Redemption (The Penton Vampire Legacy)

by Susannah Sandlin

  Aidan wanted to believe her, but he’d asked Mirren to keep an eye on her anyway. This was no time to take chances. “OK then. Ready to meet my brother?”

  She grinned. “I can’t wait.”

  Aidan stepped into the clearing in the woods behind the old mill, getting a close look at his brother for the first time in a couple of months. A light frost had settled on the ground, and the cold wind rattled the pine branches around them.

  An unexpected stab of pity struck him. Owen’s skin had the flush of a recent feed but he’d clearly been starving. He was three years older than Aidan was, and once he’d only been twenty pounds lighter. Now it looked more like fifty or sixty pounds. He was even thinner than when they’d met in Atlanta. He’d cut his reddish-blond hair short and spiky, accentuating prominent cheekbones that made him look gaunt in the shadows cast by the mill parking lot lights behind them.

  The brothers met in the middle of the clearing, a cleft chin and pale eyes the only evidence of shared blood.

  “You’re looking prosperous and well-fed, little brother.” Owen’s accent was only two months removed from the Dublin slums if Will’s research could be relied on, and it usually could.

  “Really, Owen? You want to make small talk?” Aidan’s senses revved. The frigid air played across his skin, and he smelled the rotting layer of fall leaves beneath the frost and the musky odor of small animals trailing through the woods.

  “Tsk tsk.” Owen grinned, looking more like the carefree brother Aidan had once idolized. “You weren’t always so impatient, Áodhán. Were you keen on the message I sent last night with your handsome little human? Didn’t think you liked boys, but I guess even old vampires can form new habits.”

  “How are we going to resolve this?” Aidan kept his voice controlled, his expression bland. The days when Owen could intimidate him were long past. “What will it take for you to get the hell out of here? There are plenty of rural areas in this country where your scathe can find unvaccinated people to feed from without bothering mine.”

  Owen stopped a few inches away. “Still and all, why should I have to round up a herd of stray cattle when you have a ranch here for the taking?”

  Aidan slipped a hand to his thigh and fingered the handle of the curved blade. “You can’t feed from my people. They’re all bonded to a scathe member and here by choice. They’re of no use to you.”

  “Only while you’re alive. Besides, you’re splitting hairs, Brother.” Owen looked past the clearing toward the mill. “You think your little lambs are here by choice? It’s all the same, whether you bind them in chains, screw with their minds, or keep them because of some feckin’ form of hero worship. You always were a bloody idiot when it came to humans.”

  “My people know they can leave whenever they want.” An image of Krys popped into his mind, but he waved it aside. Plenty of time later to focus on his own hypocrisy.

  “Our people are vampires.” Owen stuffed his hands in his pockets and took another step toward Aidan. “The humans are dinner. At best, pets. If your asinine little experiment works here, we’ll all have to live like farmers. Some of us love the hunt—it’s what we were made for.”

  He was fighting for the good old vampire lifestyle? Not likely. “What are you really after, Owen?” Aidan searched again for that glimpse of the brother he remembered, the one he’d idolized as a boy. “Why after all these years? We’ve hurt each other enough.”

  Owen looked at the ground. “You think anything’s ever enough to make up for Abby?” He raised his head, his eyes like pale marbles in his gaunt face, his voice soft. “You might have been married to her, but I was the one who loved her. In the end, it was me.”

  Aidan’s fury swelled like a rogue wave and crashed through his body, red-hot and explosive. His voice cut like steel through the night air. “Don’t even say her name after what you did. You set things in motion, and it cost me everything. Every goddamn thing that mattered.”

  Why had he ever thought Owen would be open to reason? After all these years, Abby’s death still ran like a gulf between them, and there was no bridging it.

  “Do you consider us to be at an impasse in our negotiations?” Owen said, his speech suddenly formal.

  Interesting. Owen was trotting out the formal words of battle. Aidan uttered the reply, established centuries ago and still honored among their kind. He answered in their native Gaelic: “Talk has failed. I declare an impasse broken only by battle.”

  Owen circled to face him and replied, “I therefore declare a battle to the death—by proxy.”

