C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, she chanted to herself as she waited, flinching as the sound of furniture crashing and breaking reached her.
Suddenly, Driscoll roared and charged Randy, fangs bared. Randy feinted and slashed at the vamp, slicing through fabric and skin, leaving a bright red line eight inches long across his chest, ending at his heart. Before he could plunge the knife in, Driscoll jumped back.
“Oh, for that you get to watch as I take your woman, wolf. Maybe she’ll put up a bit more of a fight than the other one.”
They came together, grunting and growling, Randy landing one more stab before vicious claws raked across the wound on his stomach, opening the skin in four deep furrows. He gasped and stepped backward, holding his stomach, falling to his knees as he squeezed his eyes shut against the excruciating pain.
He blinked his eyes open when he heard the door open, and struggled to stand.
Crissy jumped when the door opened, the vamp blocking most of the doorway. She glanced behind him. Randy was down, oozing blood from the wounds across his stomach. Crissy felt resignation flood through her. The moment had come. She straightened. No way would she run from this.
Driscoll approached her, grabbing her shoulders and turning her to face him.
His black eyes bored into hers. She could see the bloodlust in them, the taint of the crazed animal that lurked within.
She heard Randy calling out to her, the sound weak, the words laden with pain.
“Yes, my dear,” said Driscoll, his tone honeyed, compelling, “look at me. Don’t worry about him—he’s nothing, he’s finished.”
She knew what he was trying to do. The same thing Marcus had tried—and failed. But she let Driscoll believe he was mesmerizing her. It was the only advantage they had.
“Just a little taste. Let’s see what the fuss is about—all these men prepared to die for you…”
As he bent lower, the fetid stench of his breath washed over her, making her stomach roil and she fought not to flinch. Gritting her teeth, she kept her face blank. The broken piece of rotted floorboard she’d hastily fashioned into a stake, slid down from its concealment up her sleeve to her right hand. Just a little more… Just a little closer… Come on, you bastard. Come to mama…
The timing would be everything. This had to work, or she really was dead—or undead.
An anticipatory moan left his lips, and at that moment she raised her knee up with all the force she could muster, landing square in his balls.
As he grunted and started to bend over with the pain, she drove her hand up, driving the stake directly into his chest. She held her breath as she waited to see if her aim had found its mark.
He stumbled back, a brief look of shock and surprise on his face before he crumpled to the floor, his body disintegrating as she watched.
Rushing for the railing, she leaned over and retched, again and again until her stomach was dry heaving. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she turned toward the doorway.
* * * * *
As he opened his eyes, and the fog of numbness was pierced by the intense burning pain making his gut clench, he realized he must have blacked out—again. Hell, he needed to stay conscious! Crissy had somehow moved him so that he was lying down, instead of propped up against the wall as he’d been earlier. A couple of pillows cushioned his head.
But the pain was worse now than anything he’d felt before. And every muscle he so much as twitched sent shards of excruciating torture through him. At his gasp, Crissy looked up from where she’d been dabbing at the blood, trying to stem the flow.
The tears had dried on her cheeks, but the look in her eyes was more determined than he’d ever seen.
“We made it,” he croaked.
“No, I made it, big guy. The jury’s still out on you. Again, in case it’s escaped your razor-sharp intelligence, you’ve been hurt.”
A weary chuckle bubbled up, but ended with him flinching instead.
“You just love sassing me, don’t you, woman.”
“You could be dead now if that idiot had a bit better idea of anatomy. Who the hell did you think you were taking him on like that? Rambo?” She was crying again, tears sliding down her cheeks unchecked and unnoticed.
He placed his hand over hers, stilling its nervous movement. “No, I was trying to protect my mate. We tend to take that kind of stuff pretty seriously.”
“Randy, I-I—”
“You were brilliant, babe. Awesome. Remind me never to piss you off.” He forced a grin and squeezed her hand. “Did you get hold of Zig? Chad?” More pain rippled through him and he gritted his teeth against the searing shaft of heat tearing through his abdomen.
