Scent of Salvation (Chronicles of Eorthe #1) (39 page)

Tears burned in her eyes. She wanted to spend her last hours with him. Holding out her wavering arms, she fought not to cry.

“Rest. You need your strength.” He brought her some water to drink.

Of all things, her fingertips and teeth hurt the worst. She stared at her right hand, knowing the virus was changing her DNA. If she survived she wouldn’t be the same. These were the last moments of her humanity, no matter the outcome. She closed her eyes. Tired. Defeated. The last human on Eorthe. The loss sat heavy on her chest.

“Susan?” He slipped his arms around her.

She pressed her face into the thick mane around his neck and watched the firelight flicker over his silver fur. Feral or civil form didn’t matter to her—both were Sorin, and that was all she wanted.

“Don’t fret. Peder is bringing the medicine. Hang on.” He rested his head on hers. “Please.”

She couldn’t bear to break his heart by telling him the truth. Antibiotics wouldn’t save her. She didn’t have a bacterial infection. Her only hope sat on Benic’s lab table. The syringe of immunity-boosting medicine he’d concocted.

She squeezed Sorin’s hand. “Can you hold me for a little while? I’m very cold.”

He scooped her onto his lap and settled her against his chest, his fur a living blanket. “I love you, Susan.”

Smiling, she stroked his arm. “I love you too.” So strong and confident, honorable and honest. She never thought she’d find the perfect male. She sniffed. “I don’t want to die. I just found you.”

His embrace tightened. “I won’t let you. We’re going to have so many adventures together. You’ll be the happiest female, I promise.” He sounded so sure and she needed to believe him. “Don’t give up.”

Raindrops spotted the stone floor as distant thunder rumbled. She pressed closer to Sorin, absorbing his heat and strength. Closing her eyes, she inched toward sleep. As she drifted off, she sensed Sorin settle her onto the bedding.

“If she gets worse, Ahote, howl for me.”

“I should go instead of you.”

“No, protect her. If I could split myself in two then I’d stay at her side as well. I’m the stronger of both of us. She has a better chance of being free of them with me out there fighting.”

Vampires? She wanted to shout for him to stay. Benic might be her only salvation. She struggled to speak but only a whisper came out. Neither of them paid her any attention. She fought for consciousness, reaching to remain on the surface, but the virus won. It dragged her down—down into the dark. Who knew if she’d awaken, or as what?

Chapter Forty-Two

The sun must have risen in the sky, but the storm and tall trees blocked any light it could have offered. Rain poured too heavy for the forest canopy to shield the ground. And Benic.

Leather worked well to ward off teeth and claws but was terrible to wear when soaking wet. He discarded his travel cloak, the weight a burden he didn’t need if attacked. Cool water dripped from his hair, the cold not touching him like warm-blooded creatures. Something in vampires kept them from freezing, yet they all loved the heat.

Winds whipped through the forest, making the underbrush sway to its song. It masked most sounds. A predator would be upon him before he heard them coming.

The Temple, a distant blur between the trees, would provide shelter. They must be hidden inside. A flash of lightning lit the area for a second and then thunder rolled over the sky. Benic’s prey wouldn’t hear him either. He needed to get to Susan and inject her before anyone could tear him apart. If she survived there was still a chance she’d become a vampire.

He’d considered explaining the situation to the shifters but they could be so thickheaded and paranoid. What if they refused to listen?

Ahote didn’t lack in vampire hatred. He’d likely eat Benic before he could utter a word. He wasn’t a fool. In hand-to-hand combat, shifters were the best. Even with his sword, he didn’t have much of a chance. He slipped it from its sheath, the steel singing, and held it ready.

Staring at the Temple, he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He could do this. The storm would help hide him. He would climb through a break in the ancient walls and figure out a plan from there. One step at a time.

He eased his way through the brush, keeping the trees between him and the Temple as much as possible. He was downwind so they wouldn’t catch his scent. Crouched low, he concentrated on listening while he continued to move. A hunter could always become prey.

