Bite

by Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, MaryJanice Davidson, Angela Knight, Vickie Taylor

  But to make love with her, that was an unpardonable sin.

  This whole quest was about Sue Ellen. Finding her. Setting her free.

  Getting tangled up—literally—with another woman hadn't been part of the plan. Still wasn't.

  Except every time he tried to picture his fiancée, to shore up his resolve by remembering her sweet smile, her shy, tinkering laugh, all he saw was Déadre in black leather. All he heard were her moans, her sighs. He felt her hot hands around his—

  "You can't kill him," the object of his rumination said stubbornly. "He's like the Terminator on steroids and immortal to boot."

  He glanced over to the passenger seat of the borrowed pickup. He and Déadre had passed the day in the basement beneath his lab. He'd cooked up a couple more batches of blood, and now that night had fallen, they were heading west, to an old restored plantation home about twenty minutes outside the city limits. The home Garth had stolen from him.

  "Vampires aren't immortal," he said, switching his gaze back to the road. "Not really. They're tough to kill. But they do die."

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You've been made what, three days, and you're an expert on vampires now?"

  "I told you you didn't have to come."

  "Oh, and miss seeing all that blood spilled? Are you kidding? Of course, all of it is going to be your blood, but I'll try not to let that spoil the fun."

  She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head to stare out the side window.

  Aw, hell. What was he supposed to say? She wasn't going to understand. He wasn't sure he understood anymore.

  "If you really think he's going to kill me, all the more reason for you to stay behind."

  She turned her head. At least she was willing to look at him again. Her dark eyes burned with angry fire. "I told you once already, life as a vampire sucks. And yes, I mean that figuratively as well as literally. Don't you get it? You're the only thing in my miserable undead existence that hasn't sucked. Why would I want to stay behind without you?"

  Of all the things she could have said, things that would have made him stop, force her out of the truck, leave her behind for her own good, that was the one thing that disarmed him.

  In her own, ineloquent way, he thought she'd just said she loved him.

  Jesus—

  I mean, Holy Hell.

  He smiled. He was learning.

  "Just for the record," he said. "I don't think you suck, either."

  Her gaze snapped up to his. "Oh, yes, I do. Take me back to the lab and give me some more of your mojo juice, and I'll show you how hard."

  He laughed out loud. That was his girl.

  "Hold that thought, okay? Maybe we'll give it a go later. First, I've got a vampire to kill."

  Not to mention a fiancée, though he kept that part to himself, because once he put a stake through Sue Ellen's heart, there would be no later for him.

  THE thumping in Déadre's chest was slow and sad. Fine time for her heart to start beating on its own, she thought. When all it wanted to do was pound out a dirge.

  Her eyes were hot and wet and felt swollen in their sockets. This is what it's like to want to cry, and to force yourself not to, she thought, and the fact that she remembered the feeling from so many years ago, when she'd been mortal, brought more tears to her eyes.

  She'd been remembering a lot of things about her mortal years since she met Daniel. What it was like to care about someone else so much that his injuries made her hurt. What it was like to need someone. To love someone.

  Now she was afraid she was about to remember what it was like to lose someone.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat and looked at Daniel. He had a strong profile. Noble. Determined.

  Stubborn as a jackass in a field full of clover.

  She'd tried every way she could think of to talk him out of this fool mission of his without luck. All she could do now was pray, and how was she supposed to do that when she couldn't think—much less say—His name?

  "Here we are." Daniel killed the engine and the head-lights on the pickup truck and coasted to a stop in a grove of pecan trees beside a long, narrow drive.

  At the end of the drive, a white house rose up from the green turf like the pearly gates from a cloud. The white wooden pillars lining the porch shone like marble in the spotlights turned on the porch. A magnolia tree bloomed in the front yard, scenting the air with the signature smell of a Georgia summer.

  "This was your house?" she asked, whispering though she wasn't sure why. Even with super-hearing, Garth couldn't hear them at this distance.

