Awakening (Fire & Ice Book 1)

by Karen Payton

  With cold detachment, Sebastian tore open Douglas’ coat, baring his chest, and dragged a fingernail down over his stomach, opening up a gaping wound in the layer of fat.

  Douglas’s hands clutched frantically at his oozing flesh and came away covered in blood.

  Sebastian’s grip strangled the scream building in Douglas’ throat. “Shhh. It won’t do to let Connor know we are here.”

  Tears filled Douglas’ eyes as Sebastian pushed his chin up and buried his teeth into Douglas’ soft neck, not sweet and succulent, but doughy and damp. Only a burst of frustrated hunger prevented him spitting the fermenting draught of blood onto the ground. Douglas hung limply in Sebastian’s grasp, compliant. Maybe he still hopes his time has come, and it has.

  Sebastian’s jaw worked in jerking, vicious strokes that ripped through flesh, and his grin faded as the delicious scent of Rebekah was overwhelmed by Douglas’ stench.

  His time to die.

  When Sebastian released his hold, the dry tissue of Douglas’ drained limbs creaked as they folded awkwardly beneath the rolling dead weight of his torso. The air sighed from Douglas’ lungs as though death was a relief. Sebastian left the body where it fell, the glazed eyes staring up at the tree canopy and horror etched onto the face. The bland, biscuit-colored hair fluttered in the sudden flurry of air as Sebastian moved off towards London.

  He would report the abortive attack to Councilor Serge, the ambush. Sadly, Douglas died in the battle before they discovered the human nest. He had all the power. He just needed to decide how to bring Connor to his knees, and, of course, to explore the pleasures of Annabelle. Until I know her real name, that one will have to do.

  <><><>

  Julian’s grid search of the woods took in every blade of grass inside a four-mile radius of the eco-town. That should turn up something, if there is anything. He had an image of Leizle’s grubby face pushed firmly to the back of his mind, but she was on his list of things-to-do. Every few seconds he huffed in a sample of woodland air, comparing the taste and smell to the scent of the rogue vampire locked inside his chest.

  Spotting a heap of fabric lying on the ground, Julian altered course. He could see the gaping wound carved into the body from eighty yards out, and the congealed blood barely filled the crater in its torn neck. Well-drained.

  Not a tossed uniform, then. Thinking the vampire may have shed a disguise, finding a shattered body threw him for a moment. Dropping to his knee, Julian leaned closer and compared the venom samples again. It was a match. The guy stank. Julian couldn’t imagine the meal had been a satisfying one. He flipped the coat open and found the jagged tear down the flabby torso was more like an incision. Not a feral in feeding frenzy. I wonder if Connor will think that’s better or worse.

  Shrugging out of his jacket and folding it over a tree branch, Julian set about digging a grave, using his hands to break up earth and Douglas’ shoe to clear it away. His diamond-hard nails cut through the sedimented layers with ease, and he stopped digging only when he could stand upright in the hole and not see out. That should do it.

  Dropping the battered leather shoe at his feet, Julian jabbed a foothold into the wall of the trench with his boot, and boosted himself up and over the side.

  Rolling Douglas’ carcass into the grave, he covered it over. Burying the body deep underground in the freezing temperature would preserve the venom in the tissue. Julian kicked over the traces of the grave. If this vampire turns up, the body will put him away.

  His expression was hard as he headed back through the woods. He had hoped to report back with better news, but, apart from the faint trace near the body, his quarry left nothing for Julian to track. He’s been gone too long.

  Minutes later, Julian strode down the rebuilt emergency exit tunnel, combing back his hair with his fingers and straightening his windswept jacket. Amusement played around his mouth. Connor nearly ripped my head off when I sniffed Rebekah’s neck. His animosity had been a tangible force.

  He’s got it bad.

  Shaking his head, Julian emerged inside the dining cavern like a glowering magician. He was tall and imposing, with his face set in concentration, and the six humans assembled there ran away. Very funny. He’d forgotten that Connor was the only vampire they expected to see. A wry smile chiseled into his features. Fear is not the vibe I’m looking for.

