Passion Bites: Biting Love, Book 9

by Mary Hughes

  To get Sarah Jane out alive, Luke had to be at his best. So, as the men wrestled the girl through open elevator doors, he filtered from shadow to shadow toward them, ruthlessly crunching down one more level from cool fighter to the instant cunning of an apex predator.

  Testing the air as he neared, he sorted out the scent of Sarah Jane, the two humans, and the tang of one…no, two, vampires.

  Only three males were visible. Was the fourth hidden in the elevator, ready to hit him with silver or a heavy-duty stunner? Had they deliberately left the little girl conscious exactly so she could struggle so piteously, enraging Luke and making him charge rashly to her rescue?

  If so, it meant these weren’t simply bad guys—these were smart bad guys.

  Double fuck.

  Luke did not want to play into their hands. But as the doors slowly began to close, he pictured Sarah Jane alone, frightened, dragged by these goons into the bowels of the building, and imagined what they might do to her. He rationalized it—if he could sense the hidden vampire, a smart vampire could probably sense Luke. He filtered nearer, prepared to mist into the car and wreak devastation.

  Then Sarah Jane bit Owun’s hand and wiggled loose. Owun snarled and grabbed for her, meaty fingers surging out to wring her neck. Maybe even enraged enough to kill her. Luke had to act immediately.

  He burst from the shadows into the gap of closing doors, reaching for her wrist to rip her from the traitor Owun’s reach.

  A whoosh was his only warning.

  Luke threw himself to the side as the charge shot past him, launched from an assault weapon. It clipped him in the shoulder, taking a bloody bite from his deltoid, shoving him skidding sideways into marble.

  A few inches over, and he’d have had a hole for a chest.

  Dying now wouldn’t save Sarah Jane. He covered his head to shield himself from shrapnel when the charge hit marble.

  The rocket poofed midair.

  He raised his head cautiously. That was so not good. Marrone’s goons had gotten hold of computer-chipped smart charges, able to distinguish between hard and soft targets. The fact that the charge was programmed to explode flesh and blood but not stone made Luke slightly sick.

  The muzzle of the weapon disappeared from the crack between elevator doors as the panels slid shut. The elevator began to rise.

  Blood boiling, Luke misted one floor up. The elevator passed by. He misted another. Watched the elevator rise beyond. As he misted up each floor, his blood cooled; his hot rage turned to icy fury.

  When he reached his limit for successive mistings, he ran up the stairs, stopping on each floor to check the elevator. He ran the next thirty flights, checking for the elevator each time—until he reached a floor with a locked stairwell door.

  Fury drove his fist into the knob. He punched the whole thing out, lock and knob both. Swinging the door open, he stepped into air heavy with chemicals, only to find there was no elevator door.

  He’d gone up thirty-eight flights. This should have been the thirty-ninth floor. The office penthouse.

  Instead, he faced a blank wall.

  He stood there, almost figuring it out too late. Marrone, using two clicks of the elevator key to get from thirty-eight to thirty-nine. Alexis, saying there were forty floors. Puzzled, Luke stared—as a vertical line appeared and the wall seemed to crack open.

  Hell. Alexis is right. A floor was missing, and this is it.

  He dove to the side just as the wall panels retracted fully, revealing the elevator doors, already opening.

  Seaming his back to the wall, he waited until Owun shoved the struggling child out.

  Luke tucked and rolled into the man, springing into an uppercut that practically took the traitor’s head off. Owun stumbled back, releasing Sarah Jane. As she lurched forward, into the hallway, Luke spun and delivered a sharp rake of claws to the second human’s face. Two humans down, two vampires to go…

  Another whoosh alerted him to more incoming.

  He twisted mid-slash to dive after Sarah Jane, tumbling her safely to the ground.

  A hand almost instantly clamped his ankle and hauled him away from the little girl. He twisted and curled a sit-up to deal with the impediment—right into Owun’s fist, augmented by a set of lead knuckles.

  Muscle-driven metal slammed Luke between the eyes, a whack he could feel to his toes.

