various spots over her torso.
One was on the breast from which Eric himself had tasted her blood.
Another, at the same spot on her throat.
Rogers had amused himself by taking tissue samples, Eric realized.
He now stood aside, laying a prod like instrument down and picking up
what looked like a drill.
“Even that baby didn’t make you call him, huh. Tam?
Well, I have other tricks in my bag.
I could really use a bone marrow sample.
” He depressed the trigger, and the drill whirred. He release it, held
it poised over her lower leg. ” What do you say.
Tam my?
Do you call or do I drill?
” Tamara’s face was deathly white.
Her jaw quivered, but she looked Rogers in the eye.
“Drop dead,” she rasped.
Shrugging, Rogers lowered a pair of plastic goggles over his eyes and
lowered the drill.
With a feral growl Eric smashed the glass and ripped the first bar he
gripped free of the window.
In a second he was inside.
“Eric, no! Go away, hurry!”
Her voice was unrecognizable.
The stringy bark of an ancient cherry tree, the voice of sandpaper.
Eric lunged for Curtis, who dropped the drill and lifted something that
looked like an odd sort of gun.
Too fast, the dart plunged into his chest.
He jerked backward, gaping like a fish out of water, and fell to his
knees.
He gripped the dart, pulled it from his flesh and held it up, looking
first at it, and then beyond it, at Rogers’s triumphant leer.
The drug.
He’d been expecting a syringe, not a gun.
He forced himself to his feet and took an unsteady step toward
Rogers.
“You… will… die for this,” he gasped.
He took another step, then sank into a bottomless pool of black
mists.
Roland moved in the night like a shadow, speeding over darkened
streets, then stopping, listening and moving on.
Ever closer to the boy.
The faint sense of the boy had niggled at him since he’d arrived on
Eric’s doorstep.
But it had been so faint he’d barely been aware of it, much less able
to pinpoint the source.
Naturally, he understood that the Chosen usually “connect” only with a
single vampire.
He was the only one who’d sensed Eric as a child.
Others would have recognized him, had they encountered him, of
course.
But no others heard him calling.
They didn’t feel the pull.
Just as with Tamara, Eric had been the one drawn.
Roland felt her only through Eric.
This boy called out to someone.
not to Roland.
If he’d been summoning Roland the entire matter would have been so
much simpler.
As it was, with the faintest trace of a signal to go by, and the boy
not even aware of transmitting it, he’d be lucky to find him in time.
That was the hell of it, Roland thought as he paused again to try to
feel the signals the child was sending.
They grew weaker with each passing moment.
The knowledge that the child’s life was ebbing overlapped the pull of
him like an alarm sounding in Roland’s head—like one of Eric’s
security contraptions.
If only his sense of the boy was clearer!
If only the boy was reaching those invisible fingers out to him instead
of someone else—someone who apparently wasn’t listening.
Roland hadn’t known it was possible for one of his kind to ignore the
desperate cries of a child, a child likely to expire before this
night’s end.
Eric opened his eyes and found himself strapped to the same table
Tamara had previously occupied.
His hands, feet and head were bound just as hers had been.
Unlike her, he was still fully clothed.
No doubt the bastard had been uncertain how long his drug would be
effective, and was unwilling to risk personal injury.
He hadn’t wanted Eric waking until he was fully restrained.
as if these measly straps would make a difference.
Eric pulled against them, shocked when the effort left him limp and
even dizzy.
He’s drawn vials of blood from you, Eric.
It’s why you ‘re so weak.
The explanation came to his mind from Tamara’s, and with it a lingering
pain, a weak, shaken feeling and utter desolation.
He wanted to see her, but couldn’t turn his head.
He tried to attune his groggy senses to hers and they finally began to
sharpen.
He knew Curtis was still in the room.
It was why she hadn’t spoken aloud.
What has the bastard done to you?
Nothing so terrible, came the weak reply.
I’ll be all right.
I feel your pain, Tamara.
I cannot see you, and keeping things from me only frightens me
further.
Tell me.
Tell me all of it.
He felt her shudder, as if it had passed through his own body.
He.
took little patches of skin.
It burns, but the scrapes aren’t deep.
He drew blood from me, too.
Eric sensed her pain, certain there was more.
The jolts of pain he’d felt earlier hadn’t been caused by superficial
abrasions.
He had an instrument when I arrived—a rod shaped device he brandished
over you.
What was it?
She hesitated for a long moment.
It is.
charged.
with electricity.
Rage flooded through Eric.
He would kill Curt Rogers for this, he vowed silently, even as Tamara
continued.
