by Greg Cox
She moved toward the exit, expecting Erika to step aside. Instead, a slim white arm shot out, blocking the doorway. “He’s been bitten. Your human,” the petite maidservant blurted. “He’s been marked by a lycan.”
Selene blinked in surprise. Was this some sort of twisted joke? Surely, Erika could not be serious. “Did Kraven put you up to this?” she asked suspiciously.
“No!” Erika shook her head. “I saw the wound with my own eyes. I swear it!”
Could she be telling the truth? Selene’s mind raced back to the night before, when she had rescued Michael from that lycan (Lucian?) at the apartment building. She remembered dragging Michael out from beneath the lycan, after the wounded beast-man fell atop Michael in the elevator. Had the lycan somehow managed to bite Michael before she had extracted the panicked human from the stranger’s grasp? Perhaps, she conceded reluctantly. In the speed and confusion of that hasty escape, anything was possible.
Was Michael now the enemy? Had he been lost to her irrevocably? No, Selene decided abruptly. I refuse to accept that. Michael was too important, to all of them, to give up on so readily. The thought of him becoming just another rapacious, subhuman monster tore at her heart in ways she could scarcely bring herself to comprehend. One way or another, I’ll find some way to save him.
She locked eyes with Erika, then shot a cool glance at the servant girl’s outstretched arm. Wilting before Selene’s steely gaze, Erika lowered her arm and stepped aside, allowing Selene to pass over the threshold into the corridor beyond. “But what about the Covenant?” Erika asked nervously as the other woman left the library behind.
The inexperienced maid hardly needed to remind Selene of the Covenant of the Blood. This was the sacred code by which the older vampiress had lived and hunted for her entire undead existence. To fear for the safety of one whom the wolves had claimed for their own went against everything Selene had always believed and fought for.
I don’t care, she thought, storming off toward the questionable privacy of her own quarters. Erika’s plaintive wail followed her down the lonely corridor: “You know it’s forbidden!”
* * *
Dr. Adam Lockwood yawned as he made his rounds at the hospital. It was a busy night on the casualty ward, made all the worse for them being short-handed. For the hundredth time this evening, he wondered what had become of Michael Corvin. The other American already had missed two shifts and failed to answer any of the supervisors increasingly urgent phone messages. I hope he’s all right, the overworked intern worried. Michael’s always been so responsible before.
The antiseptic atmosphere of the hospital filled his nostrils as he walked through the ward on his way to the doctors’ lounge. A fresh pot of coffee was calling his name, and Adam figured that a prompt infusion of caffeine was just what the doctor ordered. No stimulants were required to jump-start his heart, however, when the door to his right suddenly flew open and powerful hands grabbed him by the shoulders and physically yanked him into an empty examining room.
What the hell? Adam tried to call out, but a sweaty palm clamped down over his mouth. I don’t believe this! he thought frantically. I’m being mugged in my own hospital!
The door slammed shut, trapping Adam inside the room with his assailant. A hoarse voice whispered in his ear: “Don’t be afraid. It’s me, Michael!”
Michael?
The frightened doctor nodded, acknowledging the message, and the intrusive hand came away from his face. Adam resisted the urge to shout for assistance, electing to find out a little more about the situation before pushing the panic button. He owed Michael that much, for friendship’s sake.
Michael is a good guy, Adam reasoned. He can’t possibly be dangerous… can he?
Another hand let go of his shoulder, and Adam slowly turned around to face his fellow resident. Moonlight entered the exam room through a closed glass window, and Adam was shocked by what the eerie silver radiance revealed.
Michael looked like hell. He was still clad in the same bloodstained jacket and pants he’d been wearing the night before, after he got caught in that bloodbath in the Metro station. Mud and grass further stained the bedraggled garments, which looked as if they’d been dragged, along with Michael himself, through some godforsaken war zone.
