Nine Lives (Lifeline Book 1)

by Kit Colter

  “I’m in trouble, Zaiah,” Erin said. “And I’m sorry I got you involved. I needed help, and I’m sorry. But, please, please just listen to me. Get out of there.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Yeah, alright. Where are you—”

  “Tonight,” Erin said. “Soon as you can.”

  “You got it,” Isaiah said. “Where are—”

  “I’ll get back to you,” Erin said.

  “Erin—”

  “I gotta go.” Erin disconnected and pressed her forehead into the wall.

  “Erin Stone,” a voice called.

  She turned and spotted a male nurse with a clipboard. “Here,” Erin said, stepping forward. The nurse nodded and led Erin down the hall and through a door with number three printed on it. He gestured toward the examination table, where Erin sat down as carefully and slowly as possible. She glanced at his name tag. Ken.

  Ken looked at his clipboard. “Your paperwork says your ribs are hurting?”

  “They’re broken,” Erin said.

  “Which side hurts?” he asked.

  “The left side hurts because it’s broken,” Erin replied.

  “Hmm,” Ken mumbled. “We’ll have to send you for X-Rays.” He looked her over. “Do you know what might have caused the pain?”

  “Breaking my ribs,” she said.

  “Alright, then, I’ll get you a wheel chair,” Ken said.

  “I’d rather not,” Erin said, easing off the table. “I took a ton of aspirins, and I’ve been waiting for two hours. I think I can manage the walk.”

  “You just wait there while I get a wheelchair,” he instructed, then left the room.

  Erin’s mouth dipped at one side. She was getting very tired of the hospital routine. She was also getting very tired of the blood and pain routine, for that matter. She’d come because she needed to be certain there weren’t any internal injuries. She could handle broken ribs—and hopefully that was the extent of the damage—but the pain was enough to make her think something more could be wrong.

  Ken returned thirty seconds later with a wheel chair and insisted on pushing her across the hospital. The X-Ray process didn’t take half as long as expected, and soon Erin was back in room three, waiting again. She winced, unable to control a yawn, and pain sliced through her side with the expansion of her lungs.

  The door opened. She was glad to see it wasn’t Ken. More glad to see the doctor had finally arrived.

  “I’m Doctor Norman,” he said, shaking her hand. Then he opened a large envelope and removed a couple black semi-transparent sheets, fastening them to the X-Ray view box mounted to the wall.

  Erin studied them, easily spotting a break in the white line of her third rib.

  “I’ll need to take a look at your torso.” Dr. Norman slowly pulled Erin’s shirt up to the bottom edge of her bra, then began delicately touching her ribs and the surrounding area. “It ought to be quite tender, but tell me if there is severe pain.”

  Erin just bit her lip and tried not to breathe too deeply. After a moment or two, Dr. Norman pulled Erin’s shirt back down.

  “Looks like you’ve got four broken ribs,” he said. “Three on your left side and one on your right.” He gave her a long, studying look. “However, there’s no indication of internal injuries.”

  Erin had been so distracted by the pain on her left side she hadn’t even noticed it on her right.

  “None of them are displaced, so it’s just a simple matter of taking it easy until they heal,” he said. “We can prescribe some painkillers to ease your discomfort. We’ll also bind your ribs to help with stabilization.”

  Erin nodded.

  He looked at her face, passing a scrutinizing eye over the wounds, then the gauze bandage on her neck. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.

  “I pulled my corset too tight,” Erin said.

  The doctor nodded and gave her a resigned half smile. “Your nurse will be in shortly with your bandages and a few instructions to help the healing process.”

  Erin nodded.

  A few minutes after the doctor left, a nurse arrived with a set of printed instructions, a prescription for painkillers, and an unusually shaped bandage which fit snugly around Erin’s ribcage. Erin thanked the nurse, shoved the prescription in her pocket, and made her way back to the parking lot. Breathing as slowly and shallowly as possible, Erin eased into the seat of her car and stared into the gathering shadows. If she went back to her apartment, the best case scenario was a dead vampire body to deal with. Worst case scenario, a very alive and hungry vampire body to deal with.

