Lynn Viehl - Darkyn 1 - If Angels Burn (v1.1) (39 page)

“Well?” John clenched a fist.

“Alexandra is seven blocks away from here, in a church. She’s trying to catch a madman who is there and probably killing everyone inside. When she returns, the madman inside
this
house is going to abduct her and take her to Ireland, where he will do unspeakable things to her.”

John slowly dropped his hand. “Not in this lifetime.”

“Those are my sentiments.” Michael gestured toward John’s rental. “We will take your car.”

John followed his directions to the letter. “Who are you? How did my sister get mixed up with you?”

“I am Darkyn.” Michael braced a hand against the dashboard as John stomped on the brake. “Before you attack me, Priest, so is your sister.”

John’s gaze turned flat and deadly. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I were.” He looked out at the street. “Now drive.”

“I joined the Brethren to prove you don’t exist,” John said through gritted teeth. “They made me kill one of you. A Spaniard.”

“How did you end his life?” Michael asked.

“I stabbed him in the heart.”

He nodded. “He still lives, then. You haven’t joined the Brethren, either.” He looked at the front of St. Agatha’s. The doors and windows were closed, and the church was dark and silent. Phillipe’s car stood empty on the street.
The rectory
.

As Michael got out, John came around the car. “I joined the Brethren in Rome, after I passed their training and killed that vampire.”

Michael wanted to toss John out of the way, but he was Alexandra’s brother. He had also earned the right to the truth. “The only way to kill us is to cut off our heads or burn us to ash. You cannot join the Brethren unless your father belonged to the order. They breed their own membership.”

“What are you talking about? I went through the training, the trials. I proved myself worthy of the order.”

“You were tortured, Father Keller,” Michael said gently. “The only difference between what the Brethren do to us and what they did to you is that you went willingly, and you cooperated with them.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Michael shrugged. “They needed you to get to Alexandra. The Brethren knew that she operated on me and restored my face. They know a modern doctor could prove many things about us, such as the fact that we may not be cursed. Alexandra believes that we are simply victims of a disease. If she does prove this, it will expose the Brethren for the butchers that they are. If she cures us, the Brethren will have no reason to exist. They very much want to see her dead, and I imagine that you have led them to her.”

John’s face turned white. “No. It’s not true.”

“The pitiful thing is that they used your faith and your love for your sister. That, I think, is worse than the torture.” Michael heard a feminine cry and hurried around the church.

Gelina could not believe her good luck. Keller and his sister together in one place, and the bonus of Michael Cyprien and several of his Kyn as well. After tonight, Stoss would give her whatever she desired. Money, jewels, Keller, a new villa in the south of France.

Perhaps he would give her Michael Cyprien, too. Gelina had always loved his hands, and those incredible, crystalline blue eyes of his. She could take his hands off slowly with a scalpel, or fast and messy with a hacksaw. As for his eyes, they would look even lovelier floating in ajar. She knew just the shelf she would put it on, too, in the private room at home where she kept her other mementos.

Would he still see her through those eyes while he burned, a blind man in hell?

Gelina would not allow eagerness to spoil the game, however. She kept out of sight, watching Cyprien and Keller until they disappeared into the rectory. She took out her phone and called for reinforcements. Then she drew her sword and went behind the building to wait for them.

Thierry let the priest’s unconscious body fall to the floor. He had fed, but not enough to induce thrall and rapture. If he was to find his Angel, he needed more blood from more throats.

Thierry, stop
.

He lifted his head and drew in air until he cleared the scent of blood from his nostrils. There it was, the scent of the woman, as light as a trill of her laughter, as potent as the touch of her hands.

She was here, the woman with the doe eyes.

He disdained the door and climbed out the window and into the one leading to the empty room. The woman had brought someone with her. There were footsteps outside. Men were coming. They were coming for him again, closing like a trap around him, using her as the lure.

He examined the room, found what he needed. Stay above. Always above.

Thierry waited behind the door. Listened to their footsteps. Hers were light, those of the man with her heavier. He smelled the stink of copper. She was on the other side of the door. She was reaching for the door, turning the knob. He pulled it open, knocking the gun from her hand, yanking her inside, slamming it closed. He broke off the knob to keep the man on the other side.

