Pagan (MPRD Book 1)

by Andrew Chapman

  I skirted the inside of the wall, moving slowly and as casually as I could, until I saw the tree-lined path I was looking for. The gate was hidden from view by the screen of trees and I went through, gratified that it had been maintained well enough that it didn’t even squeak. Inside were two rows of dilapidated headstones and a single low mausoleum. I’m normally immune to spooky, but this place was ladling it on thick.

  Suddenly the lights came back around the manor and I jumped away from the gate. I hurried through and examined the rear gate. It was rusty and looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. If I tried to open it the scream of metal would be audible for miles. I sighed and came to a decision. I would call for backup. No ground troops but if I could get the Apaches to cause a distraction I could get the hell out.

  I pulled my cellphone out and groaned at what I saw. There was a boot print on the shattered screen and the casing was cracked. It was useless. Hans, that fucking bastard, had stomped on it.

  I had one more option. I had a tiny bottle of gun oil in one of my pouches. I liberally oiled the hinges and the latch, and then leaned against the wall, trying to give the lubricant time to penetrate the rust. I was tired and in desperate need of a cigarette, not that I could have lit one if I wanted to stay hidden.

  I jerked my head up and swore softly. I’d almost fallen asleep. I was fading fast. I had to risk it.

  I carefully lifted the latch. So far, so good. Then I took hold of the gate and yanked it back as fast as I could. The gate came open with a single, high pitched squeak and I was through and running, almost colliding with a vamp who was walking the perimeter. I barely broke stride as the SIG came up and spat death at him.

  I made it to the trees but the exertion had triggered a fresh flow of blood from my wound, making my vision double and my legs turn to jelly.

  I kept moving; I had no choice. Eventually, dizzy and disoriented, unsure of where I was running, I collapsed against a tree and slid to the ground. The SIG slipped from nerveless fingers and I closed my eyes. I just needed a minute, just a minute to catch my breath, just get my bearings and I would be okay.

  I opened my eyes and there was a pair of boots in front of me. I fumbled for the SIG as a pale hand came down and picked it up.

  My eyes tracked up the boots to a slim pair of legs beneath a short leather skirt. Above those were a leather corset and a pretty face. Her lips parted to reveal sharp fangs.

  “Looks like you need some help, Pagan,” she said.

  She reached down and helped me to my feet and pulled my arm around her shoulders. She started walking, supporting most of my weight.

  “My car’s just ahead,” she said from a long way away.

  She might have said more. I don’t know. I passed out.

  CHAPTER

  22

  I woke up in a soft bed, various parts of my body yelling for attention. I blinked, staring at the silk canopy above me and the bag of blood hanging from one bedpost. I traced the line with my eyes until it ended on my left arm. Apparently, someone had set up a drip. Why did I need IV blood?

  Someone moved in the room and I raised my head off of the pillow. There was a dark-haired head moving around in the vicinity of my abdomen and an insistent, sharp pain in my side.

  “Relax,” came a soft voice. “I’m almost done.”

  “Done what?” I said, slurring.

  “Stitching you back together.”

  Why did I need stitching together? What had happened?

  Memory hit me like a slap in the face.

  “You’re the vampire from the manor,” I said. “The one that sent the guards the wrong way.”

  “That’s me,” she replied.

  She moved slightly to reach for something and I could see the wound in my side, now neatly stitched shut. She snipped the thread with a tiny pair of scissors.

  “Quite a neat job,” I said admiringly.

  “Thank you, now lay back down, this bit’s really gonna hurt.”

  She placed a hand on my chest. She was wearing latex gloves. She must have noticed me looking because she rolled her eyes and stripped one glove off, displaying an angry, pink patch of skin.

  “I don’t know what’s in your blood, Pagan, but it burned me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, laying back and staring at the ceiling. “I didn’t realize surgery was in the cards for tonight.”

  Her face moved into view above me, a faint smile on her lips.

  “Brace yourself,” she whispered, and wiped something cold and wet over my wound.

  For a brief moment it felt good and then suddenly it erupted into intense pain. My back arched and my hands gripped the bed sheets. She firmly pressed me back down onto the bed.

  “It’ll pass, just ride it out,” she said softly.

  “What the fuck was that?” I said through clenched teeth, tears streaming from my eyes.

  “Antiseptic.”

  I nodded and concentrated on breathing, trying to ignore the pain. It slowly subsided to a dull burning.

  “Better?”

  “A little,” I said, nodding.

  “Good,” she replied, standing up. “Let me change your drip.”

  While she busied herself putting up a fresh bag of blood I studied her.

  “Who are you?” I asked. “And why are you helping me?”

  “My name is Marguerite,” she replied. “And not all vampires agree with what’s going on around here. I’ve been working with your Ministry for a few years now.”

  “Well, I’m glad to meet you,” I said. “And even more glad you met me.”

  Something was clamoring for my attention and it took me a second to figure it out.

  “Of course, one burning question remains, as yet, unasked,” I said in my best ‘this isn’t important but I’d like to know’ voice.