  At his words, two figures emerged from the woods and moved into the clearing to stand beside him.

  Aidan took stock of the newcomers. One male, one female, both on the scrawny side. None of Owen’s scathe had been feeding well. The girl looked no older than twelve or thirteen and shook with nervous energy. She hadn’t been turned long—the stupid, irresponsible bastards. For Aidan, a few things were unforgiveable, and turning a child was one of them. Even the Tribunal didn’t allow it.

  Aidan stifled his fury and studied Owen’s other companion. The man was older than the girl, both in human and in vampire years, and heavily muscled despite his scathe’s lack of food. He watched Aidan with a steady gaze and gave off jittery, adrenaline-laced energy. Definitely the fighter. The girl was young, inexperienced, and too weak to be anything more than a sacrificial offering to Owen’s arrogance.

  “If you have no proxy, you must fight yourself. To the death, of course,” Owen said with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Pick your opponent, either Anders or Sherry.”

  So Owen had expected him to come alone, unprepared, and be too honorable to fight a young girl, which meant the guy was a good fighter.

  Check and mate.

  “Mirren. Lucy.” His lieutenants emerged from the thick stand of trees behind him and moved forward. Mirren stood to his right, wearing a rare but chilling smile. On his left, Lucy’s leather rustled as she shifted from one red stiletto heel to the other.

  “Shite.” Anders gaped at Mirren, whose smile broadened.

  Aidan shook his head. Had they really thought he’d show up alone? “Rules of battle say you may choose which of my fighters serves as proxy.” Owen wouldn’t risk letting his man fight Mirren, at least not on even terms. Mirren had eight inches of height and a hundred pounds of muscle on the guy, plus he was a master vampire, which meant he could communicate with and control other vampires mentally.

  Sure enough, Owen barely glanced at Mirren before turning his attention to Lucy. He prowled around her, taking in her curves and leather and legs.

  “I wouldn’t mind a good tussle with you myself, love.” He drew in close and spoke in an exaggerated whisper. “As they say in America, you’re playing for the wrong team.”

  Lucy slid green eyes to meet his and curved red lips into a smile. “You want to fight me, you piece of shit?”

  Owen stepped closer. “Pity to lose such beauty and a spirit I’d love to break, but I choose you to fight. My brother will choose your adversary.” He ran a finger along her collarbone. Her expression didn’t change.

  “We don’t fight children.” Aidan nodded at Lucy and she kicked off her heels, bare feet on the frosty ground. She liked fighting in as little as possible.

  “Anders then,” Owen said, joining the young girl at the edge of the clearing. Aidan and Mirren retreated to stand behind Lucy.

  The two fighters circled, each taking the other’s measure. Anders flexed long, ropy muscles as he stripped off the baggy sweater, his head clean-shaven. Nothing to grab for an easy hold.

  Lucy countered by slipping off her short dress in one fluid motion, and Aidan shook his head at her skimpy black bikini panties and bra. She looked like porcelain under the lights, and Anders wasn’t staring at her face anymore.

  “Mind or matter?” Owen watched Lucy with hooded eyes.

  She flashed a savage smile at him, and then turned to Anders again. “Mind.”

 
Anders clenched and unclenched his fists, flicking a quick glance at Owen as he and Lucy met in the clearing. Her green eyes locked on his brown, and the battle of wills began.

  Lucy had argued for the mental battle on the way to the mill, even though Aidan preferred a physical fight. She and Anders would struggle to exert mental dominance, until one’s will broke and fell under the other’s control. If Lucy lost, she’d be nothing more than a dangerous, mindless shell he’d have to kill himself.

  Aidan relaxed, readying for Lucy to connect with his mind when she grew tired. Since all of his lieutenants were blood-bound to him and to each other, Lucy would be able to draw strength from both him and Mirren, even Will and Hannah, if needed. Owen had probably done the same with his people.

  Lucy’s gaze remained solid, but her shoulders bunched as she fought the fatigue of trying to gain mental control over Anders. As they’d agreed beforehand, Aidan stepped in front of Mirren, keeping his focus on Lucy, while Mirren kept watch for signs of a double cross.