  Daniel nodded. "I inherited it. Grew up here. Haven't really lived here since I was a kid, though. It's been in my family since the Civil War, one of the few plantations spared when General Sherman took Atlanta."

  "It's beautiful."

  Daniel supposed it was. He'd never thought about the house much before. He'd been too busy with his work. His research. His life.

  Funny how he had to die to see that he hadn't really been living at all. He'd been holed up in his lab day and night, obsessed with the quest for synthetic blood. He'd told himself there would be time for the rest later. Even when Sue Ellen came along, she'd always been second to his work. It was a wonder she'd agreed to marry him. A wonder he'd thought to ask. But then, he hadn't really asked, as he remembered.

  He'd forgotten that until now.

  They'd been talking over pizza in bed after an evening of so-so sex, and she'd asked him if he thought maybe he would ask her to marry him someday. "Yeah, sure," he'd said. "Maybe someday."

  The next thing he knew, she was telling his lab assistant and the security guard and everyone else they ran into that they were engaged. He'd felt sort of obligated to get her a ring.

  Why not? She was good-looking and a nice-enough girl. Who else was going to put up with his weird work habits and obsession with blood? It was what people did, right? Grew up, earned medical degrees and Ph.D.s in microbiology. Got married. Had kids.

  Looking back, he could see what a mistake he'd made. How he'd taken the easy way. He felt like a fool for it now, looking at that big front porch and seeing himself old and gray in a rocking chair with Déadre, not Sue Ellen. Déadre's kids and grandkids puttering about, but what was done was done. That future wasn't to be. He'd made a commitment to Sue Ellen. He couldn't abandon her now. He had to put her soul to rest, and once he did, he couldn't go on living himself. It just wouldn't be right.

  Wrenching his thoughts firmly back to the here and now, Daniel turned to Déadre. "Looks like Garth's having a party."

  Two or three dozen cars lined the circle drive in front of the plantation house, among them several long white limousines and a couple of hearses.

  "Not a party." She flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips nervously. "High council."

  "High council?"

  "It's the end of the month, isn't it? Time to settle affairs, collect offerings, and mete out punishments."

  "What punishments?"

  "You really don't know much about being a vampire, do you?"

  "Apparently not."

  The more her fingers twined in her lap, the more his own nerves jumped to life. He had a bad feeling about this.

  "At the end of every month, the vampires of a clan—in this case, the clan Atlanta—are called before the High Matron to pay homage. Some bring gifts. Some share the wealth they've stolen from their victims."

  "You think Garth gave my formula to this High Matron?"

  "Undoubtedly. Whatever he has belongs to her. He belongs to her. He is her Enforcer."

  Daniel narrowed his eyes. "What, exactly, does he enforce?"

  "The rationing, mostly." She rubbed her scarred shoulder. "We aren't supposed to take mortal blood without permission. They say it's because too many suspicious neck wounds gets the mortals riled up, makes them talk about witch hunts, but I've always thought it was because the less blood we have, the weaker we are."

  "And the more powerf
ul they are. The more control they have."

  "The landowners starving the peasants so they won't revolt. The bigger the offering we bring, the more blood they give us permission to take."

  "Son of a bitch. So that's where he gets his money." He put his hand over hers on her shoulder. "Did he do that to you? Give you that scar?"

  "I—I took blood when it wasn't my turn." Her gaze jumped to his beseechingly. "I was so thirsty. I can't go as long as some of the older vampires. I only took a little. I didn't kill the man."

  "I know. You wouldn't."

  She swallowed, lowered her face. "Garth knocked me down and held me there with his foot on my shoulder."

  Daniel's throat closed. "The metal cross embedded in the sole of his boot." So that's what it was for.

  "He's so old, as long as there's leather between it and his foot, and as long as he can't see it, it doesn't bother him."

  "But he uses it to keep the rest of you in line."