  Luke pill-bugged, his skull ringing, his brain confused. Owun, recovered too quickly from Luke’s uppercut. Owun, strong enough to pull Luke across the floor. Owun, a human, should have been weak even with lead knuckles, yet the blow had hurt.

  Shaking off the worst, Luke rolled to his feet. He used the movement to hide drawing weapons—his backup blade from his ankle and a throwing star from a wallet of goodies in the underside of his belt. Judging the armed Prow-nose the most dangerous, he sprang past Owun and hurled the star. He hadn’t reloaded from the evening previous so this star wasn’t explosive and wouldn’t hurt a vampire, but Luke threw it into the wall beside the gun-vamp as a distraction. Prow-nose corrected instantly, training the tube on Luke, but it was already too late.

  Luke slashed hard, blade biting so deep into the vampire’s neck that the male had to drop the weapon to hang on to his head. With a second herculean chop, Luke slashed off both vampire head and fingers.

  Sarah Jane might be traumatized, but he couldn’t worry about that now. Life-saving first, trauma counseling later. Now for the second, unknown vampire.

  Lead knuckles flashed in Luke’s periphery, coming incredibly fast. He bobbed barely in time and not quite far enough. Metal scraped his cheek.

  Owun punched again, eyes narrowed like a seasoned fighter, unnaturally fast and strong for a human.

  But he was still only human. Luke delivered a smoking jab-cross, rocking the man onto his heels, then plowed a foot into his midsection and planted him in the opposite wall like a lily.

  Owun slumped unconscious to the floor.

  “Help, Uncle Luke!”

  Luke spun. The second, hidden vampire, a blond male, had come out of hiding to grab Sarah Jane. He lifted her off her feet and ran with her down the hallway.

  “Stop,” Luke shouted and dashed after.

  The vampire turned the corner. Inches shy of the intersection, Luke slowed and slid cautiously around the edge, slicing visual wedges of recon while scenting and listening for clues.

  The hall was empty, brightly lit and lined with closed doors. Ammonia, sour urine and bleach punched his nose, and he couldn’t smell anything else. But his ears…

  A small, rapid heartbeat told him Sarah Jane was here somewhere.

  He cursed. Most likely behind one of those doors, though it was hard to pinpoint which with his head still buzzing from Owun’s lead knuckles and the bleach doing a body slam on his nasal passages. He tried his blood-awareness, but location continued to be fuzzy.

  Cautiously, he cracked the first door. A peek revealed a bedroom, bed stripped but rails indicating it was hospital style, a notion reinforced by the wall sporting electrical sockets and hookups ready for medical equipment.

  He crept down the hall, teasing open doors one by one, on high alert for traps, laser beams, blade blenders, or poisoned arrows, or worse. Marrone always had an angle and traps within traps.

  Luke encountered—nothing. Nothing at all. The lack was almost more troubling.

  As his vampire healing eased the effects of the concussion and the buzz in his brain faded, he began to smell whiffs beyond the ammonia and bleach.

  Outside the third last door, he sniffed—and recoiled. Stale. Sick. Human. Like the sick-human smell wafting from the elevator yesterday, only more concentrated.

  He cracked the door and peered through.

  This bed wasn’t empty. An older man lay there, his stomach a barely rising and falling mound under the white covers. The man was alive but the
sweet-sour stink under the antiseptic sting meant he’d been very sick indeed. Luke took another cautious sniff. The stale sick was fading; the man was better now.

  But more—Sarah Jane’s scent was stronger here. The vampire had brought her into this room.

  Perhaps she was still here. Perhaps the vampire was too.

  Keeping his eyes constantly moving, Luke edged inside the room. The strong scents made it impossible to smell location with precision. His visual slices found no Sarah Jane, no blond vampire, but there was a darkened bathroom beyond the bed.

  Back pressed to the wall, Luke eased cautiously toward the half-open door. Not a sound reached his ears beyond the soft wheeze of an IV pump and the torpid breathing of the man, still asleep despite the gunfire from the elevator area. Probably drugged.

  Luke didn’t like this at all. But what choice did he have?

