by Karen Payton
The thick sweet odor of the blood, plump red cells oozing a red-berry aroma, bombarded Anthony’s nostrils like a hit of cocaine. His brain activity fibrillated, his thought patterns crumbled, and he became crazed in an instant.
In less than three seconds, Connor pinned a snarling, out-of-control Anthony against the wall by his throat. Behind the hunger-driven gaze Anthony bored into Connor was a desperate question. He had seen Connor cut Leizle, and puzzled rage flavored his terrible thirst.
Connor bellowed, “Help. I need help. Now.”
When the door to the room whipped open, Connor pushed a syringe of muscle relaxant into Anthony’s neck, whispering into his slackening features, “I’m sorry, I will explain.”
Anthony sagged, and Connor guided him down the wall. Anthony’s solid bulk settled on the floor, and his slack hands flopped open, his fingers still jerking like upended spiders.
The vampire wardens rushed into the room. The smell of blood caused pandemonium. They circled like crows, flocking as if tethered together and incapable of independent thought.
Connor crossed the room and bandaged Leizle’s bleeding wound. “Stay away.” He held up a hand and interrupted the frantic circling formation. Their eyes skittered around the room, and, desperately trying to hold their own bloodlust in check, the wardens backed away, happy to comply.
“You need to contain him,” Connor said, jerking his chin towards the prone form of Anthony. “And she is not safe until I stem the bleeding.” While confusion still reigned, Connor lifted Leizle, and strode from the room.
Passing through the complex, Connor barked the orders which removed gates and allowed his speed to surge to a human run and then on to a horse’s gallop.
The image printed on his retina of Rebekah’s blue-tinged face was developing rapidly. Her lips were now cyanotic, and there was ash on her lashes. No, not ash, frost.
Anguish twisted Connor’s face. He hurtled forward, heading out into the night.
Chapter 33
Sebastian’s handling of Douglas was not kind, in fact, somewhere around the Vauxhall area of London, it became downright spiteful. Fed up of supporting the fleshy human carcass, Sebastian gripped the back of his collar, and, with a firm twist, he shifted from using Douglas like a windbreak held against his chest to dragging him along behind. Every flight of steps and curbstone along the way pecked at Douglas’ heels and jarred his spine.
For Douglas, the flip gave him a head rush which crowded his vision with ink spots. The speed at which Sebastian towed him along never allowed him to properly catch his breath, and semi-consciousness became a blessing.
When the forward propulsion and cold wind stopped, Douglas found himself landed on the floor with all the care of a side of beef in an abattoir. As he lay in an awkward heap, the hot-ash sizzle of pins and needles brought with it awareness. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It was like nothing he had seen before. The ornate plaster casted rose which framed the light fitting overhead would have made Gaudi feel nauseated. Gold leaf clung to the impressive circular plaque like melted chocolate.
“Definitely not in Kansas anymore,” he muttered.
A snort of derision made him realize he had spoken aloud. “Councilor Serge will be flattered to be thought of as a wizard,” said Sebastian.
Douglas gathered his wits slowly, and Sebastian was not inclined to wait.
Sebastian whisked him bodily to his feet, holding onto Douglas’ shirt-front until his legs decided they had a job to do and he snapped to attention.
He was a mere six inches from Douglas when he said, “Councilor Serge is waiting.”
Douglas shuddered as Sebastian’s cold finger touched the angry graze around his neck, where the edge of his collar had cut in like a cloth machete.
“Not having second thoughts, I hope?” Sebastian asked, his nail etching a blood-red necklace around Douglas’ throat.
Douglas swallowed and shook his head.
Sebastian released him and circled away to reveal Councilor Serge, the oldest vampire Douglas had ever seen. A rotting aroma thickened the space between them when Serge grinned. Douglas gagged.
“Well, is Sebastian correct, that you need to be one of us?” Serge locked his gaze onto Douglas’ shiny skin. The joke will be on him if he thinks being turned will make him virile and handsome. I certainly had. He’s doomed to disappointment. Serge assessed the white dough-like flabby body which would be exactly what Douglas would be blessed with for all eternity. It’s almost worth turning him, just to see the look on his face.
