Redemption (The Penton Vampire Legacy)

by Susannah Sandlin

  Aidan gave her an appraising look. He remained standing at the other end of the sofa, but Krys thought that if she reached for him, she could almost take hold of the coiled energy coming off him. He seemed used to giving orders and being in control, and her questions—and that video—made him uncomfortable. Too bad.

  He sat heavily in the armchair and ran his hands through his hair. Her eyes followed the movement, and a memory of her own fingers twined through those soft waves flashed into her mind so strongly that she had to force her attention back on his words.

  “Everyone who lives in Penton is so allergic to the vaccine that even a blood transfusion from a vaccinated person would be lethal,” he said. “Most of the property in this little ghost town was for sale, so I bought it all up. About a hundred of us moved here from Atlanta and began repopulating it. We only allow unvaccinated people to live here.”

  Krys narrowed her eyes. How stupid did he think she was—to believe he managed to round up a hundred unvaccinated people with allergies and bought a town for them to live in? Seriously? Fine, she’d roll with it for now; see where he was going with this ludicrous story. If she kept him talking, maybe some kernel of truth would slip through the nonsense.

  But that damned syringe. She leaned back, setting the throw pillow aside and shifting on the sofa to face him. “You took my blood and tested it last night when you...” When you put your hands and your mouth all over me. “When you knocked me out or hypnotized me or whatever, didn’t you?”

  “I did—or, actually, Melissa did.” His face remained expressionless.

  She stared at the coffee table. His story had enough holes in it to pass for Swiss cheese. “Why would it matter whether your doctor had the vaccine or not? And why keep me here by force?”

  He gave her a rueful smile that dropped about ten years off his face and underscored what she’d thought before—he was under a lot of stress from whatever was really going on. “I was naïve. I hoped you’d want to stay once you got to know us, and since no one in Penton has had the vaccine, we want to keep it that way.”

  Maybe she could bargain with him. “I watched that town meeting video, you know.” She made her tone conversational. “You said your doctor had been murdered. Not exactly a hunting accident, so you lied about that, too. And some guy named Owen is hurting people. And...stuff that didn’t make sense. I might consider staying long enough to take care of Mark if you’d tell me what’s really going on.”

  Aidan glanced back at the TV, and Krys saw a hard pulse of anger cross his face again. “If you decide to stay here, I’ll explain,” he said softly. “Otherwise, it’s really none of your business.”

  Of all the boneheaded, arrogant... “And how long do you intend to keep me here by force, helping you take care of things that are none of my business?”

  He reached into his pocket, ignoring the question, and Krys instinctively curled into the corner of the sofa again, wrapping her arms around her knees. She expected a gun—maybe her gun—or a bottle of chloroform or another needle. Instead, he pulled out a length of black fabric and unrolled it to reveal her iPod and earbuds, which he tossed to her. He didn’t seem any more anxious to get close to her than she to him, which made her strangely disappointed. Sneaky bastard. “What about my phone? My computer?” My gun.

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  She looked at her watch. Six fifteen. “Why do you only want to talk at night? What do you have going on during the day—a war?”

  “Something like that,” he said, standing. “Someone will bring your dinner soon. Leave any clothing you want washed by the door. First, though, I need you to go with me and check on Mark. He looks flushed.”

  He was offering to have her laundry done? This just kept getting weirder. Still, if he took her to the clinic, she might find a chance to run. She followed him to the door. “Of course. Infection is his biggest risk.”

  “Turn around.” He held out the strip of black cloth. “I’m sorry, but I need to cover your eyes. It’s for your safety as well as ours.”

  Krys backed away from him, anger and panic stealing her breath. “No. Damn. Way. You will not lead me around blindfolded.” She’d stay in this room and let Mark rot with infection first.

  Aidan looked annoyed. What a pity. “I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “Guess what? Your credibility isn’t worth much. I will not be blindfolded unless you hold me down and force me. Give Mark an antibiotic—you can do that as well as I.”

  Aidan paused for a moment, then folded the cloth and returned it to his pocket. “Fair enough.” He stepped closer, putting his hands on her upper arms to keep her from backing away. “No blindfold.”