“I’ll keep trying. I promise.”
“Good, babe. That’s my girl.” He could feel himself slipping away again.
He wasn’t sure how long he was out, but it was still dark outside. He glanced around the sparsely furnished room, looking for Crissy and saw her staring out the window, nibbling on a nail.
“Stop biting your nails.”
Her head spun around in surprise. “You’re awake!” In the blink of an eye she was kneeling beside him. Picking up a damp cloth from a bowl of water sitting beside him, she squeezed it and placed it on his forehead. The coolness offered him temporary relief.
“Great powers of observation, babe. Not much gets by you, does it?” he teased.
She snorted, but a tiny smile tilted the corner of her mouth. “Cheeky bastard.”
“Yeah, one of my more adorable qualities.”
He tried lever himself up, to get more comfortable, but the effort was too much, eliciting little more than a weak gasp from him. With firm but gentle hands, she pushed his shoulders back down, shaking her head.
“Where are the guys? Did you get hold of them?”
“Finally. The signal out here is really shot, if you’ll excuse the pun. I had to walk up that little hill out back, but I managed to reach Chad, finally. They should be here soon. All of them.”
“Georgie? She’s safe?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Good.” He closed his eyes. “That’s good.”
He didn’t want to worry Crissy, but just the effort of talking was nearly too much. In spite of the pain in his stomach that felt like acid burning through it, all he wanted was to sleep.
He forced his eyes open. “Cris?”
“Hmmm?” She leaned over him with a fresh cloth, her face creased with concern, and he gripped her hand as best he could.
He tried to smile, but it came out watery at best. “Do you know how much I love you? Knew the moment I saw you…you were the one.” He could feel himself floating into the black fog again, but this time the pull was stronger, sucking him down, further and further. “Sorry…didn’t tell you…sooner…damn idiot…”
Chapter Fourteen
For a moment, it seemed as though her heart stopped. When his hand flopped lifelessly out of hers, she screamed, “Randy?” Panicked, she leaned closer, her eyes skimming over his face as she placed her fingers along his carotid to assure herself the pulse was still there, his heart still beating. It was weak and thready. Up until now, she hadn’t been prepared to face the fact that he might not make it, that she could lose him, but it hit her with all the suddenness of a sharp smack in the face.
Tears tracked freely down her cheeks and she brushed at them impatiently as she leaned over to whisper in his ear, “And I love you too.” Fatigue and worry flooded through her and she started to sob harder. “Oh, honey, I love you too.” She only hoped he heard her. That it wasn’t too late…
The sound of tires tearing through dirt and rocks before screeching to a stop outside made her lift her head. She stood quickly and raced to the window. She didn’t recognize the blue Cherokee, and her heart started to thump a frantic beat, but when first Ziggy then Marcus and René stepped out of the vehicle, she rushed to the open door.
“Thank God you’re here.”
René gave her a quick hug and a
kiss on the forehead. “It’s all right, Christina. We’ll get him back on his feet again.”
Ziggy moved in behind them carrying a black leather bag. He knelt beside Randy and immediately raised his knees. “Damn, that looks nasty. Bullet wound. Shit, nice claw wound. Marcus, keep his knees there, will you? Relieves the pressure on the abdomen.”
Crissy hovered, wringing her hands, not sure what she could do to help.
With a calm expression on his face—a hell of a lot calmer than she was feeling—Ziggy looked up at her. “I need you to answer some questions for me, Crissy.”
“Sure.” She knelt at Randy’s feet on the dusty floorboards.
“Has he vomited or complained of any nausea?”
“No.”
“Okay. Good. Now I need you to show me where they both were when Randy was shot.”
“Hell, I don’t know.” She paced over to the door, Ziggy right behind her, and pointed. “Randy was here. The vamp was…” she waved her hand in the direction of the small kitchenette opposite, “somewhere over there, I think. It all happened so fast I didn’t really see. Why?”