“Thierry,” she said, breathless, frightened.

It was her, but it wasn’t. Then it all became clear to him. Thierry looked down into her face and wrapped his arm around her. “My Angel.”

The door bowed inward as a great weight was thrown against it from the other side. Wood splintered; hinges groaned.

Thierry jumped, caught the edge of the square, open hole in the ceiling, and hauled himself and his Angel into the attic.

Michael and John found Phillipe ignoring two angry priests and throwing himself against a heavy oak door.

“Durand,” Phillipe said to Michael. “He has her in there.”

Michael kicked the door in and strode inside. The room was empty, the window closed. He picked up Alexandra’s tranquilizer gun from the floor, turned completely around, and then looked up. “There.”

Phillipe jumped up and hoisted himself into the hole, then looked back down. “They are not here.”

One of the priests came in blustering about calling the police and having them arrested for breaking and entering.

As Phillipe jumped down, John grabbed the priest by the front of his nightshirt. He pointed to the hole in the ceiling. “Does that lead into the church?”

“Yes, of course it does.” The priest looked at John’s collar. “See here, Father, we can’t have this—”

John thrust him aside and ran out of the room behind Michael and Phillipe.

The main hallway led from the rectory into the church. Cyprien and Phillipe barreled through the locked double doors and into the sanctuary, which reeked of gardenia.

Thierry Durand sat on top of the altar, under the crucifix. Alexandra lay limp and unmoving in his arms, and he had his face buried in her throat. As they ran toward him, he lifted his bloodied face and snarled.

“Stay away. My Angel.” He bent to her throat again.

Michael came to a stop and motioned for Phillipe and John to do the same. “Wait.”

Alex’s eyes slowly opened.

“She’s still alive,” John said, lunging forward.

Michael caught him and held him while he aimed the tranquilizer gun at Thierry. “This way.” He shot Thierry in the back of one shoulder.

Thierry tried to hold on to Alexandra, but the drug worked too fast. He slumped over and fell to the platform below the altar.

A dark-haired woman with a copper sword stepped between the men and Alexandra. “Stay where you are.”

John stared at her. “Sister Gelina?”

“No.” Cyprien stared at her, as well. “Her name is Angelica.”

The back doors of the church opened, and a large group of people came in.

Alex thought she might be dead, until she saw Éliane walking down the center church aisle, followed by several monks in dark robes. The monks were escorting the rest of the Durands, who were in copper chains and manacles.

The blonde came to stand over her. “Doctor, I did not know you wished to attend mass. You should have said something; I would have arranged it.” She studied Alex’s throat. “How are you feeling?”

“Like biting… off your… face.”

“I think not.” She held up a syringe of blue salt solution. “We need you to sleep for the trip to Rome.”

“Thierry. Alexandra,” Liliette called out, and then uttered a painful cry.

“Where is Cyprien?” Alex turned her head, saw Michael, Phillipe and someone she never expected to see standing nearby. “John?”

Éliane jabbed her hard in the arm with the needle and injected the contents. “There, that should do it.” She turned to speak to the monk standing beside her. “This zinc sulfate works quite fast, Cardinal Stoss. You should have no trouble with this one or the others on the plane.”

What is she talking about
? Zinc sulfate wouldn’t give Alex so much as a skin rash. As she stared up at the blonde, she was stunned to see Éliane lower her right eyelid in a slow, deliberate wink. At the same time, Alex felt warmth flooding over her.

Plasma, Alex guessed, dyed blue to look like the sedative. Hopefully enough to keep her alive for a short time longer. She played along with the game and let her eyelids flutter closed, and then opened them to slits.

The cardinal was issuing orders in Italian to his monks, who were bringing up copper chains for Michael and Phillipe.

“You can’t take my sister, Cardinal,” John said, startling Alex. “She’s not one of them.”

“John, we all have our crosses to bear.” Stoss motioned to two of the monks, who grabbed Alex’s brother. “Sister Gelina will introduce you to the concept a little later on. We have some executions to carry out.” He motioned to the monks to bring the Durands up to the altar.

Alex’s fangs stretched out into her mouth, but she stayed still and waited until two monks had their backs to her. She slid off the altar, knocked their heads together, and pushed their unconscious bodies aside. “Michael!”