  Owen shuddered; Anders had begun to draw on his strength.

  Aidan met his brother’s gaze and opened his mind to Lucy. Her will pulled at him immediately, and both she and Anders steadied themselves. A half hour passed as Aidan struggled to keep his mind clear and his connection to Lucy uncluttered by stray thoughts so she could draw as much strength from him as she needed. He opened his mental connection to Mirren, and a burst of strength flowed through him to Lucy.

  A loud boom pierced the quiet of the clearing, and Mirren bellowed somewhere behind him, cutting off the brain feed. Aidan fought the urge to look around, unwilling to break his connection to Lucy just yet. What the hell had happened?

  A smile spread across Owen’s face, and Anders pulled a knife that flashed silver in the moonlight. Mirren’s mental signal returned: Accords broken.

  Aidan rushed the clearing, knocking Lucy aside as Anders thrust the knife, angling to go in beneath her rib cage. He took the knife in his side, sharp pain lancing through him as he hit the ground, pulling Anders with him. The fighter lost his grip on the knife, and Aidan scrambled for the Colt, pulling it from its shoulder holster and firing point-blank into Anders’s chest.

  By the time Aidan rolled to his feet, Lucy had planted a bare foot on Anders’s throat, her own blade in her hand. She leaned over and sliced open what was left of his chest, then thrust the knife into his heart. The spray of blood was pink. Anders had been very, very hungry.

  Aidan looked around the edges of the clearing for Mirren as Lucy worked to remove the heart from Anders’s body. Short of a shot to the brain or fire or exposure to sunlight, it was the only way to make sure he didn’t heal. Owen had disappeared, along with the girl. The wet, sloppy sounds of Lucy’s work filled the clearing, followed by a thump as the heart hit the ground.

  “Where’d everybody go?” Lucy plucked Anders’s shirt off the ground and wiped the blood off her hands. She walked across the clearing and found her dress, slipping it back over her head before wedging her feet into the heels.

  “Owen’s escaped. Bloody coward won’t fight unless he has to. I’m more concerned about Mirren.” There was no sign of the big guy.

  They tensed at the sound of a snapping branch, and Lucy took a side step to give them fighting room.

  Mirren walked slowly from behind a stand of trees. “Damned little girl shot me in the back. Not a bullet, though. Look at it and see what the hell it was.” He sat on the ground with a grunt and tossed a shotgun at Aidan. “She used this.”

  “Is the girl dead?” Aidan laid the gun on the ground, knelt next to Mirren, and helped him peel off the leather jacket. The back of it was peppered with small holes.

  “No, she fired, threw the gun down, and ran.” He flinched as Aidan ripped his sweater to bare his back. “Three centuries as a vampire and I get suckered by a pansy-ass little girl who hasn’t been turned for a year.”

  Aidan frowned as he studied the wounds. Looked like buckshot. He picked up the shotgun and held the barrel to his nose. “Reeks of the pandemic vaccine. Damn it—they must have gotten their hands on some vaccinated blood and coated buckshot in it. We’ve got to get you to the clinic.” How the hell had Owen gotten his hands on vaccinated blood?

  Lucy stood next to them, watching. “Need me to help or stay here and do cleanup?”

  “Come with us,” Aidan said. “Call Will to bury Anders and see if there’s any sign of where Owen and the kid went. Tell him I want intel only, and he needs to stay out of sight.”

  He paused and thought for a moment. Dawn would come soon, so Krys could help them treat Mirren faster, even if it meant an early intro to vampire society. “And call Hannah. Tell her to get Krys Harris up to the clinic.”

  Krys awoke with a start. A girl stood near the foot of the bed, staring at her with big, solemn eyes the color of midnight.

  “I’m Hannah.” Her voice was sweet and pure, caught between childhood and puberty. She brushed back the hood of her pink-and-white paisley parka, unzipped it, and shrugged it off.

  “How did you get in here?” Krys slid out of bed, glad she’d been sleeping in her clothes every night. She had no delusions of privacy since everyone but she obviously had a key to this place, and one never knew when a chance to escape might pop up. Like now.

