EDGE OF NIGHT

by Rae Morgan, Emma Sinclair, Sherrill Quinn

  He opened his eyes to find Fairchild had scooted across the floor and now held the gun in both trembling hands, pointing it directly at them.

  Jack quickly pushed Bree behind him, putting one arm out to the side to corral her.

  "You're a fucking monster," Fairchild muttered, getting to his feet. He put one hand on the wall to steady himself, but it quickly went back to support his gun hand once he was upright. "I don't know what you are, but you're going to die."

  Jack raised an eyebrow. "And you think you've the stones to do it, do you?"

  "I'm not as easily spooked as that so-called professional I hired," he muttered. "Fucking loser."

  "It seems to me, mon ami, that Ernie was the smart one. Your bullets cannot harm me."

  "Fuck you."

  Jack's lips peeled back over his fangs.

  Fairchild shouted and pulled the trigger. The retort of the gun was loud, as was the one that followed.

  Jack flinched at the bullets striking him. He was about to spring forward, to rip the gun from Fairchild's hand—or rip out his fucking throat—when another man's voice sounded.

  "Matthias Jeremiah Fairchild. Put down the damned gun."

  Fairchild jerked around.

  Jack kept Bree behind him, but heard her whispered, "Mr. Fairchild."

  "Dad!" Matthias Fairchild drew in a breath. "I have to do it. She'll ruin us."

  "No. You ruined us. Damn, boy, I thought I'd taught you better." Jeremiah Fairchild walked into the cabin with calm steps. His silver hair was still thick, combed back neatly from his forehead. His shoulders were slightly stooped and he, too, held a gun in one hand. "Don't make me hurt you, son."

  Matthias gave a sharp laugh that held no humor. "Yeah, I've heard that before, Dad. Usually right before you chop me off at the knees over something you think I've handled wrong."

  "You think you're handling this right?"

  "I'm handling it the only way it can be handled." Matthias turned back toward Jack and Bree.

  "Son, I'm warning you..."

  Matthias lifted his gun and aimed at Jack.

  The gun went off, and Jack tensed. When the bullet didn't strike him, he frowned. Matthias turned toward his father and that was when Jack saw the red stain blossoming on the other man's shirt, high up on his right shoulder blade.

  "Dad?" Matthias took a tottering step forward, then groaned and fell to the floor.

  Jeremiah lifted his gaze from his son to Jack and Bree, who was peeking over Jack's shoulder.

  "Mr. Fairchild," she murmured.

  A heavy sigh left the old man. "Ms. Dempsey, I don't know that I can apologize enough for what my son put you through. Here." He fished in his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a flash drive.

  When neither she nor Jack moved to take it from him, he gave a slight smile and placed the small portable drive on the end table, then set his gun beside it. "That's a copy of what you had hidden in your office, what the young Mr. Mortimer left you. After I overheard the conversation between my son and the assassin he hired...” He paused to shoot a reprimanding look at Matthias. ”I retrieved this from your office."

  When she made a squeaking noise, he smiled. "It wasn't hard to find, m'dear. You're not devious enough to find a really good hiding place. And I mean that as a sincere compliment." He squatted beside his son and pressed his hand over the wound to stem the flow of blood, which Jack could see had already begun to slow.

  "I have the original," the old man went on, "which I will turn over to the authorities when they arrive."

  His eyes shone with tears as he looked again at his son. "I guess I was enjoying my retirement too much," he murmured with a shake of his head. "I didn't know what he was doing until it was too late."

  Bree pushed Jack's restraining arm away from her and went to Fairchild Senior. Kneeling beside him, she pressed one hand on his shoulder. She looked at Jack, compassion for the old man bright in her eyes. "Why don't you call 911? I'll stay with Jeremiah."

  Jack nodded and headed toward the hall phone. Dialing the emergency number, he kept his gaze on Bree and Fairchild. The dispatcher came on the line and Jack gave her the pertinent details in an abrupt voice. All he wanted was for Bree finally to be safe.

  Even if that meant he would leave her.

