by Lynsay Sands
The match in her mouth was spat out on a curse as Sarita quickly straightened again. Ignoring that for now, she felt the top of her thighs to see how much damage she'd done to herself. But it was dark, and the cloth of the nightgown and robe didn't help any.
Muttering over her stupidity, she yanked up the material of both gown and robe and felt around again. Sarita's fingers encountered what she assumed was blood on the front of her upper legs, but there didn't seem to be too-too much of it. At least it wasn't gushing or anything, so she didn't think she'd done herself too much damage. Which was a relief.
Sighing, Sarita put the hilt of the butcher knife between her teeth to hold it, caught the material of the gown and robe between her chin and chest and used both hands to retrieve the knives from her thong. She then raised her chin, letting the material drop back into place and took the butcher knife out of her mouth as she considered her options. She only had two--find the matches or at least one of them, light it, and find and light the candle, or go back upstairs and retrieve another candle and more matches.
Sarita glanced over her shoulder toward the stairs, relieved to see the light spilling down from the open door above. Actually, now that the candle was out, her eyes were adjusting and she could see a little more than she had with it. Or maybe it was because the light wasn't between herself and what she was trying to see. Whatever the case, she could see darker shapes in the gloom around her. And what looked like a long chain or string dangling from the ceiling at the foot of the stairs.
Forgetting about the matches and candle, Sarita crossed back to the stairs, caught all of her knives between one hand and her chest, then reached up to feel the item with her free fingers. It was a string with a tiny bell-shaped weight on the end. She gave it a tug and then squeezed her eyes shut when a click was accompanied by an explosion of light in the room. Easing her eyes cautiously open after a moment, she saw that the source of light was a bare bulb in a fixture on the ceiling.
Lowering her head, Sarita turned to peer around at what appeared to be a storage area. Old wicker furniture was stacked along the wall to her right, and several boxes filled the space on the left, the stairs were in front of her, and--
Sarita turned and stared at the opposite wall where more items and boxes were stacked on either side of the door she'd opened. The light didn't reach far into the next room, but she could see the corner of a metal counter just inside. She could also see her candle and its holder lying in the doorway with the matches not far away.
Sarita crossed the small space, set her knives on the counter just inside the door and knelt to gather the dropped items. She collected the matches and set them and the candle on the holder, picked it up, and started to get back to her feet, but she paused as she looked at the room before her.
Enough light was spilling through the doorway that she could make out shapes, and one in particular had caught her attention. There was a table in the center of the room . . . and there was a body on it. Sarita immediately thought of the last man she'd found on a table. Well, two tables really, at least at first.
Stomach clenching, she straightened slowly and reached blindly to the side with her free hand to feel along the wall for a light switch. Her fingers encountered a cool metal upper cupboard, and then just below that she found what she thought was a light switch. Relieved, Sarita flicked it upward, and was blinded all over again when overhead florescent lights buzzed to life at least ten times brighter than the room with one bald bulb.
Blinking rapidly, she caught snapshots of the room as she tried to force her eyes to adjust more quickly. Blink. The lab was very similar to the lab in the fenced-in area on the island. Blink. There was the metal table in the center of the room to her left. Blink. There was someone on the table. Blink. He was unmoving and naked and--Blink. Damn he was hot.
Three
Sarita wasn't sure just how long she stood in that doorway gaping at the man on the table. But he was worthy of the time given. Because he was definitely not a cross-eyed drooler with a cowlick.
Well, actually, his eyes were closed and he was unconscious so she couldn't be positive about the cross-eyed drooler part, but frankly, with a body like that, she could overlook a few flaws, Sarita thought and then blinked and gave herself a slap.
"Snap out of it," she muttered. "He's a vampire . . . scientific or not. And if Dressler was telling the truth, he's been having you followed around for years like some creepy perv," she added for good measure, because really, that bothered her. It wasn't that she trusted Dressler and what he said all that much, but really, why would he lie about something like that? Still . . . how could she have been tailed by a private detective for fifteen years and not have known it? Crazy. Impossible. "God, look at that chest."
Sarita rolled her eyes as that last part slipped out. She had no idea where it had come from. But seriously, he had an amazing chest. At least what she could see of it above the chains that were wrapped around both the table and his body from just below his elbow to his upper thighs. It was a lot of chain.
There was also an intravenous catheter taped to his inner elbow on this side, she noted. And strong, muscular legs were revealed below the chain skirt, tapering down to nice calves before chains began again at his ankles, covering several inches and then stopping at his feet.
Dr. Dressler had mentioned that these immortals were stronger than mortals, but this just seemed like overkill, Sarita thought and finally started forward. She stopped after only a couple of steps when she realized she was still carrying the candle. Pausing, she swung back to set it on the counter by the door, making a mental note not to forget it when they went back upstairs. They might need it again.
That thought gave her pause. When they went back upstairs? They might need it? Was she really planning to free the naked vampire on the table? Originally she'd just been curious to see him. She hadn't intended to free him necessarily. Now though . . .
