life since he’d left. Jackson used to send him e-mails—once a month or so—before Baron effectively disappeared, but he’d rarely mentioned Maxine. Not, Baron suspected, out of any consideration for his feelings—probably more out of respect for Max’s wishes, since she’d been very clear at the end how she felt about him. Hate would have been a kind word to use for what Max felt when it came to him.
He kept one arm firmly around her upper back as she lay in the steaming water, so that her head wouldn’t slip under the surface. Washing her face, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Lines of strain creased her brow, hinting at pain being felt even though she was unconscious. A monster-sized goose egg pushed on the back of her skull, and a large purple bruise was rising rapidly along the smooth line of her fragile jaw. His hand reflexively clenched into a tight fist around the wet cloth at the visible signs of how she had suffered—because of him.
Tenderly, he bathed her, taking care to make sure there was no trace of dirt or blood left on her anywhere. When he had her dry and warm and wrapped up in a thick terrycloth towel, he carried her back into his bedroom and sat with her cradled in his arms on the bed, his back propped up against the headboard.
He breathed in the clean, fresh smell of his own spicy scented soap and noted that her breathing seemed a little easier.
For a long time he sat there, memories he’d easily repressed for years suddenly battering against the wall he had long ago built around them, slipping through cracks that hadn’t been there even an hour ago but were getting wider and longer by the moment.
Their first meeting. Their first fight—both had occurred on that same day.
And their first kiss.
The one time they had made love.
God, what a disaster that had been.
Despite his every effort to stop them, all the memories rushed forward. A tidal wave crashing into the dusty, deserted corners of his mind, stirring up emotions he didn’t want, stirring up regrets he couldn’t afford, desires he didn’t deserve to have.
Unable to stand it anymore, he gently unwrapped himself from Maxine and lay her beneath the covers on his bed. He paced the floor. Back and forth. Shooting worried glances at her still form on every pass.
She hadn’t moved.
He should have asked Rhys a lot more questions before the Immortal left the compound with Amy, but at the time he hadn’t been thinking of anything except getting Max inside and cleaned up.
Picking up the telephone handset from the bedside table, he dialed Alric’s cell number. He didn’t know whether or not Rhys would have had time to call, and Baron should at least warn his friend about Devon’s attack.
Alric picked up quickly, as if he had been expecting Baron’s call. “Yeah.”
“Alric, where are you?”
“I’m about ready to head over there with Diana right now.” The line was quiet and Baron could picture the huge warrior struggling for words. “I’m so sorry Baron…”
“Hey, don’t. It…I’m just glad that Devon didn’t get to Diana too. You probably shouldn’t bring her here right now.” Baron took a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when Max wakes up.”
“Max?”
“Yeah. Um, short for Maxine. Someone from my past.” The past. Dammit. In this case, the past should not have been able to come back to haunt him. No one should have been able to get far enough into his head that they would find any trace of Max there.
Alric sighed. “I understand, my man, but the compound is the safest place for both Diana and your girl. We’ll all be doubly careful, but you’re going to need some help dealing with this and we’ve already decided. We’re your friends and we’re in this together.”
“But—”
“Case closed. We’re on our way.”
Baron groaned. He knew Alric wouldn’t take no for an answer—both he and Diana were too brave and too honorable—and he couldn’t very well barricade the doors, since the warrior had all the security codes and the keys. “Fine,” he bit out. “I appreciate the help. Speaking of which, do we have any info on vampires? I need to know everything there is to know about what we’re in for—before Max wakes up.”
“Roland scanned all our ancient texts a while back. It took him something like five years to do, and he’s been adding to it ever since. It should contain whatever information we have on them since the dawn of time or somewhere thereabouts.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. When Diana and I get there, we’ll give you a hand. Talk to you later.”
“Oh, hey, wait.” Baron hoped that Alric hadn’t already signed off.
“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“Really.” Baron paused. “Thanks.”
There was an instant of dead air, sympathetic in its silence. “Don’t worry. We’ve all got your back. Especially Rhys, even though he has to make Amy and the baby his first priority. You know that right?”
“Of course.”
Baron put the phone down, his eyes on Maxine. How had this happened? How was he going to get her through it? And how the fuck had Devon known to use her against him?
Baron and Alric had last sent Devon fleeing like the blood-sucking coward he was two nights ago. He’d been injured from the fire they’d set to burn him out of his latest hidey-hole down by the docks. It should have been impossible for him to go all the way to Rockford in that condition, come back dragging Maxine in tow and still have enough time to do…what he’d done to her before dumping her on his doorstep.
But that meant… Could Max already have been in Chandler?
Baron hadn’t told Jackson or Max where he was. Had tried to make damn sure they didn’t know, but he somehow doubted this was a happy coincidence. If Max had somehow found out he was in Chandler, she couldn’t have come here for any good reason. Baron sighed as he realized he was going to have to call his brother.
Shit. That was a swimming pool full of snakes he really wasn’t ready to dive into.
First things first—he had to find every scrap of information he could about vampires.
Chapter Five
“Is he all right?”