  But this was also an opportunity to get answers. If Sirian was as weak as he seemed, Erin might be able to convince him to talk. This plan hadn’t worked last time, but last time she hadn’t known what he was—what he was capable of. And last time he wasn’t injured. Erin bit her lip, carefully buckled her seat belt, and pulled onto the road. She told herself this was her best option. She needed answers. She couldn’t survive without answers.

  Erin was still convincing herself when she reached her apartment complex. She parked, locked the car, and quickly made her way into the building and up the staircase. When she reached her door, she listened for movement on the other side.

  Silence.

  Erin unlocked the door and pushed it gently open.

  The living room and kitchen appeared empty.

  Erin eased inside and flicked on the lights. She held her bat across her body, ready to swing, and crept to her bedroom door. Pushed it open, just a crack, and looked in to see Sirian still sprawled on her bed. There was a knocking sound behind her. Erin pulled her bedroom door closed, like a six-year-old protecting the monster in her closet, and went to the door. She left the bat on the counter, just within reach, and peered through the peephole.

  It was Andrew. “I know you’re in there!” he called.

  Erin opened the door. “Andrew,” she said with a forced smile.

  “Hi,” he said flatly.

  “You okay?” Erin asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said.

  “Well, uh, what have you been up to?” Erin asked, leaning against the doorframe.

  “Your face looks worse,” Andrew said.

  “Yeah, well, the bruises are still developing, I guess,” she said. “I’m a slow-bruiser.”

  “Are you going to invite me in?” he asked, waiting.

  “Wouldn’t you rather go somewhere else?” Erin asked suddenly. “We haven’t been to the park for a while. You want to go for a walk?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Oh. Alright, sure, uh, come on in.” She stepped aside.

  Andrew stepped through the door, but walked right past her. He moved through the kitchen, circled back into the living room, and studied the floor and furniture for a few seconds.

  “Lose something?” Erin asked, trying not to sound nervous. If Sirian woke up now, while Andrew was here ...

  Andrew looked behind the sofa, then turned to her.

  “You’re acting really—”

  “Are you seeing someone else?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

  Erin opened her mouth, but no words formed. That, she had not expected.

  “Well?” Andrew pushed.

  “No,” Erin said, shaking her head slowly. “No, Andrew, I’m not seeing someone else. What gave you that idea?”

  Andrew stood up a little taller. Erin watched, confused, as he pulled a picture from his back pocket and held it out. Erin took the picture and frowned down at Sirian’s image. She had taken the picture when he was taped to a chair in her apartment. The frame, however, only showed his neck and face, which was turned to the side so that the blood from his scalp wound didn’t show.

  Erin smiled, unable to contain an astonished laugh—which make her ribs throb. “How the heck did you get this?” she asked.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked sharply.

  “I am not seeing this guy,” Erin said. “Trust me, Andrew. Not.
Not. Not, seeing this guy, alright?”

  “No, not alright,” he said. “Why should I trust you? You’ve been acting so weird lately. Ever since you came back from Cruces. You pretty much stopped seeing me after that. I come over here to find out what’s going on, and I find your apartment open and the walls all burnt to hell. And then I find a picture of some guy on the floor. You disappear for two days. You don’t call me. No one knows where you are. Then I find out you’re supposed to be staying at Isaiah’s place, and still no call. So, no, it’s not alright. Nothing’s alright at the moment.” He looked at her angrily. “You’re lying to me every time I see you, Erin.” He shook his head. “And what the hell is going on with your face?”

  Erin turned away. How could she possibly respond to that? The truth was out of the question. She could lie some more. She could refuse to say anything.

  “Alright, sit down,” Erin said, gesturing toward the sofa.

  Andrew didn’t move.

  “Sit down,” Erin pressed, walking to the sofa and sitting down at one end. “You want to hear this or not?”

