by SK Ryder
Two more times the gun went off, the reports echoing explosively. He felt one bullet brush past his calf as he stumbled up the ladder. The metal bars vibrated in his hands from the vampire’s efforts to free himself.
Cassidy lay face down beside the hatch, one hand on the crossbar she hadn’t pushed aside quite far enough. A slick pool of red spread around her head, one edge of it disappearing in a neat line along the seam of the hatch. “Oh, God, please no.” He dropped to her side, turned her over, and wanted to throw up. Blood. Blood everywhere. In her hair, on her face. Her neck, shoulder, chest. Impossible to tell where it came from. Only that there was too much.
Beside him, the hatch rang with powerful impacts as the vampire leapt up at it again and again, no doubt energized by Cassidy’s blood dripping into his enclosure. The crossbar keeping the hatch secure was within seconds of knocking free. He lunged and slammed it back into place.
The captive’s roar of rage and agony shivered through Jackson, and unexpectedly harmonized with his own emotions. He looked at Cassidy’s face, ashen where it wasn’t smeared with blood. The smell of ash filled his nostrils—and his memories. White ash, ancient ash, glittering in the morning sun. Foolish young vampire risking his existence for a human girl by battling a foe he had so little hope of defeating while Jackson remained useless in her eyes.
Only too aware that it might be the very last gamble he would ever take, Jackson pulled the crossbar all the way back.
Silence. The vampire waited. Jackson’s mind went blank. He pulled up the hatch as though watching someone else do it, someone else inviting certain death. He let it drop and stepped back. Way back.
The vampire flowed out of the opening in near complete silence, a Halloween nightmare rising from a grave. He had managed to protect his face, chest, and belly from the worst of it, but the rest was little more than skin and bones, wounded and burned to a point usually only seen on the corpses in fiery plane crashes. In vampire terms, he was the embodiment of hunger, and Jackson didn’t move—hoping against hope not to draw notice.
When Dominic hesitated at the sight of Cassidy covered in all that blood, Jackson thought his gamble was about to get them both killed after all. Those eyes were turning pitch-black with hunger. The fangs were out. This was the end.
Dominic didn’t glance at him. His attention belonged to Cassidy alone. His burnt hands shook as they moved over her—searching for injuries. Jackson released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. But new fury gripped him when he saw where all that blood was coming from. The bastard had shot her in the head. Though from what he could tell, the bullet had only grazed her skull, it spewed blood in buckets.
When Cassidy stirred, Dominic brought his wrist to his mouth and drove his fangs into it, tearing savagely. He couldn’t have more than a few drops of blood left, yet what he had he gave, rubbing it into the hideous wound with gentle, circular motions. He murmured in soothing French, though Jackson wondered if the vampire wasn’t really listing all the ways in which he planned to exact revenge.
Cassidy groaned, then came to with a gasp. She clutched her head in both hands and struggled to sit up. “Damn that man.”
“Cass?” Jackson said, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Are you alright?”
She looked up and blinked as though startled to see him there, crouching on the edge of the cage roof. “I’ve been better.”
“Me, too,” he said, thrilled to hear her speak coherently. He grew apprehensive again, however, when he noticed the vampire staring at him without even a hint of an expression.
Cassidy noticed, too. She put a hand on Dominic’s arm. “Don’t. Plea—”
Jackson found himself grabbed by the shirt collar and freefalling into the abyss of those monstrous eyes. “You live because of what you have done for Cassidy tonight,” the vampire said. The smell of burned blood and snow pricked Jackson’s sinuses, and he felt his own blood leave his face. “You owe her your life. Never forget that.”
Jackson’s mouth refused to work, so he nodded once, stiffly. An instant later, he collapsed to his hands and knees, feeling ill and not quite sure he was still alive—or if he would stay that way until Garrett got the lights back on.
“Dominic . . . no!” Cassidy shouted. He hadn’t even noticed her clambering down the ladder and tripping after the vampire on unsteady legs.
