by Chris Lange
Smiling, Jessica held her hand out to help Andrew up. They joined the others without wasting time, reloaded, and began blasting away more of the raving creatures.
Tracy blew out a long breath to quiet her wild heartbeat, a little stunned but way impressed by the scene she’d just witnessed. Four corpses now littered the building, yet the firing continued outside.
Her father, Garrett and Jake carried on shooting, shadows of flames seeming to writhe on the walls. When the rush of adrenaline she’d experienced left her body, her thoughts whizzed back to Raphael.
She had to find him.
She stepped outside. The alleyway smelled of garbage earlier, now the place stank of burning flesh. Heaving, she dashed to the same vantage point but made sure to keep to the darkest spots. She tried to ignore the inferno as well as the relentless sound of guns discharging, and poked her head around the wall.
An iron hand came down on her mouth and nose, cutting off her air. An unseen presence hauled her away, a handful of her hair instantly locked in an invisible grip. She felt like retching from fear, unable to breathe, pain seeming to rip her scalp off, her feet barely touching the ground.
Muffled cries got stuck in her throat. Bounced around like a sack of potatoes, she almost tripped over her feet when the dragging ended. The pain eased off in seconds and the hand clamping her mouth disappeared.
Weird colors flashed before her eyes as air penetrated her lungs. She inhaled ferociously, her ragged, vital breaths soon hindered by an arm around her throat. Trying not to choke, she managed a look around.
The shooting and the screaming had ceased. Hundreds of half-consumed bodies strewn everywhere gave off a gagging stench. To her right, the warehouse still burned. To her left, Garrett, Andrew, Jake, and her dad rushed out of the deserted building. They watched her with horrified looks.
Her pulse leapt to new heights. She stood right in the middle of no-man’s land, halfway between both buildings. The terrible heat combined with the skintight leather outfit made her sweat while her eyes watered.
She blinked to shake off beads of perspiration, to relieve the pressure of her back flattened against a rock-hard chest and of her neck encased in a powerful grip. Able to breathe a little easier now, her brain starting to function again, she realized her attacker used her body as a living shield.
“Let her go.” Garrett had given an order. The reflection of fiery flames lit his face when he stepped forward. Blood rushing in her veins, heart pumping heavily, she discovered a sight she’d never forget.
Garrett was livid. His dark eyes glowing orange from the ferocity of the fire, his skin ashen, his features a mask of cold rage, he looked like Death himself, a king of kings about to scythe an immortal soul.
Penetrating her fibers, as though resounding throughout her body, the cavernous voice behind her chilled her blood. “That’s my intention, Mortal, if you give me what I want.”
The enemy had her in his grip. A painful shiver raced down her spine although a gust of wind enveloped them in a wave of heat blown from the inferno.
Garrett took another step, his gaze fixed on the immortal. “State your claim.”
“The vampire for the girl.”
That piece of shit wanted Raphael? What for? Bile rose up her throat like an uncoiling snake. Panicked by the idea of her guardian vampire in the hands of that vicious not-quite-human, she shook her head in denial. At least she tried, but the iron arm around her neck cut her short.
Raphael appeared from behind the burning warehouse and her guts constricted enough to make her whine. He slowly headed toward them, his shirt almost torn to pieces, blood dripping from his brow and cheeks.
He walked past Garrett without a glance, clearly intent on surrendering to their enemy. Immortal or not, her whole body surged forward, her instinctive yell coming out much louder than the crackling of the fire.
“No, Raphael! He’ll kill you!”
Her scream shattered the fragile status quo. She heard a distinct gunshot, and the man holding her heaved backward.
Who shot him? Jessica?
Khrull loosened his grip on her. Not much, but she used the opportunity to glance back. Even if she didn’t quite make up his features, she couldn’t miss the gaping hole right in the middle of his forehead.
The size of a coin, the silver bullet appeared to have gone right through his brain. Then a hair-raising noise clamped her jaw and forced her to grind her teeth. Like a sick, sucking meshing of flesh, the weird bubbling sounded alive.
Mouth dry, heart pounding, she watched the bullet hole knit itself together in a wink, the skin as flawless as it must have been before, the bald head of their enemy now intact. Her throat constricted, incapable of reaching for air.
She’d have collapsed if the immortal hadn’t tightened his frightening grasp. Body limp from shortage of air, legs buckling, she suffocated. The world went blacker than black, yet flashes of light hurt her eyes as shouts of ‘Jessica, cease fire!’ and ‘Please stop, you’re killing her!’ lacerated her ears.
An image of Garrett crossed her mind.
With all her strength and will, she hung on to that beloved vision. She knew she was dying, but in a way, she was dying with him.
Chapter 16
An agonizing iciness seeped through Tracy’s bones. So cold, so painful. She wanted to shrug off this harrowing sensation, she wanted to go back to dying with Garrett before her eyes. She’d been warm in that place, happy and safe. Now she just felt frozen to the marrow, hurt, scared, and lost.
