by Tina Folsom
Even though John had prepared her for this feeling, had told her how pleasurable it was, she wasn’t prepared. Everything around her began to disappear. Her vision swam, nothing seemed to be in focus, because all she could see and feel and hear and smell was John. He was all around her, inside her, with her. With every draw on her vein, every drop of blood he took from her, he gave her something else: utter bliss. Not just physical pleasure, but emotional satisfaction too. Her body hummed with energy, with hope and love.
While John drank from her, his hips worked frantically and his strong arms held her suspended against the wall. He was pounding into her now, his cock stiffer and thicker than she’d ever felt before. As if her blood was filling his cock so he could take her even harder. His pelvic bone slammed against her clit with every thrust, igniting her over and over again. Waves of pleasure traveled through her, and there seemed to be no end in sight.
She felt dizzy with pleasure now, while orgasm after orgasm claimed her body. Yet she didn’t want him to stop. “More, oh John, take more.”
She heard him moan and thought she could hear his heart beat like a drum against her every time their bodies slammed together. She clung to him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders to urge him on, her ankles crossed behind his back to drive his cock deeper into her. She was wild now, wilder than she’d ever been before. If only she’d known that something like this was possible, that a man like John existed. No, not a man. A vampire. Her vampire.
Suddenly, she felt him spasm inside her. Warmth filled her channel, and cool air wafted against her neck. John had withdrawn his fangs. Now he licked over the incisions, then kissed the spot gently.
When he lifted his head to look at her, his eyes were as red as a traffic light. But within seconds, they turned back to their golden color. His erection was still inside her, still moving, though much slower now.
He moved his head from side to side as if shaking it, as if he was unable to understand what had happened between them.
“This is more than I ever expected. It’s a miracle to find love once, but to find it a second time is more than that.”
She caressed his cheek lovingly. “It’s fate.”
And if fate allowed it, they would have a future. Together.
36
Savannah had used the hacker’s email to send a message to Sergei Viktorov.
I’ll offer myself in exchange for Buffy’s release. Choose the time and place. Bring Buffy. I will surrender when I see her. Savannah Rice, she’d written. After discussing with John and several others at Scanguards that Viktorov would wonder whether the police and her private investigator were on his tail, she’d added a postscript. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure out that you used a second-rate hacker to get access to my daughter’s photos? Unfortunately, he was too stupid to figure out how to find you. I wish you’d worked with somebody smarter. I guess you won.
The message was meant to reassure Viktorov that Savannah had no idea who he really was and how to find him. It had its desired effect. Within two hours, Viktorov replied. He’d specified a meeting place and threatened that he would kill Buffy if he so much as got a whiff of Savannah’s private investigator or the police, or if she was even a minute late. The little time he allowed for Savannah to get to the meeting place ensured that Scanguards had no time to prepare a counter-offensive.
The exchange was on.
“Do everything he says,” John instructed her now, his hands framing her face, his voice soft. “Trust me. You might not see me, you might not hear me, but I will be there. Wherever you go, I’ll be close-by. Don’t look for me. Don’t try to communicate with me. I don’t want him to become suspicious.”
Savannah nodded. “I trust you.”
John pressed a kiss to her lips, then leaned his forehead to hers. “This ends tonight. I promise you. Now go.”
He released her, and she turned on her heel and left Scanguards’ headquarters through the front door. She shivered, both from fear and the cool night air, but she didn’t look back. John had kept all his promises until now, and she knew he would keep this one too.
At a brisk pace, she walked several blocks, then turned west on 18th Street and continued walking as fast as she could. She checked her watch to make sure she would make it and increased her speed. Her heart beat faster, not just because of the increased cardio activity, but also because she was afraid. Afraid that something would go wrong, afraid that Viktorov wouldn’t be bringing Buffy and was leading her into a trap. But she had to accept that risk.