  “What’s that?” she said, finishing with the blood and sitting back down.

  “Well, and I realize I may not want to know the answer to this question, but why am I naked?”

  “You’re not naked,” she said with wide eyed and fake innocence as she placed a dressing on my wound. “Your modestly is protected by a fine French sheet.”

  “But I am, so to speak, naked, as it were, under said fine French sheet,” I said, one eyebrow sarcastically raised.

  “Well, yes, if you want to be pedantic, you are naked under the sheet,” she said. “Your clothes were soaked in most of your blood, so I thought I’d wash them for you.”

  I frowned and then chuckled, finishing off with a wince at the pain.

  “What’s funny?” she asked.

  “Sorry, interesting image,” I replied. “I just never thought of a vampire having a washing machine before.”

  “Well that’s just silly,” she said, taping the dressing in place. “How do you think I keep my clothes clean? As far as I’m concerned, the washer/dryer unit is the greatest invention of the 20th century.”

  She stopped and looked at the wall for a second.

  “Well, that and the battery powered dildo,” she finished primly.

  I raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.

  “What? If it’s a choice between getting it on with some dickhead vampire who thinks that being three hundred years old somehow makes him the goddess’s gift to woman and getting my jollies from Bob, I’ll reach for the rubber any day.”

  “Bob?” I said woozily, too spaced out to dwell on the surreal conversation.

  “Battery Operated Boyfriend, a girl’s best buddy,” she said, leaning back to examine the dressing. “Yep, that should hold you.”

  “Wait, wait,” I said, marshalling my thoughts with difficulty. “Who undressed me?”

  “I did,” she said and winked at me. “But don’t worry, stud, I kept my eyes closed and didn’t peek. Much. Hardly at all in fact.”

  She was giving me another wide-eyed look. I guess you get plenty of time to practice looks like that when you’re immortal. I let my head fall back onto the pillow, my eyelids feeling li
ke they were made of lead.

  “I’m finding it difficult to care,” I said, my voice sounding thick, even to me.

  “Yeah, get some sleep,” she said, patting me on the shoulder. “Sun’ll be up soon.”

  I would have replied but I was out like a light.

  My watch said it was seven in the morning by the time I awoke. Three hour’s sleep had taken the edge off of my fatigue, the pain, and the drugs, but it had provided me with a burning, pressing need. I needed a bathroom. The blood bag was gone and there was a neat dressing on the inside of my arm, so at least I didn’t have to fight with that. I gingerly slid out from under the sheet and managed to pull myself to my feet. I needed clothes. Not only was I naked but I was sporting a ‘morning glory’ I could have hung my gunbelt on. I was surprised I had enough blood in my body to manage that. Luckily enough my hostess had been back while I slept and my clothes sat in a neat pile on a chair by the door. I shuffled over and managed to get into my boxers. Now, bathroom. If I were a bathroom, where would I be?

  There were no other doors in the bedroom so an en suite was out. Outside the door was a hallway that looked out over a large entryway. I drew in an appreciative breath. Everywhere I looked was dark, polished wood and gleaming metal. It wasn’t as big as Havelock Manor, but it was big enough.

  “Oh, you’re up,” said a voice to my left. I turned and waited for a second while the house finished whirling around me.

  “Oh. Hi. Um,” I said, dazzling in my repartee.

  “Morning,” she replied.

  My eyes dropped involuntarily. She was wearing a silk robe, open at the front, and a short silk negligee, both in a deep crimson that looked rather nice on her. I bounced my eyes back up to her face as quick as I could.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, smiling seductively. “It took me fifty years to get my body how I like it, and it takes a lot of effort to keep it that way. Go ahead and look.”

  Her eyes traveled over my body and stopped at my crotch.

  “Wow,” she said, licking her lips. “That for me?”

  I looked down. My boxers were definitely under pressure.

  “Bathroom?” I said, trying to sound cool.

  “Two doors down,” she said, suppressing a laugh.

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  I shuffled in the direction she’d pointed, wincing at every step.

  “Hurry back,” she called out. “Or do you need a hand?”

  “I think I can manage,” I grunted.

  I went and used the facilities and, feeling much relieved, shuffled back out. All the muscles down my right-hand side felt stiff and sore, so I deliberately swung my shoulders in an attempt to loosen them. The vamp—Marguerite I mentally corrected myself—was busily changing the sheets in my bed when I got back.

  “Get back into bed,” she ordered. “You need more sleep.”

  “No,” I said wearily, leaning on the doorframe. “I have to get out of here. I have ‘till noon to get to Havelock Park. My friends are waiting there.”

  “You’re about to fall over,” she said reasonably. “Get back into bed.”

  I shook my head and went over to my clothes.

  “What if I give you another reason to stay?” she said as something hit the floor with a soft, slithery noise.

  I turned. She had dropped the robe and stood with her hands on her hips, the skimpy negligee pulled tight across her breasts, her hard nipples clearly outlined.

  I shook my head and turned back to my clothes.

  “Dent lied to me,” I muttered.