“Gives me an idea of the velocity of the bullet. How much internal damage there could be.”
“Oh. Right. You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
“Special Forces. I was a medic.”
“Talented family,” she said and smiled weakly. “Can you help him? Is he going to die?”
The sound of a motorbike pulling up outside interrupted them.
He grabbed her shoulder and squeezed, giving her a small smile and a nod, seeking to reassure her. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
Seconds later the door opened and Georgie stomped in followed by Chad.
“I told you, I’m fine!” gritted out Georgie, her voice rising with exasperation, turning to Chad and shoving the bike helmet in his stomach.
Chad glared back at her then placed the helmet on the floor just inside the door. “The way you jumped off my bike before it stopped, you nearly broke your goddamn neck.”
“Chaaad. Will you please stop fussing! Christ!”
“Georgie!” Crissy jumped up to hug her, pulling back when Georgie flinched. Crissy grimaced. “Sorry,” she apologized. “You okay?” She picked up Georgie’s hand, looking over her cousin, even in the dim light of the hurricane lamp that was the sole source of light, not failing to see the bruising on her face.
“She refused to stay put,” Chad stated, his expression surly, as he went to check out Randy. “Stubborn woman,” he mumbled. “Drive a man fucking nuts.”
Georgie frowned at Chad before she turned to Crissy. “I’m fine—nothing that some painkillers and a heavy dose of revenge won’t cure. Speaking of which, where is that bloodsucking bastard? I’m going to fry his damn balls before I shove them down his—”
“Georgie!” Crissy stopped her cousin, worried by the murderous glaze that came over her eyes.
“What?”
“He’s dead, Georgie. I killed him.”
Georgie’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“You?”
“Yeah, me.”
At the news, Georgie’s head dropped, and her shoulders slumped, as if the last little bit of fight had gone out of her. When she looked back up at Crissy, the trauma of her ordeal was plainly visible in her watery eyes.
“Enough about me. How’s Randy, Cris?” She flicked a concerned glance over to where Randy lay on the floor with Ziggy working over him.
Crissy bit her lip and hugged herself, the fear for her mate threatening once again to overwhelm her. Her eyes burned from trying not to cry. Tears wouldn’t be any use to either of them. “Not good. Ziggy’s not saying much. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not…”
“He’ll be fine, Cris. You’ve got to believe it.” Georgie gave her a quick hug then released her, turning her toward Randy. “Ah, he’s not a vamp too, is he? I mean, this has been a real education and all…”
Crissy managed a half smile, and patted Georgie on the arm. “No, not a vamp. Marcus and René are though.”
“Get away!” Georgie shook her head. “God, you think you know your friends…” she mumbled.
“You okay, Georgie?”
“Sure. Fine. You go back. Go on.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Honestly.”
Crissy was surprised when Georgie walked over to stand in front of Chad and watch Ziggy, making no comment when Chad slid an arm across her chest and pulled her up close, leaning down to whisper something in her ear that had Georgie glancing back over her shoulder at Chad before she nodded to whatever he said.
Crissy took her place again on the floor, watching Ziggy work methodically to cleanse the wound, and assess the damage.
The next hour passed with interminable slowness. Legs aching and cramping, she stood to stretch her legs, gritting her teeth as the blood started to flow again and pins and needles stabbed up the limbs. Marcus leaned over to converse with Ziggy in muted whispers.
“God, what’s going on?” she asked René, worry tearing at her. Randy was so pale, his breathing so labored, his body covered with sweat. “Ziggy’s been at it now for ages.”
“I don’t know, sweet, but Ziggy looks very capable. And your mate will come through this. He’s strong, determined. Plus he has a lot to live for.” He gave her a bittersweet smile.
“I thought werewolves had magical healing powers, but he’s just not getting any better.”
“Some wounds are harder to heal,” said René, “Especially ones from vampires.”
