BloodBorn

by Linda Jones Linda Howard

  She couldn’t help but wonder how many humans were in danger tonight because she’d lifted the spell that had once kept them safe in their homes. She hadn’t expected to live long after her work was done, she’d expected to die—and to take the breaking of the spell with her. She’d always realized that Sorin was more than the others, that he was better, but she’d never imagined that he’d actually save her.

  If she’d known that was even possible, what would she have done differently?

  For a while she couldn’t concentrate enough to practice her remote viewing spell, but as the sounds of battle waned a bit, she lost herself in that mental place that allowed her to travel, and stepped out of the storage space and into battle.

  No one could see or touch her, but she saw them. Some of the vampires she recognized; she’d seen many of them in her time here. They’d delivered food, towels, sheets, soap, clothing—the endless supply of things a woman needed during three years of life. They’d threatened and taunted her; they’d imprisoned her family. Those who fought against them were different. Two who blocked the doorway to the basement stairs were vampires, too, but she hadn’t seen them before. They were obviously fighting against others of their kind, keeping them out of the basement, for some reason.

  If Sorin could risk everything to save her, maybe there were other vampires who weren’t all that impressed with the queen and her plans. She could hope, anyway.

  Away from the doorway, into the hallways and entryway and parlors, rebel vampires also fought against others. Male and female—though most were muscular and fearless men—they were armed with swords, arrows, long wooden staffs filed to a point at one end, and guns of all types. They were dressed in varied styles, as if each had stepped out of a history book. They were very effective against the vamps; they knew where and how to strike. What were they?

  A former guard she recognized jumped a soldier who held a gun in each hand. Using what looked like a butcher knife, the vampire cut the soldier’s throat. The gunman bled, fell to the floor … and faded away. Solid one moment, then misty, and then gone. Okay, so they weren’t exactly human, though they appeared to be ordinary flesh and blood.

  What on earth had her spell conjured up?

  A very tall, dark-haired man with a sword he handled well cut the head off a vampire. The vamp looked disgustingly bloody and gross for a moment, then went to dust.

  The dark-haired swordsman swung about, looked directly at Nevada.

  And winked.

  Nevada was shocked back to her body. Whoever—whatever—the fighters were, they could see her. At least, that one could. The others had been busy fighting for their lives, so she couldn’t be sure if they all had the ability or if it was just … him.

  Luca felt a sharp pain slice through his heart. He wavered. “Chloe!” Her name came automatically. He dizzily looked around, trying to find her. He, Sorin, and Indikaiya had already reduced the number of rebels significantly; the battle was waning. Many had already decided retreat was their best option, and he couldn’t blame them. Even in the narrow confines of the hallways, the threesome fought together as if they were veterans accustomed to watching one another’s backs. A warrior, a turncoat, and a blood born made for an odd, but very effective, team. Sorin and Indikaiya wouldn’t miss him in the fight, not now when there were only a handful of rebels remaining. He dispatched one, sent another one running, and turned back toward Chloe.

  She wasn’t in sight. Why hadn’t she stayed with him? Why hadn’t she kept close, as he’d told her to? He ran, his heart pounding with pain and panic. The flow of battle had separated them, and now … she was dying. They were bonded; she was inside him, a part of him, in more ways than he’d known was possible, and because of that, he knew.

  He found her lying on the floor in a puddle of blood, alone, barely breathing. The amount of blood made the bottom drop out of his stomach. From the position of the wound, he knew the knife had cut into her heart. She’d been left here to die, left for him to find. She’d be dead in minutes.

  Luca dropped to his knees, released his hold on the sword. It clattered against the floor loudly, echoing hollowly.

  She was still conscious—barely breathing, her brown eyes dull with encroaching death, but still conscious. Somehow she focused on him, weakly trying to lift one hand to him. “Did we win?” she whispered.

  He lifted the hand that she couldn’t, cradled it in his, fighting back his pain and panic. “Not yet.”