  “What was that?” she said, coming to stand next to me.

  “Friend of mine. She told me any woman could tell I was taken.”

  “Taken? By the werewolf, you mean?”

  I gave her a thoughtful look as I struggled with my trousers.

  “Her scent is all over you,” she explained. “That’s serious? You and the werewolf?”

  “Marie,” I corrected firmly. “And yes, it’s serious.”

  “Typical,” she sighed. “All the good ones are taken.”

  I finally managed to get my trousers on. I searched through the pile and frowned.

  “I had a t-shirt, didn’t I?” I said.

  “Not when you got here,” she replied.

  Right. I hadn’t bothered putting it back on after my run in with Hans the Hun.

  “Hang on,” she said as she swept out the door.

  It shouldn’t be possible to sweep dramatically if you’re not wearing a dress that touches the floor, but somehow she managed it. She also managed to sweep back in. She was holding a faded black t-shirt.

  “You can wear this if you like. It’s baggy as hell on me so it should fit you.”

  I reached for the shirt as she slid it behind her.

  “After you lay down and let me change the dressing on that cut,” she said firmly.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Anything to get me into bed, huh?”

  “Lay down,” she said quietly.

  I gave her a flat look and saw faint flickers of power in her eyes.

  “That,” I snarled, “is not friendly. Don’t try that again.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “How?”

  I shrugged with one shoulder.

  “Wait, are you serious? Look into my eyes.”

  I did, and saw the power building there as she concentrated her will. I, as usual, felt nothing at all.

  “Shit!” she said, breathing heavily, her breasts moving enticingly beneath the thin material. “It’s like wrestling with fog!”

  “I’m an airhead?” I asked, amused.

  “I don’t know what you are, but that’s amazing. Even the strongest human has something I can fight against. With you it’s just like there’s nothing to get hold of.”

  “So, not only is it downright unfriendly to try to force me against my will, it doesn’t work. Okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry. You just need to let me check the wound and you’re being such a guy about it.”

  I laughed, feeling better the more I moved around.

  “Okay, you win,” I said.

  I lay back down on the bed and let her work. I kept my eyes fixed on the canopy and didn’t even try to look at her breasts as she bent over me. Either I was worse off than I felt or Marie was having a positive effect on me. Place your bets.

  When she was done I struggled back to my feet and took the shirt. It was a Rolling Stones tour shirt that was almost as old as I was.

  “It’s an original,” she said with a grin.

  “You were there?” I asked.

  “You bet. Woodstock too.”

  I pulled the shirt on. It was a little snug but it did fit.

  Marguerite had to help me with the boots, gunbelt and body armor, but eventually I was ready to leave.

  “Thank you for everything,” I said seriously.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied doubtfully. “Look, I’d feel better if you rested some more.”

  “I would, too, but I don’t have the time. I have to get moving.”

  We were walking down the stairs when she put her hand on my arm.

  “At least let me make you something to eat. Some food will help your body recuperate.”

  I peered through the window at a dreary, rainy day and shook my head.

  “I don’t have time. It’s going to be tight making it as it is.”

  “Well don’t be stupid. You can take my car. It’ll take you less than an half an hour.”

  I turned and gave her a thoughtful look. Something was nagging at me.

  “Come on,” she said hopefully. “I have a couple of thick, juicy steaks that’ll taste wonderful.”

  The shorty came up again as a connection was made in my head. Her eyes widened as she stared at the barrel of the rifle.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded in an incredulous voice.

  “I’m leaving,” I said coldly. “What, were you trying to delay me long enough for your fr
iends to get here?”

  “You bastard,” she hissed, tears filling her eyes. “How could you? After everything I’ve done for you? How could you think that?”

  And then something else snapped into place and I let out a frustrated groan. The shorty dipped and my head went with it.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, too ashamed to meet her eyes.

  I can be such a guy sometimes. When she didn’t reply I risked a look. She was angrily dashing tears away and giving me a hurt look.

  “How long has it been?” I asked gently.

  “I hardly think that’s any of your business!” she snapped tartly.

  My eyes widened as I realized what I said. Suddenly I broke into laughter, which hurt like hell but felt very good.

  “I didn’t mean that,” I gasped.

  She stared at me for a moment before smiling and rolling her eyes.

  “Then you should have phrased the question a little better,” she said, trying to hide her own laughter.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, regaining some of my composure.

  “Ask again, and this time: engage brain before mouth.”

  “Okay,” I stopped laughing, feeling anything but funny. “How long have you been alone here? How long has it been since you last talked to someone who actually knew you?”

  She nodded sadly. I hadn’t even thought about how terribly lonely she must have been here, having to pretend to be something she was not, being surrounded by people who thought she was one of them. It must have been torture.

  “It’s been over a year,” she said quietly.

  I sighed, shaking my head in sympathy. I snapped on the shorty’s safety catch and slung the weapon on my shoulder.

  “Did you mention steaks? Is the offer still open?” I asked hopefully.

  “Sure,” she said with a smile.