by Tamsin Baker
I ducked my head, lower still. Maybe if I ignored him long enough, he’d give up and go away.
“Tiff!”
Fat chance. The man made mules look meek. Since when had he ever given up? Particularly when it came to me and saving his firm, fucking ass.
I waved my hand in an unequivocal “piss off” gesture and kept peddling. I obviously needed my head examined if I thought he’d take the hint.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Tiff. Pull over.”
The motorcycle pulled up beside me. He wasn’t going away, and I couldn’t concentrate with him right there, legs spread-eagled across that great machine. I hit the brakes. The tires squealed, wheels skidding over the loose gravel. The bike flipped, tossing my body like a frigging cannonball, up and over the handlebars. For a few glorious, heart-stopping moments I flew through the air, weightless, free, then the road and my body met with an almighty slam.
Fuck.
The world swam, but that didn’t stop his voice from permeating the cloud and dancing on the edge of consciousness. I wanted him gone, and I told him so, in mutters that were totally incomprehensible to anyone but me.
I felt his hands on my body, methodically checking for injury. I knew enough to know the pain I felt wasn’t from broken bones. My entire right side would be black with bruises in the morning. I’d have a whopper of a headache, and sharp pain every time I put one foot in front of the other.
Then there was my heart . . .
He released the straps on my helmet and eased it off.
The shivers that had slowly deepened over the past few days, intensified.
“Moja láska, I’ve got you.” He wrapped me in his arms and lifted me as if he were lifting feathers. Warmth spilled around me, combating the cold biting through my skin. I should have pulled away—if I’d been sensible, that’s exactly what I would have done—but something dragged me in. I pushed my face into the wool of his sweater and blocked out the world and everything that said he and I were wrong.
Right now, this feeling, me in his arms, it didn’t feel wrong. It felt . . . warm.
And I was. So. So. Cold.
Tired.
He eased me onto the bike, my legs either side, my body pressed tightly against his as he wrapped his arms around me once more. “Let’s get you home, moja láska.”
Again, those words. I had no clue of their meaning, but they sounded as warm as his sweater and as comforting as his large, muscular frame shielding me from the storm.
That he’d lied to me and used me seemed to register less than my need for warmth.
The engine gunned, and the bike lurched forward. His grip tightened and cold air rushed past, so fast, as if the world raced by us with lightning speed. Of course, it wasn’t possible. But through the fuzziness engulfing my brain, that’s how it felt.
My body began to shiver. It wouldn’t stop, no matter how much I willed it. I scrunched my eyes closed and let my body meld into his. Wishing I could go back in time, to those moments when I thought my visions formed part of The Prophesy instead of a plan to taunt me with what I could never, would never, have.
Chapter 34
Gideon
I’d fucked up royally and now Tiff was suffering the consequences.
Clammy skin. Face flushed red. Feverish and barely conscious. My medical training kicked in as I perched on the edge of her bed and assessed her temperature before checking the responsiveness of her pupils.
Over three hundred years I’d gathered multiple professions, general medicine being just one. You never knew when you’d need to call on that knowledge. Like now.
The force of her reaction wasn’t from the fall. This was something else. A virus, maybe?
A chill washed my body. Not the virus?
I tucked the blankets tighter round her shivering torso and daubed a damp cloth across her brow. Her head rolled to one side, then the next, a trail of nonsensible gibberish unleashing from her lips.
“Shhh.” I brushed my lips to hers. Perhaps the contact would stem the flow and settle her restlessness somehow.
The ramblings intensified. Then nonsense mumblings transformed into clear, panicked cries. “No!”
I brushed back a clump of sweat-soaked hair and this time kissed her brow. “Shhh.”
She shrank away from my touch. “Stop. Please stop.” She wrestled with the blankets, slamming a wild fist into my chin when I leaned in to help. I rolled my jaw, tasted blood. Mine.
Again her head rolled to the side. Her nostrils quivered. She whimpered, her voice barely discernable, but I heard all the same. “So much blood.”
She shuddered, then turned onto her side, curling up into a tight, trembling ball.
I wanted to kill that bastard Richard, with every fiber of my being.
She barely registered when I straightened the covers this time. Jerky breaths wrenched sharp and shallow through her pale lips, and with each one my mouth dried a little more. How could the virus have hit so fast?
Not that the how made any difference. I couldn’t keep her in my home when she needed full medical treatment that only a hospital could provide. I called 911, even while my mind spun with the knowledge that if needed, production of the new serum was still days away.
I could only hope that my hunch was way off and she’d suffered from no more than a knock to the head and a simple, everyday Rhinovirus-based common cold.
*
I’ve always hated the cloying of disinfectant at the back of my throat almost as much as I hated a hospital’s sterile, white-washed walls and the resonant disharmony of heart monitors.
Two days had passed since Tiff flew off her bike and into a fever-induced haze. My fears had been founded the moment her blood test results came back—Influenza A H3N2v4, the variant flu virus for which the serum had been designed to stop.
No other known cure existed once the infection took hold.
Tiff had no next of kin in Louisiana, and I hadn’t realized the extent of Richard’s alienation tactics till I’d seen the consequences for myself. No friends had contacted the lab or called her cell since she’d been admitted.