  Krys struggled against him as he held her arm firmly with his left hand and cradled her face with his right. This is what he’d done last night. She remembered that now. If he thought he could really hypnotize her...

  She found herself studying his strong cheekbones and the dark hair falling around his face. His presence enveloped her, and she raised her mouth as he brushed his lips against hers. “Ní bheidh mé tú a ghortú,” he whispered.

  The strangeness of the words jolted her out of the trance and she jerked away from him—or tried.

  “Look at me, Krys.” His voice was soft, and she met his eyes. A wave of warm energy rolled over her like a blast from opening an oven door, and she fought it for as long as she could before finally crumbling beneath the weight of it.

  So damned hungry. Owen eyed the young woman crouched in the kitchen corner of the old mill village house. Thin and dark-haired, wearing jeans a size too large and a sweater a size too small, she knelt in shadows. They didn’t dare light more than a couple of candles lest Aidan or his people come to investigate.

  Still, he could see the fine pulse in her neck, the subtle rush of blood as her heart pumped it through her body. Her scent fueled the hunger churning through him, enough to make him tremble. The few homeless humans they’d enthralled and abducted in Atlanta barely fed his scathe of eight. He hadn’t been able to round up any more vampires on short notice—only these desperate few who hoped to feed on some of Aidan’s humans once they managed to kill him. And if things got too hard, they’d scatter. Under other circumstances, Owen might have admired his little brother’s ability to keep so many vampires and humans loyal to him.

  “What’s the plan?” Anders sat against the wall opposite the girl, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the linoleum.

  Owen closed his eyes briefly, swallowing the hunger. Even though he’d turned Anders a century ago, he hadn’t been able to break the guy of his human fidgeting. He was the only one of the scathe who’d come with him from Ireland, except for Sherry. Anders had turned that useless teenage girl six months ago and dragged her everywhere. “We take Aidan out tonight. That’s the plan.”

  Anders increased his finger tapping. “He’ll bring backup, you think?”

  Owen glared at him. “If you don’t stop that infernal drumming, I’ll bloody well butcher you before I kill Aidan.”

  Anders giggled and quit tapping on the floor. In a few seconds, he began cracking his knuckles.

  “Eejit.” Owen closed his eyes and leaned against the kitchen counter. He considered getting the chair out of the front room, decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, and slid heavily to the floor. Soon enough, they wouldn’t have to live like paupers. Matthias Ludlam would see to that. He’d already sent a human courier with a small package containing his mysterious “secret weapon.” Once he’d seen it, Owen had had to admit it was pure genius. There wasn’t much, so he’d have to use it sparingly. Maybe he’d luck out and tag Aidan on the first try.

  Pity, that. Truth was, he’d have been happy to stay in Dublin forever and let Aidan live in peace if Matthias and his cronies on the Tribunal’s Justice Council hadn’t decided to make an example of him. A death sentence just for draining a few hookers was bollocks. If Matthias hadn’t wanted to break up Aidan’s power base, Owen would already
be dead. If the only way he could go free was to off Aidan, so be it.

  “Here’s how it goes down,” he told Anders. “We use Aidan’s self-righteousness against him and issue a formal challenge, which he’ll be honor-bound to accept.”

  Anders rubbed a hand across his shaved head. “You sure he’ll go for it?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’ll be jacked by the idea of using the old vampire battle accords. I’ll insist on proxies, and then you’ll come out.” Aidan was a better fighter, but Anders wouldn’t let a little thing like fair play bother him. “He’s wicked strong, but he doesn’t use his left hand as well as his right. Force him to his weak side.”

  Owen thought a moment, envisioning how he wanted the scene to unfold. “We’ll need another proxy, too. Someone Aidan would never pick. A woman or a kid.”

  Another annoying giggle. “How about Sherry?”

  Anders had a taste for the young ones, and that girl had been nothing but useless baggage and another pair of fangs to feed. Not to mention that it had been illegal to turn new vampires since the pandemic. Something else the Tribunal would hang on him if they found out. Still, she was only thirteen. Aidan would never fight anyone that young, so she could finally make herself useful.

