A Bite to Remember

by Lynsay Sands

“Argeneau!”

  Eyes that Jackie hadn’t realized had closed, snapped open at that yell. She didn’t recognize the man’s voice. However, she did recognize Marguerite and Tiny as they called out to the two of them and relief flowed through her as their shouts drew nearer. She wasn’t the only one to hear their calls, Jackie noted as the intruder suddenly gave up his fight with Vincent and made a run for it.

  Vincent didn’t even hesitate; ignoring the quickly disappearing shape, he hurried to her side.

  “Jackie?” His voice was deep with worry as he turned her onto her back to check her over.

  “Argeneau?”

  Jackie saw two shapes burst through the gate behind Vincent. She blinked and tried to focus on the two men. Both were big enough to be Tiny, but she didn’t think either man was. Vincent didn’t even glance toward them, his attention was wholly on Jackie as he scooped her into his arms.

  “He went that way.” Vincent jerked his head in the direction her attacker had run. Leaving the two men to pursue the saboteur, he then strode toward the gate through the wall.

  “Vincent?” Marguerite rushed forward with Tiny on her heels as Vincent started across the lawn. “Is she going to be all right? Did you find her in time?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice was terse, Jackie noted as she floated on the edge of consciousness.

  “Her throat.” Tiny’s voice was a weak sound of despair.

  “Open the door, Tiny,” Vincent growled, sounding terribly upset and her mind, growing delirious, thought that was just the sweetest thing. He really liked her, she thought, then released a little sigh and allowed unconsciousness to claim her.

  Thirteen

  “Lay her on the table.”

  Vincent scowled at that order from Christian Notte as the man hurried past him into the kitchen and cleared away the empty cups from earlier in the day. Scooping them off the dining table with quick hands, he shoved them at Tiny to put somewhere, then turned back.

  “Why aren’t you chasing after her attacker?” Vincent asked with sudden fury.

  “Marcus went after him. I stayed to see if I can help,” the man answered tersely. “Set her on the table.”

  Vincent hesitated, then moved to the table and lay Jackie gently on it. He’d rather carry her upstairs and put her in bed, but he supposed they had to clean her up first. There seemed to be an awful lot of blood. He frowned over that as he straightened from setting her down. A lot of blood, he noted numbly, his heart sinking.

  “Dear God,” Tiny whispered, a catch in his voice and his face paling sickly as Christian gently clasped Jackie’s chin and turned her head to examine the wound. It wasn’t a bite, it was a tear. Her throat had been ripped open with a vicious intent to kill. Vincent couldn’t even guess at the amount of blood she’d lost.

  He turned away and moved to the sink to grab one of the new tea towels they’d bought for his kitchen. After dampening it, Vincent hurried back to her side and began to wipe ineffectually at the blood. It was on her neck, down her chest, soaking into the white cotton of the t-shirt she wore under her jogging suit.

  The sound of Tiny’s deep voice made him glance around. The mortal was speaking into the phone.

  “I need an ambulance,” he said urgently.

  Vincent glanced down at Jackie’s injury. An ambulance would never get there in time to save her. “Hang up, Tiny.”

  The giant glanced his way with surprise. “But she—”

  “Look at her. They can’t save her,” he said grimly.

  “What are you doing?” Christian asked sharply as Vincent began to undo the buttons of his sleeve.

  “I’m going to turn her,” Vincent said calmly and knew from the man’s expression that it wasn’t the answer he’d expected.

  “Vincent?” Tiny said uncertainly, but didn’t move to stop him and did hang up the phone. Vincent supposed that was tacit agreement and was glad. He didn’t want to argue with the man, nor did he want to take over his mind to keep Tiny out of the way while he did what he had to do to save Jackie.

  “Neil said you saved Stephano’s life by turning him,” Christian said slowly.

  Vincent shrugged indifferently. He didn’t care about rules or laws. He cared about Jackie.

  “The bleeding has slowed to a trickle,” Marguerite said, and Vincent turned to find her bent over Jackie, watching her throat as she moaned and shifted on the table.