The wind swayed the foliage back and forth, and back and forth. Focusing on the noise of the storm, he made it fade in his mind. An old hunting trick his father had taught him.

Leaves moved out of cadence to his right. He swung around, sword pointed toward the sound. His slow heart pounded thrice in his tight chest. He tried to quiet his breathing and trembled with the effort. Lightning cracked across the sky. He crouched among the ferns, waiting for an attack.

A whisper to his left had him changing in that direction. He should have brought warriors—him and his damn honor. Step by measured step, he crept through the brush. Nothing. Yet his instincts still rang with danger. Adrenaline pumped into his system, heightening his senses further.

Something stalked him. “Ahote?” The question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it. “Ahote?” He repeated louder.

He caught movement in the corner of his vision and swung around, sword extended. Nothing again. Sweat mixed with rain, trickling along his face. Panting, he searched the area.

They had him surrounded and were playing games. He clutched the bag containing the syringe. He could retreat to the castle. They wouldn’t dare follow. The Temple came into his line of sight. If Susan survived and became vampire, would Sorin let her live?

Without a backward glance, he raced toward the building. He might not stand a chance in a fight but he sure could run. Dodging plants and branches, he moved swift and sure. A log blocked his path so he leaped. The mud puddle he landed in sent his feet sliding in opposite directions, and he planted face first in the muck. Scrambling on all fours, he finally found purchase, then continued his forward momentum.

Paws hit the wet ground behind him. His imagination had not been playing with his mind after all. A roar shattered through the thundering gales. Claws grazed his back, brushing the leather of his jacket. It spurred extra speed into his legs. The stairs to the Temple entrance were in front of him. He leaped, taking them in great strides.

Set ablaze by Benic’s flight, Sorin’s feral side took control. He wanted to taste vampire flesh, crack his bones between his teeth and suck them clean of marrow. How dare Benic take his mate?

The bloodsucker dodged through the forest toward the Temple, faster than Sorin thought possible. Benic moved between the foliage like a creature of the wild and not of the city.

He had almost missed the vampire as he patrolled around the Temple. The whisper of his sword being drawn, between the peals of thunder, had caught his attention, and stalking him had been easy.

Benic reached the Temple stairs.

Sorin wouldn’t let him hurt his Susan. She had suffered enough.

With a roar, he leaped, tackling Benic. They tumbled in a knot to the forest floor at the base of the stone staircase.

The rain fell in a torrent, beating down on his head and making it difficult to see. A flash of metal had him rolling to the side before Benic could pierce him with the sword.

It was unnatural to fight with tools. Both races were born with natural weapons but the vampires had to corrupt the system by overextending themselves and inventing new ways to kill.

With the momentum of his roll, Sorin rose to his feet and blocked the next downswing using his claws. The shock rang along his nerves and his arm went numb. It dropped to his side. He leaped back to avoid another possible attack but the vampire took the opportunity to climb the stairs and enter the Temple.

Snarling at his stupidity, Sorin gave chase. He never lost prey. He charged through the entrance and found Benic confronting Ahote.

“How did—who have I been fighting?” Benic twisted so his back faced the wall. “Sorin? I should have known you were behind her rescue and not Ahote. You wrecked everything.” He altered the sword’s aim between them.

“Stand down.” Sorin gestured to his fellow shifter. “Benic is mine.” Using all his strength, he ran and hurdled over the bloodsucking warrior. There were only three ways to kill a vampire—decapitation, fire and cutting out their heart. All other wounds healed with time. Sorin swiped his extended claws at the back of Benic’s neck.

Moving with a warrior’s instinct, the vampire ducked.

Sorin growled as he missed his mark. Crouching, he stalked toward his prey; he wouldn’t allow him room to use his weapon. With an up-swing, he knocked Benic’s fighting arm at the elbow, and the force sent the sword flying in an arc. They both watched it land next to the shelter housing Susan.