  “Yeah, have Sherry here by two thirty.”

  Anders bobbed his head to some personal rhythm and began drumming his fingers again.

  “Get out of here and find her—both of you need to feed. I’ll take this girl.” Owen got to his feet and snuffed one of the candles.

  Anders paused on the back stoop. “We really going to follow the accords?”

  Owen grinned. “Of course not.” If Aidan came alone, he’d use the Tribunal’s weapon on him. If he brought the Slayer, well, good-bye Slayer. He’d kill the big guy and take Aidan out another night. Matthias might want to reel Mirren Kincaid back to the Tribunal but if Owen had a chance to take him out, he would.

  “What if Aidan wants to do mental battle?” Anders asked, the unaccustomed exercise of thought wrinkling his brow. “I ain’t done that in donkey’s years.”

  “My brother’s a brawler. Likes a good fistfight, he does—don’t worry yourself.”

  He watched until Anders’s form bled into the dark outline of the woods behind the house, then turned back to the girl hunkered on the cracked linoleum, her back against the scarred wood cabinets.

  “What’s your name, darlin’?”

  She blinked, her eyes unfocused. She’d been enthralled so many times that she’d never completely recovered. He’d seen quite a few like her, especially since the pandemic. Too many vampires feeding from too few unvaccinated humans. “I’m Cathy,” she said, frowning as if she had to think about it. “Catherine.”

  “Catherine, you don’t have much bloom left, do you? Come to me.” Owen held out a hand, and she let him pull her to her feet. With his index finger, he lifted her chin so she looked into his eyes, and then tilted her head to the right.

  “Someone’s been careless with you, my little Catherine,” he said, running his fingers lightly over the mass of scar tissue on her neck. She moaned and slid her arms around his waist.

  He turned her head to the left. “Much better here. Doesn’t really matter to you, does it, love?”

  He kissed her, and she whimpered. Pain or pleasure. Whatever.

  “Shh,” he said. “You’re going to have a special evening. I need to be well fed tonight, and you’re going to do that for me. Doesn’t that please you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek.

  When he left the house an hour later, heading through the woods to meet Anders behind the mill, he dumped her body in a thick stand of pines. He hadn’t fed so well in months.

  Plain, long-sleeved navy T-shirt under a Kevlar vest. Shoulder holster with Colt .45. Guns weren’t the weapon of choice for vampires, but Aidan and some version of this pistol had been together a hundred years.

  Big and heavy, the Colt fit his hand. Annoying but lightweight, the vest protected his vulnerable chest area. Basic lessons from Mirren 101.

  Aidan slipped a kukri knife into a custom-made sheath on his right thigh, its curved steel blade coated in silver. He picked up his leather jacket, reconsidered, and threw it back on the chair. Let Owen see that he was armed.

  Acoustic Celtic music—or what modern musicians thought of as Celtic music—played on the sound system in his private living room, which took up most of his home’s original basement. He’d just pulled his hair into a ponytail and closed the hatch into his subbasement bedroom suite when the intercom on the wall buzzed.

  Grabbing his cell phone and sliding it into his pocket, Aidan ignored the intercom, jerked down the ladder, and climbed into the kitchen, making sure the intricate pattern of slate tile that camouflaged the opening slid back into place.

  He opened the door as Lucy leaned on the buzzer again. Annoyed as he was with her, he had to grin at her choice of combat attire. Petite and curvy, she wore a feral smile and a skimpy red leather dress. Red pumps with ridiculous heels. This was the Lucy he’d known when she first joined his scathe. They’d been lovers for a while, but their temperaments clashed. She was impulsive, dramatic, and adventurous, and considered him a tense, moody bastard. Imagine that.

  Lucy had become almost domesticated since meeting and bonding with Doc as her mate. Aidan wasn’t sure her reversion to her old type was a good thing.

  “Nice shoes. Let me guess—you’re going to seduce my brother and lead him out of town by the balls.” He stood aside to let her in, glad she’d gotten his message to get there early. They needed to talk before meeting Owen.