  “Move, Aunt Marguerite. I have to turn her.” Vincent began to roll up his sleeve.

  Marguerite ignored him, her gaze remained on Jackie’s wound for a moment, then shifted to her face and she asked with bewilderment, “Why is her face covered with blood?”

  Vincent peered down at Jackie’s face, noting the blood around her mouth, but just repeated, “Move, Aunt Marguerite.”

  “You are not turning her, Vincent,” she said harshly. “If anyone does, it will be me. Now…why is her mouth full of blood?”

  Vincent shifted impatiently. “She tried to help me. She bit him.”

  Marguerite’s gaze became sharp. “She bit him?”

  Vincent frowned at being bothered with these questions at a time like this. “He had a knife. She bit into his wrist to keep him from using it on me when I first reached them.”

  They all turned to Jackie as she moaned again, more loudly this time, then she suddenly began to convulse on the table.

  “What’s happening?” Vincent asked in a panic. He stepped up to the table again, grabbing for Jackie’s shoulders to keep her from convulsing right off the table top.

  “Could she have got enough blood while biting the killer to be turning?” Christian asked.

  “It’s possible,” Marguerite said slowly. “But I’ve never seen someone convulse like this during a turning. Not this early on.” She frowned. “She’s lost a lot of blood, though. That could be why.”

  “What do we do?” Tiny asked anxiously.

  Marguerite hesitated, then ordered, “Grab a bag of blood, Tiny.”

  The giant rushed to the refrigerator at once, returning with the bag. Marguerite slit it open with a fingernail, then held it over Jackie’s mouth. Vincent immediately moved to lift her head so that the liquid would slide down her throat and get to where it needed to be.

  “Do you have enough bagged blood here to see her through the turning?”

  Vincent frowned and glanced over his shoulder at the question from Christian. It was something he hadn’t thought of and he already knew the answer before his aunt said, “No.”

  Much to his relief, Christian merely nodded and said, “We brought some with us. We had it sent on ahead to the hotel. I’ll send Marcus for it when he gets back.”

  “I’ll call Bastien and have him ship more blood out tomorrow to replace it,” Marguerite murmured. She added, “We’ll need an IV too, if we can find one.”

  “Why?” Christian asked with surprise.

  “We’ve used it while turning others. It comes in quite handy,” Aunt Marguerite explained.

  “How many times have you overseen a turning?” Christian asked curiously.

  “Four times over the last three years,” she said with a shrug.

  “Four?” he asked with surprise.

  “My children’s mates,” she explained. “Then there were a couple others in the seven hundred years I’ve lived,” Marguerite added with a shrug. “We can do this, but we need blood and an IV.”

  “We’ll find an IV too,” Christian assured her, then fell silent as Marguerite removed the now-empty bag and Vincent eased Jackie back onto the table. They all crowded closer around the table, watching her pale, still face.

  “The convulsions have stopped,” Tiny said with hope.

  Vincent nodded slowly, then glanced from Jackie to his aunt as she moved to the head of the table and used her thumbs to pull Jackie’s eyelids up to peer at her pupils. Vincent didn’t see anything, but she must have, for she nodded with satisfaction and straightened. “It’s beginning. You’d better move her upstairs,
Vincent. Do you have any rope?”

  “Rope?” he asked with confusion.

  “She’ll need to be tied down for a bit so she doesn’t hurt herself,” Marguerite explained.

  “We’ll get that too. I—” Christian paused as the door leading out to the pool opened and the blond Marcus entered the kitchen, a grim expression on his face. When Christian raised an eyebrow in question, Marcus shook his head.

  Vincent knew what that meant. The saboteur had got away. He felt a moment’s bitter rage that the attacker had escaped, but then let it go, more concerned with Jackie.

  “Take her upstairs, Argeneau,” Christian said grimly. He gestured Marcus closer as he said, “I need you to go get a couple things, Marcus.”

  Vincent didn’t listen to the rest. Instead, he scooped Jackie up into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen. Just before he left the room he saw Tiny try to follow and Marguerite stop him. He heard her begin to murmur low and soothing words to the giant, then Vincent was out of the kitchen and on his way upstairs.