Phillipe was fighting the woman with the copper sword, while Michael and John were struggling with the monks near the Durands. Alex staggered into someone and held on to him.

Thierry, his eyes filled with hatred, latched his hands around her torn throat.

“Angel.” He shook her like a rag doll. “Where is she?”

“Thierry… please,” Alex wheezed. “I’m a… doctor… friend…” Everything dimmed around her.

Michael tackled Thierry and knocked him off Alex, and she fell to her knees, coughing and gasping for air. The two men fought like vicious animals, fangs bared, hammering at each other without mercy.

Someone making a rough, guttural sound grabbed Thierry from behind. It was Jamys.

“Jamys?” Thierry stared at him.

The boy made another garbled sound and pointed to the woman running away from Phillipe.

“I knew you would tell.” The woman’s long dark hair turned golden as she glared at Jamys. “You never could keep a secret, you naughty little boy.”

Alex watched as the woman’s body blurred and changed, as well. She grew taller and thinner, and her features sharpened to match those of the beautiful woman in Thierry’s memories.

Cardinal Stoss sighed heavily. “Gelina, is this really necessary?”

John came and helped Alex to her feet. He looked pale with shock and as confused as Thierry.

Thierry released Cyprien and slowly rose to his feet. “Angel?” he asked, the madness leaving his eyes. “My Angel, not dead.”

“Yes, darling, I’m quite alive. You really shouldn’t believe all the things you think you see when you’re being tortured.” Angelica Durand turned to Cyprien. “You had your doctor fix my poor husband, didn’t you? After all the trouble we went through to break him. Very annoying of you.”

Cyprien edged away from Thierry. At the same time, Phillipe came to stand beside Alex.

“How did you fool everyone into thinking you had died in Dublin, Angelica?” Cyprien asked. “Do you change your form to look like one of the Brethren?”

“No, Michael. I was never in the cell with Thierry. The Brethren skinned another Darkyn female, hung her up next to Thierry, and let him draw his own conclusions.”

Somebody had to take this bitch out, Alex thought, and she’d be more than happy to do it. She took the sword from Phillipe’s hand.

“Angel?” Thierry tried to take her in his arms.

She sidestepped him. “Not anymore, my dearest love. You see, they left me no choice.” She spread her hands in a helpless way. “They caught me years ago, you know, when Mama and Papa sent me to Rome for a cure. I made a bargain to save my life. I’ve been bringing them Kyn for years. Jamys was the one who spoiled things.” She gave her son a sulky look. “He overheard me talking to Rome on the phone, that day at the château. I had no choice but to have them come and take everyone.”

“I saw you.” Thierry rubbed his eyes. “I saw them hurt you.”

“That was charade, darling.” She patted his cheek. “All part of the torture.” She sent Jamys a limpid smile. “That’s why I had them tear out his tongue first. He would have talked and spoiled everything. I watched to make sure they did a clean job of it.”

Now Alex understood what had shut down Jamys’s mind—the knowledge that his mother was still alive, had betrayed them, and had faked her own death. Hearing her admit it made the boy jump out and launch himself at his mother, but Thierry caught him up in his arms.

Good thing, too, because she still had the copper sword in her hand.

Thierry looked down at his legs, and then met Alex’s gaze. “You helped me.”

“Yes.” Alex saw something moving in the shadows to the side of the altar. “Let me do one more thing for you, Thierry. Johnny, hit the deck.”

Her brother dropped to the floor as Alex brought up the sword and whipped it across Angelica Durand’s throat. At first she didn’t think she had struck hard enough—the woman only gasped, as if startled. Then a little horizontal trickle of blood appeared on her throat, widening as she bowed her head. It would have looked like she was praying, had her head stayed on her neck. Instead, it tumbled to the floor, followed by her body.

“Kill them all,” Cardinal Stoss shouted.

The Brethren rushed the altar, but stopped when the floor began to sprout swords.

Alex grabbed the altar rail and watched as the swords cut holes through the church’s thick carpeting, and men began to tear the holes wider and climb up out of them. Men in white tunics with red crosses, who looked like one of Cyprien’s medieval paintings come to life.