  Julian went in search of Leizle, the next task on his list. Treading more carefully, he sank into the tranquil pool of revival sleep and the relaxation eased his movement to vampire slow-motion.

  He found her sitting alone on a wooden stool in the meeting cavern. The glossy rope of her chestnut hair, guided by her shoulder blades, hung in a braid down her back. While Julian absorbed her image, her scent, and considered what to say, the breeze stirred by his arrival wafted over her skin and Leizle shivered. Julian’s fingers flexed as he resisted the desire to rub her shoulders, and, as if she knew what he was thinking, Leizle chafed her arms briskly.

  “Pull yourself together, girl,” Leizle muttered.

  Julian was arrested by her voice. Offloading her after their dash through the night was the last time he had touched her, and only now did he realize how much he yearned to see her face.

  “Thinking about him will give you pneumonia if you’re not careful,” she whispered, rubbing her thighs as though his hands were still imprinted on her flesh.

  Determined to avoid her and suppress his urge for more, even now, Julian lied to himself. Connor doesn’t want to leave Rebekah yet. That’s the only reason I offered to find Leizle. But now he was here, he admitted it was the only place he wanted to be.

  “Hello, Leizle,” he said gruffly. His long stride closed the space between them.

  She jumped up and turned quickly. Her braid whipped through the air, and Julian’s hand flashed out to catch it. As he closed his fingers around the copper-colored rope, a thrum of electricity shot up his arm as though the shock of her emotions surged along its length. She caught her breath, and he resisted the urge to touch her cheek.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he murmured.

  A blush transformed her porcelain skin to a delicate shade of rose, and the enticing aroma of it wended its way over his palate.

  With effort, Julian concentrated on the reason he came. He wound the silken strands of her hair slowly around his fist. “I’ve come for this.” With a gentle tug, he lifted her chin and stared into her upturned face.

  He flexed his ribcage and pulled in a deep breath, regretting the weakness instantly when a flood of venom soothed the sting in his throat but not the ache in his chest, nor the cavernous craving for her blood.

  He cleared his throat and swallowed, saying abruptly, “I’ve come for your hair.”

  “My hair?” Leizle had been studying his expression as if trying to read his thoughts. “My hair?” she said again, as though the words made no sense.

  Gentler now, but still pretending detachment, Julian tried again. “Connor sent me to get your hair. We need it.”

  “Why?” she breathed.

  “I can’t explain. But it will cover your tracks. Stop them looking for you.” Having said all he needed to, he retreated behind an emotionless facade.

  “Take it,” she said flatly. Not looking away from his veiled eyes, she pulled a penknife from her jeans pocket and held it out. “Take it.”

  Julian took the knife and sawed through the braid, wishing he could ignore the dull pain of confusion in her eyes as her face drained of expression. He did not cause physical pain, but he could see his rejection hurt.

  “Thank you,” he said. Turning on his heel, he disappeared from the meeting cavern.

  Julian broke into a run, accelerating rapidly, pushing his body to the limit. Demons snapped at his heels. Better for her, no good can come of getting too close. “The sooner Connor moves them on, the better,” he muttered, closing his fist around the silken rope and resisting the urge to bury his nose in the sleek strands.

  He tucked away t
he last memory of her that cluttered his mind; Leizle fighting for balance, the ragged ends of her hair fluttering in the storm of his agitated departure. Her groaned words of ‘pull yourself together’ as she sank back down into her seat, were harder to fold away.

  Chapter 39

  Connor finally faced up to leaving Rebekah and made the journey to the hospital. She’s safe for now. He burst in through the heavy glass doors, arriving in the emergency room in a pulse of pressure which spun the needle of the barometer on the wall. The whirlwind that was Doctor Connor, had arrived.

  Powering his way along the slick polished floors, he entered the blood dispensary. Connor pushed aside the rubbery-plastic doors and paused inside the threshold as they clapped shut behind him. The perpetual motion of vampires rolling to the front of the queue reminded him of a conveyor belt.

  Connor crossed the room and put his hand on the chest of the vampire stepping up to the dispensing counter. The vampire opened his mouth, saw Connor’s uncompromising expression, and snapped his jaw shut again.