  Chapter Ten

  The police and paramedics had come and gone, the former taking the old man with them, the latter carting off Fairchild Junior. Jack had remained invisible, and Jeremiah had agreed to the story that only Bree had been at the cabin. Now, Jack and Bree sat on the sofa, not saying much, content merely to be in each other's arms.

  Bree had ensconced Oscar in the master bedroom, cooing over her brave baby until Jack had laughed and made her leave the dog alone. They'd closed the door behind them so Oscar could rest undisturbed.

  For his part, Jack was enjoying what he knew would be the last time he would hold her. That he hadn't yet been recalled surprised him, but he thought perhaps Michael had gotten soft in the latter eons of his life. After all, look what he'd done for Damon—granting him his humanity again after four hundred years.

  Jack had no expectations of the same reward. After all, he'd been at this gig not even hundred and fifty years yet. He still had a long way to go before he racked up the number of saved innocents that Damon had.

  "Jack? What's wrong?"

  He gently kissed along Bree's jaw line, lingering on the sensitive skin under her ear until he heard her breathy moan. Drawing back, he looked into her eyes. “Nothing is wrong, chérie," he answered. "Merely a momentary unhappy thought. At the sight of your smile, voilà!" He gave a snap of his fingers. "It's gone."

  Bree grinned and playfully smacked his arm. "For a supernatural being, you are so silly sometimes. Anyway, I thought Frenchmen were suave and debonair." She stood up, her fingers going to the belt at her waist.

  His gaze focused on her hands. God above, she was beautiful, and he desired her like no other. He could tell she felt empowered by his reaction to her in the way her eyes sparkled. That he lusted after her was never in question, but he didn’t want to hurt her and so held something of himself in check.

  "Some Frenchmen are irreverent and young at heart, never quite growing up," he said in response to her flippant remark.

  "Or growing old," came a sultry voice from the doorway into the kitchen.

  Jack jumped off the sofa as that well-remembered and much-hated voice echoed in his soul. Lilith. How was it he had not felt her presence?

  "Hello, Lilith," he said in wary greeting, and moved to shield Bree from the amoral demon.

  A hard smile played about Lilith's lips as she walked forward. Apparently, there were to be no preliminaries, for her eyes were already the molten gold of the lamia. "Introduce me to your friend, Jacques." Her tone was cold. Harsh. Unforgiving.

  He stepped more fully in front of Bree, putting his arm out when she would have stepped around him. "No, Lilith. Whatever is between us is exactly that—between us. Brianna has nothing to do with any of it."

  "Brianna?" Lilith's tongue forked out, testing the air, tasting the fear he could not hide. Not fear for himself, but for the precious human behind him. The lamia narrowed her eyes at his continued resistance. "Brianna," she repeated. "What a sweet name. Come out and play, Brianna."

  "I don't think so." Bree clutched the back of his shirt, for once being cooperative with his desire to protect her by staying behind him. "Isn't it enough I've already had two people try to kill me today?" she muttered behind his back. Her voice held its customary bravado, though he could sense the mounting fear in her tone. "I have to deal with a snake-woman, too?"

  Lilith glided closer, evil emanating from her with insidious coils. "Oh, I'm not here for you, my dear. Though I'm sure you would make a tasty enough treat."

  Jack kept his gaze on the creature standing before him. Reptilian eyes gazed steadfastly at him, their golden irises enthralling in their brilliance. "Keep her out of this, Lilith," he warned. "From this I will not me
rely walk away."

  The other hissed, nose-to-nose with him in her fury. "You will never walk away from me again, Jacques Gerrard. Never! And this one will rue the day she was born." She stalked a few paces away, turning back to pin him with her heated gaze. She paused, studying the two of them.

  She trilled a shriek of inhuman laughter. "She has not fully embraced what you are, has she, Jack? This little girl is not brave enough to accept the monster in you. It is too much!"

  Lilith glanced over his shoulder at Bree, and laughed again. Her mood swiftly changed, eyes narrowing with hatred. "I have not forgotten that once I had gifted you with immortality, you spurned my love. I vowed to destroy you for that. And I will."