  Andrew sat down rigidly, arms crossed and angry.

  “I’m in trouble,” she said. “I’m in real trouble, and that’s why I’ve been acting so weird.”

  “Trouble?” he asked skeptically.

  “Look at my face,” she said. “What do you think?”

  His expression softened a little. “What kind of trouble?”

  Erin stared at the floor and tried to think of a story that could half-way explain what was going on. “I’ve been hooked on speed since I was fifteen,” Erin said, pulling a storyline straight out of movie she’d seen several months ago. Thinking about it, she remembered going to see it with Andrew. “I never told you because I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

  Andrew gave her a shocked look.

  “I got involved with some people through the drugs,” she continued. “Serious dealers. Then someone died, and—”

  Erin went quiet. She wasn’t sure if she felt suddenly frustrated because Andrew would never believe this, or because she was just tired of making stuff up, because she couldn’t take another second of trying to hold things together when they were going to fall apart no matter what she did. Either way, the safest thing for Andrew was cutting him out of her life completely.

  “Alright,” she said suddenly, her voice flat and raw, “yeah, I’ve been seeing him.” She looked at Andrew’s face, telling herself it was better for him this way. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. It just happened. I don’t know why I didn’t stop it.”

  Andrew stared—then masked the pain with anger.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Erin said. “I’m sorry.”

  Andrew nodded, breathing in deeply, slowly, as if pacing himself. “Sorry?” He nodded again. “You’re sorry?” He looked at the floor. “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “It just happened.”

  “You don’t know. That’s great, Erin. Real great.” Andrew stared at the floor for a moment, then moved to his feet, ripped open the door, and walked out.

  Erin gazed through the open doorway, watching as the door slowly eased closed, inch by inch, blocking the hallway from view. Exhaled slowly. Real great. She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at the door. Eventually, she finally moved. Retrieved a pen and paper and started writing down everything Lyle had said to make sure she didn’t lose the details. It was a good distraction. She didn’t want to think about what had just happened.

  Chapter 10

  Erin felt something pressing against her right eye. The corner of the note-pad. She tossed it aside and sat up. The digital clock resting on the end table read 2 a.m. She sighed, forced herself to stand, and quietly snuck into her bedroom. Erin stayed clear of the bed, slipping along the edges of the room as she examined Sirian. He appeared to be still asleep. She held her breath, listening to make sure she could hear him breathing, then opened her closet. She chose a button-up shirt to sleep in, considered a pair of shorts, but decided that was a bad choice with Sirian in the apartment.

  Looking at Sirian, Erin told herself seeing him this way should have made her less afraid. Told herself seeing him, blood, shudders, and all, should have made her less afraid. But it hadn’t. If anything, it had made her more so. Because, even then, bleeding from his eyes and shaking with seizures, he’d managed to break her ribs with one arm. If he’d had it together ... The man was capable of simply crushing her.

  She frowned, shaken by the sudden certainty that she should have let him die.

  Erin backed out of the room and gently closed the door. She walked to the kitchen, then slowly—gingerly—unbuttoned her now blood stained shirt and slid it off. The newly formed scabs lacing her arms and shoulders clung to the fabric as she peeled it away. She grimaced and examined the crimson labyrinth of blood crisscrossing the material.

  Then something moved in the corner of her eye, and she turned to see Sirian step out of the shadows. Idiotically, Erin’s first reaction was to cover her chest and her ridiculous bloodstained push up bra. Then she realized she needed her hands to fight. To hold softball bats and knives and anything else that could give her even an instant’s advantage.

  “I did that,” Sirian said, letting his gaze glide across the bruises and gouges running up Erin’s arms and shoulders. Then his focus moved to the massive patch of discolored flesh reaching out from beneath the rib cage wrap the nurses had bound around Erin’s torso.

  Erin pulled on the fresh shirt as swiftly as she could despite the pain in her side, then picked up the bat. “Yep. I have four broken ribs thanks to you.” She wanted to sound rude and casual, but her voice broke mid-sentence.