  "The rest of us. He'll use it on you, too, if you interfere with him."

  He reached into the cooler behind the seat and pulled out two plastic Coke bottles he'd washed out and refilled with his wünderblud. One bottle, he opened and handed to her. The other he kept for himself, then knocked his container against hers in mock toast. "From now on, you can have all the blood you want."

  Turning his gaze toward the brightly lit house, he drank deep, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Garth LaGrange is never going to put a hand, or a foot, on you again."

  She followed his lead and downed her blood with gusto. When she finished the bottle, her eyes were fever bright. In medical terms, he'd say she was feeling no pain.

  She slid her hand over to his lap, and he felt the building arousal in her, and in himself. It would be hard not to feel it, since it was currently threatening to bust the seam on his pants. If they were anywhere else, they'd be going at it like minks already.

  "Killing Garth can wait one more night, can't it? He'll be more vulnerable when he's alone. And tonight…" Her tongue curled in his ear. "We have better things to do."

  Come to think of it, what did it matter where they were? No one knew they were here. No one could see them.

  He took her hand and started to pull her closer, but the headlights of another car sliding past them down the long drive had him blinking and throwing his hand up over his face.

  "A late guest?" he said.

  "Not likely. No one would dare be late to Council." Raising her head, Déadre watched the car pull up to the walk and stop. Four people got out, two of them huddled together and wearing dark hoods, the other two flanking them on either side.

  Daniel's expression darkened. "You didn't tell me this was a costume party."

  "It's not." She shook her head. "I guess now would be a good time to tell you that sometimes, when the High Matron is feeling particularly generous, they invite guests to the High Council. Mortal guests." She had to pinch her lips together to keep them from trembling. "Most of the time they don't survive."

  8

  DANIEL'S face twisted. "They kidnap innocent people and bring them here… to feed on?"

  She shrugged, but there wasn't a hint of carelessness in the gesture. "The vampire equivalent to a gang bang. Everyone who's been good gets to take a turn."

  "That's sick."

  "I told you it was a miserable existence."

  He slung the satchel he'd packed full of deadly goodies over his shoulder and reached for the door handle. "We've got to help them."

  "There are thirty or forty vampires in there. Are you going to fight them all?"

  "If I have to." He swung the door open and jumped out of the truck.

  Swearing under her breath, she followed, beseeching whatever deity would listen to her—if any would listen to her—to save her from fools and do-gooders. More importantly, save him.

  "Wait." She caught up to him at the edge of the trees, tugged on his sleeve. "They won't get to the… refreshments until after the ceremony. They'll stash them somewhere until they've finished their business."

  "Where?"

  "Somewhere with only one way in or out so they can't escape. Near the assembly—that would be in the largest open area, probably, so there'd be room for everyone."

  Daniel took her hand and skirted along a hedgerow, careful to stick to the shadows. "Sounds like the ballroom."

  "You have a ballroom?"

  "It's an old house. There's a big pantry between it and the kitchen. No windows. One door into the hall."

  "Which will surely be guarded. How will you get in?"

  He looked back at her and smiled encouragingly. "I told you this house was built before the Civil War, the slave era. It has service tunnels running all through it. One of them leads right to the pantry close to the ballroom."

  "And if they aren't there?"

  "Then we'll try somewhere else."

  They found a ground-floor window open at the back of the house, the gingham curtains barely fluttering on the still air. Inside, they heard voices. Raucous shouts and pleas for mercy. A few screams. Daniel's jaw ticked and his hand tightened around hers, but he said nothing. Just led her deeper into the mansion. Into trouble.

  They entered a narrow passage behind a stairwell and followed it as it twisted and turned around the house. At one point, they were so close to the assembly that she could make out the individual voices: Maximillian and Tomása, Gretchen and Alexi, and Garth's mad screech.

  Her breath stuttered and quit. Spiderwebs caught in her hair, and she had to flick something big and black off her forearm twice, but Daniel seemed unaffected, so she stumbled along after him as quietly as she could.