Leaning in until his eyes filled Douglas’ vision, Serge’s deep breath sucked the oxygen from the air. He felt a burst of amusement as Douglas’ throat worked, and he smelled the bile his victim fought to keep down.
Finally, Douglas gulped down the acidic cocktail, and his eyes watered as the cut on his throat burned. In the act of touching his neck, he stopped bare inches away when instinct told him he was better off not knowing. “I know where there are humans,” said Douglas. Struggling for breath he croaked, “But I need to be one of you.”
“Ah, it is this need that intrigues us. Sebastian says it is a fight over a woman?” Serge’s thin lashes veiled his eyes, and anticipation twitched his sagging cheeks. “And the name of your rival?”
“Connor,” said Douglas.
Serge’s smile deepened; he could almost taste Douglas’ regret. Too late now. He has chosen his side. Serge sucked in a wet breath and pleasure trickled through him. “I think we can help each other out,” he said. Looking over Douglas’ shoulder, his eyes met Sebastian’s. “You will be well rewarded.”
Douglas swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
Idiot, thought Serge, as Connor had done before him. Sebastian will have fun when the time comes. Even Serge found the prospect of making a meal of Douglas repulsive. He would gladly pass. Serge returned his attention to Douglas, focusing on his gray eyes. Fish-scale eyes. “I suggest you start talking, hmm?”
Chapter 34
In the leafy suburb humans used to call ‘Richmond’, majestic oaks cast an impressive canopy over the sidewalks and dusted the front of the houses in a fretwork of shadow. Julian’s house, set back from the road beyond an uncluttered lawn apron and a gravel driveway, made sneaking up on the inhabitant impossible. And so, knowing the drop in air pressure warned of his fast approach, Connor was not surprised to see Julian framed in the doorway, intently watching Connor’s silhouette resolve from a misshapen ‘Hunchback of Notre Dame’ shadow into a vampire carrying a girl.
Julian’s eyes widened when Connor swept past into the house, holding a pale Leizle close to his chest, and moved quickly into the sitting room.
“Don’t ask,” said Connor, when Julian followed him. “I have to go, Rebekah’s in trouble.”
Connor lowered a bewildered Leizle onto the pristine, hardly-ever-sat-upon couch, before turning towards the door.
The premonition haunting Connor had progressed from a fragmented transparency of Rebekah’s face to a fully-formed image of a mask of deathly pallor melted onto her skin.
“Something is wrong,” he said, his pinched features easy to read.
“Wrong?” asked Julian, still venturing no further than the threshold. He lifted a brow and threw a pointed glance over at Leizle. As it had in the courtroom, Leizle’s sudden appearance clearly rocked Julian back on his heels.
Connor deflected the stab of guilt as he said shortly, “I’m sorry, but you’re in this too. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Wheeling around, he left, moving out of earshot before Julian could protest.
In a matter of minutes, less time than it took Julian to recover his balance, Connor stood in the woodland, barely a mile away from the eco-town, hunting for clues which would tell him where he should begin the search.
A hundred year accumulation of emotion swelled inside him in one moment, and all the hysteria, fear, and panic he found so amusing in humans rendered him powerless. Damn it, I can’t hear anything exc
ept the panting of my own breath. Clamping down on the knot of tension driving his lungs like bellows, he stopped breathing and listened in the newly reclaimed silence. Still nothing.
He stopped near a clutch of silver birch when an image of their cream-colored, cracked bark leapt out at him. His jaw worked in tempo with his pumping fists until he lashed out and punched a hole in a nearby pearl-tinted trunk. As he crumbled the satisfying handful of wood to dust, he muttered, “I know you saw them, thought of them. Rebekah, help me out, here.”
Unable to stand still any longer, he set off through the undergrowth doing the only thing he could think of; a grid search. He covered the ground at a speed which would register as a mere glimmer of shadow to the human eye. I know she’s here somewhere. But, the further he went into the woods, the more the faint twitch of her heart – because that’s all it was – seemed to reside deeper inside and all around him.