No one seemed to care whether she lived or died.
Bar one. I alternated between vigils at her bedside and visiting the lab, helping Graeme restock and reinstate all the necessary samples for Hagen to function. All the while I waited for my next contact from Damon, bracing each time my cell pealed.
I heard the soft swish of the formidable Nurse Wright’s scrubs long before she entered the room and spoke. “Still here?”
I nodded and spared her a smile. “Still here.”
Where else would I go? It wasn’t as if I needed the sleep craved by mortals. I would have looked fresh, as if just arrived from the required eight hours, if not for the crumple of my days old shirt and jeans.
She took it all in, mistaking my tired attire for fatigue. “You should get some rest.”
“I will when she’s out of danger.”
Deep, weather-beaten lines cut deeper still into her face. I hated the pity I saw there as much as I hated the pain it wielded.
“Ahh, Doctor.”
We both turned as Doc Huang walked through the door in his signature pristine white coat and black jeans. He made for the head of the bed, grabbed the clipboard and flipped through the top few pages.
I saw the same look of puzzlement I’d seen in Nurse Wright every time she checked Tiff’s vitals. The same defeat.
“Her temperature’s up again. Keep pushing the fluids and let’s up the antivirals.” He nudged back his black-rimmed glasses, then scrawled on the top page before returning the board to the bed.
I unclasped Tiff’s clammy hand and stood up. “What’s the prognosis, Doc?”
He scrutinized me through his circular lenses the way he’d scrutinized me every time I’d asked that same question over the past two days. “At the moment, we’re working to break her fever.”
“What about killing the virus?”
“For that we
need the antidote. Not sure if you’ve been following the media, but worldwide stocks have been destroyed. We’re waiting for the new batch, but that’s still days off.”
Not news to me. I’d never felt so goddam helpless. “Will she be okay until then?” I asked the question all the while knowing the answer. That I hoped for something different was just plain fucking stupid.
“Her rising temperature is a concern. If we can stabilize it, she’ll have a chance.”
“And if not?”
“I’d suggest you contact any family and friends. It might pay for them to visit sooner rather than later.”
He didn’t need to add that the visit was for farewells and not for support.
“What if she had access to the antidote today?”
“There’s never any guarantee, but her chances would be greatly increased.” His look lacked the nurse’s pity, that whole reserved medical bedside manner firmly back in its place. “Unfortunately, that’s not an option here.”
Maybe as far as the doc was concerned, but I knew different.
*
I’d known Damon for as long as I’d been a vamp. We’d been friends once. The best of. Then I’d fucked up and things had splintered between us, transforming our relationship into less than friends, more than acquaintances.
Once upon a time, I’d have laid all my cards on the table and Damon would have picked them up without batting an eye. Those days were long gone, which meant if I wanted to save Tiff, I was about to betray my oldest once-upon-a-time friend.
I pushed through the front door of Uncle Sam’s Souvenirs and headed for the kid behind the counter.
“Hey, Marco. Is he in?”
He raised his brown-black gaze from the flashing screen in his hand—no doubt the latest video game craze sweeping the teen population—and shook his head. “Nah, he’s out for lunch.”
“Aaron?”
“With him.”
“I need to check on something. Let me through?”
He barely blinked. I’d always come and gone as I pleased. There was no reason for Marco to believe today was any different than those countless other occasions.
I entered the four digit passcode into the keypad to the right of the counter, then pushed through the blue painted door. I passed the rows of shelving and stock to reach the innocuous door at the far end. This time a six digit code released the lock.
I pushed inside and entered the bright-lit corridor. The offices were to my right, the labs to my left. It took me less than five minutes to enter and leave the lab with just one vial of the antidote secreted in my jacket pocket.
“Gideon.”
I looked up to see the two people I’d hoped to avoid. Damon stopped, barring my exit, and puppy dog Aaron followed suit.
I dredged up a smile. “Hey, guys.”
Damon’s scrutiny swept from head to toe and I knew he’d registered every detail in that one foul look. “What brings you here?”
“Wanted to see if you were free for lunch.”
His steely grey gaze narrowed. “We’ve just been.”
“Damn. Maybe next time then?” I made to pass.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t catch up.” He nodded to Aaron, who faded into the background like the good little PA he was. “Come into my office.”
Come into my parlor . . .
Yeah, I wasn’t stupid. Damon’s invitation had nothing to do with an innocent catch up. We hadn’t “caught up” as friends since 1735.
I didn’t need this shit. Time was ticking and Tiff needed the antidote, fast. I resisted the urge to check my pocket. Good old Eagle Eyes would notice immediately.
We climbed a set of narrow stairs and then entered the large, light room that was our coven leader’s office. He bypassed the couches and made for the impressive ergonomic throne behind three thousand pounds of nineteenth century Victorian mahogany.
Arms resting on his prize desk, he waved towards the upright chair opposite, and it would have been churlish—and foolish—for me not to take it. “Nice lunch?”
He continued to stare until unease turned to apprehension. What the fuck did he know?
