Blood and Metal

by Nina Croft

  “Shit,” Fergal said from behind her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Things seemed to move in slow motion.

  Daisy couldn’t wrench her eyes away as the door opened. A figure appeared, framed in the opening. Her breath hitched in her throat.

  Fucking hell.

  Hatcher. In the flesh. A wave of darkness surged up inside her. Without thinking, she slipped her hand inside the slit she’d cut in her robes, her fingers closing around the hilt of the laser pistol strapped at her waist.

  Fergal came up beside her and rested a warning hand on her other arm. “No,” he said very quietly.

  She breathed slowly, forcing the darkness down, concentrating her mind. The alarm rang in her ears, but there was no reason for the man in front of her to have any idea she was not what she appeared to be. Clutching her wrists together so hard her nails dug into her skin, she kept her eyes down, peering up through her lashes. A second figure appeared behind Hatcher, and Fergal’s hand tightened on her arm.

  Close by, the sound of running feet was getting closer, boots slamming against the marble.

  The footsteps slowed, and her nostrils filled with the scent of warm bodies, sweat overlaid with the hot sweetness of blood. Had they found the dead priest? Maybe it was protocol to head for the private residence when the alarms went off. Head up here to protect the big boss.

  Keep it together and they could still get out.

  “What’s going on?” Hatcher said.

  Daisy gave him a quick peek. He had cold, silver-gray eyes, with a hint of madness lurking in their depths. The last time she had seen him had been the day he captured The Blood Hunter, held them all prisoner, and forced Callum to destroy Trakis Seven. That day, he had killed Janey and Tris. A rush of hatred froze her blood, but she couldn’t allow that free rein. Not here. Not now.

  Beside her, Fergal had gone still as if frozen in place. She risked a sideways glance and found his gaze fixed on Hatcher.

  “Well?” Hatcher snapped.

  There were people directly behind them now. A lot of people. But Fergal appeared impervious. All his attention on the man in front of them.

  “Cain?” The man behind Hatcher spoke, and Fergal seemed to shake himself out of his daze.

  Stefan Wolfe, she presumed. Daisy glanced at him as he came up beside the priest.

  Friend or foe?

  They were about to find out.

  But before he could speak again, a third figure appeared behind Hatcher. Someone she knew. More to the point, someone who knew her. Max Beauchamp, the last president of Earth.

  Shit.

  Icy coldness engulfed her core.

  The crew of The Blood Hunter had saved this man’s life. From the expression on Beauchamp’s face, it didn’t look like he was going to be all that grateful.

  She held her breath, waiting to see what he would do. But she knew at a glance that he’d recognized her. His eyes narrowed. She found herself shifting closer to Fergal, though there was nothing he could do. The numbers against them were too great. All the same, she tried to catch his eye. Were they going to make a fight for it? While their chances weren’t good, fighting still had to be better than giving in. Although maybe they would just be locked up, and in a few hours, The Blood Hunter would be here to rescue them.

  But Fergal appeared dazed. He’d glanced briefly at Stefan, but his attention was back on Hatcher. He didn’t even seem to notice Beauchamp. Or her, for that matter. What the hell was the matter with him?

  Max Beauchamp stretched out a bony finger. “That woman is a”—he hesitated, obviously not quite able to get the word “vampire” past his lips—“a monster.”

  She resisted the urge to flash her fangs. He’d obviously never forgiven her for wanting to eat his daughter, back when she was newly changed and had almost no control over her urges.

  She tugged at Fergal’s arm as the guards moved up behind them, glaring into his face, willing him to give some indication of what he wanted them to do. He appeared to snap out of it as the guards grabbed them both from behind. Her hand was still on the pistol—she could still take that bastard Hatcher, or Fergal’s friend who was obviously no friend at all, but Fergal gave a small shake of his head.

  She unclenched her fingers from around the pistol.

  “Who is she?” Hatcher asked, his cold gaze sliding over her. At least he was unlikely to recognize her. The last time they’d met, she’d been green.