Turning back to face the room, Sarita let her gaze drift over the chains binding the man. He was supposed to be stronger, faster, and whatnot. He might come in useful in helping her get out of this place. And yeah, he was a vampire, but he had also been drugged and dropped here by Dr. Dressler just as she had. They had a common enemy. What was that old saying? The enemy of mine enemy is my friend?
Damned right I'm unchaining him!
Maybe, Sarita added, moving back to the table.
She glanced over the chains, but not seeing the end of it anywhere on top, started to bend to check under the table, only to pause as she spotted a drop of blood on the floor. Straightening again, she looked more closely at the chain around his lower arm. It was just above where the spot of blood was on the floor and she, at first, thought he must be wounded under all that chain. A more thorough examination didn't reveal any evidence of blood on the table or chain, though.
Perplexed, Sarita glanced back down to the floor again to see that there were now two drops of blood, side by--
Three, she corrected as she stepped back, revealing another drop lying between where her feet had been.
She was the one bleeding, Sarita realized and quickly began to tug up the material of the negligee and robe she wore. She'd forgotten all about stabbing herself with the knives earlier. Her worries about getting the candle lit and being able to see again had pushed it from her mind. That worry was gone now, though. She had lots of light and took the opportunity to get a better look at the wounds.
A grimace claimed her lips once she got her nightgown and robe out of the way and could see the four slices along the tops of her thighs. Two of them were very shallow and already scabbed over with dry blood. Two, one on each leg, were bleeding freely. Not a lot, but enough that blood was dribbling down her legs in slow rivulets.
She'd clean them up and bandage them later, Sarita decided as she let the gown and robe drop back into place. They weren't so deep as to be a major concern, but cuts could get infected and that was more likely in the tropics than anywhere else. It wasn't j
ust spiders and slithery creatures that thrived here. Bacteria enjoyed the wet, hot climate too.
Assuring herself that she'd tend to them the first chance she got, Sarita peered at the face of the man again and then reached out to gently pat his cheeks in the hope of waking him. There was no reaction at all, not even a stirring, so she tried again, patting his cheek more firmly. When that had no effect either, she flat out slapped him. Nothing.
Leaning over him, Sarita pressed a thumb against his eyelid and pulled it open. The man's eye was the most beautiful blue she'd seen in her life. Seriously, it was gorgeous, as blue as the sky on a sunny day, but with streaks of silver shot through that almost seemed to shimmer. She was so taken with the color that it took a moment for her to remember why she'd opened his eye in the first place, but then Sarita forced her attention to the pupil and nodded solemnly.
"Drugged," she muttered, releasing his eyelid and turning to look at the intravenous bag. His being immortal and all, she'd assumed it was an empty bag of blood. Now she saw that there was an inch of clear liquid still in the bag. Well, mostly clear, she noted, narrowing her eyes at the milky quality of the liquid inside.
Not just saline then, Sarita thought.
Turning her attention to the catheter in his arm, she ripped the tape away and slid the apparatus out. She let it drop to swing free next to the table, and then gave the insertion point a quick look to be sure all was well. A bead of blood had bubbled to the surface, but when she brushed it away Sarita couldn't even see a pinpoint to show her where the needle had gone in. He healed that quickly.
Shrugging, she released his arm and peered at his face again, wondering how long it would take for the drugs to wear off. Probably a while, she decided and debated what to do next.
Sarita glanced around the room, spotted the refrigerator along the wall to her right, and walked over to open it. Blood. Lots of it. Not as much as had been in the refrigerator she'd seen in Dr. Dressler's torture chamber, but a good thirty or forty bags.
Another sign that Dressler expected them to be here a while, Sarita thought and felt her mouth flatten. That was not going to happen. She was getting out of there as quickly as she could. She had things to do. She had to find her grandmother, and that could be a problem in itself. She hadn't seen her in Dressler's house or in the labs, but that didn't mean she wasn't there. Certainly, Sarita no longer trusted that the man had told her the truth when he'd called with the news that her grandmother had been injured in a fall. Wherever she was, Sarita had to find her and get her away from the crazy old geezer the woman had worked for since before Sarita was born. And then she fully intended to report the bastard to the Venezuelan police and see that charges were laid against him before she went home to her little apartment and her job. She'd have to take her grandmother with her, Sarita thought now. The woman would have nowhere to go here.
Her mind immediately crowded with worries about how she could do that. Would she need a visitor's visa? How did you go about getting one? Did her grandmother even have a passport?
Shoving those concerns away for now, Sarita pushed the refrigerator door closed and turned to lean against it as she considered how to get away from this place. Dr. Dressler had said in the letter that this was where he and his wife had lived as they'd waited for the house on the island to be built. She supposed that meant this house was on the mainland. That was something at least. There was a dock and no road so they were obviously on the coast and a good distance from the nearest village or town.
They'd have to walk out, Sarita supposed. Try to find help. Hopefully they wouldn't have to travel too far to find it. But there were plenty of provisions here that they could take with them just in case it took them a while to find civilization.
Sarita didn't like the idea of having to walk out of there dressed as she was, though, or in any of the ridiculous concoctions in the closet upstairs. Which was probably why that was all there was available to her. Dr. Dressler had probably hoped that would keep her here.