  With preternatural speed she closed the distance between them and slashed across his jugular with one deadly, clawed hand.

  He heard Bree's scream as he fell to the floor, hands holding his throat in a vain attempt to stop his life's blood from draining from his body. Lilith barely glanced at Bree before kneeling beside him.

  She drew her fingers through the crimson pool already forming next to his head, and brought them to her mouth. Closing her eyes, she slowly licked the blood off one finger, then another, savoring the taste of him. "You taste as good as I remember, mon cher," she murmured. Bending down, she kissed him hard on the mouth, holding his head between strong hands.

  "Get the hell away from him!" Bree's voice was full of fear, but it was strong and sure just the same.

  Lilith turned her head. "And just what will you do if I do not, little mortal?" She rose to her feet.

  In response, Bree grabbed the lamp from the end table and smashed it over the lamia's head.

  Lilith lost her footing and went sliding across the floor, only to bounce to her feet with a laugh. "Is that the best you have? Foolish girl."

  She was on Bree in less than a second, her hand reaching out to strike her across the face. Bree went flying and smashed into the wall with a hard thud and a loud cry. When she fell to the floor, she lay there, a dazed and pained look on her face.

  Lilith returned to Jack, straddling his stomach. He lay acquiescent beneath her, afraid to further anger her for fear of what she might do to Bree.

  Lilith drew back with a snarl. "Even as your last few precious drops of life flow from your body, your thoughts are of her." She rose fluidly to her feet, laughing with shrill evil as Bree scooted away from her. "It is fitting that your last memory be of the woman who loves you and could save you, but will not because she fears you and is repulsed by you."

  She sauntered to the door, looking back once more to blow him a kiss. "Au revoir, Jacques Gerrard." She looked regretful for a moment and then her face hardened. "We could have been so good together. Ah, well, c'est la vie." She turned her back and was gone.

  He lay silent a few moments longer, to be certain the lamia had truly left, then turned his head carefully to gaze at Bree. His heart twisted at the sight of the fat tears rolling down her face.

  Her skin was blanched with shock and horror, pain in her eyes as she rubbed her head where it had smacked into the wall. Her gaze was fixed on the empty doorway with reluctant fascination and no small amount of fear.

  He closed his eyes against the emotional pain gripping his soul. As he felt the gathering darkness waiting to enfold him in its coldness, he opened them again. He wanted his vision to be filled with his beautiful Brianna until he could see no more.

  Bree moved nearer. After a brief hesitation, she dropped to her knees next to him. She touched his cold shoulder and whispered, "You're dying, aren't you, Jack?" Her eyes glittered with tears.

  He smiled briefly, admiring her courage, loving her strength and compassion. "Oui, chérie." Jack gave a simple answer to her question.

  "I don't understand. I thought, as a Protector, you were immortal."

  He licked across his dry lips. Though it hurt to talk, he would give her the explanation she deserved. "She is the one who made me, so she is also the one who can... unmake me."

  She swallowed. "What did she mean, that I could save you?"

  "She meant nothing by it, chérie." He would not endanger her life to save his own.

  His love squeezed his shoulder. "What did she mean, Jack?" Her expression turned intense. "I can save you by giving you my blood, can't I? Can't I!" she demanded when he remained silent.

  He remembered—and inwardly cursed—her quick mind. "Yes!" he hissed in despair. "You can save me by giving me your blood. But my wound is such that it would require I drain you to the point of death, and I would have to make you what I am. I will not do that. You deserve more."

  Especially since he'd be moving on after this assignment. He would not curse her to live alone as a vampire. He would accept eternal damnation before he hurt her.

  "She was wrong, you know." Bree's voice was soft but held a thread of steel in the tone.

  Jack stared at her, his gaze drinking in her beauty one last time. "Wrong about what?"

  "I'm not repulsed by you. And remember, I'm not afraid of a vampire who pouts."

  Jack's laugh turned into a cough. "Ah, chérie. I love you. My life is the richer for having known you."

  Bree narrowed her eyes. Her earlier thoughts came back to her. She wanted to be with Jack forever, and here was her chance. Her only chance, she knew, as his eyes closed once again. She refused to think what her decision would mean to her immortal soul.