At Guerrero Street, a major thoroughfare, the pedestrian light turned red just as she reached the intersection. She looked at her wristwatch again, then at the traffic. It was coming up on midnight, and the normally busy traffic in the area was easing up. Without waiting for the light to turn green, she dashed across the lanes. A car driving way too fast honked at her, but she continued running and reached the other side in time. She didn’t break her stride and continued running to the end of the next block. Across the other side of Dolores Street, she saw the popular park that stretched up the hill. The pedestrian light to cross to the park was green, and she hurried along, racing alongside the park until she reached the next corner: Church Street. This was the spot Viktorov had chosen for the exchange.
She stopped at the corner, her chest heaving, her heart pounding. Her eyes darted around the area. A homeless man hung around the entrance of an apartment building on the opposite side of the street, and two youngsters were smoking and drinking nearby. From farther up on Church Street, she heard a streetcar approaching.
She glanced around the parked cars, but they all appeared empty. Nobody’s engine was running. Where the hell was Viktorov? Was he playing with her?
A ringing cell phone startled her. She whirled around, trying to see who had approached her without her noticing. There was nobody. Yet the ringing continued. Looking left and right, she saw nobody. The same ringtone continued. She zeroed in on it. It seemed to be coming from a trashcan. Carefully, she approached and saw a faint light. There, in the area above the trash receptacle that was reserved for recycling, lay a cell phone. She reached for it and pressed the accept button.
“About time, Savannah,” a male voice said.
She recognized it immediately: Viktor Stricklund, the man who’d had the audacity to come to her office and offer his help. But she couldn’t give away that she knew who he was. “Yes?” she said instead, allowing her fear to color her voice.
There was a movement next to her, and from the corner of her eye she saw the streetcar slowing for its stop. Two people got off, one was a man in a business suit, a scarf around his neck and a hat pulled deep into his face.
“I’m glad we’re finally connecting,” Viktorov said on the phone.
She stared at the man who was now coming toward her, but he wasn’t holding a phone in his hand.
“But before we can meet in person,” Viktorov continued, “I need to make sure you’re alone.”
“I’m alone,” she insisted.
“Whatever you say. See the MUNI train? Get on it. Now.”
The stranger walked past her without stopping. There was a beeping sound, indicating that the doors of the train were about to close. Savannah ran to the nearest door and jumped onto the steps. Seconds later, the doors closed and the train was in motion.
“Hello?” she said into the phone, but Viktorov had disconnected the call.
She dropped onto the nearest seat and glanced around without trying to be too obvious. Maybe a dozen people were in this carriage, and though she couldn’t see everybody’s face, nobody looked like Viktorov in terms of size and stature.
For several minutes, the train continued on its route, stopping once and letting off passengers. Nobody got on the train. What was Viktorov trying to do? Where the hell was he?
The cell phone in her hand rang again. She picked it up immediately. “Yes?”
“At the next stop get off the train. Then walk one block to
Duboce Avenue and get onto the N-Judah train heading outbound.”
Before she could say anything, he’d disconnected the call. Savannah jumped up from her seat and walked to the door. Moments later the train stopped and she touched the handlebar to open the door. On the sidewalk she turned left and hurried to the next intersection. The N-train was already coming out of the tunnel, and she had to run to get to the stop on the other side of the street to catch it.
Breathing heavily, Savannah reached the last door of the train and got on. She let herself fall into the nearest seat and looked around. There were more people on this train than the previous one, but she knew that was normal. The N-train was always busy.
Clutching the cell phone with both hands, she stared down at it, willing it to ring. It didn’t. After another stop, the train entered a tunnel, and for the minute and a half that it made its way through it, the cell phone lost the signal. When the train finally emerged on the other side, and stopped right after the tunnel, the signal finally came back. She kept staring at the display, wondering if she’d missed a call, but nothing happened. The train continued on its route, another stop, and more people got off, then another one. And still no word from Viktorov.
Cold sweat was now running down Savannah’s back. If Viktorov was doing this to make her even more nervous than she already was, it was working.