  The girl, who looked to be ten or twelve, sat on the sofa and beckoned Krys to join her. First, Krys took a detour to check the door in case the child hadn’t locked it behind her. She had.

  “I’m Hannah,” the child repeated. “I’ve been dreaming of you.”

  Krys frowned and looked at her watch. “It’s after three a.m., Hannah. Why are you here? You should be in bed.”

  The girl’s black eyes brightened and a broad smile crossed her caramel-colored face. She tucked a strand of straight black hair behind her ear. “There’s a lot you don’t know about us, but you’ll have to know soon,” she said. “I’ve dreamed of you and Aidan, and my dreams aren’t ever wrong.”

  This kid is seriously creeping me out. Part of Krys wanted to ask what she’d dreamed and what Aidan had to do with it—and shouldn’t this child be calling him Mr. Murphy? Another, desperate, part of her wanted to try to bully the girl into unlocking the door or, if necessary, knock her out and rifle through her pockets for a key.

  She’d try the responsible, adult approach first. “Hannah, you seem like a nice girl, but I need to get back to my home. Could you unlock the door and let me out?”

  Hannah cocked her head. “There’s no one there for you, where you live. You’re alone. You don’t have anyone to care about you except us. We can be your family.”

  A chill crossed Krys’s skin and her creep-out meter rose a few more degrees—plus, those words stung. The truth usually did. Scratch beneath the surface of all the platitudes you tell yourself and the ugly stench of reality is unearthed. What could this child know about her life?

  “Hannah, listen to me,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “I’m the adult here. You need to give me the key, and I’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble for helping me.”

  Curling her legs under her on the sofa, Hannah shifted sideways to face Krys, wrapping her long green sweater around her knees. “Aidan wanted to check on you again before dawn but he won’t be able to,” she said. “He has many burdens, but you can help him.” She looked at the floor and nodded, as if listening to voices within herself. “Yes, and he can help you as well. It was right that you came here.”

  Krys blew out a huff of frustration. “You’re talking in riddles. I don’t have a clue what you’re—” She gasped as the child leaned over and encased her wrist in a strong grip. “What are you doing?”

  Hannah’s grip finally relaxed, but she didn’t let go. “He hurt you, didn’t he—your father?” Her eyes closed tightly as she talked. “And your mother, who should have taken care of you, she was afraid of him, too.”

  Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Your mother took too many pills and she died, and you never went back
.”

  Krys jerked her hand away from Hannah’s and stood. “What do you know about that?” Nobody else except the officials who had cleaned up the mess and her sorry excuse for a father knew what had happened to her mother. Nobody.

  Hannah looked up with pity in her eyes. “I know things about people. It’s how I know you need to stay here, to help Aidan. Penton won’t survive without him, and he needs you. He just doesn’t know how much yet. And you need him.”

  “Any trouble Aidan Murphy has, he brought on himself, and whatever he needs, I don’t have it. Are you going to help me or not?” If the answer was no, Krys would go through this kid’s pockets even if she had to sit on her.

  Hannah giggled, and the sound sent shivers across Krys’s shoulder blades. “You wouldn’t really sit on me, would you?”

  OK, the kid was psychic. No other explanation. Just add it to Penton’s growing list of weirdness. Krys scanned Hannah’s clothing. The jacket she’d shucked off had pockets, and so did her blue jeans. The key was probably in the jeans; she’d just have to wrestle her down—

  Hannah stood abruptly. “We need to leave now.”

  Krys stared at her. Talk about an abrupt change of subject, but she was all for leaving. She looked around for her purse, but Hannah had walked quickly to the door. “You don’t need your purse, and we have to hurry.”

  “Fine, let’s go.” Krys wasn’t going to argue.

  Hannah fished a gold key from her pocket, but paused before putting it in the lock. “You didn’t want Aidan to blindfold you,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Krys. “He enthralled you instead, but I can’t do that—only he and Mirren can do that.”

  Enthrall? Aidan was handsome, but she wouldn’t call him enthralling. Krys honestly couldn’t remember what he’d done. Everything had fuzzed out after he’d stuck the blindfold back in his pocket.