Blood Unleashed (Blood Stone)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  He shook his head. No time to talk.

  Her fingers stroked along his cheek. “I love you.”

  He sealed off his start of delight and surprise, and damned back the warm glow. The third tie dropped away.

  “We’re out of time,” Rick said, right next to him. He bent down and gripped the last tie in both hands and tore it open. Then he picked up Ilaria and carried her to the window and threw her out.

  Horror spilled through Marcus, but he was given no time react. Rick grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the window. “They’ll catch you,” he said and pushed him head-first through the window.

  Marcus didn’t breathe the whole way down. It seemed to take a month to fall from the fifth story window to the pavement. But the impact he was bracing for didn’t happen.

  He landed onto a web of arms, that sank beneath him, absorbing the impact and protecting him from damage.

  “Get him in the car and go,” Nial ordered.

  “Rick!” Marcus said and tried to get to his feet, but the hands holding him wouldn’t let him up. He was carried a short way and pushed inside a car, onto an upholstered seat. The car took off with a squeal of rubber.

  Marcus hauled himself up and looked out the back window as a deep boom rocked the car on its wheels. There were two other cars screaming along the narrow alley behind this one. One of them was the limousine. Above them, the apartment building blew out and up. Red and yellow flames and thick black smoke blew out of the side of the building, spewing debris and dust, which rained down onto the pavement in a deadly rain. Some of it pattered and thudded on the roof of the car, but the car kept going.

  Marcus was thrown into the side of the door as the car jumped the pavement and squealed around a corner, onto the main road.

  “We’re clear,” someone said from the front.

  Marcus watched the other two cars turn the corner and straighten up behind them. Then he twisted around on the seat. It was difficult. There was something on the floor, preventing him from putting his feet down. He shifted on the seat until he could look down at the floor.

  Four of the pyrrhus bottles sat, tucked into the small space between the front seats and the narrow back bench.

  Marcus looked up. Roman was watching him in the rear view mirror. “That was close,” he remarked mildly. He sounded very happy, like he was enjoying himself.

  A feminine hand curled around the passenger seat, and Kate pulled herself into the space between the two seats. “You’ve been busy, Marcus,” she remarked. From the way she was positioned, it looked like she was sitting on someone’s lap.

  “Is that Garrett?” Marcus asked.

  Garrett turned his head and looked over the seat. “We’re all in this,” he said. “Thanks to you.”

  Marcus shuffled, trying to find a comfortable position on the bench. “Did Rick make it out? Is Ilaria okay?” he asked. “Can you ask? I lost my ear bud.”

  Kate smiled at him. “Nial, Marcus wants to know if Rick and Ilaria are in one peice.” She listened for a moment, looking at Marcus gravely. Then she nodded. “They’re fine,” she said. “A touch of blood fever and that is all.”

  Marcus closed his eyes, relief pouring over him like a warm shower. He held up his hand. It was shaking. Post adrenaline syndrome, he catalogued.

  “You’re weak,” Kate said. “That’s from the excessive feeding. Rest and some food and lots of water, and you’ll recover.” She gave him a small smile, which faded quickly. “Four weeks ago, you would have had a heart attack if I’d told you where you would be and what you would be doing right now.”

  Marcus looked out the window as he made a fist of his hand. The sun was setting. “It’s not over yet,” he said, anger stirring.

  Chapter Thirty

  “We should have gone to the house,” Garrett said, sliding up the stairs like a ghost. “Heru will know your apartment by now.”

  “My apartment is closer,” Roman said. “My old clothes at the back of the closet will fit Marcus.” He was holding Marcus up, his shoulders under Marcus’ arm, helping him climb the stairs.

  “And stopping at all is just stupid,” Kate said. “We should have gone straight to Nial’s house.”

  “I need my ID,” Marcus said. “And if I don’t get out of these clothes I’m going to puke.”

  Garrett held up his fist. Halt.

  Roman paused with a foot on the next step, while Kate moved around them and joined Garrett.

  “Someone is there,” Garrett murmured so softly Marcus could barely make it out.