In the near pitch-black, he swept his eyes over every blade of grass, his night vision gathering the tapestry of textures.
His hurtling speed died when he heard a noise. He scanned in a 360degree arc, turning on one heel. The crackle of leaves drew his attention before a pale face appeared between the trees.
Shit.
The feral’s head swung on a slack neck as he drifted through the trees. Inhaling noisily, he zeroed in on Connor’s smell.
Connor frowned. Shit. I’ve been on the human farm. I must reek. He slipped the scalpel, still stained with Leizle’s blood, from his pocket, and grinned. Bring it on.
The vampire accelerated, and a wave of turbulence whipped the undergrowth as he hit his stride.
Like a matador, Connor sidestepped and jabbed the scalpel into the feral’s solid shoulder. The tip bent over as the blade tore a clump of fabric from the blood-stiffened coat.
Reeling around and barreling forward, the vampire’s roar filled the air with a rotting stench.
Connor dug the scalpel in again.
The feral swung around and slapped his hand over the cut scored into his neck.
Without missing a beat, Connor darted forward and rammed the buckled scalpel blade into the enraged vampire’s eye. He twisted the hook and scooped out the jelly-like eyeball, and thick fluid oozed down the shocked white face.
The vampire froze.
Grabbing a fistful of rancid hair, Connor shoved his victim’s head down hard and drove his knee up into the feral’s face, shattering his cheekbones. Stepping out of the way and shoving him to the floor, Connor stamped down on the base of the vampire’s skull, crumbling the vertebrae to dust.
Without waiting, Connor refocused on the surrounding woodlands. The fight had scared the woodland creatures into silence, and he strained his senses, scanning for Rebekah once more. He set off again, confidence giving him strength as he honed in on the faint whisper of air grating through dry vocal chords. He just needed to get a bearing before the noise of nature’s creatures chattering could drown it out.
He knew what skin and cloth would feel like if their image stroked across his mind, and still he almost passed them by. He continued on, until the frozen shapes registered in a ‘hang on a minute, what was that’ kind of way, and he returned to the spot with icy calm.
Pushing aside the foliage, not daring to look too closely, Connor gathered the huddled mass up into his arms, and settled them both into his chest. They were zipped into Rebekah’s oilskin coat. Her arms were wrapped around Thomas’ small frame and her blue-tinged cheek rested on the top of his head. Their silent bodies made Connor feel as though he was deaf. He was so used to filtering out the clamoring kaleidoscope of human scents and emotions that in the seconds it took to return to the eco-town, hearing nothing but his own fleeting footfalls and smelling nothing but ice, hope was hard to cling to.
When he reached the eco-town, he rushed into the tunnel entrance, and his deliberate stride reverberated in an echo off the rock-clad walls.
“Harry, Oscar,” he bellowed.
Human footsteps came running, but to his vampire sense, they took forever to arrive.
If sunrise comes and she is gone, I will go too.
<><><>
Rebekah was dreaming, and the bone-deep trembling, the ice in her veins, and the fear folded like a fist around her heart became a dissipating memory. She hugged a giant hot water bottle, molding her bare torso to its deliciously warm surface, and the insides of her thighs and her belly simmered gently. She shifted in the cradled comfort of a lap, luxuriating in the warmth radiating through her seat, creeping into her bones and making her feel weightless. Every single nerve vibrated with the glow and she smiled.
Her memory stalled at the journey through the woods. Inhaling gently, she absorbed the clean masculine fragrance and the billowing specter of the monster in the woods faded. She remembered holding Thomas’ frozen form in her arms, and feeling as though the cold weight of lead pressed her eyelids closed. Am I dead? No, not dead. Dreaming?
She lifted her head sleepily and as she turned it, her nose brushed skin. She warmed the other cheek on the smooth, hard, velvet-textured surface. As she shifted her weight, warm hands moved over her back, molding to her ribcage, and sure fingers caressed her skin. The movement pulled her closer and strong arms enfolded her body.