  Fergal gave a shrug. “Just one of the sisters I picked up as cover.”

  “She’s a member of the crew that discovered my ship,” Max supplied for them. Bastard. So much for gratitude. “She’s a bloodsucking spawn of Satan.”

  Hatcher glanced at the guard who held her and gave a small nod. The headdress was wrenched from her head, and her hair tumbled halfway down her back.

  “Well, she’s no nun, that’s for sure.” Hatcher’s cold eyes slid down over her, leaving her feeling like she was covered in a layer of slime.

  “I’ve read up on them since I was on their devil ship,” Max said, and Daisy only narrowly resisted rolling her eyes. Who was he trying to impress? He stepped closer and pulled something out of his pocket. A large cross on a silver chain dangled from his fingers. Fear pricked her, but as the cross grew closer, she felt nothing. He pressed it against the skin of her forehead, and she waited for the sizzle of flesh, but the metal was cool against her skin. Looked like Max Beauchamp wasn’t a true believer after all. How surprising.

  His gaze narrowed on her as he stepped back. “She must have some protection.” But a frown formed between his eyes. Either he was totally deluded or he didn’t know the cross thing would only work if wielded by a true believer. She suspected a little of both.

  Daisy kept her expression serene, tried not to hope.

  Fergal said nothing. He still didn’t appear quite with it, and she wanted to scream at him. Once in the cells, they would have a hard time escaping. If they were going to make a break, it had to be now.

  “Take her away,” Hatcher said. “We’ll test her properly later.”

  “No!” She didn’t want to be parted from Fergal, but they were already dragging her away. She had to stop them.

  She glanced at Fergal, but he looked away. The hands tightened on her arms. Something shattered inside her, and the darkness, so close to the surface, roared into life. Her vision hazed with crimson.

  “Daisy, no!” At last, Fergal seemed to come back to life. Too late.

  Her gums ached with the need to feed, her fangs extended. With ease, she twisted free of the hands that held her, lunging for the man closest. A small part of her brain screamed at her to stop, but the scent of blood was in her nostrils, filling her mind, and the darkness took control.

  A moment of sublime pleasure as her fangs sank into the flesh of the man’s throat. Warm blood filled her mouth, and she swallowed convulsively.

  “Vampire.” She heard the word as though from a distance. Something hard pressed up against her side. A flash of pain, and she went under.

  Fergal stared at the lifeless body crumpled on the floor. His mind was numb, and it was as though he’d rolled back the years. He was eight again, and his mother was dead. Dead to make sure he would live. Seeing Hatcher brought everything back, and he felt useless and powerless. Shit scared.

  A wave of panic rose up inside him. He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed it down by force of will.

  When he opened them, nothing had changed. He held himself still, fighting the urge to run to Daisy. He couldn’t help her. Not right now. And he couldn’t afford to let them see how much she meant to him. She wouldn’t be dead. Rico had said they could be injured but not killed by a laser blast. Somehow, he would save her. He just needed to keep his head and remember he had something Stefan wanted. At least, he hoped he did.

  But what was to stop Stefan from taking it?

  Simply knock Fergal out and drain him dry.

  He still didn’t know whether his friend was workin
g with the bad guys. Stefan had never been interested in religion, considered it a load of bollocks, but he certainly seemed on friendly terms with Hatcher. Maybe the priest had offered him the means to carry on with his research. Stefan was single-minded—he wouldn’t care where the funding came from.

  Though Fergal would have sworn he would care what was done with his research at the end of it all. So what did the Church want with Cybercom? As soon as the question flashed up, an image of that army of drones rose up in his mind.

  “Is she dead?” Stefan’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  “She was already dead. A walking corpse,” Hatcher sneered. “But it would take more than a laser to finish the monster off. Fire or sunlight.” He nodded to the guards. None of them appeared keen to go near Daisy, though she looked small and helpless lying unconscious on the floor.

  “Move,” Hatcher snarled, and the nearest guard stepped forward. He crouched down and picked her up gingerly, slinging her over his shoulder so her silver fall of hair reached nearly to the ground.