  “Charles,” Connor said, turning to address the familiar figure doling out blood rations.

  “Doctor Connor. Are you trying to cause a stir?” Charles raised an ironic eyebrow and held out three vials of blood.

  “I couldn’t resist. Don’t you wish more vampires were impulsive?”

  With a half-smile, Charles said, “My job is easier if they aren’t. And you provide me with quite enough color, Doctor.”

  “A good thing, I hope?” Connor said. He took the glass tubes and turned away, smiling when the silent conveyor belt of vampire movement resumed.

  Barely even a ripple. His lips twitched while he considered the havoc he could wreak if he really tried. One shove and they’d go down like dominoes. He headed off to find a place to take rap-sleep. I need to be on full alert. He stepped into the examination room where he had first stumbled across Rebekah and shook his head drily at the pull he still felt to come here.

  In a ruthlessly efficient execution of the hydrating process, Connor drank the blood and tossed two vials across the room into the recycling crate, and dropped one back into his pocket. He leapt up onto the bed, lying down in a fluid movement. His carotid arteries pumped the blood from his gullet into his brain, and the cell door swung open to welcome the flood. Connor relaxed into the pain and surrendered to the delirious tempest of desire. As always, his rap-sleep was saturated with Rebekah, but this time tinged with relief that she was safe within the confines of the eco-town. Douglas’ death was something to celebrate.

  When his eyes snapped open again, he sprang to his feet, collected his white coat from the back of the chair, and was on his way out of the door before he had finished raking his hands through his hair.

  Setting a course for the mortuary, Connor speculated on Julian’s obvious discomfort when he handed over the braid of Leizle’s hair. All Julian said was, ‘Tell Rebekah to explain the plan to Leizle’.

  Connor expected him to say more, but Julian merely raised a brow and walked away, his part over with, for now.

  They both had roles to play in the final act of freeing Leizle from the attentions of Serge. Phase one; set the scene.

  Connor checked his watch. Julian would soon deliver the report to the council that Leizle had thrown herself out of a second floor window in the hospital and sustained a fatal head injury. Leizle committing suicide rather than becoming a prisoner on the farm would ring true, and Connor would be ready to take the lead role in the play when summoned by the council to give his account of the tragedy.

  Alone in the mortuary, Connor pulled open his white coat, registering the chilled air as a warm caress. A body draped in a sheet lay on a trolley, and he wondered at how the relaxation of death made the human form melt. They all look so frail.

  He had been waiting for the newly admitted female corpse, and hoping she would die soon made him feel uncomfortable. But at least she succumbed without my help.

  Flipping back the linen sheet, he inspected her slack features. Laying a hand on her cheek, he calculated her temperature. Good, she is almost cold. Somehow, knowing she had had time to be peacefully at rest, mattered. He didn’t believe in souls and afterlife, but if it was her belief, then he could be sure he was looking at an empty shell. He took a relieved breath.

  She was older than Leizle, and the distinctive blue pattern of cyanosis staining her skin indicated oxygen starvation resulting from collapsed lungs. But only a doctor would detect the sign of something more than a head trauma.

  He knew her from clinic rounds, and felt more regret than he expected when he pressed his hand onto her cold features, applied pressure until the cheekbones snapped and the jaw crumbled, rearranging the fractured bone structure into a broken jigsaw which bore little resemblance to a human face.

  Connor tugged Leizle’s braid from beneath his shirt, where it lay coiled around his waist, and loosened the strands. He clawed his nails over the shrinking scalp of the corpse and made enough congealed blood ooze from the wounds to help fix the distinctive chestnut mane in place. It only has to pass a fleeting inspection. He smeared the dregs of blood left inside the glass vial in his pocket on to the clumped tresses in the final touch to perfect the disguise. Moving quickly through the check list of ‘signs’ to fake, he ran his hands down the length of her body, compressing tissue and crumbling bone in strategic places to fit the scenario of a fall from a height. Only a doctor would question the lack of pre-mortem bruising. Finally, with the nick of a blade, he added the infamous cut to her arm and the deception was complete.

