by Barb Hendee
To make matters worse, Wade had a tendency to project what he was feeling, and she was almost certain he agreed with Philip. She could not fight both of them at once.
Wade came over and sat down on the bed, studying her face. “You’re so pale,” he said quietly. “Do you need me to . . . ?”
“No.”
His offer was clear, but she couldn’t allow him to feed her again so soon. Dressed only in a pair of jeans and a white bra, for some reason, she didn’t even feel self-conscious. Maybe there were bigger things to worry about than modesty.
His eyes drifted up to the headboard, as if he were someplace else. “How did you manage to get a command off to stop Philip, but not that vampire?” he asked.
Philip stopped pacing long enough to listen to her answer.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I tried making contact with . . . him, and I got lost. You felt him last night. He’s so afraid, and the emotions come so fast. And then everything around me started happening too fast.”
She was embarrassed about what had happened tonight, about her failure to send even one command, about screaming telepathically for Philip, and then about what she’d said to him afterward. She wanted to go back in time and do the whole night over again. If she’d succeeded from the beginning, they’d have this poor creature they’d found safely locked up by now. But her explanation to Wade wasn’t helping to change his mind—or Philip’s—about “putting down” the feral vampire.
So she stopped talking.
“Where’s Seamus?” Philip asked in frustration.
Rose glanced at him, but her concern was different from Wade’s, and Eleisha suspected that Rose was her only ally here.
“This bandage is loose,” Eleisha said. “Rose, could you check it?”
Wade stood up to make room as Rose hurried over.
Eleisha flashed to her, Get them downstairs. Don’t let Philip leave.
Rose didn’t blink or make any response as she checked the bandage. Then she said, “Yes, I see. Don’t worry. All fixed.”
Eleisha nodded.
“She’s tired,” Rose said. “Let’s leave her to rest for a while.”
Wade was easy to manipulate in this manner. No matter what he was trying to turn himself into, he was kind by nature. “Of course,” he said, his tone sounding almost guilty, as if he alone had been tiring her out.
But Philip did not function on a platform of kindness, and he stopped pacing to watch her for a long moment. His face was expressionless, and she had no idea what he was thinking. Finally, he said, “I’ll be downstairs until Seamus gets back. Then I’ll be out.”
She nodded, having no intention of arguing with him further. It wouldn’t do any good.
Rose glanced at Eleisha once, and then followed both men down the stairs. Eleisha waited a few moments, hoping Rose would try to engage one of them in conversation—to cover any sound and offer distraction.
As voices soon floated up the stairs, she thanked Rose internally, and then slipped off the bed, moving silently toward their luggage. First, she pulled on her black turtleneck, using the snug neck to cover her bandages. Then she took out the remaining contents from her backpack.
Turning to Philip’s suitcase, she refilled the backpack with a pair of his jeans, his Ralph Lauren sweater, socks, shoes, soap, and a bottle of shampoo. She also stuffed in a towel from the bathroom, her hairbrush, wallet, cell phone, and a small street map of London.
Still feeling light-headed, she wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of going out the window, nor of abandoning Philip and going off on her own again, as she had on their last mission. But he really wasn’t giving her any choice.
After putting on a pair of canvas sneakers, she slung the backpack and slipped out the window, climbing down to the street.
Downstairs, in the sitting room, Wade found himself politely going through the motions of explaining the night’s events to Rose. But his mind was elsewhere.
Since the earliest stages of the underground, he’d never felt so torn—so indecisive. He honestly wasn’t certain what to do, but he had no intention of showing this internal struggle to the others.
Philip was still pacing, growing more agitated by the moment that Seamus had not returned yet, as he wanted nothing more than to go hunting immediately and take this new vampire’s head.
However, out of sheer common sense, Wade did not disagree with him. During his graduate studies, he’d once accompanied his mentor, Dr. Van Tassel, to an institution for the criminally insane. What he’d felt there was comparable to what he’d read inside this feral vampire’s mind. Even after a brief connection, Wade was convinced there was no hope this creature could exist inside a community, much less learn to hunt without killing. At present, he was a danger to society, and the police would not be able to catch him.
That left Philip.
On the other hand, Wade knew Eleisha would never give up, and if Philip destroyed the very thing they’d come to help, and Wade didn’t even try to stop him, would she ever forgive either of them? Would Rose?
They’d all made a pact to find lost vampires and bring them in and train them to exist as their elders had done before Julian—quietly with no drain on mortal society. That was their purpose, and Wade needed a purpose.
From Eleisha’s point of view, they hadn’t even tried to help this vampire yet.
She was not wrong either.
Suddenly, Philip let out an anguished sound and slammed his hand into the door frame. “Where is Seamus?” he snarled at Rose. “Call him! He should have found something by now!”
Rose stood poised with her usual graceful dignity. She wore a long chocolate brown dress that matched her hair, and Wade could not but admire how she had not even flinched at Philip’s outburst. “If I call him away just as he’s sensed something,” she said, “he may not be able to pick up the trail again, and you will lose more time. Do you still want me to bring him here now?”
Without answering, he snarled again and turned away.