  “You should have left me there,” he said.

  “That’s for sure,” Erin said, watching Sirian like he might explode at any minute. “So, you’re going to disappear now, right?”

  “You’re coming with me,” he said.

  “Uh-uhhh,” Erin said, shaking her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Then I’m staying here,” he said.

  “Can’t you just do me a favor for saving your life?” she pressed.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “That isn’t the deal,” he said.

  “I don’t remember a deal,” she replied.

  “I saved you. You saved me. I’d call it even at this point,” he said.

  Erin frowned. “Don’t you have people to kill—elsewhere?” she said.

  “They can wait,” he said, that subtle grin returning to his lips.

  “How’d you find me anyway?” Erin asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, but then the grin dissipated. “Why didn’t you let me die?”

  “Does clinical insanity ring a bell?” she asked, angling her body toward the front door with the bat crossed protectively over her chest.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said gently. “I’m not going to hurt you, Erin.”

  “Tonight?” she asked irritably. “What about tomorrow? What about the night after that?”

  Sirian’s expression was grave.

  “I didn’t have to help you. I didn’t have to drag you out of the sun. But I did. Can’t that count for something?”

  Sirian slowly regarded Erin’s battered face, her shoulders, her arms. “I’m not going to hurt you here,” he said. “Not under your own roof.”

  Erin frowned. “Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

  Sirian’s lips curved—just slightly.

  “I can’t figure out if you’re trying to hurt me or help me.” Erin studied him for some a reaction, something that would tell her what she needed to know.

  “A little of both.” Sirian stepped around the counter and closed the space between them. Erin looked up at him and clasped the bat more tightly, praying he wasn’t going to make her use it. Because the bat wasn’t going to do anything for her. What she needed was a rocket launcher.

  S
irian reached for the bat, then hesitated as his legs gave out. Erin grabbed him around the waist without dropping the bat—awkwardly catching his fall. She winced as pain erupted in her side, then swiftly pushed Sirian to the counter so that he could lean against it. Halfway through the movement, Erin realized her mistake. In catching Sirian’s fall, she had placed her neck inches from his face, and now he was frozen there. His warm breath swept across her flesh. Erin bit back a cry as Sirian’s arms tightened around her aching torso, pinning her to his body. The spasm of pain caused her grip to loosen, and the bat slipped from her hands.

  She thought, once again, about how she should have left him in the sun.

  His face brushed against her neck.

  Sirian’s arms loosened. He pushed Erin away—hard enough that her back collided with the kitchen counter—and took two swift steps sideways. The muscle stretching between Sirian’s cheekbone and jaw corded and flexed. He whirled around and staggered to the front door. Just as he reached for the handle, the door burst open with a blur of movement that sent him sprawling across the room.

  An incredibly tall, slender man clad entirely in black stepped into the living room. Black hair obscuring the upper-half of his face, the man looked Erin over, then darted forward.

  Erin whipped around and ran straight into something hard, knocking her to the floor. At first she thought she’d run into the same man, but then she heard him let out a curse behind her. The first intruder’s body tumbled into the kitchen as Sirian rammed into his back and drove him face-first into the sink.

  Erin looked up at the other intruder, also dressed in black from head to toe with black hair hanging over his—no, her—eyes. A gloved fist came rushing toward Erin’s face, and she pulled open the silverware drawer above her head. Splintered wood exploded into the air in a cascade of clanging forks, spoons, and knives. Erin spotted her bat, but the female kicked it out of the kitchen. Erin scrambled to her feet. She’d barely taken a single step before a hand came down on her shoulder. She grabbed the first thing within reach—the coffee pot—and shattered it against the side of the female’s head. A stream of blood snaked from the woman’s hairline and across her eye, but she simply grasped Erin tightly by the neck. With one hand, she lifted Erin off her feet and pinned her against the wall. Erin stared in amazement. In disbelief.