To Love and Serve

by Caridad Piñeiro

Ryder slashed his hand through the air. “No way. You are not going in there alone.”

  “She’s not. She’s going in with me,” Jesus said, and pinned Ryder with a warning look to keep out of their way. Diana could tell Ryder hated all that her ADIC’s stare managed to communicate, but thankfully, he stifled his protectiveness and nodded. “Fine.”

  Jesus grabbed hold of the doorknob. “We’ll go in on three.”

  He counted down, and like a well-choreographed ballet, she and Jesus plowed forward, clearing the doorway, guns drawn and ready for battle.

  At their echoes of “All clear,” they moved into the space. It was filled with machinery of all kinds, some of it still in use despite the rust and leaks of oil and steam. The room was narrow and long, the farthest end in deep shadow.

  That murky area was the only way they could go. Diana and Jesus snapped on their flashlights, found the trail of blood again, and followed it to the far end of the room. There they found a hole in the wall made by removing several large stones that at one time had been part of the foundation of an older section of the building. Diana lit the area beyond the hole with her flashlight and Jesus ducked his head to peer into the space.

  “It’s some kind of valve chamber. Maybe one for the city water system. I’ve always heard there’s a big one right under Central Park.”

  “Which is probably where we are, based on how far we’ve gone from the main building,” Ryder said. “If I had to guess, we’ve gone at least two blocks east, putting us past the park boundary.”

  Diana nodded. “This whole area is loaded with tunnels, and natural streams and springs. That chamber could open to any number of places. God knows where.”

  Ryder smiled grimly. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

  …

  As usual, his brother was one big party pooper.

  With his knife, Bartholomew scored a line across Benjamin’s midsection, annoyed when only the barest twitch of muscle registered beneath his blade.

  “Come on, Ben. You’re going to have to do better than that. A little scream like your friend Michaela. I’d stop cutting for a while if you did that.”

  His brother’s muscles finally heaved as he sucked in a breath. “Fuck you.”

  “I’m not the one who’s fucked, Ben.” To prove his point, he increased the pressure on the blade and it bit deeper into Ben’s flesh, crisscrossed the other slashes he’d already scored onto skin and muscle.

  Ben moaned then, but pulled in his breath and held it, probably fighting to remain silent, but failed as one word exploded from his mouth.

  “Why?”

  Bartholomew had thought this torture would give him satisfaction, but he’d been at it for over an hour with little to show. Not the screams he’d wanted. No pleading and begging. No requests for forgiveness for the wrongdoing Ben had done.

  Just the one simple question.

  “I loved you, Ben. You were my hero, and when I needed you the most you turned your back on me. You let them sentence me to death.”

  “I never wanted you to join the slayers. It wasn’t right for you.”

  “I needed to avenge our parents. Our sisters. Have you forgotten their screams? The smell of their blood and their bodies rotting above us?” He pounded the knife handle against his brother’s chest.

  “I r–remember… Bart. I… c–can’t ever f–forget.”

  “You should have stood up for me, Ben. You were my brother!”

  Fuck this. He had other things to do. The vampires were sure to be at The Lair again tonight, and he had to pick one out and continue his mission. After that, he could come back and exact more punishment on his brother and Michaela. If they were still alive.

  The stake had done its work in immobilizing the little bitch. And the silver nitrate… It would keep on hurting and hurting unless she got the stake out. Of course, she might bleed to death first, but what the hell. Work before pleasure.

  He placed his knife by his brother’s wrist, just beneath the rope that lashed him to the wall. Benjamin seemed relieved until Bartholomew sliced through skin and muscle to sever the blood vessels beneath. He repeated the same process on the other wrist, and for a moment considered whether a quick jab through the brachial artery would be better.

  Then he decided against it. “This is how they would have killed me, Ben. They would have let me bleed out slowly. How does it feel, brother? Will you beg for life soon? Beg for me to change my mind?”

  Only Ben said nothing, apparently resigned to his fate. Weakling.