Elbows perched on the rests either side of my chair, I tented my fingers in the center and waited, returning his gaze to show I had nothing to hide.
Finally, he relaxed back, his scrutiny no less severe. “How’s it all going?”
“As planned.”
“Not the mission. You.”
He was starting to wangle into my nerves. Biting the bullet seemed better than being bitten myself. “We know you don’t give a shit how I am, so cut the bull and tell me what this is really about.”
I might just as well have slapped the superiority from his supercilious face. It was the first time either one of us had voiced what lurked beneath the pretext of our old and over friendship.
“Is there anything I should know that could compromise the mission at this point?”
I looked him right in the eyes. “No.”
“So, that girl, Tiffany, sick and in hospital isn’t a problem?”
“Not for the mission.”
“But it is for you?”
“Well, yeah. I’d kinda like it if she didn’t die.” The words may have sounded casual, but they cut like a stake through my soul.
“What does she mean to you?”
“I care what happens.”
“And that’s all?”
“What more could there be?”
Again that squint. Again the scrutiny.
Fuck if it wasn’t making me squirm.
“So, we’re not staring at another Annaline episode?”
I shook my head. A woman I’d loved had screwed me and betrayed the coven, and the entire situation had been relegated to an episode. Like forty minutes of some lame TV soap opera.
I bit my tongue and every angry word that would push Damon more offside. It happened over two hundred years ago for fuck’s sake. I’d been wrong, he’d been right, end of story. Why couldn’t the bastard forget and move on?
“Do I need to remind you that people died the last time you followed your dick.”
“It seems you do, every chance you get.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“My thoughts exactly.” I pushed forward. “If there’s nothing else? Much as this meander down memory lane has been a blast, I have a job to get back to.”
“Of course.” He sighed, scrubbing his hand through stubby, dark blond hair. “You know I only want what’s best for all of us. The coven, you, me. Sometimes that means making the hard choices.”
“I didn’t deliberately fall for the wrong girl. Just like I didn’t deliberately trust the wrong guy.”
“I saved our people. It wouldn’t kill you to be grateful once in a while.”
“Oh, I am. Because hanging me out to dry was a necessary part of your whole superhero saving the world production, right?”
“I can’t talk to you like this, Gideon.”
“At last, something we agree on.” I slapped my palm on the over-polished desktop. “Are we done?”
“Yeah.”
Finally. I was out of my chair and at the door before one second had ticked over to the next.
“Before you go.”
I turned, so close I could feel the brush of freedom beyond the solid wood.
“Turn out your pockets.”
My hand dropped from the doorknob. “What?”
“Turn. Out. Your. Pockets.”
“Why?” I measured the distance between us. I wouldn’t make it. He was always faster than I. Faster. Stronger. Better.
Until Annaline.
He stood and skirted the desk. “Do you really want to do this?”
“Do what? Leave?” I clenched and unclenched my fist. What I’d do to deck the bastard. “Is it so goddam hard for you to trust me, Damon? Fuck man. It was two fucking centuries ago. What the hell have I done since to earn the constant cynicism?”
“When were you going to tell me this Ti
ffany is your soulmate?”
The room began to spin like one of those playground roundabouts. My throat rasped. “How’d you guess?”
“The mark is on her neck, for chrissake.” If I thought he still cared an ounce for me, I would have believed the break in his voice for hurt. It had to be anger. Deep, dark, centuries-old. Unforgiving. Anger.
It suddenly clicked. “Nurse Wright.”
“You know we have people everywhere.”
It was true. But usually I was in the know. That I wasn’t this time was just another slash to our already dead and buried friendship.
“Thanks for the faith, old friend.”
He barely flinched. The taciturn in his expression deepened frown-lines that seemed to come hand-in-hand with his span of leadership. “It’s not about faith, and it’s not personal. It’s about ensuring the mission. Saving our people and saving everyone around us. That includes your Tiffany.”
“I’m all for the mission and saving the world.”
“So empty your pockets, then you can get back to it.”
I considered running, or whipping his holier-than-thou ass. His finger poised over a button under his desk. One press and Aaron would come running with a whole host of others.
No way out of this corner.
I slipped my hand into my pocket and my fingertips encountered the smooth vial still cold from storage. I placed it carefully on the desk in front of him. “Happy?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I didn’t particularly care.
I’d failed. Tiffany was lying in that god-awful hospital, fighting for her life, and I couldn’t do a goddam thing about it.
Chapter 35
Tiffany
Hazy fog thickened my world.
Shallow breaths wheezed thinly out from my lungs, thick and dense with the slump of wet cement. My throat burned.
I struggled to unplaster my eyelids. So damned heavy. It hurt. Even the smallest movement seemed impossible.
Instead, I lay beneath something over-starched and scratchy, and listened. I was in a hospital room. The rhythmic beep of a heart monitor and the residual reek of overcooked fat and mashed potatoes was a dead giveaway.
How long had I been here?
My entire body blazed, sticky, sweaty. All but my left hand. I centered my thoughts there, where it felt cool and comfortable. I dragged open one eyelid, enough to see Gideon slumped in a chair beside me, his hand tightly wrapped in mine.