  She took a shallow breath. “Haven’t you … ever seen a war movie? You’re supposed to tell me … the battle is over and the good guys have won … and without me …” She stopped, gasped. “Not yet isn’t at all inspiring.”

  “I’ll try to do better.” He gently gathered Chloe in his arms, tears burning his eyes. She stifled a weak cry as he moved her. In the distance, beyond and above him, the battle continued, but he didn’t care. Let it go on without him. All that mattered to him in this world was right here, in his arms. He hadn’t had her long enough, he thought savagely. Just a few days. But she’d made him laugh, she’d made him angry, she’d brought color and joy and life to him.

  Her chest lifted with another of those shallow breaths. “Can you … lick this … and make it better?”

  “No,” he said, his voice thick. He could barely see her through the thick film of tears. Angrily he blinked them away. He didn’t want to miss a minute, a precious second, of her life. He would have tried to make her vampire, he’d have done anything to keep her with him, but she’d told him she didn’t want to be a vampire. He didn’t know if he could do it, anyway; she was too close to dying, there wouldn’t be enough time.

  “Vampire,” she whispered, groping weakly toward him.

  “Yes.” She’d never called him an endearment, he realized, but she’d called him something far more important: his name.

  “Luca,” she said, and with a start he realized the bond between them was still there, that she was still feeling what he felt. “Luca … make me … vampire.”

  He was so shaken he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Chloe?”

  “I love … you. Stay,” she managed. “I want … to stay.” This time her effort to draw in air was nothing more than a shudder. “With … you,” she finished.

  He froze, suddenly, terribly afraid there wasn’t time. If she died, if her heart took its last beat, it would be too late. Savagely he tore at his wrist with his fangs.

  Maybe she had a chance. Maybe. She had already taken a significant amount of his blood when they’d bonded. This wouldn’t be like starting fresh. He didn’t have time for a fresh start.

  Shaking, he placed his bloody wrist at her mouth. “Drink, Chloe, drink.”

  Her lips moved, but the blood dribbled out of her mouth, down her cheek. The dull haze over her brown eyes was growing. Fiercely he pressed his wrist down on her mouth, forced the blood against her tongue. It began dribbling out of her mouth again. He growled, rubbed her throat, forced her to swallow. “Dammit, Chloe! Drink!”

  Fuck! He didn’t know how much she’d need. Turning a human wasn’t a precise process, there wasn’t a recipe for it, or a formula. There was no set number of feedings, no specific amount of blood needed. All that was required was for the vampire blood to overpower the human blood, to become dominant, to thrive.

  She wasn’t swallowing. He made a wordless sound of grief, of fury, and ground his wrist even harder against her mouth. Over and over he rubbed her throat. “Please,” he sobbed, not caring that he was crying like a baby. “Chloe, please. Please don’t leave me. Drink, sweetheart, please drink.”

  Her hand moved.

  Slowly, as if the effort was almost beyond her, she lifted her hand, gripped his arm, and held his wrist to her mouth.

  On his knees, bent over her, he shook with sobs. Slowly her mouth began to suck at his torn wrist. She made a soft, hungry little sound, then suddenly she was clinging to his arm and sucking hard, as if she were starving.

  He sat down
hard on the floor and held her on his lap, cradling her as she fed. New vampires were unpredictable, hungry, often feral. “I’ll take care of you,” he whispered against her hair, gently rocking her back and forth. A war had started, but he’d have to constantly keep an eye on her, watch over her, train and teach and protect her—but he’d also have to protect others from her. She came first. If she was too wild he’d leave the war to others and take her to Scotland. Or to Ahron, if the trip to Scotland was impossible in her new state.

  But she was alive. That was all he cared about, all that mattered. She was his, and he intended to keep her. War be damned, and Marie be damned.