"Not gonna happen," Sarita muttered and pushed away from the refrigerator to walk out into the next room. She'd quickly check the boxes while she was waiting for sleeping Dracula there to wake up. Maybe she'd find something useful, like old clothes. They'd probably stink of mold or mothballs, but she could deal with that, and at least she'd have some protection against being eaten alive by bugs.
Stopping by the boxes along the one wall, Sarita began opening them. The first appeared to be stuffed with plain brown paper, but when she grabbed a handful and pulled it out, it unraveled and something tumbled to the ground and shattered.
Frowning, Sarita stepped back and peered at the broken china on the floor. A teacup, she realized, spotting a delicate handle still attached to a broken bit of china. The box was full of china, she realized after feeling the paper-wrapped items still inside. Setting that box aside, she moved on to the next, but it too held china, as did the third. The fourth box had a bunch of old board games in it. The next two boxes had books. Most were paperbacks, old romances and pulp fiction, nothing that would be helpful to clothe herself or the man in the next room.
Sarita barely had the thought when a jangling noise drew her head sharply around. Recognizing it as the sound of chains clanging against each other, she forgot about the boxes and turned to rush for the door. Unfortunately, while she'd been conscious of the broken teacup on the floor and been careful to avoid the shards of porcelain while she'd searched the boxes, she didn't think of them as she turned to sprint for the door. At least, not until a sharp pain had her gasping and reaching for the nearest box for balance as she jerked her foot up off the floor. The box didn't offer much stability. The minute her fingers brushed it, the damned thing and the two boxes it rested on toppled away, crashing to the floor.
Holding her sore foot off the floor, Sarita stared at the sea of broken glass now covering the ground between her and the door and couldn't hold back the explosive string of curses that slipped from her lips.
Domitian had just woken up and realized he was chained to a table when someone began calling their duck. At least he thought they were calling a duck. His thinking was a little slow and fuzzy, his vision blurry, and his hearing might be off too, but he was sure what he heard was "Duck! Duckity duck duck duck! Duck!"
Although why anyone would name their duck Duck was beyond him, and really, no animal would answer to the fury in that voice, he thought. And then another "Duck" rent the air, only this time he realized it wasn't duck he was hearing at all, but fu--
"You're awake!"
Domitian turned his head and stared blankly at the vision standing in the doorway. And she was a vision. Long dark hair tumbled over the woman's shoulders, flowing out behind her, and beautiful dark eyes peered at him over her presently puckered lips as she peered at him with displeasure. He wondered over her expression briefly, but then she began to hop forward, the movement causing the long, sheer flowing gown she wore to play peek-a-boo with the tiny white panties and beautiful olive skin it was doing a poor job of hiding.
Damn, the woman was a gorgeous little bundle. Short, curvy with large breasts and in the most sinful nightgown it had been his pleasure to see, Domitian decided, letting his gaze slide over the see-through white gown with red ribbons. It was almost enough to make him forget he already had a life mate, he thought as he watched her breasts bounce with every hop.
Hop? he thought suddenly. Yes, she was hopping, Domitian reassured himself as she continued forward. It was not a result of whatever had left him so fuzzy-headed where he lay. The woman was hopping on one foot and leaving a trail of blood on the concrete floor as she made her way to him.
"I didn't expect you to wake up so soon," she said as she reached the side of the table and grasped it to balance herself. Her eyes slid over his face. "I only took out the IV maybe ten minutes ago. I figured you might be under for another hour or better."
"IV?" Domitian queried, his voice surprisingly gruff. His throat was dry and scratchy. His head
hurt too. He was obviously dehydrated and in need of fluids, he thought as he tried to ignore the scent of blood coming from the woman, but it was hard to ignore and made his stomach rumble.
"Yeah." She reached to the side and dragged an IV stand with an almost empty bag hanging from it closer so that he could see it. "Dr. Dressler left you all trussed up here on a saline drip with a little something extra added to keep you in la-la land. I took it out when I got down here."
Releasing the IV, she turned and hopped away.
Domitian immediately turned and tilted his head, trying to see where she was going. She hopped to a refrigerator behind him. He saw her open the door, but couldn't see why until she let the door slide closed and turned to hop back, now with half a dozen bags of blood in her arms. His eyes widened incredulously.
"What is that for?" he asked warily.
"For you," she said, her tone all business. Reaching the table, she dropped the bags on the metal surface next to him. "You're an immortal."
It wasn't a question. She sounded pretty sure and Domitian's eyebrows rose. He wasn't used to mortals knowing about his kind, but she was somehow connected to Dr. Dressler, who knew. Which was a damned shame, he decided, his gaze locking on her breasts as he saw that her activity had made the cloth of her gown gather between them, leaving the lovely full globes as good as bare with just a veil of sheer cloth over them.
Domitian had a terrible urge to reach out and touch them, but the chains restrained him . . . which was a good thing, he told himself with a frown. He had a life mate, or would once he claimed his Sarita. He had no business noticing other women's breasts.
"You work with Dressler?" he asked and scowled at both the possibility and the fact that the words didn't come out as strong as he would have liked. Damn, his throat was dry and sore. He needed blood.