Michael’s face was pale and slick with perspiration. His eyes were bloodshot, and an ugly purple bruise besmirched his forehead. He shivered uncontrollably, his hands shaking like branches in a gale. Numerous small cuts and scratches went untreated on his face, neck, and hands, while livid black shadows hung beneath his manic brown eyes. He looked sick, feverish, out of control. Adam barely recognized the capable young doctor he had come to know over the last several months.
“For the love of God, Michael, what’s happened to you?”
Michael’s explanation, such as it was, did not reassure the other doctor, who listened with mounting alarm as his distraught colleague launched into a bizarre, irrational story of car chases, shoot-outs, levitating women, attack dogs, and growling monsters on the roof. It was totally preposterous, yet Michael seemed scarily sincere, describing each nightmarish event with paranoid intensity. He paced erratically as he spoke, tracking back and forth across the room like a caged animal.
“And ever since he bit me,” he insisted, “I’ve been having these, I dunno what you’d call them… hallucinations, delusions?” He stared inwardly at hellish sights only he could perceive. “All I know is that it feels as if my skull is splitting in half.”
Adam tried to keep up with the outr� narrative. “A full-grown man bit you?”
Michael tugged down his collar, exposing an appalling-looking bite wound on his right shoulder. Stepping forward to take a closer look, Adam saw that the wound consisted of four deep puncture marks in Michael’s well-developed trapezius. To Adam’s dismay, the area around the bite was hot and discolored; the site was very obviously infected.
“Sure it wasn’t a dog?” Adam asked. He peered at the marks through the smudged lenses of his glasses. From the bite radius, he guessed a largish hound was responsible. A Great Dane, perhaps, or a German Shepherd.
Michael angrily swatted his hand away. “I said it was a man!”
Adam backed away warily, startled by the other man’s violent outburst. “Okay!” he said, in the same placating tone he used with grieving relatives and strung-out drug addicts. “But you’re the one talking about hallucinations here, not me.”
Michael sagged visibly, as though his momentary flare-up had exhausted him. Wondering once more if he should call security, Adam cautiously guided Michael over to the exam table. A nearby desk and clothes cabinet completed the room’s meager furnishings. “Come on, take a seat.”
Paper crinkled as Michael grudgingly complied. He sat sideways on the padded table, his legs dangling several centimeters above the floor. He looked calmer now, but Adam was still shaken by Michael’s disturbing behavior a few moments ago. He’s not himself tonight, that’s for certain.
Summoning up his most soothing bedside manner, Adam timidly approached Michael again, taking a closer look at the swelling purple bruise on the injured resident’s forehead. “Nice,” Adam observed sarcastically. “From the looks of this, I’m betting you have a mild concussion.”
He feared, however, that a concussion was the least of Michael’s problems. Is he on drugs? Adam wondered. Michael hadn’t seemed like the type, but you never knew. It dawned on Adam that he knew very little about Michael’s life away from the hospital.
Why were those policemen so interested in him yesterday?
Removing a digital thermometer from the pocket of his lab coat, the lanky doctor inserted the instrument into Michael’s ear. Meanwhile, Michael grabbed some medicinal supplies off the nearby table and began dabbing the infected bite marks with an alcohol swab. Judging from the lurid discoloration around the puncture wounds, Adam guessed that alcohol wasn’t going to be enough. Michael probably was going to need antibiotics.
“Concussion or n
ot,” Michael rasped, “this guy was definitely after me, just like those cops…”
Adam swallowed guiltily. He had just been thinking the same thing—about the police officers, that is. Was Michael in trouble with the law somehow? Did he have something to do with the gunfight in the underground? Hard to believe, he thought. Then again, he had never seen Michael look or act like this before.
The thermometer beeped electronically, and Adam withdrew the device from his patient’s ear. His vague misgivings about Michael’s recent activities were displaced momentarily by his shock at the young man’s temperature, which was an alarming forty degrees Celsius.
“Jesus Christ,” he blurted. “You’re burning up.”
