A Vampire's Claim (10 page)

He didn’t have time for ruddy flashbacks. Her life depended on him. He pushed the bike, but he couldn’t go too fast. There were too many things out here that could pop a tire, flip them. The light was rising, which improved visibility, but when the first red and gold ray of the sun painted the horizon, he heard her breath draw in as if it were a needle that pierced the canvas of his swag. He had to shut it out. He had to get them there safely, and if he rushed it, wrecked them, she was as good as dead.

God, it’d been a sight, though. The two explosions had sent percussions through the air he’d felt a mile away. He’d arrived in time to see her fly out from beneath the Rover before it exploded. She’d caught that one bastard up and broken him like a rotted branch. When she’d spun, that golden-blond hair glittering in the fire, her fangs bared, she was vicious, magnificent, deadly. And frightened, which made her all the more lethal.

He knew what Elle would say. But he couldn’t turn his back on Danny. She hadn’t spared him during their remarkable time together, had used him hard, just as she’d said she would. He’d craved every minute of it. He’d also heard the catch of her breath in her throat, seen the softening of her gaze when she touched his face with light fingers, passed them over his lips. Once she’d smiled, a tender girl’s smile, when he’d kissed her mouth unprompted. He remembered the arching of her body, offering herself to him as pleasure swept over them both.

Hell, he didn’t know anything about vampires. But life was apparently precious to vampire and man alike, and that said, there were things they both needed, wanted. Feared. Quite simply, he couldn’t bear for her to be afraid.

Whether vampires needed to breathe or not, he heard her breathing now. She was rasping. He felt the convulsive kneading of her hands against herself, a vibration of her body. Heard quiet noises of distress. Worse, he smelled that acrid, charcoal smell that he knew all too well was burning flesh.

It was good that she was tied to him, because he opened it up then. Taking hillocks in leaps and rough, jolting bounces, putting his booted foot down to steady them when the wheel scalloped in the thicker sand, vegetation ripping at his trousers. The hard landings wrenched pitiful choked cries from her he could tell she was trying to bite back. He thought of her blond hair spread over his skin as she suckled and nipped her way down his body, the tickle of it along his abdomen, his arms. Once, when she’d leaned over him, a handful of silken strands had fallen into his palm like a gift. He’d curled his fingers into it, holding her until she tilted her head, gave him a considering look, waiting him out until he released her. He’d liked that look, which seemed to collect heartbeats between them, hold them in the intent moment, an unexpected, quiet intimacy.

“Getting closer,” he muttered. If only he’d heaved his sorry arse out of bed sooner, moved faster. Ah, hell, that kind of thinking didn’t do any good. The bike stuttered, and his heart stuttered with it.
No. Don’t you do it. We only have a couple miles to go.

But it had done its best, and he’d pushed too hard. He was damn lucky the tires were still inflated. It ground to a halt, the rattle telling him he’d likely jarred some important part loose, or the age and condition of the bike had made it a lost cause to begin with.

Another time he could have stopped, tinkered with it, figured out the problem and likely had it running again. He’d have to come back for that.

Jerking the ties loose from himself, he slid off the bike, steadying her.

“Wha—what is it?”

Her muffled voice was thin, tight. In terrible pain.

“Bike’s bung. Going to have to hike it. It’s only a couple miles. Fireman’s carry, love. Hang on there.”

“No.” She batted at the canvas, but a child playing inside a thin parachute would have demonstrated more strength. “Sharpen a branch and take me out now. Better than burning. I can’t . . . Dev, it hurts too much. I can’t do any more.”

“Too ruddy bad. Stop your whinging.” He made himself say the cruel words, saw her stiffen briefly.
Yeah, she had pride.
It helped. “You can, because I say you can. It’s just pain, love. You can make it through pain. Pain goes away. Death doesn’t.”

There was a choking sound, a strange, alarming gurgling, but he thought she might have cursed him. When he hauled her onto his shoulder, she cried out, an involuntary sound of anguish. In this position, the charcoal burning stink was worse. Strewth, he wondered if vampires could pass out from too much pain. So far, it didn’t seem so. He’d have to come back for the swag contents.

Speed was the most important thing. He set out at a jog, fast as he could pace himself toward the shelter of those distant rocks.

