Vengeance: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 3 (4 page)

“Hellion?” I couldn’t mask the fear and confusion in my voice, a voice that seemed tinny and far away after the immense noise of only moments ago. Sirens sounded in the distance, growing nearer by the second.

He reached out and pulled me toward him, disregarding the wound in my side that had been torn open. He and Stearns had done a bang-up job putting me back together, and the more shallow cuts and bruises were nearly healed. But the deep cut to my thigh and the stab wound to my side were still healing. Or they had been.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, trying to keep from screaming in terror or rage. Had Hellion actually commanded Stearns to kill me if he couldn’t save me? That was going to be a huge talking point for us when I could hear again.

Our bloodied guest slid down the wall nearest him, his face pale and strained. I imagined I looked the same, less the quantity of blood he still sported on his topography. He dropped his head into his hands and I swear he said, “May Sheol welcome his black soul home.”

Hellion’s head snapped back as if he’d been slapped, and then he turned cold eyes on our mystery man. “I believe, sir, you have some serious explaining to do.” The compassion he’d shown the stranger froze and shattered on wintery breath and arctic words.

“I’ll answer what you would ask, but first may I suggest you hide me before the mundane police arrive and demand explanations for the two bloodied individuals in your foyer, one of whom who is emitting light?”
 

With a jerk of his head and not a word spoken, Hellion had Mark and Stearns helping the man through the door that led into the home’s small, under-stair storage area. They emerged moments later and went to the guest room to strip sheets and make up the bed. The carpet in the parlor couldn’t be rolled up before the police arrived, so Hellion did a spell of visual occlusion, temporarily masking the blood from mundane eyes. The fact that I could see the blood after the spell was cast resolved any lingering doubts I may have had about my revised mortality.

“Police entering the premises! No one move!” Several officers stormed into the foyer and our shaky countenances had them speaking to us at once, making their voices sound like a cacophony of hens cluck, cluck, clucking and all demanding equal attention.
 

“Gentlemen!” Hellion called out. His commanding voice had everyone stopping to stare at the 6’7” man. “I’m the homeowner. Someone apparently set off an explosive device outside the front door. My partner and I,” he said, referencing me, “were making our way to the parlor when the explosion occurred and she’s been injured. Would one of you kindly call an ambulance?”

That got them moving. They went from aggressive questioning to solicitous concern for my wellbeing. I shot Hellion a dark look and he mouthed,
Sorry
, just as the wound in my side began to bleed more profusely. I gasped, clasping my hand to the wound, and I found myself being helped to the floor by the kind men in uniform.

When a familiar face loomed over me, I panicked. It was one of the detectives whose memory Hellion had stolen just over a week ago in order to relieve himself of suspicion in a murder investigation.
Shit.
The inspector, one S. Tranter per his uniform, looked at me with something too close to recognition on his face. Hellion was behind him, rubbing his forehead in apparent consternation. He looked up and caught my panicked gaze and shook his head with such a finite motion that I wondered if I’d imagined it.
 

Nothing was going the way it was supposed to today.
 

The ambulance arrived and I found myself bustled into the back of the wagon with startling efficiency, particularly given how disorganized everything was inside the house. Like almost every crime scene I’d ever witnessed, there were more people in the house than were necessary for the whole of the investigation while yet more police and curious onlookers lingered outside.
 

The ambulance driver was about to slam the doors shut when Inspector Tranter yelled out, “Hold it!” He climbed inside and sat on a narrow jump seat to stare at me. “I have the disturbing feeling I should know you.”

I tried to keep the quaver from my voice, but it was all too evident. “Sorry… S?”

“Simon.” He held out his hand. “Simon Tranter.”

“Sorry, Simon. I don’t believe we’ve ever been introduced.” And that, at least, wasn’t a lie. I’d only watched him rub one out through his pants and gaze at Hellion with undisguised lust. Hm. Yeah. I still wouldn’t be bringing that up.

“Well enough, I suppose.” He climbed out just as Hellion started to climb in and the two men stared at each other long and hard. “And you, Mr. Markalon? Have we been formally introduced?”

“Aye, we have. I’m sure of it, Inspector, but I can’t seem to recall the specifics.” Hellion’s cool and commanding voice bespoke wealth and affluence, separating the class from the mass.
 

“Odd that I’d have met you but not your partner, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, looking back at me.

“Not really. Ms. Niteclif and I haven’t been together that long. I’m sure, if we’d been recently acquainted, that one or the other of us would remember the circumstances, don’t you?” Hellion sized the other man up and turned away, dismissing the man. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to see to Ms. Niteclif’s care. Both my butler and footman were here for all the excitement and have been instructed to cooperate fully.”

“I’m sure they have,” Inspector Tranter muttered, releasing the door and allowing Hellion to fold his large frame inside.

I waited for the inspector to shut the door before turning to Hellion and opening my mouth but he shook his head and said, “Don’t speak, love. I know it’s all very confusing right now, but the doctors will take care of everything.” He looked at me and blinked slowly, and I nodded in return. The inspector banged on the back door and I jumped, groaning at the burn in my side. I hadn’t realized he was outside listening in.
 

The ambulance tore out of the neighborhood with lights flashing and sirens chirping before beginning to wail, and I was grateful I was lying prone in the bed. Neighbors have always been too curious for my comfort no matter where I lived. The only difference between Hellion’s current neighbors and my old ones in New York was the fact that money bought these people the illusion of superiority and removed indifference.

Like all illusions, it was only temporary.
 