For once, Wade hoped that Seamus would not pick up a signature and not return any time soon. Wade needed more time to decide what to do.
Eleisha walked down Euston Road, turning off and heading into the British Library. She didn’t know London well enough to locate a decent underground parking lot in a hurry, but she’d seen the library on the map, and all its nooks, crannies, and alcoves struck her as useful.
Upon arriving, however, she was disappointed to find it closed; the Portland library stayed open much later.
The vast brick courtyard spread out behind her.
“It’s closed,” someone said. “Been closed for hours.”
The accent was Irish, and she turned to see a man sitting alone on a black iron bench, half hidden by the shadows. He was about thirty-five, with long hair and a brightly colored knit cap on his head. A backpack, a guitar, and a bottle of whiskey rested beside him, but he neither looked nor sounded drunk. Except for him, the courtyard was deserted.
He lit an unfiltered cigarette as she walked toward him.
Under normal circumstances, she’d never consider feeding on someone and leaving an unconscious person outside in the dark. But these were not normal circumstances.
His brows pulled together as she drew closer. “You all right?” he asked.
She must have been absolutely white by now, and so she didn’t bother answering, and simply turned on her gift, letting the aura flow outward in strong waves.
“I’m lost,” she said. “I’m supposed to meet my sister in Argyle Square. Do you know how to get there?”
His expression shifted like a light switch. He dropped the cigarette onto the bricks and nearly jumped to his feet. She turned up the power, clouding his mind until he saw her only as a small, helpless young woman who needed him. There was a deep overhang to the right of the library’s front doors.
“Come over here and help me read this map,” she said, pulling back into the darkness of the overhang, so hungry by now she was fighting
not to lunge at him.
“Your map?” he asked. “You don’t need a map. I can take you to Argyle Square.”
He still sounded fairly lucid considering how much she was blurring his thoughts.
“Just take a look,” she said, moving farther back.
He followed her, and she got him as close to the black shadows of the building as possible before linking into his mind.
She crouched down. “Here, come here with me.”
He crouched down beside her, his eyes drinking in her face.
“You’re tired. You need to sleep,” she said, driving the suggestion telepathically at the same time.
He nearly fell into her lap and she caught him, but she was too weak to hold him up, so she laid him on the brick floor. Taking his wrist quickly, she bit down into a vein, tasting the warm, much-needed fluid as it flowed out. She was starving and sucked in mouthfuls of his blood. His arm was covered in light brown hair. He smelled of whiskey, cigarette smoke, and the hint of strong coffee. His memories were happy, filled with walking, traveling, and singing in pubs and clubs. But the images moved quickly by as she was drinking too fast, trying to replace the blood she’d lost, and then she felt his heartbeat begin to slow.
Instantly, she pulled her teeth out, reeling at her own actions of allowing hunger to let her take so much of his life force. She felt his pulse, panicked that she’d fed too much. Though his heartbeat was slow, it was steady, and her own body felt so much better. The pain in her throat began fading. He was strong, and he’d passed his strength into her.
She felt more like herself again.
Standing, she hurried back to the bench, gathering up his things and bringing them into the alcove. She’d noted the corner of the bench was sharp, and she was too frazzled to come up with an elaborate memory replacement, so she reached back inside his head, taking him back to a few moments before she’d arrived. He’d met no one and seen no one. He had tripped over his guitar as he’d stood up, cutting his wrist on the sharp edge of the bench. He’d managed to gather his things and make it back here to the overhang before passing out.
This was a shabby replacement, and she knew it, but it would have to do. She hated the thought of just leaving him here, but she’d hidden him as well as she could, and now she had to start searching on her own before Philip discovered she was gone.
Slinging her own backpack, she paused long enough to whisper, “Thank you,” to the musician, and then she hurried across the courtyard.
But she’d taken only a few steps when the air shimmered, and Seamus materialized in her path. He crossed his transparent arms and looked her up and down.
“What are you doing?”
She could ask the same of him, but she dropped her eyes, focusing on the empty sheath at his hip.
“I can’t just let this vampire be killed,” she said, deciding to go for straight honesty. “And you heard what Philip said.”
“I heard him.” Seamus paused. “That’s why I haven’t gone back to the hotel.”
Eleisha looked up to his face, with hope rising. Maybe Rose wasn’t her only ally.
“Will you help me?” she asked.
The transparent skin over his cheekbones tightened and he said, “Rose would agree with you, but I think Wade’s in agreement with Philip.”
“What about you?”
He seemed caught in indecision, and then his voice took on a similar tone to Wade’s. “Even if you find this mad creature, what will you do?” He pointed to her throat. “I won’t help you if you’re just going to let him overwhelm you again.”
“I won’t,” she promised. “If I can get a sight line, I won’t even try to make contact. I’ll just drive a command in to make him freeze. Once he’s frozen, I can hold him.”
Seamus blinked, and Eleisha stepped closer. “You know where he is, don’t you?” she said.
He watched her for a few seconds. “He’s not far. In an abandoned building up past King’s Cross Station.”
“Will you show me?”
He nodded.
“And you won’t tell Philip or Wade?”