Dominic banged on the door with tremendous blows. Apparently it was blocked, but definitely not locked—which, of course, it wouldn’t be since Jackson had shut down the whole system.
“Fuck.”
By the time Jackson made it off the cage, the door stood open and the vampire was gone.
Cassidy burst through the office door as gunfire erupted. She threw herself to the ground, into the splintered remnants of the desk. Pain spiked through her shoulder, and her head pounded as if that damn bullet had made it into her skull and ricocheted around inside. Screams rose—human and supernatural, male and female. Biting her tongue against joining the chorus, she pushed the discomfort to the back of her mind and peered around the toppled mini-fridge. Electrical smoke and the coppery smell of spilled blood drenched the air.
Garrett stood in the hangar, a gun in one hand and a sword in the other. One of Dominic’s swords. Coated in blood.
A pair of legs lay on the ground, angled into the room, keeping the door propped open. They wore stained, slightly ripped trousers. No shoes.
“Oh, God.”
“You want a piece of me? Do you?” Garrett taunted as he backed away. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
Dominic stood over Serge’s body. Blood trickled down his bony arm from a fresh injury in his shoulder, the pain she had felt earlier through their link. By now it was little more than a dull ache amidst the savage fury pulsing from him. For a heart-stopping moment Cassidy not only saw no reason to let Garrett Striker live, she wanted to help rip him to pieces. But Dominic didn’t move. He stared at the upper portion of the corpse, which was out of Cassidy’s view.
There was a small whimpering sound. Cassidy sat up. Serge?
Dominic disappeared.
Garrett stopped, gaping through the now empty space into the office. At Cassidy.
No, not her, or at least not only her. Jackson stood behind her, as unexpectedly alive as she was. He glared at his uncle, hands clenching.
A tremendous clatter rolled through the hangar. Explosions of glass and plastic rained down from the ceiling and bounced across the concrete floor. The light cannons Dominic had shown her in his memories. He was taking no chances of them activating.
“You’re on your own, kid,” Garrett shouted before spinning on a heel and running for the nearest exit.
“When am I not?” Jackson shot back and turned to the equipment rack where several trashed machines whined and sparked in pitiful fits.
Fighting dizziness brought on by the blood loss, Cassidy staggered for the door and the body and to find Dominic—and came to a hard stop when she emerged into the hangar. There lay Serge, spread-eagled in a pool of blood. And kneeling by his side . . .
“Sam?”
Samantha lifted her tear-stained face. Blood spattered her disheveled blonde mane and the giant Ohm emblazoned on her white shirt. “Cassidy. Look what happened. Look what he did to Serge.” She lowered her gaze to the body who stared up at her with slack-jawed surprise.
“He shouldn’t be—” Cassidy broke off when she realized just how much blood there was on the floor and covering Serge’s chest. The injury must be massive. Like a severed limb, or . . . Samantha’s small, crimson-coated hands cradled Serge’s head, holding it in place. Cassidy put the back of her hand to her mouth and fought the punch of nausea roiling her stomach. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to fix him. He thought this might work. Just before . . .” She leveled a look of pur
e contempt at her brother.
“Oh, God.”
“Fuck.” Jackson slammed both fists onto the keyboard before sending it flying off its shelf with a violent sweep of his hand. The anti-vampire systems wouldn’t be operational again any time soon.
More gunshots. Cassidy turned in time to see a storage cabinet topple over right in front of Garrett’s intended escape route. There was no trace of Dominic, though she could feel him all around. His wrath filled the vast space like a hurricane.
Garrett sprinted across the hangar, pointing the gun as he went, swinging the sword through empty air. He got as far as the nose of the ruined plane before another cabinet, propelled by a blur of motion, not only fell sideways but also slid several yards to block another door. Incensed, Garrett aimed and fired four times. Or tried to. After the first two shots, the gun clicked, the clip empty. He tossed it aside and took hold of the sword with both hands.
Movements like ghosts flitted around him, growling ravenously. Garrett swung the sword so hard it hummed, but he hit nothing. He screamed red-faced defiance. “Is that all you’ve got, you bloodsucking punk?”