  Jackie was completely still in his arms as he carried her and he fretted over whether she really was turning or not. Aunt Marguerite could have made a mistake. She might not have got enough blood from the saboteur to facilitate the turn.

  But then Vincent had barely laid Jackie in her bed before she began to moan. Soon after that she began to shift restlessly on the bed. Oddly enough, this reassured him. This is how Marguerite had described the turn to him. It was why Stephano’s stillness had so disturbed her. The turning was a painful process, not something they slept through peacefully unless well drugged.

  By the time his aunt joined him in the bedroom, Jackie was moaning continuously and loudly and writhing on the bed.

  Marguerite frowned as she approached. “This is quick. I wonder if she got more blood from biting the attacker than we thought.”

  “What does that mean?” Vincent asked anxiously.

  “Nothing,” Marguerite reassured him, then glanced toward the door with a frown. “I hope Christian is quick.”

  “Did Christian go with Marcus?” Vincent asked.

  “No. He felt it inadvisable to leave us here alone with the saboteur still out there and Jackie as she is. He’s checking the garage for rope.”

  Vincent frowned, not at all comfortable with the idea of tying Jackie down. He changed his mind several moments later when she began to thrash, her body bending and twisting, arms and legs whipping viciously this way and that as she began to scream in pain. Vincent and Marguerite were struggling to try to hold her still and keep her from hurting herself when Tiny came rushing into the room.

  “What’s happening?! Why is she screaming?!” Tiny cried with alarm, rushing to the bed.

  “It’s the change,” Marguerite said soothingly, then glanced toward the door with relief as Christian hurried in.

  “I found some rope,” he announced, which was unnecessary since they could see the rope dangling from his hand as he hurried to the bed.

  It took all four of them twenty minutes to get Jackie tied down. Once it was done, Marguerite led Tiny out of the room, murmuring reassurances. Christian followed, silent and grim and Vincent had to wonder if the man had ever seen a turning before. He himself hadn’t and hoped never to see it again. Jackie seemed to be in agony. He tried to reassure himself by repeating the mantra that when it finished, she would be immortal like him and they could be true life mates, but it didn’t seem to help much. He hated to see her suffer so.

  Suddenly weary, Vincent pulled the dressing table chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. There was nothing he could do to ease her way, but he would endure it with her. Jackie was his now. Forever. As long as she agreed to it, he added wryly. She was his true life mate. He just had to make her see it.

  Vincent spent the rest of the night and all the next morning trying to figure out a way to do that as he watched over Jackie. Marguerite spent most of that time keeping him company, leaving the room every hour or so to retrieve another bag of blood from the kitchen. They took turns changing the bags until she retired to her own room to take a short nap at midmorning. Vincent was nodding off in the chair when she returned at noon with a fresh bag of blood in hand.

  “How is she?” she asked, moving to the bedside to peer down at Jackie.

  “Fine. Quiet now,” Vincent said as Marguerite removed the empty blood bag in the IV stand beside the bed and replaced it with a fresh, full bag of the red liquid.

  Vincent had no idea where Marcus had found the IV stand and didn’t care enough to ask. It was enough that he’d found one while fetching the extra blood from the hotel he and Christian had planned to stay in. He supposed the man must have got it from the hospital, or a hospital supply store, but hadn’t cared enough to ask.

  Vincent hadn’t spoken much to either man since Jackie had started to turn. He’d been told they were staying close in case the saboteur returned to finish what he’d started. They seemed to think everyone in the house might now be a target, at least Tiny, Marguerite, and Jackie. It seemed they’d decided his saboteur was determined to hurt him. While Vincent had to admit that was how it looked, he couldn’t imagine what he might have done to make anyone hate him so much.

  “Thank God she’s stopped thrashing and screaming,” Marguerite murmured as she finished her work with the IV and threw out the empty blood bag. “I don’t think Tiny could handle much more. The poor man is terribly upset. He loves Jackie like a sister and while he’s glad she’ll live, he’s concerned about what all this means and how she’ll take that she’s turned.”