Benic retreated from him, his eyes wide and hands ready to defend. “You need to listen.”

“No, I think my people have listened too much to your kind.” Sorin paced around him, inhaling the thick, rich scent of fear.

“Susan’s sick. I have medicine—”

Sorin pounced on Benic, pinning him to the stone floor. He savored the sensation of his teeth around the vampire’s throat. This was for more than just stealing his mate. It was empty retribution for oppressing his people.

“Wait!” Benic cried as he struggled under his body. “I—I can save her.”

“We already have medicine on the way.” Ahote crept closer as he spoke. He met Sorin’s gaze, his ears bent forward. “Do it.”

“It won’t work.” The vampire seemed out of breath. “P-please, let me speak.”

Another trick—they always talked themselves out of trouble. Sorin folded his ears even tighter against his head, trying to block his voice. He squeezed his jaw but didn’t break skin.

What if he spoke the truth? The rain was washing away most scents. A lie would be hard to detect.

Tremors ran through his shoulders and jaw as he resisted the urge to chomp. He pressed his hands to Benic’s chest, over his heart, and Sorin extended his claws to pierce. Only then did he relax his bite.

Benic drew a gasping breath.

“Make me believe you.”

“In my bag, there’s a syringe of medicine that will help Susan fight the illness.” He pointed to his shoulder pack.

Sorin cut the strap with a claw and passed the bag to Ahote. “Check it.” The rain eased into a drizzle.

“I came here with the intention of helping her. Not to fight. Look—” He waved his arms around. “No warriors with me.”

“Still not believing you.” He tapped his claw on Benic’s chest. Vampires usually lied yet Sorin couldn’t smell one. The rain must be washing the scent away.

Ahote held a metal cylinder in his hand. “This?”

“Yes, I need to inject Susan with the contents. It will improve her chances. The longer we wait, the less time she has.”

“Sorin, just kill him. Peder’s bringing medicine.”

Conflicted, Sorin’s gaze traveled from the two males. “True.” He leaned his weight onto his claws so he could tear out Benic’s heart.

“Wait.” Benic shoved Sorin’s shoulders. “I don’t know what medicine you have but I doubt it will work.”

“It saved my people and Susan made it—a more reliable source if you ask me.”

“She doesn’t have the same illness. Trust me.”

Sorin barked a surprised laugh. “Trust? Are you insane?”

“Poor choice of words, but doesn’t change what I said. She’s transforming, Sorin. She’s becoming one of us.”

“What?” The question came out as if he’d been kicked in the balls.

“If she survives she won’t be human anymore.” Benic stared at him with intense focus.

Sorin tried to breathe but his lungs forgot how to work. “What will she be?” The vampire tempted him with hope. The bastard.

“I don’t know. That’s the problem, you big oaf. You bit her, and I didn’t know before I infected her with my blood.”

“You did what?” Sorin’s grip on Benic’s chest deepened. Blood seeped around his claws.

Benic grimaced. “I wanted to change her into a vampire.” Pain laced his words.

“You knew she was my mate when you stole her. There’s no excuse.”

“There’s not but if you kill me I won’t tell you how to give her the medicine.” Benic’s voice cracked.

The decision was easy. Retracting his claws, Sorin sat on his haunches. “Pass me his sword, Ahote.” He outstretched his hand without taking his glare off Benic. The hilt slid heavily into his grip.

“You’re making a grave mistake. It wasn’t my intention to kill her. I was trying to save my—”

Sorin plunged the sword into Benic’s stomach. The force of his anger drove the point through stone.

He screamed and the sound fed Sorin’s hatred.

“There. That will keep you from escaping.” It wasn’t a killing blow. Benic would survive. For now. Sorin could always finish the job later. “How do I give it?” He took the syringe from Ahote.

Panting, Benic grasped the sword in feeble hands. “Bastard.”