The ringing of the cell phone in her hand nearly stopped her heart.
“Yes?”
“Get off at the next stop. Walk up Hillway Avenue. On Parnassus, turn left, then take Medical Center Way.”
Again, he disconnected the call immediately after his short instructions.
She did as he said, and alighted at the next stop. She crossed the street and looked up. Hillway Avenue was one of the steepest streets in San Francisco. Already exhausted, she started climbing it. By the time she reached the top, she needed to take a deep breath of air and a few seconds to calm her thundering heart. This was Parnassus, the location of the UCSF Medical Center. She’d been here many times with Buffy. She’d given birth to her here.
It was foggy and windy up here, and she shivered. There was little traffic now. Savannah crossed the street and headed for Medical Center Way, a dimly lit winding way that led behind the hospital and its research facilities up on the hill. A deep forest of Eucalyptus trees and other trees and shrubs provided a greenspace next to the concrete buildings.
She hurried along the narrow, deserted street, and the cell phone rang again. She pressed the button to answer it, but didn’t even get a chance to reply.
“Take the stairs on the left. All the way up.”
She stopped and looked up to her left. There, in the dark, was indeed a set of stairs, leading up the steep hill. She could have easily missed them. Breathing hard, she set her foot on the first step. She heard a sound behind her and spun around. But there was nothing. Only darkness.
Her nerves were frayed, she knew it. And her body was exhausted. It was what Viktorov intended. He wanted to make sure that she wouldn’t have any energy left to fight. And she had no choice but to comply.
It took several minutes for her to make it up to the top. When she set her foot on the pavement of the parking lot she’d reached, she looked down at the display of the cell phone. Where would he send her next?
“Welcome!”
Savannah snapped her head up and stared at the middle of the parking lot. Every drop of blood in her body froze in her veins.
“Oh, no! Oh God no!” she cried out.
37
Still invisible, like John and Logan had been during the entire pursuit through the city, John froze the moment he and his Stealth Guardian companion cleared the stairs and reached the parking lot a few steps behind Savannah. What he saw was worse than he’d expected.
Viktorov was indeed waiting for Savannah, and he had, as promised, brought Buffy with him. John had expected Viktorov to have a gun to Buffy’s head or maybe a knife, something to ensure that Savannah made no false move, and that anybody approaching, trying to save Buffy, would think twice about it for fear Viktorov would kill the child before a rescuer could reach her.
In fact, John had been counting on it. Hence he’d devised his plan to approach invisibly with Logan’s help. Logan was cloaking him with his mind, eliminating the need to touch. What John hadn’t counted on was that Viktorov would go far beyond a gun or a knife: he had blindfolded Buffy and put her in a suicide vest. This changed everything.
Buffy stood about twenty yards away from Viktorov, who was leaning casually against the back of a dark SUV. She was slouched against the thick post of a street lamp that illuminated the otherwise empty parking lot high above UCSF Medical Center, her hands tied behind her back so she couldn’t run away. Nor could she see what was going on around her, which probably added to her fear.
“Well,” Viktorov said in a casual voice, “we’re finally all together. Remember me?”
“I remember you. Now let her go, let Buffy go. You’ve got me like you wanted,” Savannah replied.
“Mommy? Mommy?” Buffy cried out.
“Yes, baby, I’m here now.”
Buffy started crying. John exchanged a look with Logan, indicating with signs what to do next. Logan understood and nodded. Making sure he made no sound, John walked across the parking lot to Buffy until he was behind the pole she was tied to.
“Everything will be fine, baby,” Savannah reassured her daughter.
“Yeah, about that,” Viktorov said and chuckled. “Slight change of plans. You’re both coming with me.”
“You bastard!” Savannah yelled at him.
“Buffy,” John whispered into the girl’s ear. Her head jerked up in response and she began to struggle against her ties. “Don’t say anything now. Just listen. I’m your Mommy’s friend. I’m going to untie you.”