  Vincent nodded. “I know. Thank you for keeping him out of here and keeping him busy.”

  “It was for the best,” Marguerite said with a shrug. “He’s been cooking up a storm downstairs. He’s also eating the food as quickly as he’s cooking it. I think he’s a comfort eater.”

  “You’re fond of him,” Vincent said.

  “Yes. Having him around is like having a second daughter.”

  Vincent blinked at the comment, then gave a short laugh. Six-foot, two-hundred-and-eighty-pound Tiny…a second daughter? He shook his head.

  Marguerite returned to Jackie’s side and frowned as she brushed a finger lightly down her cheek. “She’s much more peaceful now. The worst of it must be over.”

  “We can hope,” Vincent said quietly. “How much longer will she be out?”

  Marguerite shook her head. “It’s hard to say. In my experience, it usually only takes a day or two, but with Stephano it took three.”

  “Four,” Vincent corrected.

  “What?” Marguerite peered at him blankly.

  “It’s been four days and he still isn’t awake…Is he?” Vincent added as he caught the expression on her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said on a sigh. “He woke up shortly after Jackie was attacked last night. I meant to tell you, but when I got back here Jackie was screaming and thrashing and I forgot.”

  “He’s awake?” Vincent asked, sitting up with amazement.

  Marguerite nodded.

  “Has he said who attacked him?”

  She shook her head. “His mind was wiped. He can’t recall anything about being stabbed, though there are fragments of the episode in his mind, none of them reveal the intruder. I suspect those fragments are why the saboteur felt it necessary to kill him. He probably feared he might pull the memory together eventually. And he might,” she added encouragingly. “He’s trying to sort it out now.”

  Vincent sagged back in his chair, his gaze returning to Jackie. For a brief moment he’d hoped Stephano might be able to tell them who his attacker was and this whole ordeal would be over. He was terribly disappointed that his problem persisted. He was hungry, but didn’t dare feed.

  “Allen Richmond has finished fixing the panel at the gate,” she announced.

  Vincent nodded with disinterest. Marguerite had mentioned earlier that Christian had made Tiny call the security company about the broken panel first thing th
at morning. It seemed it was repaired.

  “And I ordered pizza. It’s here,” she added.

  “Why?” Vincent asked with bewilderment. “You said Tiny was cooking up a storm.”

  “I ordered pizza for you,” she explained firmly. “Tiny can toss the pizza for all I care, but I put the delivery man in your office for you.”

  “I’m not—” Vincent began to deny he was hungry, but it was a lie. His body continued to need blood whether he wanted it or not. “Thank you, Aunt Marguerite, but I…I can’t. What if the saboteur—”

  “I don’t think that’s a concern, Vincent. It’s the middle of the day,” she pointed out. “The saboteur will be home asleep and having sweet dreams about what he thinks he’s done. This is probably the safest time for you to feed.”

  Vincent nodded slowly, seeing the sense in what she said. This probably was the safest time for him to feed. Sighing, he stood and moved toward the door. “I won’t be long.”

  “I already paid him, but you might want to give him a tip,” Marguerite said as he slid out of the room.

  Vincent didn’t run into anyone on the way to his office. After finishing with the delivery man, he slid a twenty-dollar bill into his pocket, then saw him out of the house. After locking the door behind him, he turned to find Tiny in the hall.

  “How’s Jackie?” the giant asked with concern. The mortal looked horrible: pale, exhausted, and haggard, with anxiety pulling at his bulldog features.

  Vincent forced a smile. “She’s stopped thrashing and screaming. She’s resting much more peacefully. I think the worst is over. Hopefully she’ll wake up soon.”

  Tiny’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you. I’ve been worried.”

  Vincent clapped a hand on his shoulder in understanding. “She’ll be fine,” he assured him and was relieved to be able to say it. For a while there, Vincent hadn’t been sure Jackie would survive the turning. She’d lost so much blood in the attack…But she’d survived the worst of it and should be fine now. He hoped.

  “Can I see her?” he asked. “I wanted to come up earlier, but the Italians wouldn’t let me.”