Please God, let there be a cave. Or at the very least, an alcove formed by centuries of runoff. Anything that would do a better job than the too-thin fabric of his swag.

5

B
Y the time he made it to the first pillar his legs were trembling and his shoulder muscles had passed from excruciating to aching numbness. When he made it around the base so the twenty-foot-high rock swallowed the morning sun behind him, he could have sighed in relief, if only he knew the condition of the woman he was carrying. At one point, every pounding stride had brought a whimper from her, a wounded animal unable to bite down on its pain anymore. But he’d experienced second- and even third-degree burns before, so how she wasn’t screaming, he didn’t know. Until he shifted her at one point and saw blood staining the canvas where he guessed her mouth might be. She’d likely pierced her own tongue with her fangs. God, she was a dinkum thing.

Tough as they came. Other places in the fabric were damp, where viscous fluid had soaked through.

As much for the hope of his own comfort as hers, he murmured, “We’re out of the sun, love. I’ll find you that shelter. Hang in there a bit longer.”

The response was inarticulate, but it was there. He left it at that and made his way along to the next hillock. Next to the pillar of rock, the two had looked like the engine of a train. While he’d targeted this section because it appeared the one most likely to have a cave or fissure, Rob had liked trains. As he studied the rock face, he found what he sought and blessed that brave young spirit for guiding him. Easing her onto a flat ledge, he scrambled up fifteen feet to explore the cave opening. No current animal inhabitants, and he saw evidence from drawings on the walls that it had been used as an aborigine camp. Which suggested there was water somewhere not too far. Best of all, the cave was deep enough that when the sun crested and came down on the other side of the rock this afternoon, the occupant could stay out of its direct light.

According to the aboriginal Dreamtime beliefs, the land had been created for them by ancestral heroes and heroines. When those creators disappeared, they believed they weren’t gone, but had remained in secret places in the natural features in the land. He tended to have an easier time with the idea of those types of guides than an omnipotent God who was supposed to prevent bad things from happening, so he didn’t have a problem offering quiet thanks for the shelter as he returned to retrieve Danny. He might have his grudges, but the clan had taught him well enough not to piss off the ancient spirits of the land needlessly.

Brute strength more than finesse got her hauled up the steep cuts he used as steps in the rock. Which would teach him a lesson.

Having wild sex with a paranormal creature for hours left a bloke poorly set up to race across a couple hundred miles of terrain to rescue her.

When he entered the cave mouth, he carried her to the back. The temperature drop was considerable, a blessing. It registered in the tense torso draped on his shoulder as a sick spasm of relief.

“Okay, here we are, love.” He put her where it looked like the rock was flat and smooth. Of course, once he unwrapped her, he could make a more comfortable bedroll out of the swag, even though he remembered that even the touch of air hurt burned skin.

How could he bring relief to a badly burned vampire? He could retrieve his pack, find her some water. That might help, but it was precious little.

As the thoughts chased one another through his mind, he forced himself to go slow, be patient when he released the cords and pulled back the flap of the hood he’d made for her face.

She had bitten through her tongue and her bottom lip to keep from screaming, as he expected. Both were swollen, explaining why her responses had been so garbled, beyond the muffling effect of the covering. At first, he felt a sweep of relief, for while her face and throat were lobster red, it was no worse than a very bad sunburn. Then he remembered she’d turned her face into his back, holding it there most of the time. The viscous spots were on her back and side, the parts of her she couldn’t press against him.

Though she said nothing, her eyes were open, finding him. Tears had marked her face, apparently until she ran out of fluid to give to them. Her breathing still sounded labored, indicating pain, as well as the obstruction of her swollen tongue and lips.

Swallowing, he ran his knuckles alongside her face. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” he said. “This is going to hurt.”

“Just do it,” she said in her thickened speech.

The best thing for the spots that had adhered to her skin was to pull the clothes off without hesitation, he knew. But he prepared as much as he could, unbuttoning her shirt, opening her trousers and removing her boots, which fortunately had protected her feet better than the clothes and his swag had been able to do. He turned her onto her stomach as tenderly as he could, then steeled himself.

Regardless, when the first hoarse scream tore from her throat, it almost ripped his heart out. Forcing himself to keep his movements smooth, swift but unhurried, he manipulated her body as needed, removing all her clothes except her knickers.

