Wicked Game (38 page)

“What’s happening to him?” Shane asks.

“Same thing that’ll happen to you when Regina bites the dust.” Jim drags Lawrence’s arms behind his back and starts to bind his wrists with the cord.

“They must have all been Gideon’s progeny,” Spencer says.

“They were,” I tell them. “But why hasn’t he been sucked into the void yet?”

“The heart’s got to drain,” Spencer says. “With a staking it’s mighty quick, but a beheading can take a minute.”

I stand slowly and move to Shane’s side. Gideon’s blood has stopped flowing. As we watch, his body starts to turn inward, folding into the stump of his neck.

I cover my face. “Shane, you don’t want to see it.”

“I have to,” he whispers. “I did this.”

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t see it.” I tug on his arm, but he resists. At our feet, Lawrence starts to moan and shake. His cries are echoed upstairs. “Shane, please.”

“Go if you want.” His gaze is fixed on Gideon. “I’m staying.”

Gideon’s head starts to slide across the floor, drawn into the vortex of his corpse.

From above, Travis begins to shriek. The sound isn’t human, isn’t animal, isn’t even something in-between. It’s the sound of hell. I cover my ears and lurch up the stairs.

In the middle of the living room floor, the detective lies in the fetal position, ripping at the front of his shirt and emitting a high, rusted screech. Monroe kneels beside him to grab his wrists, murmuring low, soothing words to the young vampire. I notice his own leg has a solid circle of blood—no longer flowing—perhaps the result of the other gunshot. Lori huddles in the corner, face buried in her arms.

Wallace and Jacob, Gideon’s other two progeny, writhe and scream on their stomachs, hands bound behind their backs. Regina guards them, insufficiently armed with a
pair of stakes. Two large pistols fitted with silencers sit on the dining room table. The radio is still playing, the peppy reggae tune oblivious to our drama.

Regina glances nervously at Travis. “Here comes the downside of killing Gideon.”

Travis’s eyes bulge, and his neck seems to contract around his throat, cutting off breath. He rolls on his back, spasming like a poisoned bug.

But the worst is what appears beneath his torn shirt. The skin above his heart twists and pulls as if an unseen hand is trying to tear it off. A great purple stain spreads across his chest, widening like a pool of blood under a murder victim.

Franklin opens the front door. His truck is parked on the lawn near the porch, engine running. I follow him back down to the basement, relieved to have a purpose.

Slightly more alert now, David groans when Spencer picks him up. As directed, I hold his head firm against Spencer’s shoulder while Franklin keeps the pressure on his wound. I don’t even glance behind me at Shane and what’s left of Gideon. The popping, hissing, cracking sound is enough.

“Ciara … ” David whispers as we carefully maneuver over the foyer landing and out the front door.

“Don’t talk.” We pass my Control guard, sprawled on his back in the bushes, the porch light revealing a neat hole in the center of his forehead. “Oh, no.”

“What?” David rasps.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Franklin says.

I climb into the truck ahead of David and steady him as Spencer lays him on the narrow backseat of Franklin’s truck.

David lifts a hand to me. “Do you want the job or not?”

“Now’s not a great time to ask that.” I place his hand back on his chest. “My dad ratted you out to Gideon.”

He shuts his eyes. “Shouldn’t have told.”

“No, you shouldn’t have trusted him. But everyone does. You’re just the latest in a long line of—” I decide not to finish the sentence.

“Suckers,” he whispers.

Spencer opens the door on my side and motions for me to get out so he can take my place.

I hop out, then turn quickly to David. “Hey, this means we can go back to being the Lifeblood of Rock ‘n’ Roll.”

He gives me a weak thumbs-up as Spencer shuts the door.

As I move away from the truck, a sudden shivering movement from below catches my eye. I look down in time to see the blotches of Gideon’s blood fly off my shoes toward the house. They squeeze through the screen and disappear within.

My knees weaken, but the sound of Travis screaming forces me to keep moving. I rush back into the house just as Shane comes up the stairs to the foyer, his face paler than I’ve ever seen it.

“He’s gone,” he whispers, then looks down to see the sword still in his left hand. I take it from him gently, avoiding the long black burns on his arms, and lead him upstairs.

Travis utters a long wail that seems to echo between the walls of the house even as it fades. He falls silent and still. After a few moments, he draws a sudden, sharp breath, then another, until he’s panting wildly. Jacob and Wallace lie unconscious.