Flooded in darkness, assailed by a foul odor, she heard someone retching. No, not retching, more like terrible, gagging sounds as if a throat was being ripped open. Who could suffer so?
Coldness wrapped around her body like a lover’s embrace, she willed the awful rending noises to quit and to leave her alone. Strangely, they seemed to originate from inside her. How could that be?
The voice also disturbed her peace of mind, the familiar voice telling her to breathe, to keep on breathing even if it hurt. She recognized that tone distorted by anguish, but conveying every possible inflection of love.
It hurt like hell, yet she listened to the voice commanding her to breathe again. So close to her, the harsh gagging shifted to raucous rasps. The burning pain lessened, giving birth to a liberating sensation.
She felt herself being lifted and she was flung against something hard and warm. The biting coldness melted.
Although blind, she perceived a regular, forward motion. Hushed exclamations of concern reached her, from afar, along with the closer trample of hooves on a paved road, the steady beat of a strong heart against her ear. Then the sensations faded away, and she was warm again.
The pain vanished. A cool liquid went down her throat, caressing her skin, giving her peace. Cozy softness enveloped her, a silky touch protecting her from harm. She was so tired. She didn’t want to die anymore, but sleep.
Firm lips kissed her brow, gentle fingers pushed her hair back. Almost touching her face, whispering tender words, the familiar tone lulled her toward oblivion. She believed she loved this voice, she thought . . .
A dim glow filtered through her unsealed eyelids. She breathed, blinked a few times, and gasped when she recognized her surroundings. Groping for the glass sitting on the nightstand, she looked around in disbelief.
How the heck had she ended up here?
She took small sips of water at first, vividly remembering the large armchair displaying Garrett’s bathrobe and, covering her legs, the thick, brown, fluffy bedspread she hid under at a critical time. Alone, naked, feeling so warm and well in this king size bed, she put the glass down and stretched.
Garrett’s bedroom lay in shadows, yet some light found its way in through the heavy curtains. What time could it be? Too early to get up? How long had she slept? Where did
he spend the night?
One thing for sure, not with Miss Perfect. The Lady Anne, dragon queen of the manor, would never allow that kind of inappropriate behavior under her roof. At least, not coming from her almighty first-born son.
A smile tickling the corners of her mouth, she toyed with the idea of opening the drapes. A quick look around told her she wouldn’t find any of her clothes. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. She struggled out of bed, threw the curtains aside, and jumped right back into bed to pull the covers up to her chin.
Her ‘Ouch’ of surprise more than pain resonated in the quiet room. Her sharp move had caused her to press the side of her neck. It didn’t exactly hurt, but it must be bruised or swollen. Now why was that?
Oh, yeah, the bloody battle. The sick vampires, the warehouse on fire, the incessant gunshots, the immortal strangling her, the sudden blackness. She’d died last night, yet apparently she was undead.
Following a quick knock, her father entered the room and came to sit by her side with a relieved smile on his face. “How are you feeling today?”
“Fine, Dad, I only woke up five minutes ago. What time is it?”
“About eight p.m. We’ve just finished dinner.”
“What? Why did you let me sleep so long?”
He patted her hand, concern obvious in his tired eyes when they traveled across her neck. Following his stare, she had to inquire. “Is it that bad?”
“No, Tracy,” he replied, “the big bruise is healing and the rest is almost gone now. But after what happened last night, you needed as much rest as possible. Garrett insisted you use his bedroom so you wouldn’t be disturbed. You know you distressed that boy. He was so anxious, he watched over you all night and all day.”
Music to her ears. A sweet, lovely, gratifying melody she wished to listen to for the rest of her life.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”
“We all know that, darling. But don’t you worry about anything now. Just rest, eat, drink loads of fluids, and take your time before you go wandering around the house. We can stay here as long as necessary, Garrett’s orders.”
Neither of them heard Garrett until he came in the room carrying a mouth-watering tray. “Sir, may I ask for a moment of privacy with your daughter?”
Her heart lurched once to her sensitive throat before finding its more natural rhythm again. God, that gorgeous, austere man had the knack of throwing her out of her senses, even when she was sick.
With a last affectionate pat on her hand, her dad stood to draw a small coffee table near the bed. “Be my guest, Garrett, but make sure she eats and drinks plenty.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Her father looked at him with a serious expression before going to the door and grinning back at her. “By the way, Tracy, I’ll tell Andrew you’re feeling fine. Our young lad has been pestering me all day.”
When her dad left them alone, she stared at Garrett. He placed the tray on the coffee table and she noticed a shadow of stubble covering his cheeks, as well as an air of weariness she’d never seen before. He’d watched over her all right.
“Would you care for some nourishment?” he asked. “After such hardship, you ought to regain your strength.”
Good idea given the emptiness in her stomach. Tucking the silken sheet under her armpits, she sat up straight. “Oh, yeah, I’m starving. But first, tell me what happened. How come I’m not dead, and where’s Raphael?”
Garrett went to the window. His back to her, seemingly lost in the view of the gardens outside, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants.
“I firmly believe your friend Raphael acted according to his conscience. In thus doing, he saved your life.”