Buffy stopped struggling, while John blocked out the conversation that was now unfolding between Viktorov and Savannah.
“Good. I’ll cut the rope around your wrists, but you have to pretend you’re still tied up. Can you do that? We don’t want the bad man to see that I’m freeing you. Okay?”
She nodded, but didn’t speak.
“You’re a brave girl,” he praised her and willed his fingers to turn into sharp claws. With them, he sliced through the rope, caught it, and quietly laid it on the ground.
“Let her go!” Savannah demanded again.
“You see, I can’t do that,” Viktorov said. “The moment I saw the picture of you and her together, I knew what I’d been missing. A mother and daughter, both beautiful in their own right, but together, stunning!”
“Don’t!” Savannah snapped.
“Oh please, as if you don’t have your own fantasies. We all have them. I’m just more liberated and willing to act on them. You’ll see. You’ll enjoy it in the end.”
John wanted to curse. Sick bastard! He rose again behind the pole and put one hand on Buffy’s shoulder.
“Now we need to get this vest off you. Bend your upper body forward a little. Slowly so he doesn’t notice what you’re doing.” Luckily, Viktorov was currently concentrating on Savannah.
Guided by John’s hand, Buffy moved away from the pole a few inches.
“That’s good, Buffy. Now stay still. You’ll feel my hands at your back. I need to make sure there are no wires criss-crossing your back, before I can cut through the fasteners.”
While he touched her back to feel if Viktorov had run any wires underneath or across the ties that held the vest in place, he looked back to where Savannah and Viktorov were standing. Viktorov now held a gun in one hand, aiming it at Savannah, while he pressed his thumb onto a device in his other hand.
Logan had approached them and was close enough to examine the device. When he turned his head toward John, he mouthed, dead man’s switch.
John understood immediately. If Viktorov let go of the device and removed his thumb from the spring-operated switch, the vest would explode.
“You prom
ised to let her go if I came to you,” Savannah said, her voice desperate.
“I don’t always keep my promises,” Viktorov replied. “Now get in the fucking car!” He lifted his hand holding the dead man’s switch as a threat. “Or I’m gonna blow your precious little girl to bits.”
Slowly, Savannah approached Viktorov.
John made a sign to Logan. It was now or never. John got to work on Buffy’s vest, carefully cutting through the three fasteners that tied the vest in the back. They were no obstacle for his claws. But Buffy’s arms were in armholes. It would take too much movement to free her from the vest, and Viktorov would notice from the corner of his eye and know that something was afoot. John had to go about things a different way.
“Buffy,” he whispered in her ear, “I’m going to cut the vest along your sides, underneath your arms now, so lean back against the pole again and keep your head up. When I’ve cut through it and give you the command, you’ll drop down on the ground, and I’ll pull the vest up. Make yourself into a ball, okay?”
She nodded.
“Good girl.”
He cut through the thick material on one side, holding on to the vest with the other hand, so it wouldn’t drop to the floor. Then he did the same on the other side. Buffy was now essentially free of the vest.
Logan stared at him and Buffy from his spot near Viktorov. Their gazes connected, and John nodded, giving him the sign. Logan took a step toward Viktorov, reached his hand out, nodded at John, then clasped his hand over Viktorov’s fist holding the dead man’s switch.
Viktorov cried out in panic. “What the fuck?”
“Now, Buffy.”
Buffy dropped to the ground, while John pulled the vest off her and flung it to the other end of the parking lot. The vest was still in the air, when John dropped down and covered Buffy with his body, shielding her from danger.
A gunshot echoed through the night.
John spun his head around. There, near the car, Logan was fighting with Viktorov, one hand still on his fist holding the detonation device. Blood was seeping from Logan’s shoulder, and judging by Viktorov’s reaction, Logan was now visible. And a few feet from him, Savannah held her hand to her side. Blood was seeping through her fingers.