Regina kneels to examine them. “They’ll be okay, unfortunately. I should have staked them while they were awake. Wouldn’t be sporting now.” A loud
thup!
comes from the bottom of the stairs. Regina looks down over the railing. “Hm. I guess Jim doesn’t agree.”

In a few moments, Jim saunters up the stairs carrying the crossbow in one hand and a blood-tipped arrow in the other.

He sees us staring at him. “What? I didn’t like the way that guy pushed me around. Sue me for having pride.” He reloads the crossbow at the top of the stairs and looks at Wallace and Jacob. “Should I waste these other two?”

“No,” Shane says. “There’s been enough death for one day.”

“Not quite.” Regina kneels next to Travis, who lies slumped on his side. “I don’t think our little friend is going to make it. He’s too young and weak to survive his maker’s death.”

“Unless … ” Monroe lifts his dark gaze to me, then shifts it to Lori, who’s still crouched in the corner.

I take a step forward. “Is there something we can do to save him? We should at least try.”

Jim snickers. “You might change your mind when you hear what it is.”

I look at Travis, gasping like a fish on dry land. “I know what it is.” I close my eyes. “I’ll do it.”

The room is silent for a few moments, until Regina speaks. “You do realize it doesn’t exactly involve a smoothie and a foot massage?”

“I know.” I look at Shane. “Although I wouldn’t mind that as a reward.”

“Ciara, are you sure?” He comes to my side. “This is the guy who tried to kill you.”

“He couldn’t help it. And he’s one of us now.”

My words play back in my head.
One of us
. Am I one of us? It’s been eight years since I’ve been one of anything.

“Just one condition,” I tell Shane. “It has to be you who makes the—you know.”

He takes my hand. “We’ll do it in David’s room.” He looks at Travis. “Someone bring him. Hurry.”

“I’ll get him,” Jim says.

“Uh-uh.” I hold out my palm. “I’m never having so much as a hangnail in front of you.” I look at Monroe without meeting his gaze. “Please.”

“Lights on or off?” Shane says.

In reply, I pull the cord on David’s bedside lamp. It emits a muted glow through a smoked-glass shade.

Shane lays a dark brown towel in place of one of the pillows. “To get the blood quickly enough to save Travis, I should do the neck. Is that okay?”

“Is it safe?”

“Sure.” He touches my throat. “I’ll nick the external jugular. It’s small, right near the surface so there won’t be much pain. No muscle to go through. It’s safe as long as you lie down.”

I nod, hoping I don’t pass out. I lie down on my right side with my back to the center of the bed. “Gideon was going to bite my neck, but we were standing up.”

“Really?” Shane stretches out facing me. “Interesting.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain later. You sure about this?” he asks again.

Without gravity to keep it down, my heart has crept up into my esophagus. “No, but I’d be a real bitch to back out now.” I touch his mouth. “Will you be able to, you know—”

“Get it up? Yeah. Fangs are like coughs—they can be voluntary as well as involuntary.”

He draws back his lips, and there they are. I shrink back a few inches just as Monroe lays Travis on the bed behind me.

“Don’t be afraid.” Shane tilts my chin up. “Just breathe deep and slow, and look in my eyes.”

I obey, and feel myself start to fall. Shane turns loose the same hypnotic power he showed that first night outside the library, when he was trying to convince me of his monstrous nature. Every moment since then he’s been more than human with me. Now the blue of his irises holds an ocean that promises a trip to another world if I just dive in.

My pulse slows. My muscles slacken. My mouth opens. Shane leans in and covers it with his own, lips soft and full, tongue soothing rather than demanding. My skin grows warm with a languid desire, my body melding into his.

His lips leave my mouth, caress the edge of my jaw, and finally reach my throat. His tongue searches for the heat of my pulse, and I don’t even flinch. I’m not afraid. I can do this. I probably won’t even scream.

A sudden pain pierces my throat. Its electric echo shoots down my spine and up into my skull.

I scream, but just a little.

Shane’s hand tightens on my hip to hold me still, while the other strokes the back of my neck. I focus on the touch of his fingers, letting my awareness shrink to
those inches of skin, rather than those that are protesting this violation of flesh.

He groans deep in his throat, as he did when he bit Deirdre. I remember wishing I could make him make that noise.