  Bartholomew cut through the ropes and Ben fell to the ground, his body drained of strength. His blood spilling from his ravaged wrists. The smell of blood was strong in Bartholomew’s nostrils, but he knew someone who would enjoy it even more.

  He grabbed hold of Benjamin’s legs and dragged him into the adjacent room where he’d left Michaela.

  As he entered the darkness, the glint of neon from the corner warned that not only was she awake, but so was her demon. The pain from her injury and her growing weakness was eroding her ability to keep her vampire needs in check.

  Delicious. He hauled Benjamin right next to Michaela.

  She growled and shoved at his brother’s body, but barely budged it. Benjamin was a big man and she was too weak to do much of anything.

  “Please, Bartholomew. Don’t do this,” she pleaded.

  He crouched beside them, where Benjamin’s blood pulsed slowly from the wounds in his wrists and trailed toward Michaela.

  “‘Please’? You’re begging? For yourself or for him?”

  She tried to scramble away. Away from the growing pool of blood. Away from the temptation. The hints of neon in her gaze grew brighter, and a glint of fang gleamed in the dim light as the vampire emerged. Bartholomew grabbed hold of the stake in her side and pushed down hard, driving her back onto the floor. She grunted in agony, and growled, “You’ll regret this.”

  He laughed. “Brave talk for someone who’s dying. Of course, it will be much more amusing if you live. I imagine the Slayer Council won’t be very pleased that you failed your mission and let one of the elders die on your watch.”

  Slapping his hands on his thighs, he leaned forward to take a last look at his brother. He was still alive. The shallow rise and fall of his chest confirmed it, as did the gurgle in his throat. He must have cut into his chest a little too deep, but no matter.

  Even if Michaela managed to save him, Ben would be a ruined man. A failure in the eyes of his slayer buddies.

  Sometimes it was harder to live than to die.

  With a last glance at his satisfying work, he rose and headed out of the room, eager for his next kill.

  Chapter Thirty

  Diana stumbled on the threshold leading out of the valve chamber, unable to lift her foot high enough to clear the low barrier. Ryder grabbed hold of her arm to help and she offered him a tired smile.

  “Do you want to rest?”

  “No. There’s no time for that.” She could not stop now. Not even if her legs were as heavy as after a marathon. Her heart beat so hard she imagined Ryder could see her skin jumping above it. At her core, that ever-present knot of cold had loosened, sending icy threads throughout her body. Combined with the sweat on her skin, she could barely hold back from shivering, but she had to keep it together. People were depending on her.

  In the valve chamber, they flipped on bright vapor lamps to investigate the room, which led them to find a small hall off one end of the chamber. A quick sweep of their flashlights revealed the hall had been built more than a century earlier. Its walls were made of thick blocks quarried from the schist stone commonly found in Central Park. The brick floor was rough and uneven and wet. Everything in the hall was wet, and dank, and dark. From the hall, a long, sloping, stone staircase led deeper underground. The steps glistened from moisture that seeped down the walls like tears from the earth.

  At the far side of the hall an old rusty door, barely hanging on its hinges, opened into t
he darkness. Jesus aimed a flashlight into it. “Looks like another tunnel.”

  Diana crouched low to the ground, searching for evidence this was the right place. She beamed light across the uneven brick, but even with the illumination and her sensitive night sight, she found no traces of blood to guide them.

  Maybe Benjamin’s wound had begun to knit? Or maybe he was dead. Either way, they had to push on.

  But where?

  She stood and peered at the stairs, then at the tunnel. Jesus stood by the tunnel entrance, anxiously looking both ways. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Diego whipped his head to and fro, as if to shake loose his demon. “No need to guess. The scent of blood is much stronger now.” His eyes gleamed that eerie vampire neon, and his fangs burst over his lower lip. In full vampire mode now, he went swiftly to the first sloping step.

  Ryder also morphed and hurried to where Jesus stood. Evangeline reached under her jacket and withdrew a long, nasty-looking stake. Really? Diana gritted her teeth. The slayer still didn’t trust vampires, even though they were trying to help her friends.