He killed Daniel.
He wanted me to believe it was you, but I could never believe that.
He’s taken Jamey, Eric.
I don’t know what he’s done with him-Her thoughts ceased abruptly with
Curtis’s approaching footsteps.
He leaned over Eric.
“Finally awake? Drug didn’t last quite as long as I’d hoped, but then,
it’s still experimental.”
“You push me too far, Rogers.”
“Not a hell of a lot you can do about it at the moment, is there? I am
going to need some samples from you, too, you know. A little bone
marrow, some cerebral fluid. Then we’ll see just how much sunlight is
bearable.”
Eric felt the terror Tamara experienced as Rogers described his plans
in explicit detail.
He also felt the weakening effects of the drug waning.
His strength began to seep back into his limbs.
“Curt, you can’t do this to him. Please, for God’s sake, if you ever
cared about me, let him go.”
Rogers stepped away from the table.
Eric couldn’t turn to look, but he knew the bastard was touching her.
He felt her shiver of revulsion, and he heard the chilling words.
“You haven’t figured it out yet? I never did care about you… except
as a research subject. A half-breed vampire, Tam. That’s what you
are. The only thing you’re good for is scientific study. Oh, maybe
you’re good for a few othe
r things, too. I intend to find out before
I’m finished with you.”
She sobbed involuntarily, and Eric jerked against his restraints.
The movement brought Rogers back quickly.
“Hmm, you’re still a little too lively for my tastes,” he drawled,
rattling instruments on a tray.
A moment later Eric flinched as a needle was driven into his arm.
He felt the life force slowly leaving his body with every pulse of
blood that rushed into the waiting receptacle.
In moments he was sickeningly dizzy, and too weak even to flex his
fingers.
He felt himself slipping from consciousness.
His heavy lids fell, and vaguely he heard Tamara crying,
“Stop it, Curtis, please. My God, you’re killing him….”
Tamara struggled against the straps he’d tied around her, but it was
useless.
Her hands were bound behind the chair, her ankles tied to the chair
legs.
Her entire body pulsed with pain, due to the dozens of scrapings he’d
taken from her skin.
She was dizzy from the loss of the blood he’d drawn, and weak and
shaken from the jolts of electricity he’d sent through her to try to
force her to summon Eric.
She’d refused, but it had done no good.
Eric had felt her pain and rushed to her side.
She should have known he would.
He’d come to help her, and now all she could do was sit and watch while
Curt drained the blood from him.
Eric grew whiter and perfectly limp.
Finally Curt removed the needle.
He lifted Eric’s eyelids and flicked a penlight at them, then nodded,
satisfied.
She was surprised when Curt glanced at his watch, and then moved to
close the shutters.
“I think it will be safer to work on him during the day, don’t you.
Tam?”
He brushed away the broken glass, seemingly unconcerned about the bar
Eric had wrenched free.
He turned to a cupboard, pulled out a fresh bottle and syringe, and
Tamara flinched automatically.
“Easy, now,” he said softly.
“I want to get a few hours’ sleep. I know he isn’t going anywhere, but
I have to make sure you stay put, too, don’t I?”
He gripped her arm and sank the needle, far more deeply than was
necessary, into her flesh.
She stiffened, trying to resist the drowsiness that began creeping up
on her.
Curt let his hand move over her breasts before he drew away.
She would have pulled her tattered blouse together if she’d been able
to move her arms.
His touch made her want to vomit.
“I hate you… for this,” she managed, before she was unable to resist
the lure of sleep any longer.
Her head fell forward.
She had no idea how much time had passed when she lifted it again.
The dark spaces between the shutters showed gray now, rather than black
as before, so she feared dawn was approaching.
Her arms ached from being pulled behind her, and her head throbbed so
forcefully she could barely focus her vision.
When she did, she saw Eric lying exactly as he had been earlier, as
pale and still as.
No.
She wouldn’t complete the thought.
He was all right.
He had to be.
She mustered all of her strength and hopped her chair toward him.
“Eric.
Wake up, Eric, we have to get out of here.
” That he didn’t respond in the slightest did not deter her. She
reached the table, and turned so her back was at his side. She bent
almost double and strained her legs until she managed to lift the chair
on her back. She groped with her fingers, felt his at last and gripped
them. ” Do you feel me touching you?
Wake up, Eric.
Untie me.
Come on, I know you can do it.
You wake enough to push your damned hidden button, you can wake enough
to loosen a simple knot.
Our lives depend on it, Eric.
Please.
” She sucked in a breath when she felt his fingers flex. ” Good.