  They went down a few stairs, into a cellar. There were racks on the walls. What looked like wine racks, only…

  Daniel stopped and stared at the bottles, finally lifted one from its cradle, shook it, squinted at the label and smelled the cork.

  "It's blood, isn't it? Your synthetic blood."

  He nodded.

  "So all this time Garth has been making it and hoarding it. Making the rest of us go thirsty. Punishing us for taking mortal blood while he gorged himself."

  Daniel put the bottle back in the rack, gave her a hard stare. "Looks like it."

  She exhaled noisily. "Let's get the bastard."

  "That's my girl."

  They walked on through the musty cellar, finally stopping under an old-fashioned service lift. Daniel pushed the box meant to wench goods up into the pantry from the cellar out of the way and dragged over an old crate to stand on. Stretching up, he wrapped lightly on the ceiling above him.

  "Shh," he warned in a harsh whisper. "I've come to help you. Keep quiet."

  Then he slid the hatch aside and leaped straight up into the pantry with no more than a mild fluttering of air to mark his travel. Déadre followed close behind.

  She pulled the hoods off the young couple curled together in the corner while Daniel untied their hands.

  "Are you hurt?" he asked.

  The young man's finger flew to his lips. He made the symbol for two and then pointed at the door.

  Guards.

  Daniel nodded and helped them slide down into the cellar without a sound.

  "What now?" Déadre asked when the hatch was back in place above them.

  "Take them to the truck," he answered. "Get them out of here."

  "What about you?"

  His gaze slid up and back to right about where the assembly would be. "I have unfinished business."

  "You can't do it alone."

  "I can't do it with them in harm's way." He looked from the frightened mortals to her and brushed her jaw with his knuckles. "Or you."

  WITH only a few false turns and backtracked steps, Déadre retraced her path back to the truck with the two mortals in tow, shoved the keys into their hands and told them, "Go!"

  Damn Daniel Hart to hell and back. He deserved to live the rest of eternity as a vampire for this. But he didn't deserve to die, which
was what was going to happen if he faced Garth alone.

  Probably what would happen if they faced him together, too, but there was nothing she could do about that. Or about the fact that even if they did survive, by some miracle, he would have his precious Sue Ellen back, and wouldn't need Déadre anymore.

  She was head over dead stupid heart in love with the man, so what's a girl gonna do?

  Probably get herself killed, too, that's what. But then, it wouldn't be the first time.

  As the pickup's taillights disappeared in the distance, she crept back into the shadows, back toward the house.

  Back toward Daniel.

  If she'd only smelled a little sooner the smoke the guard taking a break by the side entrance puffed out, or stepped a little lighter, so that her foot hadn't snapped that twig, she might even have made it.

  DANIEL put the hood the man had been wearing over his head and looped the rope that had bound him loosely around his wrists, then waited. The goings-on in the other room seemed to drag on forever, and he willed the vampires to hurry. With every minute that passed, the advantage he'd gained from the synthetic blood waned, and his chances of success lessened.

  Finally, the pantry door opened. He heard footsteps shuffling in, was jerked to his feet.

  "Where's the girl?" a man's voice asked. "Where'd she get to?"

  Someone else growled. "Take him out. We'll find her." Daniel found himself stumbling along in the grasps of two strong men-vampires.

  He felt the press of bodies around him when he entered the assembly, the excited surge of static electricity through the air as he was pulled onto a raised platform at the front of the room. He could almost hear them licking then-chops.

  The vampires were hungry, and he was the main course.

  A hand yanked off his hood and he found himself staring into Garth's insane eyes. "Surprise," he said.

  Shock flashed across Garth's face, then amusement. "Well, Dr. Hart. How nice to see you again."

  "Good to see you, too. So I can send you to Hell, where you belong." The room was dim, lit only by candles in the four corners. He scanned the crowd for Sue Ellen, didn't find her.