But Michael was too caught up in his crazed, delusional narrative to react to Adam’s pronouncement. He rambled morosely as he applied a dab of ointment to his shoulder and began bandaging the wound there. “And the woman from the subway, Selene, I’m not sure, maybe…” His red eyes took on a manic gleam as a hysterical edge crept into his voice. “Hell, for all I know, they were all in on it together!”
He was definitely freaked out, Adam concluded, more than a little spooked by the way the other man was acting. “For heavens sake, Michael,” he exclaimed, hoping to yank the delirious resident back to reality. “In on what?”
“Haven’t you been listening?” Michael snapped. Adam backed away from the exam table. “She took me hostage!”
Sure she did, Adam thought skeptically. Chances were, Michael’s gun-toting mystery woman was just one of the hallucinations he’d mentioned. This is more than I can deal with on my own, Adam decided, glancing at the door. He’s too far gone.
“All right, all right,” he said, humoring Michael. “Calm down. I’m going to help you get this all sorted out.” He edged slowly toward the exit, but his attempted departure provoked Michael, who lunged off the table and grabbed the doctor tightly by the arm. Adam’s heart pounded wildly as he suddenly feared for his life. “Whoa! I’m just going to run to my office and grab a number.” Please, he thought, scared to death of his fellow resident. Don’t hurt me, I beg you! “A good friend of mine is a lawyer. He’ll know what to do.”
Would Michael buy this? Adam held his breath, waiting anxiously for the agitated man’s reaction. An endless moment passed, during which time Adam’s life and semi-promising career passed before his eyes, before Michael finally let go of his arm and slumped back against the exam table.
“Sorry,” he apologized weakly. “I’m just…”
An overpowering sense of relief left Adam weak at the knees. That was close, he thought, exhaling at last. Michael was clearly out of control; he might be capable of anything. I must be crazy staying alone with him in here. I need to get help—stat!
“Its okay,” he assured Michael, flashing a reassuring (and entirely fraudulent) smile. Once again, he backed slowly for the door. His fingers groped clumsily behind his back for the doorknob. “Relax. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
He fully expected Michael to pounce on him like a madman the moment he turned the knob, but to his blissful surprise, the crazed resident actually permitted him to slip out the door into the hallway. Adam gently pulled the door shut again, wishing he had a key with which to lock it, before allowing all his pent-up fear and anxiety to leave him shaking and pale outside the exam room.
I made it! he thought, gasping in relief. Thank God! Beneath his lab coat, a layer of cold sweat glued his white cotton shirt to his spine. Closing his eyes, he took a moment to recover from the psychological strain of his nerve-racking encounter with Michael before fishing around in his pockets for the card those two policemen had left with him yesterday. Where the heck had he put it, anyway?
Ah, there it was. Drawing his cell phone, he hastily dialed the number on the card.
The two officers, Pierce and Taylor, arrived with surprising speed, less than ten minutes after receiving Adam’s call. Whatever they want Michael for, the doctor deduced, it must be serious. He felt certain that he had made the right decision in contacting the police.
“Thank you for coming,” he murmured to the uniformed officers. He kept his voice low, just in case Michael was listening. Throughout the ward, puzzled nurses and patients watched curiously as he guided the cops toward the examination room now occupied by the agitated intern. “I don’t know what’s the matter with him,” Adam babbled fretfully. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”
The burly officers nodded brusquely, striding toward the closed door with their hands on the grips of their pistols. Adam hoped they wouldn’t be too rough on Michael, whatever trouble he was in. I probably should notify the American embassy, he thought, unless the police usually handle that. He wasn’t exactly sure about the procedure.
They were almost at the exam room when a loud crash came from the other side of the door. Glass shattered noisily, electrifying Pierce and Taylor, who sprang immediately into action. Guns drawn, they charged the door, slamming it open with their shoulders. Adam followed them, prudently keeping a safe distance behind the cops. He flinched in anticipation of violence and gunplay, but the only sound that came from the besieged exam room was the mournful keening of the wind.