Alric shook his head as he turned to his wife and took her into his arms. “I’m not sure, princess,” he admitted, resting his chin on top of her head. “He’s taking this very seriously, and he’s determined to save the woman. Honestly, this is a Baron that I don’t know anything about.”
For the moment they were still in bed, having been awoken a little while ago by Rhys’ phone call. “What do you mean?” Diana curled her body into his and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“I’ve never seen him like this. Since Baron’s been with us, he hasn’t ever mentioned his past. Where he came from, what he did. If Rhys hadn’t done a background check back when the kid went through the transition, we wouldn’t even know that he was special ops for the government—although seeing his expertise with a rifle probably would have tipped us off.” Alric’s fingers played with the ends of Diana’s short, baby-soft, blond hair, and he breathed in the fresh scent of her subtle, floral-scented shampoo.
“But that’s pretty normal, isn’t it? I can’t see any of you guys wanting to get all touchy-feely, talking about the lives you left behind. It doesn’t mean Baron’s got some deep, dark, secret past that tortures him, though.”
Pulling back, he met Diana’s knowing green eyes, heard what she had left unsaid. He drank in the love and understanding reflected there and sighed. “Yeah, maybe. But beneath all of his practical jokes, grandstanding and whorin’—uh, playing the field with the women—”
Diana chuckled and shook her head. “What? You think I don’t know your friend is a disgusting man-whore?”
Alric groaned. “Yeah. But besides that, he’s a good man. And underneath the façade of casual indifference, he
’s haunted by his ghosts just as much as we all are.” Taking Diana’s hand, Alric squeezed it and thanked God for her. “And given what I heard in his voice tonight, one of those ghosts is a girl named Max.”
* * * * *
The darkness had her.
She couldn’t escape. And there was a monster in here with her.
It was strong, and she was tired. So tired. Weak. Something had happened to her, something terrible…but the memory of it eluded her, which was probably for the best. She didn’t need to know how the monster had got inside. It was here. And it was desperate to take her, to transform her. It wanted to destroy her…and it was winning.
She fought, but even though her mind was strong, the evil was stronger. Ruthlessly, it probed and ripped through all the layers of her subconscious, leaving nothing intact, raping her psyche until she was forced to retreat down into the deepest cavity of her mind. The darkest corner of herself, where she lost all sense of time or place, reality and nightmares. There she had no name, no past, no future. It was just her and the monster. Maxine was gone.
Lost.
The woman left behind was ruled by pain, ruled by fear. She was fear.
And the monster roared with triumph.
The beast wanted more, and she feared she would be trapped inside her own mind for the rest of eternity with it.
The constant torture overwhelmed her, weakened her. And then even that was dwarfed by the onset of hunger. Unimaginable hunger that built and built, stronger and stronger, demanding. It wouldn’t let her succumb to peaceful oblivion, wouldn’t let her retreat from herself.
The hunger drove her consciousness back out of her mind and into her body, a body shivering from cold, from the chill of death itself. A body that nevertheless burned with fever and was racked with tremors. Every limb aching and every muscle shrieking.
She twisted and writhed in a desperate attempt to escape her own body, but the pain and hunger were everywhere. She tried to scream, but couldn’t get a whisper of sound through the swollen passage of her throat, or past her dry and cracked lips. Her screams were but a wheezing rush of air, the echo sounding only in the blackness of her mind where the monster laughed.
She didn’t know how long it went on, time was something that had ceased to exist for her. She gradually became aware that someone held her as she thrashed about, held her down with a grip like twin vices pinning each of her shoulders. She scratched and kicked and bucked against the restraint, but it did her no good.
Weak. God, she hated to be so weak.
Her head tossed from side to side as bile rose in her throat, tainting her mouth with a sour, metallic taste. Her stomach contracted with sharp pangs. The hunger was going to consume her, might even do her in before the monster had a chance to break down the last of her walls. She felt it crawling beneath her skin, just as she felt her incisors lengthening, the sharp points digging into her lip.
A voice in her ear, whispering. Words of love and encouragement, expressing faith in her strength and belief in her ability to endure.
She heard but rebelled against the false promises, wary of the monster in her mind that would trick her if it could.
She didn’t have a chance, she was certain of it. If only she could reclaim her mind and sate the hunger…but it was so hard. She wanted to give in, to make it easy on herself and just give the monster what it wanted. Maybe if she relinquished her body and her mind, then it might let her sleep, let her leave the pain behind and escape into merciful, silent nothingness.
But that other voice continued to whisper. Urgent. Telling her she was stronger than this. Telling her she couldn’t give up. Telling her to come back to him.
Did she believe? It seemed so hard. It was all so much effort, and for what? What did she have to live for anyway?
Baron.
The name shot into her brain, spearing through the pain and fear. A sizzling bolt of lightning over a churning black sea. Him. The image rose in her mind’s eye of a golden-haired boy with clear blue eyes and a brilliant smile.
She felt the surge of an unexpected reserve of strength, and the part of her that was still Maxine started to claw her way back out of the deep, dark pit inside of herself.