“Fucking vampire games,” Jackson spat. “Filthy demons.”
Cassidy’s heart sank. Please, Dominic. Don’t do this. Prove them wrong. Just go.
“C’mon Serge,” Samantha implored. “Wake up. We need you.” Cassidy couldn’t bear to look. Her heart was breaking for the surprising little vampire and the woman he had obviously compelled, but these things would have to wait.
Serge groaned.
Cassidy and Jackson turned their heads as one. The formerly headless body moved. His hands and feet twitched with the uncoordinated efforts of a newborn, and the large eyes rolled like those of a crazed animal.
Samantha squealed. “Yes, that’s it. You’ve got it.”
Jackson hissed between clenched teeth. “I don’t believe this.”
Someone was running. Garrett. He sprinted back to the office while keeping his eyes on the rafters and sword at the ready. He made as if to dive through the door, then turned and lunged for Cassidy. She didn’t even have time to think about moving out of his reach. He had her by the arm and swung her around. Vertigo turned her body to rubber. That bloody blade swung in front of her. Jackson shouted something incoherent. Samantha just screamed.
The sword aiming for her throat disappeared. Garrett’s body jerked behind her, and the hands grabbing her tore away. She staggered, arms waving, to keep her feet under her.
Garrett slammed to the concrete floor several feet away, pinned beneath an infuriated vampire.
Dominic roared into his face, fangs gleaming, letting the prey witness how his burned and battered body compacted and morphed into the pure skeletal horror of a vampire at his very worst. By the time he struck at Garrett’s throat, Dominic was gone. Only this terrifying manifestation of absolute rage remained.
Cassidy felt him dive into the void with willful abandon, shedding his humanity as though it had never been. “No . . .”
“Get it off me! Get it off me now!” The first traces of terror cut through Garrett’s voice.
“Dominic, stop.” She lurched forward, but Jackson bolted past her, clutching the dragon sword. By the time she realized what he intended to do, he already swung it up and back, preparing to bring it down on Dominic. Cassidy flung herself on the beast’s iron scaffold body with bone-jarring force.
“Cassidy, no!” Jackson stood over her, the sword held high, ready to separate a head from a body—which right now would be hers right along with Dominic’s, possibly Garrett’s as well.
She clamped her arms and legs around the feeding vampire and buried her face in his ragged, blood-matted hair. The burnt ice stench made her stomach roll. Words like prayers flew from her lips. “Please, please, please don’t do this . . .”
He gulped hard and fast, and she felt whispers of the rapture that surged through him with every beat of Garrett’s heart.
Prey.
Terrified prey.
The beast trembled with ecstasy.
Garrett choked out a hoarse, wordless sound soaked in mortal fear. He thrashed like a landed fish, striking at anything he could reach. Cassidy cried out when he pounded her head where the bullet had grazed her. Dominic reached out with lightning speed, captured Garrett’s wrists and confined them without missing a beat.
Jackson screamed for her to get out of the way, but his words only registered as background noise to her whispered pleas. “You do this, you justify everything they have done. You’ll be no better than them. Don’t do this, Dominic, I beg you.”
But he kept drinking. She felt the blood’s strength pound through him ever harder. The prey ceased struggling, its mind now under his complete control.
Death was coming for Garrett Striker.
Cassidy tightened her grip, and reached for Dominic from the bottom of her soul. You’re breaking my heart!
Her head snapped back. Pain seared across her scalp and down her neck. Jackson had her by her braid again. “Damn it, Cass, don’t make me hurt you.”
But he was hurting her and badly. She had no choice but to wobble to her feet or risk having her neck broken. Once upright, she kicked out at him. There was no grace or intention to the maneuver; it was wild and frantic, and had only the element of surprise going for it—which proved quite enough.
The top of her foot made solid contact with Jackson’s groin. He doubled over, the air leaving him in a spasmodic whoosh. He let go of her hair in favor of curling around his balls. She leapt for his sword arm, grabbed the wrist, and wrenched. Jackson dropped like a rock, gasping. Cassidy stood over him, breathing hard, head spinning, the Samurai dragon sword firmly in her hand.