  “Put that away,” Diana warned as the two vampires sniffed the air at each entrance.

  “Not while they’re in demon mode,” Evangeline replied, her gaze shifting nervously from Diego to Ryder.

  “You have to learn to trust. We’re on the same side in this.”

  Diego slipped back into his human form, and said, “I smell blood this way. A great deal of it. More than just spatters.”

  Ryder pulled back his demon and shook his head at the tunnel. “Nothing that way.”

  Diana quickly joined Jesus where he already stood with Diego at the wide steps. The staircase seemed almost endless, leading deep into midnight nothingness. Jesus looked ready to hurtle down into the unknown. She glanced at Diego. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. But judging from the strength of the smell, I’m afraid it may be too late.”

  Jesus whipped him a stricken glance.

  “God, I hope not,” she murmured. She put a tentative foot on the slick top stair. She slipped, and caught herself, then moved down another step. Ryder appeared at her side, and they started the descent.

  Right behind them, Jesus snapped on his flashlight. The light, small as it was, would make them sitting ducks to anyone at the bottom. She drew her weapon, ready to return fire. The gun, once almost an extension of her hand, now seemed to weigh a ton.

  Their footsteps echoed along the stone walls that dripped more noisily the deeper they got. Something scurried in front of her and she jerked up the Glock, but it was only a sewer rat, as large as a cat. She didn’t even want to think about what else might be down here. Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairs. And another tunnel loomed in front of them. She glanced at Ryder. “Can you tell which way to go?”

  He nodded, without assuming his vampire state. His expression was grave.

  Damn. If he could smell it even as a human, that meant a whole lot of blood.

  …

  Pain scorched every move Michaela made. The stake scraped against her ribs and tore at muscle and flesh as she tried to help Benjamin. With sausage-thick fingers, she fumbled to tighten the second of the makeshift tourniquets she’d tied just above his slashed wrists. Waves of dizziness danced around the blackness creeping into her vision from the pain. She moaned and slumped against the wall, tears trickling down her cheeks, and wished for a brief moment that her suffering would just end.

  But no. She would not give up the fight. Not until her last breath.

  “Feed,” Benjamin rasped, and his bloodied hand flopped feebly.

  No doubt he sensed she was fading fast. He was being noble. Sacrificing himself for her.

  Hell, no.

  She shook her head. “No. I can’t. I won’t,” she wheezed, even as the demon within her licked its lips at the thought of tasting slayer blood. The pain and her weakened state had allowed the monster to emerge, and she’d battled it for dominance since Bartholomew left.

  She hated that loss of control. Would not give into it. But it took everything in her to keep the greedy demon from having its way. Her senses were in overdrive, hyper-aware of everything around her—including Benjamin’s fading life force. And his blood.

  Despite the tourniquets, blood still leaked from his slashed wrists, pooling on the floor and her legs as she cradled him. “Hold on, Ben. Please hold on.”

  “Feed.” It seemed to take all his effort for that one word.

  His powers fluctuated, wavering like a flame in the wind as each pulse of his heart pumped crimson temptation from his wounds.

  But even if she’d let herself, she didn’t know if she had the strength to feed. The poisoned stake was doing its job well.

  She laid her head against his, and stroked his hair. It was matted with blood, sweat, and tears—his and hers—from his shattered face. Together, they listened to the fading beat of their hearts.

  At least they wouldn’t die alone.

  …

  Diana swung her flashlight in a low arc, then swerved it back to a smudge on the stone floor. It was a big boot print, just like the one she’d spotted at Aja’s apartment.

  “He’s been here.” She raised her weapon beneath her flashlight. Sweeping them back and forth along the tunnel, her arms trembled from fatigue and the weight of the gun. But she spotted another mark—a smeared path of blood, as if someone had been dragged from the room.

  The low murmur of a voice filtered out into the tunnel. A woman’s voice.

  Michaela? She was alive!

  Diana silently signaled her companions to stop. Jesus swiftly came to her side to cover her, Ryder to her back. Crouching low, guns ready, they executed a quick three-point entrance.