Holy Christ. He was glad she couldn’t see his face when he first viewed the charred expanse from the tender nape, down the slope of the lower back, to the beautiful arse and long legs. It was like looking at overcooked barbecue, an analogy he dearly wished hadn’t occurred to him, for he doubted he’d ever enjoy a good barbecue again.

“Bad?” she croaked. Her head was tilted away from him, as if she was staring at those red and white clay paintings on the cave wall.

“Yeah, love. Tell me what I need to do.”

With the side of her face pressed to the stone, she placed a trembling hand on the hard surface as well. “Take the rest off, so it’s done.”

Unfastening the bra, he slid it off her arms, left the cups cradling her breasts and worked her knickers off her hips, clenching his jaw against another anguished mewl. Then it was done, and she was naked. She flattened herself against the rock like a lizard. “Cool . .

.” she mumbled. “Just . . . leave me be. Need the cool. Rest.” At first he thought she was talking about herself, but then her eyes opened, the blue focused on him. “Dev, rest. Now that I’m out of . . . sun. I’ll heal. Just . . . need . . . time. You rest. There’ll be more . . . later.”

She was advising he take a nap while she lay there, one part of her broiled and the other part shivering? There was a gleam on her forehead, like sickly perspiration. Water would help, he knew. Would help them both.

“I’ll get us some water first,” he said. “I need to go get my pack, but I’ll be back soon. I won’t be far.”

Her head jerked once, acknowledging. Dev folded her clothes, set them to the side, an absurd use of time, but he felt it might help, her seeing that he’d done something so practical and normal, so unpanicked. And truth, it steadied his own nerves. When he left the cave, he jogged out to get his pack, but had to walk back to conserve his energy in the heat. Circling the base of the rock formation where he’d left her, he used his probe to find the soak, a shallow water source in the sand. He filled a medium billy, and then worked his way up the rocks again. She was in the same position. No change in her skin, but she did seem easier, more alert as she looked up at him when he came to her side.

“Can you lift your head for some water?”

She shook her head. “Not yet,” she slurred. “Don’t touch.”

“No. I know it hurts.” Sitting down cross-legged by her head with the billy and a mostly clean cloth, he soaked it, then twisted the end into a teat. “This is the way I used to water a dehydrated lamb.” He did have to slide a hand under her jaw to guide her face, and though she winced, it seemed bearable to her. Bringing the twisted cloth to her lips, he let some of the water dribble into her mouth, watched her swallow. “Christ, you’re a mess, love.”

“I’ll heal . . . fast. Just . . . little time.”

As he dipped the cloth several times, he studied the swelling of her tongue, the punctures. “You could have screamed, you know,”

he said gruffly. “It was only me and a few birds about. Maybe a dingo or two. None of us would have minded.”

Danny’s cracked mouth almost moved in a smile. “I’ll be . . . fine. Bushman rescued me.”

He tightened his jaw. “You think they’ll come looking for that lot?”

He watched her consider it. The way thoughts moved behind her eyes told him she hadn’t lost her mental acuity, a considerable relief. Her lips moved at last. “Not for a while. He wouldn’t waste more men. He’ll assume”—she swallowed, forced the words to come out as clearly as she could manage—“successful. Remembers me younger, less sure.”

“So you know who sent them.”

She nodded, closed her eyes. “Later. More. Rest, Dev. Will need . . . your blood. You need rest.” Then her eyes reopened and she gave him a considering look. “If you . . . okay with that?”

“The lady only has to ask,” he said at last. He sensed it was significant, her asking him, though he wouldn’t have hesitated to give her what she needed, no matter what.

“Good. Lie down. Shut . . . up.”

With a forced half smile, he stretched out beside her on the rock, though not before he arranged the swag into more of a mattress, so she’d have something to shift upon if she chose to do so. He noticed then that her hair, which he’d swept off to the side, had trickled back along the slope of the rock to touch her shoulder, making the skin beneath twitch in an irritated way, reminding him of a horse with flies. Turning onto an elbow, he lifted the strands away from her flesh, gently scooping them forward to gather and braid them. Tying it off with a short cord from his pack, he wound it into a knot on the back of her skull, tucking it in. But he stroked his knuckles over it, wishing he could do the same to her temple, soothe her some. The pain was making her tremble, and he couldn’t touch or warm her.