  Marcus tried to reach for his gun, but only his left hand was free. Roman switched the grip he had on Marcus’ wrist, and reached under his shirt. “I’ll do that for you.” He brought the gun up and released the safety catch with his thumb, proving he knew his way around small arms.

  The tiny click sounded loud in the silence.

  They waited, listening to hear if the sound had alerted the intruder.

  Soft footsteps sounded. They paused. Roman lifted the gun, aiming for the empty corridor at the top of the stairs.

  A hand appeared around the corner, lifted up in the universal “surrender” position. “I am most friendly,” the owner of the hand told them. Then he stepped into view.

  Marcus felt his jaw sag and caught it up again. “Sasha?” he asked, staring at the man. It was the right features. They matched the photo Katya had showed him, of a younger version of this man. Black hair cut short, a square jaw and blue eyes so light they appeared colorless, like his sister’s. He wore a black shirt and plain black cargo pants that despite their lack of insignia, still looked vaguely military in style.

  “Marcus Anderson,” Sasha said and dropped his hands. “I should have guessed it was you digging through our files. There are not too many Americans interested in what happened to my sister.”

  “That’s why you came here?” Marcus asked. “Because someone hacked into your files?”

  Roman sighed. “Cyneric,” he said shortly. “He snooped around and failed to hide his tracks.” He dropped the gun. “Micheil, we’re on a timetable here.”

  Garrett nodded. “Look, whoever you are, we need to get into the apartment and get out again. There are some pretty nasty people that are probably watching this place, so you should vamoose, too.”

  Sasha straightened up. “Major Marlen Alexandrovich Mikhailov.”

  “Russian military?” Kate hazarded.

  “GRU,” Marcus told them. “Sasha and I were half-an-inch from being brothers-in-law, once.”

  Kate looked over her shoulder at him, startled. But that was the only reaction.

  Sasha cocked his head at Marcus. “You look not well, Marcus. I think the suspicions that bought me here were good. I have information you should know.” He looked at Garrett, who stood closest to him. “About your vampire friends,” he added.

  * * * * *

  Two hours later, bathed and wearing the silk robe of the woman called Winter, Ilaria felt clean and almost light headed with the nearness of their escape, but fear was blossoming inside her whenever she let her guard relax and thought about him.

  She made her way downstairs, holding the oversized gown up so she would not trip over it. There were a lot of voices murmuring from the big front room. Winter came out of the room and over to where Ilaria hovered on the bottom step of the staircase. “You should come in. Nial and Kurshid will want to speak to you.”

  “Kurshid Amirmoez?” Ilaria asked. “The Ancient One?”

  “She isn’t nearly as scary as her reputation,” Winter assured her.

  “You have an old one working with you?”

  “I wouldn’t say she is working with us, exactly. She tends to arrive here only when she wants to chastise Nial for something we’ve done that she doesn’t approve of. But she is being helpful, this time around.” Winter waved toward the door. “Come and meet everyone.”

  Ilaria hung back, caution flooding her. “It might be best if I do not,” she said. “Is
Cyneric there? I need to speak to him. Or Marcus.”

  Winter shook her head. “Marcus isn’t too good on his feet, yet.” She turned her head. “Rick, could you come here, please?” She didn’t speak particularly loudly.

  It took a few moments for Rick to appear in the doorway. Ilaria’s heart leapt at the sight of him. The dark polar neck sweater suited him. It showed the true breadth of his shoulders.

  Rick came over to where she was standing. “You’re here,” he said.

  Ilaria wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face against it. She was standing on the bottom step, so she didn’t have to reach too far to do it. His arms came around her and held her tight, and it was one of the best feelings in the world. “He said you would not be able to free me. That the C4 and the liquid were too much to overcome. He was laughing as he cut me. He used his fingernails to tear my skin. He said if I didn’t set off the bomb myself and you freed me, I would kill you because I wouldn’t know you...and I didn’t.”

  “Shh...” Rick said. He pulled her away from him and touched his fingers to her lips. “Don’t speak. He will be listening.”

  “He can’t hear words.”