The inside of St. George’s was nice, but if Hellion had told me it was a teaching hospital and that a nursing student would be stitching me up instead of a registered nurse or a physician’s assistant, I would likely have demanded he take me home and treat me himself. Instead, I suffered through Tiffany’s first experience giving total patient care, from intake to discharge. I made it all the way until the instructor asked if I would be okay to allow her to look at my other wounds before I lost it. If Hellion hadn’t been there to diffuse the situation, I would likely have ended up receiving lithium treatments and a little gratis shock therapy. As it was, he paid in cash and we were released not long after a disgruntled Tiffany snipped the final thread on my sutures.

“Don’t ever,
ever
take me to that freaking hospital again,” I said through gritted teeth as we stepped outside and hailed a cab.
 

Hellion yanked the door so hard it rebounded and slammed shut.

The driver started forward before realizing his fare hadn’t made it inside. He backed up and barked out, “Oy! Ye lookin’ fer a ride or are ye jes takin’ the piss? Coz I don’ put up wi’ shite from—”

“Bloody hell, shut up already!” Hellion handed me into the car with exaggerated care and the man gave him a hard stare. “Look, we’ve had a hard time of it today. I’ll double your fare if you’ll just deliver us home quickly and safely.”

“Wanker,” the driver whispered before politely asking for the address. When Hellion gave him the Hyde Park location, the driver’s entire attitude changed and the rest of the ride was pleasant.
 

Hellion slipped his arm around me and I relaxed into his side, pain medication finally overriding my adrenaline rush. I dozed as we bumped along the cobblestone streets, only coming awake when the driver stopped a little abruptly, his eyes widening perceptibly at the activity surrounding the huge house.

“Not a word,” Hellion said as he helped me out of the car, peeling off several extra pound notes before sending the driver on his way. The last police car pulled away as we walked up the front path and made our way around the millwork company that was installing the new front door. A news van crept forward as the police car made its way down the crowded residential street. Hellion stared at the van hard, but it didn’t stop. “Fabulous. Just fucking fabulous.”

I looked up at Hellion and found his jaw rolling as if he were grinding his teeth while he watched the reporter approaching on foot. I grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the way of the workmen as they carried a large, heavy wooden door by, set it up on saw horses and began trimming it to fit. “You know we’re going to have to talk about this—
all
of this—once we get some quiet time.”

“I know. Let’s get our house set to rights and we’ll have a long talk in the bedroom where I’m not so worried we’ll be overheard.”

“Fine.” I walked into the house and heard Hellion discussing the need for maintaining our privacy with the carpenters. Their immediate, all-too-enthusiastic reply told me that enough money had changed hands to buy their allegiance, however temporary.

I wandered through the foyer, amazed that the police had been able to keep Mark from ordering a thorough cleaning during our absence. Once they’d gone, though, the scarily efficient butler had moved into action and there were people scurrying about with brooms, dustpans, buckets and mops. He saw me come through the door and rushed to greet me.

“Oh, Maddy! I’m so sorry to have pulled you down the stairs. How’s your side? Stitches again? And the thigh? Were you treated well at the hospital? Did Hellion stay with you the whole time? Were they able to re-stitch the worst of it?” He was moving around me like a hummingbird, but when he began to lift my shirt to look at the newly sutured wound, I balked.

“Hands off, Mark,” I said gently. I stepped out of his reach and his face fell. “I’m not mad at you, though I have to admit I’m curious. Why did you come get me and not Hellion?”

“The doorbells chimed and when I opened the door, the man fell inside. He was bloodied and attempting to get inside the house and I wasn’t sure where to grab him that wouldn’t cause him further harm. He dragged himself into the parlor,” Mark said, swallowing hard. “I was just about to call for help when he whispered your name.”
 

I knew the supe communities were well aware that I’d arrived, but this was the first time anyone had individually sought me out. I wasn’t exactly sure what to do and wished silently for Bahlin’s experience. Maybe when I got over being pissed at him for stealing my mortality I’d be able to ask for his help. I doubted I had that long to wait, though.

“I should have asked for Hellion, but there was this, this
desperation
about the man. I’m so—”

“Mark, it’s fine. Don’t sweat it, okay? You made a judgment call, and assuming the guy’s come to see me in a matter of justice, it was the right one since the guy was asking for me. Where is he, by the way?” I started walking toward the spare guest room and Mark’s hand shot out and grabbed my arm with force. I looked over my shoulder and leveled a hard look at him.

“I think you should wait for Hellion.” He did his best to look authoritative, but he came up far short of what it would take to stop me at that point in the day.

“With all due respect, I’ve about had enough of people telling me what to do.” His hand fell away, and I stalked into the only guestroom on the first floor.

The man in the bed looked up at me and I stopped abruptly, unable to do anything other than stare. Despite the wounds that were clearly healing, he was arrestingly beautiful. Not handsome—beautiful. I stared openly and he let me, neither of us saying a word. He was tall, though how tall it was impossible to tell since he’d been hunched over the only time I’d seen him standing. He was elegantly muscled with long arms ending in pianist’s hands. His hair was a deep auburn and his face was lovely, but details escaped me because of his eyes. His eyes were the color of aged whiskey that defied mundane nature. They held intelligence and patience, humor and kindness. It was sort of awkward to be staring at him like this, but it seemed impossible to stop.

He lifted the hand on his good arm and motioned me forward. “Come to me, Maddy.”

I shook my head at the same time I took the first step toward him. My feet continued to move as my mind and body warred over what was in my best interest. I managed to force my feet to stop only when I leaned back far enough it was either stop or tip over.

The man sighed and smiled. “You take so little on faith.”

“Faith hasn’t done a lot for me so far.”

He frowned, brows drawing together as he considered me. “I beg to differ. You’ve had quite a life.”

“You don’t know me well enough draw that conclusion.” My voice lashed out harder than necessary, but I knew with certainty that he hadn’t earned the right to discuss such a personal matter as faith with me. A little bloodshed would only take him so far in my book.