She left the monster in that pit, left it howling with rage as she fought for focus and strength. Using the image glowing brightly in her mind as a lifeline, a rope with which she was able to pull herself out. She used it as a shield against the hunger and the pain. She used it as a sword against the beast battering away at her sanity.
And all of a sudden, she had hope again, hope that the monster would not win.
* * * * *
When Maxine opened her eyes and couldn’t see, she started to panic, thinking that the monster was still playing tricks with her mind.
Her breathing started coming in harsh, raspy moans of anguish until she realized with a blurting, heavy sigh of relief that she could see something—indistinct, bulky shapes in the shadows, familiar furniture sized shapes. Thank God. This was not the madness of her mind playing with her, but simply a darkened bedroom with a dresser along one wall, a wardrobe against another. Just darkness, your average garden-variety shadows. Just a room.
Albeit an unfamiliar room.
She was assimilating that fact when she detected the steady breathing of another person. It wasn’t her breathing—hers was still shaky and raspy from fear. She wasn’t alone in this strange room.
The scent grabbed her attention next—a musky, natural perfume that filled all of her senses, acting on her system like a drug as it called to her, bringing the hunger from her nightmare rushing back with a vengeance. She couldn’t stop herself from breathing deeply, eager to take it into herself.
“Max.”
Baron.
Was she surprised?
No.
Oddly enough, Max had somehow known it was him. She couldn’t quite remember the reason why he was here, or why she was here, but she knew it had been Baron who’d seen her through the worst of it. That it was Baron who’d held her sanity in his hands as she struggled with her demons.
But had she won or lost? Should she thank him for his efforts or curse him?
If the way she felt right now was any indication…
She sighed, running her tongue along dry, parched lips. Her memories of the previous night were cloaked in murky shadows, suggestions of pain and darkness that she couldn’t bear to dig into. Not yet.
The last clear memory she had was of getting stuck on the side of the road. Beyond that, she couldn’t be sure of anything. The rest was all blood and pain and evil laughter ringing cruelly and endlessly in her head.
Max remembered being hurt. Badly. She carefully rotated her shoulder—still firmly located within the confines of its socket. It moved smoothly and without pain. Then she flexed her jaw, and while it felt tender and a little sore it was by no means broken.
Oh God. Had any of that been real? Or had she been run over by the tractor trailer of insanity, here on the road to the psych ward?
If it was true, then by all rights she should probably be dead. That she seemed perfectly healthy—physically, at least—she couldn’t believe was the result of some opportune act of divine intervention, but something else entirely. She just couldn’t remember…
Where am I?
“Max.” He called her name again. Baron. She could smell him. Just when had he started smelling so good? Like spices and chocolate and mint. He definitely hadn’t smelled like that before. Then again, two years had passed since she’d seen him last, and obviously, those years had brought with them a few changes—like that deep, rumbling voice that set the hairs on her forearms and the back of her neck to dancing.
Ah, he was close. She only now realized that he was right here. Right beside her…lying beside her. In a bed. Oh wow, it had been a long, long time since she had shared this kind of proximity with a man. She must still be unconscious, because Baron sharing mattress space with her—that was a reality that existed only i
n her most desperate fantasies, despite their one night together years ago.
Max gasped at the rolling spasm low in her belly, a wrenching pain that got stronger as she breathed in Baron’s delicious scent.
Somehow it was him. He was making her feel this way. It was his closeness that intensified the…hunger. The pain that gnawed frantically at her gut.
He murmured to her some more, words she didn’t quite catch. She turned her head blindly toward the sound of his voice. Getting her eyes to focus was harder than it should have been. Her vision swam, making her dizzy and nauseated. If she’d been standing, she would have keeled right over.
Baron moved closer, taking her into his arms, cradling her head so that she was surrounded with warmth. His warmth. It would have been nice, but her skin was so sensitive that even this light touch felt abrasive, like fifty grit sandpaper being scraped over her arm.
She squirmed uncomfortably, and at once, his arms relaxed. She blinked and Baron’s silhouette was less of a shadow and more substantial. More flesh…more blood.
Ah…the blood. It was his blood singing to her, calling out to her. To the hunger that raged now.
Oh God. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be part of the nightmare. Or maybe she was feverish and sick, imagining things. Had to be. Just a horrible nightmare, a crazed delusion.
The alternative was not possible.
But the monster inside her started clawing out of the pit she had left it in, laughing again, telling her she couldn’t escape the truth, that this was possible, that thiswas no nightmare. That it was real.
No. She couldn’t accept that. How could anyone accept such a thing?
The sound of Baron’s steady, strong pulse was pounding in her ears now, the scent of his blood overwhelming her. His blood. Oh, please, no. Was that what she was now?
A vampire?
She needed to get away from him.
Her feet sliding in the bed sheets, Max wrenched herself from Baron’s embrace and scrambled back as fast as she could, desperate to get some distance between them before she couldn’t control the maddening cravings and insidious whispers inside her head. Reaching behind her, she felt only air and lost her balance, tumbling from the bed onto the floor. She didn’t care, the fall at least put more space between them.