  Fergal said a silent vow as she disappeared from view. He would save her. Whatever the cost. He glanced to the priest. Whatever price he had to pay.

  The guards let go of his arms, but he was surrounded. Now with Daisy gone, the attention of the three men turned to him. Fergal glanced away quickly as he encountered Hatcher’s gaze. The priest couldn’t know him. It had been too long. A different lifetime.

  Instead, Fergal concentrated on Stefan but could read nothing in his expression.

  Max Beauchamp looked merely irritated. Fergal pulled up what he knew of the man. He’d been the leader of Earth, the one who had helped them escape whatever disaster had destroyed the planet. His ship, the Trakis One, had disappeared into a black hole over five hundred years ago, shortly after the fleet had reached the Trakis system.

  Then twenty-one years ago, the Trakis One had reappeared through the same black hole. Max had made an attempt to claim leadership of the new world, but by that time, the Church was already taking control. Maybe Hatcher had realized that a secular leader was also needed, and Beauchamp was given the title of president, though it was rumored that he had no real power.

  He was tall, thin, ascetic-looking in his dark suit, with pale blond hair and pale eyes. The hair on Fergal’s neck rose, and a shiver ran through him. The man was seriously creepy.

  How long did he have?

  He peered back the way they had taken Daisy. What was his best course of action? What was Stefan planning?

  Shit.

  The panic was starting to rise again. He gulped some deep breaths and swallowed it down.

  “So who is he?” Hatcher asked, waving a hand in his direction.

  The moment of truth.

  “His name is Fergal Cain,” Stefan said. “He’s a reporter.”

  “A reporter?” Hatcher’s tone made it sound like something on a level with a bloodsucking monster. Obviously, he had no high opinion of reporters. What a surprise.

  “He’s been after a story on me and Cybercom for years.”

  Well, that was good news. Whatever Stefan’s plans, they didn’t involve telling the truth as far as Fergal was concerned, and that had to be a positive. At least he thought it did. He rubbed his scalp; the headache was getting worse. Stefan caught the movement, and Fergal saw the first emotion flit across his face. Amusement? The bastard was finding this amusing? Which meant it had to be really funny—Stefan had never had much of a sense of humor.

  He tried not to let the hope rise too high. Whatever Stefan’s plan, Fergal doubted it involved saving Daisy. No, he was on his own with that. Daylight wasn’t far off, and Rico’s warning rang in his head.

  He glanced up to find Hatcher watching him, considering him, and the focus made him want to squirm. It always had.

  “Maybe we can use a reporter right now,” Hatcher said. “Show the world what we have in store for the nonbelievers.”

  Presumably, he had tripped an alarm at some point, but they couldn’t have found the bodies of the priest or the guards he’d killed. They wouldn’t believe a reporter would go that far to get a story. Hopefully, the bodies would stay hidden long enough to play this through.

  “Maybe.” Beauchamp studied him as well. “But I don’t trust him. What was he doing with the girl? What’s his connection with The Blood Hunter? The ship hasn’t been seen in years. Now your little priestess and her…husband escape, and this girl turns up. I don’t like it.”

  Fergal thought fast. What might keep Daisy alive a little bit longer?

  “I employed them,” he said. “The Blood Hunter—they’re mercenaries for hire to the highest bidder. I needed to get in here, and someone sent me to them. After all—one of them did used to live here.”

  “Callum Meridian. So he is still alive?” Hatcher asked.

  “I told you he was,” Beauchamp snapped.

  Fergal got the impression there was no love lost between the two men. No doubt they both wanted the ultimate power, and Beauchamp wouldn’t be satisfied with second place for long. Maybe he could use that in some way.

  “That was twenty years ago and you admitted—in another universe. They haven’t been seen since.”

  “They’re still around,” Fergal said. “Doing jobs for hire. They gave me the plans to this place, told me where to find Stefan, and the girl came along as extra cover and firepower if I needed it. It should have been easy.”