  “But he can hear your emotions. He can make you obey his commands. He’ll know by now that you escaped the bomb, and if you did, he’ll reason correctly that Marcus and I did. He’ll be thinking hard about what comes next.”

  “What does come next?” she asked.

  He picked up her hand. “Come with me.” He turned and headed for the big room visible through the doorway. Ilaria dragged at his hand. “I shouldn’t look at anyone. I shouldn’t see their faces. He’ll take them from me.”

  “Heru is already aware of everyone in this room.” He was pulling her in despite her reluctance.

  As they stepped into the room, everyone fell silent and they all turned to look at her. Ilaria shrank into Rick’s side and tried not to stare at any of them. Then she saw Marcus. He was sitting in a big lounge chair, wearing jeans and a sleeveless black tee-shirt, which showed off his muscles. His shaggy blond hair was damp and his blue eyes were watching her.

  “Marcus,” she breathed.

  Rick gave her a little push toward him. Ilaria hurried over to him, almost tripping over the long hem of the gown. She fell onto his lap and caught his face in his hands. “You came for me,” she whispered.

  He picked up her hand, twining her fingers in his. “I always will,” he said, his voice low.

  She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him, happiness spreading warm fingers through her.

  Rick’s hand touched her shoulder. She knew it was him without looking. “There is someone you need to meet,” he said.

  The room was silent around them. There were nearly a dozen people sitting and standing around them, but they stepped out of Rick’s way as he guided Ilaria across the room to another big chair like the one Marcus had been sitting in. A woman sat in this one. She glowed with vitality and energy, and her perfectly groomed golden hair and immaculate clothes made Ilaria tug at the openings of the robe self-consciously.

  Rick halted barely a foot away from the woman’s chair. “Kurshid, may I present Ilaria Scavo to you?”

  The woman turned her gaze upon Ilaria. “Scavo. That is a slave name. Come here, child.” She held out her hand.

  Ilaria stepped across the few inches that remained between them, standing so the woman’s knees were almost against her own. So this was the famous Kurshid! She looked nothing like her reputation painted her.

  Kurshid was looking into her eyes. Then she looked at Rick. “It is an abomination, what has been done to her. Are you asking of me what I think you are?”

  Rick shook his head. “No, Madam. I only ask that you help me remember once more, so that I can do this.”

  Kurshid sipped from a cocktail glass and put it back down on the table next to her. “To not remember that part of your life is a blessing, Cyneric Pæga. You would deliberately invoke the memories to help this girl?”

  “Yes, Madam.”

  Kurshid considered him a moment longer. “Very well. Come here.” She looked at Ilaria. “Step aside, child. Let me reach him.”

  Ilaria stepped back again, wondering unhappily what Kurshid was going to do to him.

  Rick lowered himself to one knee in front of her and Kurshid leaned forward and placed her hand against his forehead, so her fingers curled over his head. “Winter...help me protect him.”

  Winter moved over to her side. “How?”

  “I will invoke the memories. You must heal the wounds they cause.”

  Ilaria caught her breath.

  A hand curled around hers and tugged her backwards. She looked and saw that Marcus was pulling her back to him. She went to him gladly, and sat on the edge of his chair, her hand in his. “What is she doing?”

  “I don’t know much about this,” he murmured. “You’ve lived through it.”

  “I don’t remember, any more than Rick does,” she whispered back and shuddered. Marcus’ hand squeezed hers.

  “No one knows how it works,” the man next to them said quietly. “Nial thought inscription had died out. Only Cyneric, who escaped the inscription, can remember – if Kurshid can invoke the memories.”

  Kurshid’s eyes were closed. So were Winter’s, and she had her hand on Rick’s shoulder.

  Ilaria felt tightness in her chest, and an ache in her bones and caught her breath. She stood up. “He’s coming,” she said, clutching at her pounding head. “He’s nearly here.”

  Marcus was struggling to get out of the chair. A strong pair of hands grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. “Look at me,” the deep voice commanded.

  She looked up into blue eyes the color of a summer sky. Then Heru opened up her mind and she recognized the man before her through his knowledge. “Nathanial Aquila,” she intoned, used Heru’s voice.