“I don’t understand.”
Turning round, Garrett exhaled a long sigh. He walked back to the bed, retrieved a piece of paper from one of his pockets, and handed it to her. “Raphael asked me to give this letter to you.”
What? Oh, no, no, no. She grasped with shaky fingers the crumpled, stained, somewhat burnt paper, and unfolded it. At once, the unfamiliar, scribbled in a rush writing tugged at her heartstrings.
Tracy, I know you’ll worry over me, but I can assure you I’ll be fine. Don’t blame yourself for anything, because I’m leaving with the immortal of my own free will. He wants something from me, and in spite of his reputation, I’m intrigued.
Time and place have no meaning to me, so I’m willing to take my chances with him. Who knows what the future holds? Please don’t cry over me, I’ll be thinking of you wherever I am, and I’m sure we’ll see each other again.
I’m placing this letter into the care of your friend. I hope someday to find a woman who loves me as much as you love him.
Yours always,
Raphael.
She looked up, tears rolling down her cheeks. Trying to swallow the lump in her throat, she managed to croak. “He wanted to go with the immortal.”
Garrett nodded, sympathy for her loss written all over his face. He took a handkerchief from another pocket and offered her the white linen. Sad, but so relieved to learn her guardian vampire was alive and well somewhere, she dabbed her eyes and cheeks.
“Did you read the letter, Garrett?”
“On my honor, I would never take the liberty.”
She believed him. He wouldn’t betray anyone’s privacy even under a death threat. In a funny way, Raphael’s words comforted her. He could take good care of himself, even in the company of an immortal bastard.
She wiped her cheeks dry some more, before moving to drop the handkerchief on the nightstand. As she reached out, the sheet slid down her cleavage and revealed her bare breast, a pink nipple strutting out.
Garrett stumbled back, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down while he tried very hard not to look. “If I may be excused, I must make myself presentable.”
With that, he strode to the door opposite the entrance to his bedroom. He opened it and she glimpsed a white washbasin near the edge of a tub. Because he left the door ajar, she soon heard water gurgling.
Funny how he always avoided the sight of her naked flesh. She grabbed a plate from the tray and began chewing delicious pieces of poultry in a creamy sauce while her gaze drifted to the large window. Evening was already well on its way. Her guardian vampire saved her, but where would he await this sunset from?
The mission finished, Raphael gone, Andrew reassured, Jake and Jessica probably having a go at it back at the Harring’s house, what would happen now? It wasn’t difficult to figure out even without psychic abilities.
Although he really did love her, Garrett wouldn’t go against his family’s wishes, least of all since he’d tied himself to snotty Miss Perfect. And the Barbie doll wouldn’t let go of her wealthy Ken.
After his scrub, Garrett would let her rest for another night in his magnificent bedroom. Out of politeness. Tomorrow he’d assure her of his deepest feelings, tell her she’d always be in his heart, and send her home in a very courteous manner. Then the gateway between their two worlds would be sealed, as if by magic.
Once a prisoner, always a prisoner.
Once upon a time, she’d have rebelled at the thought of such a heart-wrenching outcome. But she’d almost died since and as a result, some kind of wisdom appeared to have found its way in her mind.
Not to mention the fact that she was fed up and tired of tilting at windmills. She did everything she could think of to show her love to Garrett and to make him acknowledge he loved her, too.
That she had achieved, yet the final decision didn’t belong to her. No, she’d go home willingly and try to make for herself the best possible life, even without the man of her dreams. She didn’t feel any regret or remorse.
To the contrary, she kind of needed to show her decision to Garr
ett because her heart, mind, and soul pleaded with her to offer him a last symbol of their extraordinary time together. She put her empty plate down on the tray and got up.
He probably assumed her too tired to get out of bed. Heedless of her state of mind, he’d happily wash his fantastic body without giving her a second thought. Yet she was about to offer him a love token he’d never forget.
Naked, she tiptoed to the bathroom. She listened to water running out of the tub and the wet sound of his feet on the floor.
She pushed the door quietly to discover that the Burnes didn’t do things by halves. Just as beautifully decorated as the rest of the manor, the bathroom looked huge, fabulous and displayed 1900 state of the art facilities.
Garrett was drying off, hair damp, facing the bath and standing on a thick mat. She stayed on tiptoes and came up to him to slide a finger down his spine.
He gasped, dropping his towel as he wheeled around. “Tracy, what . . .?”
Applying a light finger on his lips, she shushed him. He just stared at her playful, coy smile while his eyes widened. But when she slowly kneeled on the lush blue mat, a part of him realized her intention and began waking up.
She raised her head to meet his intense gaze, and licked her lips. “Show me your love, big boy.”
He had a hard-on almost before the words were out of her mouth, his strong cock pointed at her, imploring her, rigid with anticipation.
Slowness foremost in her mind, she cupped his balls with one hand and gently stroked the sensitive skin. His long hissing through clenched teeth sped up her pulse and urged her on. From base to tip, she followed the length of his erection with her index finger but didn’t take it in her hand.