This isn’t right. With a sudden jolt of confusion, a lightning strike sliced through the clouded comfort and startled her into instant awareness. The tingling heat in her body became the burn of ice as alarm trickled through her. This can’t be right.
Rebekah’s bruised heart lurching with a surge of adrenalin. She summoned the image of every male face she could remember, imagined how they might feel, and what struck terror in her heart was that none of them fit. I don’t know this man. Suddenly, her body shriveled with the embarrassment of betrayal. Who is this, and where is Connor?
The powerful arms of this naked stranger - because she had worked that one out - held her trapped. She was wrapped around a hot body, a firm chest pressed to hers, and the back her fingers splayed over was silky smooth. Her fingers curled into fists as she tensed, and when every muscle twitched, ready to take flight, he chuckled.
Rebekah’s senses flipped like a tossed coin and disorientation scared the hell out of her. Connor. The chilled breath feathering the chuckle over her head belonged to him. The treacle-smooth tone of it was him, and even the way it rumbled inside his chest, all him.
But, he’s hot.
Steeling herself to face her fears, she sought his face urgently. The soft pewter-gray of his eyes glinting in the dim light of her cave could barely contain his relief.
“It is you.”
His being here proved her senses were better equipped than her brain, which now threatened to spoil the moment with a million questions. Connor was having none of it. As she opened her mouth to ask, “How?” he lowered his head, dipped his tepid tongue into her mouth, and stole every thought she tried to capture.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, running a finger over her flushed cheeks.
Another chuckle rolled through him as his kiss opened the floodgates of relief and drowned out her voice of caution. Her body pressed to his, her hands clinging to his warmth in fascination, tracing every muscle rippling beneath her fingertips, and her mouth pulled him in as she molded her stroking tongue desperately to his.
For a moment, an alternative future blossomed, one they both ached for. A world where they could lay out in a meadow in sunlight and she could play shadows off his skin, watch the sun reflect like silver pools in his eyes and his fingers scatter sapphire-tinted fragments through his black hair. A world where she and Connor were both alive.
Thinking was overrated, Rebekah decided. She moved closer, and his warm, hard stomach muscles braced as he shifted to support her. His reaction to her, the growl in his throat, was a powerful aphrodisiac. Her instinctive responses thrilled him, knotting the muscles beneath her demanding caress, as his body pressed insistently into hers.
“Ah, my Rebekah,” he sighed against her l
ips.
Her hands framed his strong jaw as she tasted the excitement of his mouth. Being alive and, having been to Connor’s frozen wasteland of desolation, having him here with her now, warm and feeling again, was enough. Love, a white-hot blaze of it, flushed her in perspiration. Threading her fingers into his hair, she pulled his face harder into hers.
“Easy honey, easy, I’m doing human slow today, don’t test me,” he whispered, smiling against her mouth.
Desperation whispered in her ear. You’ll never truly be happy. He can never be what you need him to be. As she kissed him again, she moved her thighs higher to cradle his hips, and melted into him, wanting him to lose control, wanting him to want her too. “Love me, Connor. Please.”
Connor exhaled sharply. His body became still, and Rebekah held her breath. The moment stretched into an age of heightened sensation, her pulse beating a tattoo she could feel humming through him too. Finally, she sighed as his caressing hands fitted her curves into his hard planes, and he rolled his hips into hers.
Sliding her palms up over his bunched shoulders, she whispered quietly, “I need you.”
Tightening her grasp on his neck, she held her breath as an aching pulse tingled between her thighs. Arching her body, she sought out the tantalizing pressure of him beneath her.
His surrender was a mere glint in the jet pool of his gaze, a flame licked in their depths, and his chest moved as his resistance folded. Sliding his sure grasp down to span her buttocks, in a smooth driving stroke, he filled her. Gasping at the unexpected pressure surging up inside, she welcomed him and pulled him in deeper. She watched his face, fascinated by the shadows chasing across it. She absorbed every nuance of the battle etching white lines into his perfect features as he held himself in check, besieged by his demons.