  Aidan had chosen his four lieutenants not only for their loyalty but also for their individual strengths. All four were blood-bound to him, and every other vampire in Penton was bound to one of them. Once a vampire was bound, no betrayal could go undetected.

  Mirren was a tactician and a brutal fighter if he needed to be. Will’s tech skills matched his ability as a lateral thinker—if he ran up against a brick wall, he’d find a way around it to get things done. Hannah’s psychic abilities and Native American magic guided them in making decisions. And Lucy—well, until recently, Lucy had been his most well-rounded lieutenant. She had the social skills to troubleshoot any problems in town and the fighting skills to take on opponents like Owen if necessary—if he could get her to focus.

  “Have you missed me?” She wrapped an arm around Aidan’s neck and pulled him close enough to nip his chin with her fangs, then licked the dot of pale blood that welled up. “Yum. You’ve fed tonight. I’m surprised your little Melissa would leave Mark long enough. Or maybe you tasted our new doctor? Will says she’s hawt.”

  “I have a substitute feeder for a few days.” He led her into the living room, where she settled into one of the brown leather armchairs. Krys was not a subject he planned to discuss with Lucy—ever. Even after she’d mated with Doc, she took way too much interest in Aidan’s love life. Besides, Krys was a prisoner, not a lover. Something he needed to remember.

  Lucy crossed her legs and stared at him, waiting. He recognized the stubborn look. She’d shown up when she was told to, but that would be the end of her accommodation. He’d already cut her more slack than anyone else would have gotten, as Mirren was fond of reminding him.

  “Oh, you’ve gone all gloomy and brooding.” Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. “Get it over with. Let me have it. What did I do?”

  “Damn it, Lucy, you’re being careless.” Aidan shook his head and sat in the armchair facing her. No point in sugarcoating it. “Every time you’re careless with securing one of our safe rooms or flout a rule, you jeopardize all of us.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “You left the town hall meeting footage looping through the TV in the sub-suite you got ready for Krys Harris. It makes easing her into this community that much harder. She’s asking about things she shouldn’t know.”

  Lucy met his gaze with stubborn silence.

  “
The Tribunal’s watching what we do here,” he said, getting up to look out the window. “We have one chance to prove that this type of community will work. Otherwise, they’re liable to consider this scathe a threat because of its size. They won’t only shut us down. They’ll make sure no one else can build a place like this again.”

  He turned and gave her a sharp look. “You want to go back to the way we lived before, sneaking around on the fringes of society? Especially now, when there’s such a shortage of humans to feed from?”

  Lucy stared at him, green eyes burning in her pale face. “Sorry.”

  She didn’t look it.

  “Look.” Aidan sat back down, his tone softer. “I know how hard it’s been for you since Doc was killed.”

  Lucy’s jaw tightened as she stared at him, but finally her gaze broke and she dropped her eyes, hiding her face behind a curtain of shiny hair. She and Doc had been together a decade, and his death had taken her edge just when Aidan needed her to be sharp.

  “You don’t know a damned thing, Aidan,” she said, eyes still downcast. “You keep everyone in your life stuffed into neat little boxes. You don’t ever let it get messy by caring too much.”

  He glanced at the antique gold band with Abby’s name inscribed inside that he wore around his left wrist. He knew more than she thought. About self-hatred, about blame, about emptiness.

  “Lucy, in a lot of ways you’re my best fighter,” he said. Mirren was stronger and more ruthless, but nobody ever underestimated him. Lucy surprised her opponents with speed and strength and smarts. “I need your head in the game.”

  She nodded and looked up. “I chose a new familiar this week. That will help. New guy you brought in from Atlanta last month named Daniel.”

  Aidan remembered him. A baby-faced architect in his forties whose taste for alcohol had stripped away his job, family, and his life savings. He’d been too tanked to worry about getting the pandemic vaccine. “How’s he doing?”

  “Good. He’s gotten past that depressed stage where he only thinks about the life he’s left behind, and he’s starting to see how good life can be here. I think he can help me do the same thing.” Lucy uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “I really am sorry. I’ll pull it together. I promise.”