His fangs withdraw. The pain subsides slightly. A trickle of warm liquid travels down my neck. Shane catches it with his tongue and gives a long, heavy exhale.

“You don’t have to enjoy this quite so much,” I remind him.

He glances at my face. “Sorry.” He places his hand against my neck, below the wound—catching the blood, I assume. Then he reaches over me toward Travis. “Come on, drink.” He sighs and pulls back. “He’s too out of it.” He nods to Monroe. “Sit him up.”

Shane bends over my neck again. “I have to get it in him directly, like with a baby bird. Once he wakes up, he can drink on his own.”

He puts his mouth to my throat and this time manages to hold back sounds of ecstasy. I notice he doesn’t touch the wound itself, only the trickle of blood as it flows away.

Without swallowing, he sits up and leans across me, where Monroe holds Travis. He takes the semiconscious vampire’s face in his hands and kisses him. His tongue moves in the other man’s mouth, delivering the life-giving blood.

If it weren’t my blood, it would be totally hot.

A few moments later, Shane breaks the kiss, then tilts Travis’s chin up and strokes his throat. “Swallow, damn it.”

Travis’s lashes flutter, and his lips smack ever so
slightly. He swallows, then draws in a sharp breath. Monroe and Shane share a sigh of relief.

Shane tilts me to lie almost on my back. I feel the weight of Travis next to me on the mattress.

“Easy, son,” Monroe murmurs. Cold lips touch the side of my neck, where the blood is dribbling slowly, like a broken water fountain. I wince at the pain the new pressure brings.

Shane squeezes my knee. “Back in a sec.” He hurries to the bathroom, where sounds of mouth-rinsing ensue. I close my eyes and wait for his return.

“That was considerate,” I say when he sits beside me again.

He shrugs. “I like to think of myself as a Sensitive New Age vampire.” He checks Travis’s progress, then says to Monroe, “You should probably go check on the others, make sure Regina and Jim haven’t dismembered anyone.”

Monroe leaves without a word. “It’s weird,” I tell Shane. “The two guys who saved me from Travis are helping him drink from me now.”

“Oh, the irony.”

I feel a strong desire for small talk. “So how’s Deirdre?”

“Good, or so I hear. She’s with Jim now. I told you last month I wasn’t going to drink any more women.”

“Only if I agreed to be your girlfriend.”

“I preempted you.”

“Oh.” I would feel warm and toasty inside if a vampire weren’t slurping my collarbone. “Did you get any good men out of your trades?”

“There’s one really cool guy from Pittsburgh. We’ve scheduled a couple of visits when the Steelers play
Monday Night Football
. He’s got cable.”

“Is he cute?”

“He’s sixty-three.”

“Eww. I mean, oh.”

The pain spikes, making my eyes water. I cry out.

“Hey!” Shane’s hand flashes out and eases Travis’s head away from my throat. “What did we teach you about sucking?”

“Sorry,” Travis croaks, then goes back to licking my neck.

I wipe my eyes, resisting the urge to jump up and run away. “What’s wrong with sucking?”

“It can damage the wound and make it more in-fectible.”

My stomach flips over and my head goes sloshy. “Quick, tell me a story so I don’t hork.”

Shane lies beside me. I can’t see him now without turning my head, which hurts to do, so I just look at the ceiling.

“I’ll tell you about April 5, 1995.”

My eyes widen. “I didn’t mean
the
story.”

“Do you want to hear it or not?”

I touch his chest. “If you want to tell me.”

He takes a few deep breaths. “I didn’t want to live,” he says finally. “The reasons aren’t important. Basically, my life sucked, and I was on the wrong medication. Same sad story of a million depressives.”

I close my eyes and listen. It’s like hearing his voice on the radio again, except this time his words really are just for me. Even Travis seems to swallow more quietly out of respect.

“Then I met Regina,” Shane continues. “She understood how much I wanted to be released from this shitty
world, from the pain that had become the only thing I knew. The same darkness was in her.” He scoffs. “Or so I thought. She was a vampire, she had to be dark, right?”

“One would assume.”

“I struggled with it. I hadn’t been to mass in years, but I prayed for the strength to live, for a sign that I belonged here. I never got either. So I asked Regina to kill me.” He runs his fingers through my hair, soothing the muscles at my temple. “Guess I should’ve picked a more reliable method.”