  “Fight him,” Nathaniel told her. “One last time. This will all be over very soon. Fight him off, Ilaria.”

  Rick cried out. He had sunk to the carpet, propping himself up with his hands. His head hung and his body was shaking.

  “Rick...” she whispered.

  Her fear for Rick angered Heru. She could feel his fury and clutched at her head. “No, no, I didn’t mean it!”

  Heru lashed out at her, venting all his rage in a torrent of pain. Ilaria heard herself scream. She knew that she was falling.

  Hands, many of them, lowered her to the floor.

  Heru didn’t like her gratitude. He flung the essence of himself at her. All his malice, all his anger and cruelty. Her vision faded under the onslaught. Her heart stopped. Black nothingness dropped over her like a blanket, leaving nothing but the pain....

  * * * * *

  Marcus pushed himself to his feet. After a meal, coffee and a gallon of water, he was feeling a lot stronger, but he didn’t have his full strength yet. He dropped to his knees next to Ilaria. “What’s happening to her?” he asked the people around her.

  Nial stood up. “Heru has her. He’s punishing her for...well, he’s punishing her because she escaped his trap.” He looked over to where Rick laid on the carpet, propping himself up on one arm. “I just hope this works.”

  “What works?” Marcus demanded.

  Nial surprised him by sitting next to him on the carpet and reaching out to brush Ilaria’s hair out of her eyes, which were open and unblinking, staring up into the air. Her body twitched and squirmed, making Marcus wince.

  Kate lifted Ilaria’s head and placed a cushion under her. “Is there anything we can do, Nial?”

  He shook his head. “This is all on Rick. He has to remember. He is the only one who has heard the Insculpium litany.”

  “There’s the asshole that inscribed him,” Marcus pointed out. “He would know it.”

  “I suspect that Rick paid his former meden back, long ago.”

  He was dead, then. Marcus looked over to where Rick sat, breathing heavily.

  “Remember,” Kurshi
d whispered. “Remember the words. They are there. Spiritus invoco....”

  Rick shuddered. Winter’s forehead was creased, like she was fighting off a headache, but her hand still clutched his shoulder.

  Ilaria screamed. It was a breathy, winded sound, and she curled onto her side in a convulsive movement, her knees drawing up.

  Marcus had never felt so helpless.

  Nial gripped his arm. “It’s all right,” he told him quietly. “They love you because you are human and all that your humanity gives them. Not because you can save them.”

  Marcus flinched. Love? But even as he tried to deny it, he acknowledged the truth. He loved them both...and he had never felt this wretched.

  Kurshid sat back. “It is done,” she declared.

  Rick bowed over, pushing himself up on one arm, while Winter released him and staggered, her hand to her temple. Sebastian caught her and lowered her to the carpet.

  “Such bleak darkness,” she whispered.

  Rick lifted his head. His eyes were open. “Spiritus invoco me audire!” he intoned, his voice ringing.

  “Latin,” Nial breathed.

  Ilaria shrieked, her body snapping taut, as rigid as a board.

  Rick got to his feet and began to speak. The words were unintelligible, and definitely not Latin, for Marcus had studied Latin in college.

  Ilaria thrashed on the carpet.

  “Hold her!” Kate cried. “Don’t let her hurt herself.”

  Everyone crowded around her, except for Kurshid and her companion, Winter and Sebastian, and Sasha, who sat in the far corner, absorbing all this silently, his eyes wide. They held Ilaria down, as Rick walked over to her, speaking the strange words. He dropped to his knee just behind her head, where her hair spilled over the cushion and reached down to touch her forehead with his fingers held together. “Valeo!” he uttered.

  Begone!

  Ilaria arched up off the ground, her back so curved Marcus thought it would break. Then she dropped back to the floor, her limbs loose, and her eyes closed.

  Rick sat back. “She is free,” he said breathlessly, leaning over on one arm again. He looked exhausted.

  Kurshid let out a breath. “Well done, my old friend. Well done.” She was smiling, her lips curving up in an arch.