Again, he hesitated. “Not yet . . . but you had better be able to stop him if he rushes you.”
“I will.”
She had no doubt. If she failed, there would be no one to save him, and somehow, she had a feeling this vampire had been lost for a very long time.
Philip felt as if he might explode from the inside at any moment. He couldn’t stop picturing Eleisha lying on the bed upstairs with her white face and bandaged throat. He never should have let things go this far.
The instant Seamus returned with a location, Philip was leaving the hotel on his own.
As of yet, Wade hadn’t challenged him—he hadn’t said much of anything besides recounting the events—but Wade had been more openly assertive in recent months, and Philip wasn’t ready to either trust his support or place him in danger.
That feral vampire would die tonight. Philip didn’t care whether Eleisha forgave him or not. He was beginning to suspect she needed him as much as he needed her and that she would not send him away no matter what he did.
But the entire idea of the underground was beginning to seem absurd to him. Yes, he understood the need for laws. He understood the need for secrecy and for being able to live in one place for years and years without depopulating the area. Those concepts made sense.
But two of the four vampires they’d located so far had been damaged beyond help, and both of them had tried to kill Eleisha.
He’d gone along with this for her sake so far—and for Wade’s. They both needed a purpose. But maybe this was the wrong purpose, and it was time for him to pull the plug. Besides, Eleisha and Wade had been acting . . . strangely since they arrived here in London. He didn’t like it, and he wanted them all to be able to go home.
Tilting his head to one side, he listened for the sound of Eleisha turning on the bed or making even the slightest noise from upstairs. She wouldn’t be able to sleep until dawn, and he suddenly wondered about Rose’s suggestion to just leave Eleisha up there alone. That wasn’t like Rose.
Also, he knew Eleisha needed blood, and she’d refused to feed on Wade, but he’d expected her to refuse. She would never feed on Wade. Even while he was pacing, Philip had considered calling a hotel servant in here, letting her feed, and replacing a memory. But he was too focused on the prospect of Seamus returning at any second, and he wanted to be poised to run. Anything else was too much of a distraction. He’d find a way to feed Eleisha as soon as that feral vampire was headless dust.
He heard nothing from upstairs, not even the sheets rustling.
Walking to the bottom of the stairs, he looked up. “Eleisha?”
To his surprise, Rose hurried over, stepped past him, and stood in his way. “Philip, she needs to rest.”
Alarm bells went off inside his head. “Get out of the way.”
When she didn’t move, Wade came to join them. “Rose?” he asked, sounding worried. “What are you doing?”
Eleisha, Philip flashed.
No one answered, and he felt no connection. With one hand, he moved Rose aside and took the stairs two at a time.
“Eleisha!”
The bedroom was empty. Her backpack was gone. The window was open.
Again. She’d done it again.
He roared. “Seamus! You come here now!” Then he whirled to glare down the stairs. “Where is she, Rose? Where?”
Rose gazed up at him calmly. “I don’t know.”
He ran back down the stairs for the door, but this time, Wade tried to stop him.
“Wait, Philip. You won’t help by running blindly through London. Let me try to call her cell phone. Let Rose try to call Seamus. We need a better idea where she is.”
But Philip ignored him and kept going straight for the door. If Eleisha didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t give them any help.
And anyway, right now he wasn’t looking for her.
Eleisha fol
lowed the directions Seamus had given her, up Euston Road and past King’s Cross Station. This area was busy and quite run-down. Faded graffiti covered many of the buildings, and beer cans and cigarette butts rolled down the streets. People heading for the station walked swiftly, and they did not make eye contact.
When she reached the point where Euston split into two different streets, she veered to the left, up Pentonville, and when she arrived at a collection of plywood-covered abandoned buildings, she stopped.
“Don’t go in there, darlin’,” a gravelly voice said. “He’ll set the cats on you.”
Half turning, she saw a grizzled, one-legged old man about a half block away. He sat, leaning against the rotting plywood boards of what appeared to have once been a police station. Rusty chains hung across the doors.
Eleisha walked over to him. Crouching down, she dug into her backpack. “You need some money?” she asked.
“You American or Canadian?”
Technically, she was Welsh, but she wasn’t sure that mattered anymore. “Neither.” Pulling out her wallet, she handed him a ten-pound note. “Who’ll set the cats on me?”
The old man blinked at the money in surprise. “Him . . . himself.”
Eleisha wondered whether the police had bothered questioning the homeless population around here after the first attack occurred. “But he doesn’t bother you as long as you don’t go inside?”
“No, I save scraps for Molly and Silverpants sometimes, so he don’t bother me none.”
“Molly and Silverpants?”
He blinked again. “The cats.”
Absorbing this, Eleisha found it to be a good sign. It suggested the vampire was still sane enough to understand the old man was useful—a good sign indeed. In addition, the old man had expressed concern over Eleisha’s being attacked by the cats . . . but not over her having her throat ripped open, suggesting he’d never seen the vampire try to feed.
She smiled and stood up. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
So far on this venture, she’d not managed to prove that yet, but she was about to. Slipping in between the cracks of two decaying structures, she moved out of sight of the street.