“Bravo, ma trésor.”
She looked up. Dominic sat beside Garrett, watching her with soft, human eyes. Though still haggard and smeared with blood, his face looked a little fuller. The skin on his burned left arm was a shade less see-through. He wiped at the blood on his chin with a wrist.
The man lying beside him stirred, and Cassidy felt a sense of grudging relief to see the bastard still among the living. Garrett opened his eyes to the vampire peering down at him.
“Garrett Striker,” Dominic said with a slow, hard smile. “Your ass is mine.”
Serge, too, roused. He sat up—drenched in blood but fully restored—and chuckled. The sound was as full of joy as it was madness. And anticipation.
Chapter 38
The Sun and Her Heart
Cloaked in the darkness of a moonless night, Dominic slowly rode his bike up to the cottage. Only starlight edged its roof. Hushed expectation hovered in the drowsing palms crowding around it. The yellow VW Beetle, now sporting Florida plates, squatted in the carport.
A strange sense of anxious anticipation filled him as he locked the bike in its shed. A week of steady feeding, and he only started to feel normal again. But his instincts and reflexes still felt a little dull, or he might have noticed the TV flickering in the living room before he strode up the porch steps. Nor did he register the blood-drinker presence until he stepped through the door. A familiar wet forest scent permeated the air-conditioned atmosphere. The only thing visible of Serge, however, was the very top of his head and a pair of round eyes peering over the edge of the sofa’s back. Though the volume was turned to next to nothing, the low, ominous bass strains thrumming from the speakers were unmistakable. Jaws.
Dominic picked up the remote and paused the shark attack in progress.
Serge popped upright. “Blood-child.”
“Bonsoir, mon ami.”
“You look well,” he said, darting from behind the sofa to look over Dominic more closely. “Much better than last I saw you.” Which had been the night they escaped the Striker Foundation’s ‘facilities’ together on Dominic’s bike. Many hours
of peaceful communal hunting later, they parted ways. Serge returned to Cassidy’s side as her guardian while Dominic concentrated on healing himself.
“As do you,” Dominic said, eyeing Serge’s neck. The red line where the sword had severed his head was gone. He still marveled at the old fool’s unaccountable good fortune. Serge had felt the sword strike him and thought only of how to keep his head. Samantha, from whom he had fed in order to cement his influence over her, had picked up on the fantastical urge to reassemble him, and had done exactly that.
“I have seen this trick tried a time or two,” Serge explained once they had fed for a while and hunger no longer ruled their every thought.
“But have you ever seen it work?”
Serge beamed. “I have now.”
“Did I not tell you to stay out of my house?” Dominic said now without rancor. In truth, with the exception of Cassidy, there was no one he’d rather see.
“The sweet one invited me,” Serge announced, puffing out his chest. “She and the golden one have been showing me the wonders of this age.” He indicated the TV with a delicate shiver. “And the horrors.”
Dominic turned away to hide his amusement. A stack of DVD cases teetered on top of the new player plugged into the old TV. He shuffled through them. Action adventure, horror and—oddly enough—romance themes predominated.
“You should go, blood-child. She waits for you. As does your future.” Serge gave him one of those penetrating looks that seemed to peer beyond the ordinary world. Then he snatched the remote, dove back behind the sofa and let the watery slaughter commence.
Recalled to his earlier musings, Dominic sobered and retreated to the bathroom. He stripped off the jeans, T-shirt, jacket, and bike boots he had compelled off one of his feeds, and stepped beneath the steaming spray of the shower. His skin was intact again, his flesh restored, but the nerves stung where the hot water pelted him. Nevertheless, he soaped and scrubbed with vigor, washing away what remained of the filth and wishing he could do the same with his memories of the time spent as Garrett Striker’s captive—when he had learned to pray for death. His prayers had gone unanswered. He lived, free again, and the more time passed, the more he needed to know why. And in terms more concrete than that he had a ‘destiny’.