  He melted into the shadows of the bathroom with another rapid inspection and assessment. Toilet, medicine cabinet, shower.

  A second door, across from where he’d entered, was ajar. What waited on the other side? Or who… He tiptoed to the second door, claws ready, nostrils flared—and threw it open.

  It was another hospital room, empty, bed stripped.

  Returning to the sink, he grabbed the sides and huffed a breath, shaking out some of his tension.

  A flash of motion in the mirror caught his eye. His gaze slowly raised.

  Only the physical vampire legends were true—he showed up perfectly fine in mirrors. The motion was his own blond head, shaking…and a second face behind him, in the bedroom doorway.

  Two faces, exactly the same, from the red-gold eyes to the gleaming fangs and angular face plating. Two Lukes.

  The shock froze him for a bare instant.

  Then his brain kicked in and he realized it wasn’t his concussion returned, making him see double, but Marrone, who loved to play dress-up, with Luke-like makeup, wig and mask.

  Growling, Luke spun, talons raised to shred his enemy.

  The clack of a weapon as it hit a small skull froze his breath.

  Marrone stood about ten feet away, one arm wrapped around the struggling silent bundle of Sarah Jane, hand smothering her mouth. Luke would’ve slashed him for daring abuse her, but the vampire was in a position to snap the girl’s neck before Luke could get her safe.

  He deliberately relaxed into a ready stance, raising hands in surrender as he considered the situation. Marrone had a heavy-duty stun gun pressed to Sarah Jane’s head, the kind of stunner that could drop a rhino—or a vampire. Not for the girl, then, though Marrone was using it to threaten. But Luke was well within the fifteen to thirty-five feet most cartridges would shoot.

  So he was half-prepared when, too fast for normal human eyes, Marrone flicked his wrist and the direction of the stunner changed, and he pressed the trigger. Two barbs shot out.

  Sailing toward Luke.

  Luke had already dropped, feet first, into a slide that swept his legs into the other male’s.

  Marrone stumbled. He didn’t go down, but Sarah Jane was her father’s child—she slammed her elbow into the vampire’s gut. Marrone’s grip opened long enough for her to take a step away.

  The vampire would recover quickly. Luke had mere instants to gauge his next move, but in a fight, split seconds, used well, made all the difference.

  So. Roll to his feet and run off with the child—and hope Marrone couldn’t reload the stunner fast enough to stop him? Or fight the creature to give Sarah Jane time to escape?

  She took a second step.

  The wildcard was that stun gun. If he grappled with the other vampire, Marrone could press its bare prongs to Luke’s skin and down him. Then Sarah Jane would be vulnerable.

  Luke could scoop her up and run, but he’d have to do it slowly enough to not injure her, potentially giving the vampire time to load another cartridge, adding five to ten yards’ distance to the stunner’s bite.

  Fighting, no. Running, also no.

  That left distraction.

  Marrone’s shoulder twitched, the beginning of a grab for the child.

  Luke surged to his feet—and stumbled, choking back what he hoped was a convincing cry of pain.

  Marrone hesitated.

  Beyond the vampire, Rorik appeared in the room’s doorway.

  Sarah Jane took another step.

  Rorik gave Luke a sober nod far beyond his years. Whatever enemies stood in their way, if Sarah Jane reached the door, the boy would see her safely out.

  If Marrone didn’t stop her. She was, after all, an easy target. An easy hostage.

  If she was to escape, Luke had to be an easier target. He’d have to let himself be taken.

  The blond-wigged vampire began to turn. Now or never.

  Luke took a deep breath and, like a lame mother duck, stumbled within reach of the stunner. “Shit.”

  Marrone whipped toward Luke, jabbed the stunner’s tines to his skin and hit the button.

  Luke’s entire body lit up with pain. He wavered on his feet, none of his limbs working. But Rorik swept Sarah Jane into his arms and darted away as Luke began to fall.

  Luke hit the floor, eyes open on Marrone, whose face was contorted in ugly triumph.