  The scene before her stopped her short. Jesus and Ryder also pulled up in shock.

  Michaela sat slumped against the wall, a man’s body cradled in her arms—Benjamin, she assumed. The young woman was barely able to lift her gaze, and when she did, vampire neon glittered bleakly in eyes filled with pain and failure—emotions Diana knew too well from watching her father die.

  In that moment, she knew Michaela almost as well as she knew herself.

  She, Jesus, and Ryder moved as one toward the wounded slayers.

  As they gently eased Michaela away from Benjamin so they could tend to both of them, she moaned, and whispered, “Help him first.”

  Diana turned to Benjamin, but Ryder was already taking his pulse and checking his wounds. As their gazes met, he gave his head a small shake.

  “He’s lost too much blood,” he said regretfully, and went to help Jesus with Michaela. Diego joined them, crouching alongside the wounded slayer as Evangeline sank down on her haunches by Benjamin.

  The other woman brushed some of the gore from Benjamin’s face and he roused. He whispered, “Feed. Michaela.”

  Evangeline looked over her shoulder at Michaela, and shook her head. “The silver’s already in her system, Ben. It’s time for both of you to stop suffering.”

  It took only a second for Diana to see the slayer’s heartless intent as she wrapped her hands around Ben’s head. Before she could give it a final twist, Diana bolted forward and pointed her gun at the woman’s head.

  “Do not even think about it. Not on my watch.” Her hands were steady, but her arms trembled.

  Evangeline snarled, “Insolent bitch. This is none of your concern.”

  “Back away. I will shoot,” she warned. A second later, Jesus was at her side, his weapon trained on Evangeline’s heart.

  “I’d do as she asked,” he said, his voice deceptively calm.

  The slayer raised her hands in surrender. She stood and faced them, a regal tilt to her head and venom in her tone. “You’ll regret this. If you live that long.”

  “We’ll see,” Diana said, beyond furious.

  “You’d better hit the road before I splatter your brains across this room,” Jesus ground out.

  Ryder stepped between
them calmly. “Besides, I suppose you’ve got some explaining to do to your fellow Council members.”

  Evangeline was practically spitting nails as she wordlessly spun and stalked from the chamber. Diana didn’t drop her weapon until the sharp tattoo of her footsteps faded. Then she let out a breath and turned back to Michaela and the others.

  Diego shook his head. “She’s in bad shape. The stake was soaked in silver nitrate. We need to get her to feed.”

  “Feed? As in blood?” Jesus asked in surprise.

  “She’s a dhampir—half vampire. Like us, blood can restore her. But even so… there’s a lot of physical damage to her human body.”

  Shock swept over Jesus, then it was gone. “I’ll get the car. We can get her to a hospital—”

  Diana laid a hand on his arm, wondering exactly how much he understood about the world into which Michaela had dragged him. “No hospital. That’s not what happens with vampires. Either Diego or Ryder will—”

  “Ryder can handle this,” Diego cut in. “He can get her to Melissa for treatment while I deal with Benjamin.”

  Diana tracked his gaze. “We can’t just leave him here. He should come, too. We have to do something.”

  Diego nodded somberly. “I’ll stay with him so he’s not alone, and help him as much as I can.”

  Ryder cradled Michaela in his arms. “What will you do?” he asked Diana.

  Diana forced a smile. “We still need to find Bartholomew. But you go. Take care of Michaela.”

  Jesus reached for Michaela and gripped her hand tightly. “I’ll be with you soon, love.”

  A faint smile ghosted across her features before she closed her eyes and her head dropped against Ryder’s chest.

  In a burst of vamp speed, Ryder vanished through the door. Jesus started to follow, but Diana grasped his arm. “Don’t worry. She’s in good hands.”

  With a mumbled curse, he stopped, then looked toward the dying slayer on the floor. “What can we do for him?”

  “Nothing,” Diego answered quietly. He was kneeling beside Benjamin, holding his hand. Benjamin murmured something low and unintelligible. Diego leaned forward, bringing his ear close to him, and Benjamin whispered something again.