  Hatcher pursed his lips but nodded. “Okay. We’ll consider the situation and decide if you can be of use.”

  “You know,” Stefan said, “perhaps I could give him the real inside story on Cybercom.”

  Hatcher looked at him sharply and smiled. “Why not? For now, take him away and lock him up.”

  Fergal threw Stefan a meaningful look—at least, he hoped it had meaning—then allowed himself to be hustled away. They were taking him in the same direction as Daisy. She’d be nearby. They half led, half pushed him along the corridor, down the flights of stairs and unsurprisingly back to the prison section, underground.

  They tossed him into a cell and slammed the door shut behind them.

  Fergal lay where he’d landed. Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths and tried to calm his brain. There was still a good chance they could get out of this. It was unlikely they’d kill Daisy straightaway. She only had to last a few more hours, and The Blood Hunter would be here to save her. If not him.

  He pushed himself to his feet and studied his surroundings. Hardly impressive, but he’d also seen worse. The cell was about nine feet by nine feet with a cot built into the wall and a toilet and tap in a small alcove. The walls were white and the floor was gray, but overall it wasn’t too bad. He went and splashed cold water on his face, trying to ease the ache behind his eyes. How much longer did he have? Where the hell was that bastard Stefan?

  He sank onto the thin mattress and put his head in his hands.

  Hatcher had to be at least a hundred and twenty years old by now. He looked almost the same, but then he’d always appeared old to Fergal. He’d only been twelve when he’d last laid eyes on him, but he would have recognized him anywhere. Obviously, the opposite wasn’t true. But then Fergal had changed somewhat more drastically.

  What did he feel about him?

  The truth was, he didn’t know.

  Hatred, definitely, but it was far more complex than that. Otherwise he would have come back and killed him and thought nothing of it.

  So why hadn’t he?

  It was doing his head in, and the sharp little stabs of pain weren’t helping.

  He knew the crew of The Blood Hunter meant to kill Hatcher. Was he going to let them? They had good reason. Maybe not as good as his, but good.

  Or could he use that information to save Daisy?

  Of course, he could always go to Hatcher and appeal to his better nature, but he wasn’t sure the man had one. Actually, that was a lie. He was certain he didn’t have one.

  All the same, he was Fergal’s�
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  The cell door opened, cutting off his thoughts, and Stefan stood in the opening.

  “About fucking time,” Fergal muttered.

  “Nice to see you as well.” Stefan strolled into the room, and the door clicked shut behind him. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and tossed a small brown bottle to Fergal.

  As he caught it, relief flooded his system. At least this gave him some time and would get rid of the pain, which was making thinking increasingly difficult. He unscrewed the lid, expecting pills similar to those he had been taking for the last six months, then frowned and glanced up to where Stefan leaned against the wall of the cell. “Is this the antidote?” he asked.

  “No, it’s painkillers. I’m guessing you’ve got a whopper of a headache right now.”

  Fergal could feel his eyes narrowing on the other man, but he tossed two of the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.

  “So are you going to finish what you started and poison me?” he asked.

  “You were never in danger of dying.”

  “I wasn’t?”

  “The poison wasn’t enough to kill you. If you hadn’t taken the antidote you would have gotten a really bad headache, but you would have been fine.” Stefan grinned. “You’re my friend. Would I poison my friend?”

  Fergal rose slowly to his feet. He put the bottle of painkillers down carefully—he was betting he was going to need them all—then he flew at Stefan. He changed his arm as he dived through the air so by the time he crashed into the other man, it was a sharp stabbing blade.

  Stefan slammed into the wall, and Fergal laid the blade across his throat so a thin line of blood welled up.

  “You fucking bastard. You made me believe I was going to die.”

  Stefan choked, opening his mouth, but no words came out. Fergal growled but released the pressure on his throat, and Stefan swallowed. “I needed to be sure you would come back and find me.”

  “You could have fucking asked.”

  Stefan’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me the truth, Fergal, have you ever done anything in your entire life that wasn’t in the best interests of Fergal Cain? Would you have trusted you to come back?”