Marcus stood and approached them. He glanced at René and then back to her, his expression serious.
“We don’t wish to worry you, but Randy is not doing so well, Crissy. The problem is the cuts made by Driscoll across Randy’s abdomen. A mature vampire’s claws can discharge a fatal poison, and if that’s the case here, there is nothing Ziggy can do to stop the wounds from worsening. They refuse to close and Randy’s blood loss is now reaching a point where Ziggy is concerned.”
She dug her nails into her arms in an effort not to cry at the news as Marcus continued.
“I’ve suggested to Ziggy something that may help, however he won’t agree to it without your permission. But I need to know that you trust me to do this thing. Believe me that I would not suggest this if I felt it would increase the danger to Randy. In fact, at this point it may be the only thing that saves his life.”
In the short time she’d known Marcus, she knew him to be a good man, and, more importantly, a very good friend to Randy. She nodded. “I trust you, Marcus. What will you do? Can I help?”
Marcus glanced at René and caught an answering nod.
“I would like to offer some of my blood to him, Crissy. Vampire blood has some unusual and rather, I guess you could say ‘magical’ properties. Especially from old coots such as myself,” he said with halfhearted attempt at humor to ease the tension.
“But how?”
“Some will go directly into the wounds. Some will have to be taken internally. Randy will feel no discomfort, I assure you.”
“But he won’t…you know…”
He smiled. “No, my dear. You know there are rules to that, and to be perfectly honest the thought of turning your mate into a vampire is not one I relish. He’s more than enough trouble as a werewolf. God forbid he should become one of us.”
She mustered a weak smile for Marcus, her eyes watering in spite of her resolve not to cry. “Good. He’s got enough women falling all over him already. If he ended up with those mesmerizing eyes you vamps have, I might have to kill him.”
“Then I have your permission?”
“Yes, whatever it takes. Please.”
“Very well. Let us—”
“No.”
They both turned to René. Chad and Georgie looked over too. Although quietly spoken, the one-word sound resonated through the room with authority and command.
“René,” Marcus ac
knowledged, his eyes wide in surprise. “What objections could you possibly have?”
“No objections, my old friend, except that I would like to be the donor. My blood is as rich as yours. And…I would like to do this small thing for Crissy and her mate.” He reached out to rub the back of his fingers down her cheek.
“What you say is true. Your blood or my blood—the result will be the same. But the decision is Crissy’s. Crissy?”
René looked at her earnestly. “It is the least I can do for the trouble I’ve caused.”
Crissy looked into René’s eyes, her heart clenching at the shadow in them of what used to be, the resigned acceptance of what was, and the sincere desire to do this for her and Randy. She nodded her head.
Rubbing her hands up her arms, she watched as René took the place beside Randy that Marcus had vacated.
“Did the bullet exit at the back?” he asked Ziggy.
“Yes. The trajectory was pretty straight.”
“I’ll need some assistance to turn him in a moment.”
Ziggy nodded.
René’s upper lip pulled back, exposing his incisors as they dropped from their sheaths, and he bit into his wrist, opening a deep cut that immediately swelled with droplets of blood. Holding his wrist over the tear in Randy’s stomach, he allowed the dark red drops to fall into it—a dozen or more.
Crissy watched in amazement as the wound steamed and then started to mend.
With Ziggy’s assistance, he and René turned Randy over and repeated the process over the bullet exit wound. By the time they were finished, beads of sweat were running down Randy’s face, his chest, and he was moaning.
“Is he all right?” Crissy asked, stepping closer.
Marcus moved next to her and held her arm. “His reaction is to be expected. His body is merely repairing itself. Nothing to be concerned about.”
As they watched, René placed a hand over Randy’s forehead and closed his eyes.
“The sucking of blood for a non-vampire is something they are inclined to fight,” Marcus explained. “Now René is simply calming Randy, encouraging him through his thoughts to accept the next step.”
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