  Chloe finally released her death grip on his arm, licked his wrist, then leaned her head against him and sighed as she closed her eyes. “My head is spinning,” she murmured. “Am I drunk?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?” She opened her eyes, grinned up at him, and sat up as easily as if she hadn’t nearly died just a few minutes earlier. As curious as a child, she lifted her blood-drenched shirt and watched as the wound knitted shut. “Wow. I feel … giddy.” She laughed. “Oh, man, I feel so good. I can fight now, you don’t have to protect me like you did when we got here. I bet I can kick your ass.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, wiping his cheeks dry. She’d need protection for some time to come. She looked so happy, as mischievous as a child, that suddenly he laughed.

  “Everything looks different. Luca, there are so many things I want to do. There’s so much to see …” And then she blinked twice and her face fell. “No more sunshine,” she said, her giddiness gone.

  “Not for a while,” he said. “As you get older, you’ll be able to go out again.”

  “No more chocolate,” she said in a mournful tone.

  “You won’t want it,” he assured her. “Not for a few hundred years, at least.”

  “But I have you.” She placed her arms around his neck. He waited for her to bite him again, to feed a new hunger she couldn’t control. Instead she rested her head against his shoulder. “When I was dying, nothing else mattered.”

  He gathered her more tightly against him, wordlessly giving thanks that she was still with him. Her reaction was … curious. She wasn’t behaving like other new vampires. Maybe it was because they were bonded, because she’d fed on his blood instead of regular vampire blood, that she was stronger than he’d imagined she would be.

  And she was a conduit. She was different from the beginning. It would be interesting to see how this developed.

  She began twitching as strength coursed through her body. The world would look different to her now. All her senses would be sharper, more sensitive.

  She’d seen her last sunrise for a while.

  “I feel so odd,” she said, standing in a flash, looking around her as if everything was new. In a way, it was. “Where’s the bitch who stabbed me? I want a piece of her. I’ll teach her. I’ll pull all her hair out, I’ll tie her guts into bows—”

  “Small woman with dark hair?” Luca asked, breaking into that litany of physical mayhem.

  Chloe stopped, rolled her shoulders, took a deep breath. “Yeah. How did you know?”

  His own anger bit hard and deep. Marie had killed Chloe in order to distract him, or else she’d done it out of spite. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t allow the act to go unpunished.

  And Marie had killed Chloe. Chloe’s life as she’d known it was over. She wouldn’t go back to work, watch movies with Valerie, attend school … go home to her parents, who’d lost their child tonight. As a new vampire she wouldn’t be able to hide what she’d become. It took time to learn how to behave, move, and restrain natural instincts around humans. Chloe likely wouldn’t have those skills until all those who knew her well were dead and buried.

  But she had him. For better or worse, she had him.

  After what seemed like hours, the sounds of battle faded away until there was only an occasional sound of swords clashing, or something breaking. Nevada still didn’t move. What would she find if she stepped out of her hiding place? Had Sorin survived? Who was out there? Who was winning—or had won?

  She knew that it would be best for everyone if she died here and now. The protection spell would be reinstated the moment her heart stopped beating. Given time she could use her magic to recast the spell, but how long would that take? How much time did humans all over the world have left?

  But she couldn’t take her own life, couldn’t pretend that she didn’t want to live.

  The sounds of war diminished, and then finally faded entirely. It was probably safe to peek outside, to see what was going on. But she had no idea what might be on the other side of the small door that separated her from … chaos.

  When the door opened, she flinched and then blinked against the light that flooded her small space. Sorin was there, holding a sword in his hand. He wasn’t alone. Behind him stood a tall woman dressed in a leather shift. She also carried a sword. There was the fighter who’d seen her even though she’d not been present in body, and a man about her age cradling a shotgun; his pockets bulged with a few cartridges for that weapon.

  They all looked as if they’d been fighting for their lives. Sweaty, breathing hard, bloody, a couple of them bleeding from minor wounds … not the vampire, of course … they looked at her expectantly.

  Maybe they were here to kill her because they knew. Maybe they would take the decision from her.