  A gloating laugh echoed in Luke’s skull as his consciousness faded. Not Marrone’s usual cackle, but someone more familiar…

  Chapter Nineteen

  I jerked to a halt in front of Marrone’s lab, mindless of security cameras, and threw my car into Park. Popping the door, I barely paused to sling my backpack over my shoulders—hoping Lizelle wouldn’t need the first aid inside but knowing emergencies favored the prepared—before charging to the front door.

  Locked.

  I paced the front walk in frustration, hating myself for the emotional steam but unable to completely suppress it.

  Movement inside caught my attention. I froze. Marrone or his goons or worse?

  A sturdy, black-haired kindergartener burst up to the door, carrying Sarah Jane. She was safe. I rushed to them as Rorik set the girl down to open the door. The instant he cracked it I wedged into the doorway, grabbing them in anxious arms. “Are you okay?”

  Stupid, stupid. I put on my mental physician spectacles and examined them visually. They looked intact, if shaken.

  The roar of a powerful engine caught my attention. A black Mercedes sedan squealed into the parking lot. I tensed.

  Then, as the car flashed under strong lot lamps, Bo Strongwell’s set face was barely visible behind the smoky glass of the windshield.

  I relaxed. Rorik tugged Sarah Jane from my loosened grip and started running with her toward the car. All four of the sedan’s doors flew open, Bo and Elena jumping from the front seats and Julian and Nikos the rear.

  Rorik headed for his father and mother. Bo scooped up Elena and ran toward their child.

  The children were safe. Now I just had to get to Lizelle and Una. And thank goodness, I had a team of vampires to help.

  I pushed inside the building and held the door open as Julian and Nikos each exploded into a cloud of mist arrowed straight toward me and the open door.

  The hairs on my arms rose abruptly.

  A sudden jolt seemed to throw the door from my hand, my muscles jerking automatically away from the handle.

  I shook my fingers out, pain searing them as if I’d been burned. I only recognized after the fact that the hot buzz along my nerves was from electrical shock.

  While I was holding it, the door had become electrified.

  Julian and Nikos suddenly solidified, reeling back from the door, as stunned and woozy as if they’d run into a concrete barrier. Nikos shook his head, set his jaw, and blasted into mist to charge the glass wall next to the door—and collapsed back into his body with his limbs twisted, his expression stark, as if every muscle in his body was clenche
d tight.

  Not only the door was electrified. The whole front wall was.

  A shoop of rollers startled me into jumping back. Metal slammed down between me and the door. Slam, slam, a dozen shutters crashed down around the entire entrance, even the half-circle of the revolving doors.

  Quiet descended, all the more frightening for the panicked noise leading up to it.

  I was left alone in the dim light of an after-hours building, cut off from my friends and rescuers.

  Cut off. I remembered Lizelle, sobbing, “I think that’s why the phone didn’t work before,” and figured out it wasn’t her phone that was broken, but the connection, and frantically pulled out my cell.

  No signal.

  Panic in the ER was never a big problem for me. Fear didn’t enter into my thinking, one of the things that made me a good doctor.

  But Lizelle…not only was she alone with her abusive husband, but she was alone in the kind of place that had electrified doors and automatic metal curtains that kept out the likes of master vampire Julian Emerson and Spartan mountain Nikos. Fear for her threatened to paralyze me.

  My breath came in fast, panted rasps. I tried to swallow, found my throat thick and blocky, and managed only to taste my own sour dread.

  Monster. Lizelle labeled me as such, and the pain of that ensured that since then I’d taken care to plan each step of my life, including contingencies for my worst fears.

  But who could plan for something beyond their worst fear?

  Feelings just are. Luke’s words came back to me, and the kind of empathy that knew to stroke my head because my skin was all sharp shards. He not only hadn’t rejected me, he’d comforted the glass monster. I drew on the memory of that comfort to steady myself.

  I clamped down on my breathing first, forcing everything out, then drawing a bushel of air in. That helped so I did it again. And again.

  As my breathing steadied, so did my thoughts. I didn’t have to plan to act. Lizelle’s words returned to me, the hospital that didn’t exist, on the floor that didn’t exist either.