  "You are not going to die on me," she muttered, getting to her feet. Before she could change her mind, she ran into the kitchen and grabbed a paring knife.

  Running back into the living room, she dropped to her knees beside Jack. His eyes were still closed and her heart stopped when she thought she was too late. But, no, his arm stirred, then a leg. There was still time.

  Biting her lip, she drew the blade across her wrist, crying out at the pain. She paused, wondering if she were doing the right thing and, without thinking, reached out tenderly to brush hair off his forehead. She loved him.

  Yes, she was doing the right thing.

  She placed her bleeding wrist to his lips, wincing when his hands instinctively latched painfully onto her arm to hold it in place as he suckled heavily. Soon lethargy set in and she couldn't remain sitting upright. She lay down on her side next to Jack while he continued to feed. She was amazed at how erotic it was—she could feel the ebb and flow of her blood in the deepest places inside her. She had a brief, momentary panic that she was losing too much, but it faded even as her languor increased.

  As his strength returned to him, Jack became aware by degrees that he was feeding from a human. When he realized it was his sweet Bree, he thrust her arm away from him in utter self-loathing. He truly was a monster to attack the one he loved most in his ill-begotten world.

  The damage was done, damn his soul. Her eyes were closed, pale skin mute testament to the horrendous amount of blood loss she'd experienced. Her respiration was reed-thin and barely discernible.

  He was a monster. To deprive her of life blindly and thoughtlessly so he could continue his wretched existence was an abomination. He was an abomination.

  Jack didn't want to condemn her to live a life of darkness, yet he could not, would not, let her die. There really was only one option left him.

  He must bring her over.

  Bringing his wrist to his mouth, he slashed across the veins with his fangs, and held the bleeding wound to her mouth. Her lips parted at the first drop of blood, and he stroked her throat to encourage her to swallow as more of his life-essence dripped into her mouth.

  It required a relatively small amount, and soon he gathered her into his arms. They needed to leave this place in case Lilith decided to return. It wouldn't take her long to sense he still lived, and he wanted to put some distance between them and make it harder for the lamia to track them.

  Jack carried Bree to her car and placed her gently in the passenger seat. After he buckled her in, he returned to the house. Going into the bedroom, he carefully picked up Oscar. H
e looked around and decided not to worry about leaving any of Bree's things behind. If luck was on their side, they could return later to get whatever she wanted.

  Once he'd ensconced Oscar in the back of the car, he drove the car away from the cabin. He knew of another place they could go, farther away and in a big city where the sheer size of the population would help mask their scent.

  It had been close to seventy years since he'd been behind the wheel of a car, and they were quite a bit different now than when he'd learned to drive on one of his earliest assignments. After a few near misses, however, his driving skills came back to him.

  He drove through the night, periodically checking on Bree as she slept in the front seat. When he reached Chicago, he pulled up to a well-known chain hotel. Leaving Bree and Oscar in the car, he went inside. Using both his Protector abilities and his vampire magic, he convinced the hotel clerk that he'd presented appropriate identification and had paid in advance for the room. Once he'd registered them as Mr. and Mrs. Michaels—and he was sure he'd hear about that—he drove the car around to their room.

  Jack got out of the car and opened the back door. Once he'd lifted Oscar down, he made sure the dog could walk on his own and then went around to get Bree. She didn't even stir as he eased her out of the car and into his arms. He swiped the key card and pushed open the door.

  Going into the room, he placed his precious burden gently on the king-sized bed. Reaching out, he flicked on the bedside lamp. She stirred and opened her eyes as he sat next to her on the rich emerald-green coverlet.

  Bree blinked slowly, smiling softly as she was able to focus on Jack's handsome face. His hazel eyes were shadowed with concern and something else. Regret? She reached out and brushed the stubborn lock of dark hair from his forehead, her fingers tingling at the contact. "What do you regret, Jack?"

  His eyes met hers unflinchingly, though he seemed to withdraw into himself. "You are not as you were, chérie."