I don’t understand, he thought. He had been watching the door the whole time he’d been waiting for the police to arrive. Michael couldn’t have got away. And what was that crashing sound?
He peeked sheepishly through the doorway into the examination room. Wind and rain entered through a broken window at the far end of the room. The taller of the two policemen, Pierce, ran to the window and peered through the empty pane at the street below. Scowling, he turned toward his partner and shook his head. Adam guessed that Michael was nowhere to be seen.
The frustrated cops glared at Adam.
“He was right here!” the doctor insisted. He threw his hands in the air, pantomiming helplessness. It’s not my fault, he thought defensively, if your prime suspect jumps out the window. I’m lucky he didn’t attack me, given his deranged state of mind!
Pierce and Taylor exchanged ill-tempered looks, then thundered out of the empty exam room, ignoring Adam completely as they shoved past the doctor on their way out. A cold wind blew against Adam from the broken window, and he pulled the door shut to cut off the draft. He watched the policemen depart, disturbed by the unconcealed fury he had glimpsed in the men’s dark eyes.
“Hey!” he called after them. He hurried to catch up with the cops before they left the building. “You’re not going to shoot him, are you!”
Michael waited until he heard Adam’s footsteps recede into the distance, then warily opened the door of the cabinet. Taking care not to rattle the metal clothes hangers dangling around his head and shoulders, he peered through a crack-sized opening at the moonlit exam room. A flash of lightning outside exposed every shadowy corner of the room.
The coast looks clear, he decided. Grateful that both Adam and the police had fallen for his trick with the window, he slipped stealthily out of the cabinet onto the tile floor of the examination room. He looked around apprehensively, wondering how long he had before someone decided to check this room again. I have to get out of here, but to where?
Going to the police was out. According to Adam’s message yesterday, the local cops already suspected that he had something to do with that bloody gunfight in the subway—and Michael wasn’t sure he could convince them otherwise, given everything that had happened to him since. He appeared to be right in the middle of this murderous mess, whatever it was all about.
The American embassy, over at Liberty Square, was no good, either. If even Adam thought he was crazy, what would the sensible folks at the U.S. embassy think when he tried to explain what had happened to him? Hell, Michael thought, even I’m starting to question my own sanity!
Nausea struck him, and he bent over convulsively, clutching at his gut. He clenched his jaw tightly shut to keep from vomiting and fought like mad to ride out the seizure. Sweat beaded on his forehead while his
insides felt as if they were turning inside-out. Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me? Michael wondered in anguish. None of his hard-won medical training pointed him toward a reasonable diagnosis for his condition. His vision flickered in the moonlight, briefly going color-blind before reverting to normal again. His infected shoulder throbbed in sync with dreadful pounding inside his skull. His teeth ached within his gums, as if they were being twisted out of shape.
But he was more than just physically ill. He was going crazy, too. Phantom warriors, wielding silver crossbow bolts, lurked at the fringes of his vision. Fragmentary impressions and images that had no relation to the life he remembered were shuffled in among his memories like an extra ace in some devious card trick. He closed his eyes for an instant, and he was back in that primeval forest again, being chased through the moonlit woods by shadowy figures in chain mail and armor.
That’s not me! he thought violently. That never happened! But he could still feel the spongy forest floor beneath his bare feet, smell the sap flowing through the trees, as he ran for his life through that murky sylvan dreamscape. The cursive brand on his arm burned like a red-hot flame. He tasted his own blood upon his tongue…
I’m sick, Michael realized in despair. I need help.
But whom could he turn to? In desperation, a face flashed across his memory. Inscrutable chestnut eyes beneath a mane of long sable hair. Skin as white as untouched snow. An exotic apparition, wild, mysterious, enticing…
For better or for worse, there was only one person who might be able to see him through this nightmare.
Selene.
Chapter Fifteen
Running water was said to be anathema to those of the vampire breed, but that was just a myth; otherwise, Selene could not have enjoyed the much-needed shower now scouring her naked body with a steady blast of deliriously hot water.