That’s it.
” She angled her hand so the knot touched his fingertips, and continued
speaking to him softly as she felt his fingers move.
She knew it was a terrible effort.
She felt the energy he forced into just moving his fingers.
And then she felt the strap fall away from her hands, and she heard him
exhale.
Instantly she bent and freed her feet.
She stood, turned to Eric and reached down to release the straps that
bound his ankles, then his wrists.
When she bent over his head, releasing the final strap, she stroked his
cool face with her palm.
“Tell me what to do, Eric.”
She wanted to help him, but wasn’t certain how.
Hot tears rolled down her face to drop onto his.
His eyes fluttered, then remained open.
“Go,” he whispered.
“Leave me…”
The lids fell closed again.
“Too late,” he finished.
“No, it isn’t. It can’t be. Don’t do this, Eric, don’t leave me.”
She caught her breath as a memory surged like a flash flood in her
mind.
In her imagination it wasn’t Eric lying on the table.
It was Tamara, a very young Tamara, small and pale and afraid.
Her wrists were bandaged and she knew that the bandages wouldn’t
help.
She was going to die.
She felt it.
Until the tall, dark man had appeared beside her bed.
She knew his face, even then.
She didn’t know his name, but it didn’t matter.
He was her friend.
she’d seen him before, even though she’d pretended she hadn’t.
She sensed he, didn’t want to be seen, and she didn’t want to frighten
him| away.
He used to come and look in on her at night.
Hej made her feel safe, protected.
She knew that he loved her.
She felt it, the way you can feel heat from a candle if you hold your
hand near the flame.
She was so glad to see him there with her.
But sad, too, because he was crying.
He stayed beside the bed for a long time, stroking her hair and feeling
very sad.
She wanted to talk to him, but she was so weak she could barely open
her eyes.
After a while he did something.
He hurt himself.
There was a cut on his wrist, and he pushed it to her lips.
At first she thought he wanted her to kiss it better, the way her mommy
used to kiss her hurts sometimes.
But as soon as the blood touched her tongue she felt something zap
through her.
just like when she’d touched the frayed wire on the lamp once.
Except this didn’t hurt and it didn’t scare her the way that had.
It zapped just the same, though, and all at once she knew he was giving
her the medicine that would make her better, and she swallowed it.
She felt herself get stronger with every sip.
A long time later he pulled it away, and wrapped a clean white
handkerchief around his w
rist.
He slumped in the chair near the bed, and he was almost as white as the
hanky.
He felt weak and tired, and she felt strong and better.
She knew she would be okay.
And when she looked at him again, she knew his name.
In fact she knew all about him, somehow.
She sat up in bed, and listened as he told stories and sang
lullabies.
He was her hero and she adored him.
It broke her heart when he finally had to go.
Tamara shook herself, and brushed at the tears.
“I remember,” she told him.
“Oh, Eric, I remember.”
His only response was a slight flicker of his eyes.
His lips formed the word Go.
“Not without you,” she told him.
“Too… weak.”
It cost him terribly just to utter the words.
His face showed the strain.
“Go on.”
“Never,” she whispered.
“Not if I have to carry you on my back, not if I have to crawl, Eric.
I’d sooner slit my own wrists than leave you here with” — She broke
off there.
He forced his eyes open once more, and met her gaze.
“No. You… too weak… could lose too… much.”
Ignoring him, Tamara brought her gaze to the tray, and snatched up a
scalpel.
“No…”
He put as much force as he had behind the word.
“Could… die” — She grated her teeth and pulled the blade over her
forearm.
She forced the small cut to his mouth.
Too weak to fight her, Eric had no choice but to swallow.
Her blood flowed into him slowly, but with the samples Curt had already
taken, she soon felt weak and dizzy.
Her head swirled and the room slowly began to spin.
Eric shoved her away from him, snatching up the strap that had bound
her before, and jerking it tight around her arm, above the cut.
She vaguely heard the door open, just before she was jerked away from
Eric.
Curt spun her around and slammed a fist into her temple, sending her to
her knees.
Blinking slowly as the ceiling rotated above, she tried to see what was
happening.
Eric was on his feet.
Curt was snatching a hypodermic from a shelf.
He stood crouched and ready.
Eric fell into a similar stance and they circled one another, wary,
each ready for the other to spring.
She had to help Eric, she thought through a haze.
He didn’t stand a chance against Cult’s new drug, and if Curt got the
best of him this time, she didn’t doubt he’d kill him.
She couldn’t just sit here and watch to see which of them was still
At Twilight Page 27