  Connor washed his hands, straightened his clothes, and eased the collar of his shirt which suddenly felt tight. Flicking the switch inside his head to ‘Doctor Connor’, he set off to work his shift, and to wait until the council called for his attendance. Julian will have the final showdown in hand.

  After leaving the mortuary, he conducted a lightning fast tour the hospital corridors looking for Anthony, irritated that his surgical assistant was avoiding him. Connor would have preferred to have found him before the storm broke in the courtroom. But, if he’s gone to ground, at least he’s out of the way.

  Still keeping his eyes open, he could only hope Anthony’s anger would make him track Connor down and demand answers.

  In the walk-in clinic, Connor discharged half a dozen vampires, after grinding away areas of dead sun-scorched tissue with modified pliers and delivering fear-of-God lectures.

  The highlight of his shift proved to be saving a vampire from locked-in syndrome. While overseeing a blood delivery from the farm, Connor scanned the room, trying to appear busy. Standing in the queue, the vampire’s eyes skittered around the walls, one hand clutching at the other as if he was miming the incy-wincy-spider rhyme he probably had never even heard.

  Connor knew the signs instantly. He’s too agitated to feed. Revival sleep is long overdue. Bedside manners would waste time, so he grabbed a vial of blood from a passing trolley. Closing in fast, Connor pulled a syringe of muscle relaxant from the pocket of his white coat and jabbed the needle into the vampire’s windpipe, anesthetizing his gag reflex. In a seamless movement, he poured the blood down his patient’s throat. Seconds later, the life blood the casualty needed slid down his gullet. Extreme, but it got a feed inside him quickly enough to save him.

  Staring into the vampire’s glazed features, Connor grunted as the relaxation of revival sleep softened the tight lines of the vampire’s features.

  “Good,” he muttered, and then moved on to his next task. As he left the blood assembly point, he wondered how Julian fared. Will the summons come today?

  He rounded a corner, slamming a door into a wall with the force of his sweeping hand, and stopped dead. “Juror Marius.” Connor bowed slowly. So, this is it.

  “Doctor Connor.” Marius’ coal black eyes studied Connor with curiosity. “The council has convened to hear the circumstances leading to the death of the human girl. We expect your attendance.”

  “Of course,�
� said Connor.

  Marius disappeared, and Connor raised a brow. Julian, or Serge, is surely in a hurry. He peeled his white coat from his shoulders and tossed it into the nearest linen bin with a quick twist of the wrist. The waiting is over.

  He set off for the council building. I wonder why Marius played messenger. Connor had never seen a juror at the hospital before. But then, we’ve never before had a situation like this one.

  Pausing outside the courtroom door, Connor adopted an appropriate apologetic expression.

  As he laid his hand on the polished wood, the door disappeared, pulled open by an unknown force, and Connor narrowly avoided being barged aside by Anthony exiting the court; the loose end that could unravel everything he and Julian had planned.

  Anthony rocked back on his heels, indignation tightening his broad shoulders.

  “Anthony.” Connor greeted him carefully.

  The brown eyes were hard in his tense face as he muttered, “Doctor Connor.”

  With one last penetrating look, Anthony skirted around Connor, turned on his heel and disappeared from view.

  Connor was grimly aware of Anthony’s feelings when the heavy oak doors of the council building slammed shut behind him. What now? Did he tell the truth?

  He needed to work harder at arranging his features this time before he made his entrance. Taking the place in the dock, he fixed his gaze on the opposite wall, ready to speak only when spoken to. And irritating Serge will be an added bonus.

  The epitome of impassive, Connor waited for the charade to unfold.

  Doubts crept in, when Julian’s blank expression gave nothing away. Connor sliced a look at the jurors, taking a snapshot of the demeanor of each. They look bored. Anthony can’t have voiced his suspicions. Over the decades, Connor had come to understand their personalities. They share the distaste for Serge and his time-wasting. Connor hoped that would be enough.

  Juror Marius did not suffer fools gladly, but he was a stickler for protocol, and he waited patiently for Serge to pause before saying, slowly, “Doctor Connor’s reputation remains unimpeachable. I trust you have more to add?”