  Sorin offered his hand, and Nevada took it. He helped her from the small closet, held her hand until she was standing steadily. Nevada lifted her chin bravely, looking up because they were all so blasted tall! “I suppose you already know what’s happening here. Kill me and the protection spell will go back into effect. I tied the breaking of it to my heartbeat, because I was sure the queen bitch would kill me as soon as I broke the spell.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to die, but I understand.” She closed her eyes and waited for the slice of a sword or the blast of a shotgun.

  Nothing happened.

  Nevada slowly opened one eye, to find that Sorin and the dark-haired soldier had placed themselves in front of her and held their swords up and ready. They were both positioned and willing to defend her from the others, even though they’d all fought on the same side tonight.

  It was the female with a braid who spoke. “Down, boys. I for one have no intention of killing an innocent human.”

  The man with the shotgun nodded. “Seriously, it would be like shooting a kitten.”

  Sorin and the other man both relaxed, slightly.

  “Can you fix it without dying?” Sorin asked.

  “Yes, with time,” Nevada responded.

  “How much time?” the dark-haired man asked. He had a touch of a Russian accent that was kind of sexy.

  “I don’t know,” Nevada confessed. “Days, weeks, months …”

  “We don’t have months,” Sorin said sharply.

  “I know,” she whispered guiltily.

  Since no one made a move to kill her, her two bodyguards relaxed. The new arrival turned and looked down at her. Again, he winked. “I knew a witch once. She was not nearly as pretty as you.”

  “You saw me.”

  “Of course I did. Those of us who travel between worlds see others who travel in a similar way.”

  Between worlds. She shouldn’t be surprised. He caught her gaze and held it, and Nevada felt something she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. It was unexpectedly nice. “My name is Nevada.”

  “I am Rurik, beautiful one.” He bowed gallantly. Sorin snorted, and so did the female. “Never fear. While I am in this world no one will dare to kill you.”

  It didn’t seem fair, even to her, that her survival meant others could—would—die.

  And still, she didn’t want to go. Not now, when things had just gotten interesting.

  When the others moved away, Sorin took her arm and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Did you put a spell on me?”

&nbs
p; “No!” she said. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes,” he responded. Then, “No. But when you said remember …”

  “That wasn’t a spell. I just … I saw that the memories were within you but you’d buried them deep. I saw that you needed them to come to the surface.”

  “Perhaps I’d buried them for good reason,” he grumbled.

  Nevada looked around. “Is she dead?” she asked. It wasn’t necessary that she use a name; Sorin would know who she was asking about: the queen.

  “It appears that she escaped,” he said, and she heard real regret in his voice.

  They followed the others into the dining room connected to the kitchen, which had been badly damaged but wasn’t destroyed like the rooms she’d seen when she’d traveled out of her body. Many of the fighters who’d come from another world to help had survived and had gathered here. They had their heads together, making plans for what was to come. Some tended minor wounds.

  They were fighters, soldiers. Her part in this was no less important.

  Nevada gathered her own internal strength. She could do this. “I’ll need a place where no one will find me, for a while. I’ll need my books, the vials, the herbs I’ve collected over the years. And my crystals. They’re important to the process.”

  “We can’t stay here,” Sorin said.

  “My family must be protected,” she insisted. “You know damn well if that bitch queen can get her hands on them and use them, she’ll do it.”

  “For the weakest among us, you make many demands,” Sorin grumbled.

  It pissed her off to be called the weak link, even if it was, in some ways, true. “Maybe I’m physically weak, but you need me. I’m the only one who can do what must be done to fix this.”

  Sorin gave a gentlemanly nod of his head. That was enough of an answer for her.

  Rurik turned and looked at them, his gaze moving sharply from one to the other. Nevada hoped he didn’t think they were a couple! But then again, that hardly mattered at the moment.

  Did it?

  Chloe wanted to run, to fly. She was certain she could fly, if she tried. Everything around her looked different. She saw colors she had never noticed before, heard everything, as if the world breathed.