“Shit.” She pressed her hand onto the hole to gauge its depth. He let out a low hiss from the pain.
She grabbed her now blood-covered shawl from the chair and wrapped the material tight around his shoulder to slow the bleeding. Man, she looked like an angel as she cared for him. His heart thudded against his rib cage. He couldn’t be sure whether it was Tiffany or the blood he’d lost that was making him delirious.
“Damon, we have to get out of here. All you have to do is make it to the car. All right?”
He clenched his teeth and nodded. With her help, he stumbled to his feet and hobbled from the room as fast as he could, though he was teetering on the brink of passing out. Loud gasps and shrieks filled the restaurant as Tiffany led him out the front door, holding his arm around her shoulder to help steady him.
The sweet smells of food faded from his nose, and the fresh air of the cold Rochester night blasted him in the face. He coughed, fighting to breathe. “S-s-sorry I ruined your dinner.” He was trying to joke even as his vision spun. He wanted to be strong for her, show her it was okay.
Tiffany joked back. “Oh, yeah, I was really looking forward to some of that pink Himalayan crap.” She forced a small smile.
But hard as she tried, even in his fading consciousness, she couldn’t fool him. Her eyes told him everything. He knew how she felt...and she was terrified.
CHAPTER 10
A large mountain of sailor-level profanities wouldn’t have been enough to express the deep shit Tiffany was in. Damon slumped against her shoulders more heavily each minute, quickly losing blood. He needed to get to a hospital as soon as possible. The bleeding wasn’t slowing, despite the makeshift pressure bandage she’d placed on it.
As if that wasn’t enough, pure horror clutched her hard as she stared at the familiar face looking at her from inside Caius’s Bugatti Veyron, the metallic finish of the limited edition Pur Sang glaring beneath the orange streetlights. Damn it all to hell.
Caius had brought his vampire chauffeur.
Carl looked at her and Damon, taking in all the blood. His eyes widened, and she could practically see the lightbulb flicker on inside his head. Once an average man who’d served as Caius’s Host back in N.Y.C., Carl flashed his elongated fangs. He’d been a vampire for two years, and there was nothing average about him any longer. A fiery blaze lit behind his eyes. His master was dead, and he knew it.
If Carl reported Caius’s murder to the local nest, the death would infuriate the local vamps. With every vampire in the city on their tail, Tiffany and Damon would be dead within hours. And apparently Carl knew that, as well, because he ripped his gaze away from them and shifted the Bugatti into Drive.
Shit.
Damon groaned and swayed, barely holding himself upright as Tiffany released his weight. Pushing aside his leather trench coat, she snatched the Desert Eagle and her stake from his belt. She wasn’t bad with guns, but she sure as hell wasn’t a sharpshooter.
Still, she had to try.
Carefully but quickly aiming, she shot at the passenger-side rear tire. Her bullet hit the diamond-cut finish of the hubcap and ricocheted
Damn.
She squeezed the trigger again, hitting closer to the hubcap.
Come on, just a little closer.
She held her arms steady as the Bugatti rounded a corner.
Last chance.
One eye closed for a more accurate aim, she pulled the trigger for a third time.
The rear tire of the Bugatti exploded. Rubber flew in all directions. The awful scrape of metal against concrete hit her ears, more nerve-racking than nails on a chalkboard. She gripped Damon’s elbow and pulled him forward.
“Come on, Damon. You have to run.”
She kicked off her heels and bolted full speed toward the damaged car. Like a champ, Damon jogged behind her despite his bleeding wound. Carl threw open the door, briefly locked eyes with her then ran full speed down the nearest alley. A grin crossed Tiffany’s face. He was fast, but not fast enough. He might be strong compared to what he’d been like as a human, but he wasn’t nearly as strong and fast as an ancient master like Caius. Having been the star of her high school track team never failed to be useful when hunting.
A loud groan echoed from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Damon crumple to his knees. All the color had drained from his face, leaving his lips a pale white. He gasped for air. Tiffany skidded to a stop. Should she give up the chase?
The image of the victims’ mauled flesh seared its way to the surface of her mind. If she didn’t stop Carl, the news of Caius’s death would race through Rochester like wildfire, and there would be no way in hell she and Damon could ever destroy the viral bloodsuckers before the virus spread out of control.
Damon was a hunter, a member of the Execution Underground. His wounds would heal.
She ran after Carl.
Bursting into the alley, she spotted the vamp racing along the far side, in the shadow of an office building. She launched herself into a full-on sprint. The muscles of her legs burned in protest, and the freezing concrete tore through the bottoms of her feet.
But she had an advantage: Carl didn’t think she could take him.
When the leech reached the end of the alley, instead of rounding the corner onto the next block, he halted. Spinning to face her, he bared his fangs and hissed. The bastard was fooling himself if he thought she was scared. Two minutes of sitting with Caius across the dinner table was scarier than this guy threatening to kill her. The man couldn’t weigh more than one-seventy soaking wet. It wasn’t him she was scared of, it was what his words could do.
Before she stopped running, the vampire lunged. He knocked her to the ground, snapping viciously at her neck as he writhed on top of her. Really? That was all he could do?
She jammed her elbow upward and clocked him straight in the jaw. His head flew backward, and before he could return to attack she pulled the Desert Eagle and fired a shot straight into his forehead. The kick from the larger-than-average gun slammed her shoulder against the pavement. The wind rushed from her lungs. That was going to hurt in the morning. The monster screamed, falling onto the ground in pain as blood and brain fluid seeped from his head. Though the wound sealed itself within seconds, he clearly wasn’t used to being shot in the head.
Wimp.
As he clutched his healing skull, she threw her body weight forward and landed on top of him, her stake held tight. He gripped her neck, cutting off her breath and holding her off him, but not before she positioned the stake between her breasts. With all the strength she possessed, she contracted her abs and shoved the weight of her chest downward. The sharp end of the stake pierced his skin and into his flesh.
He released her throat and grabbed her shoulders in an attempt to push her off, but it was too late. One more good shove and her weapon sank through to his heart. His undead body shattered in a burst of blood, and she flopped onto the concrete. Her elbows scraped the asphalt, and fresh blood coated her hair, face and dress.
For a moment she lay sprawled on the pavement. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart thumped, and she felt a slight soreness in her chest where she’d braced her weapon as she stabbed Carl. There was sure to be one hell of a bruise there later. The skin of her elbows burned, and she let out a small groan.
Her lids shot open.
Damon.
She scrambled up from the pavement and ran back down the alley. A small cry ripped from her lips as she rounded the corner. Damon was lying on the cold winter ground, unmoving. She rushed to his side. Her heart stopped, and bile rose in the back of her throat. She couldn’t tell if he was even breathing.
Dislodging his arm from beneath the dead weight of his body, she fingered his wrist, searching for a pulse. A faint beat still remained, though she could tell it was quickly fading
.
Somewhere in her mind, she was vaguely aware of the sound of her own screaming as she pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911. She tried desperately to lift him. They needed to get out of there so the cops, who were surely headed to the restaurant already, couldn’t find them. All she needed was an ambulance. Tears streamed down her face, clouding her vision. She couldn’t think straight. Only one thought held firm in her mind.
She’d left B to die....
* * *
An incessant beeping noise echoed in Damon’s ears. It sounded in rhythm with every thump of his heart. The pounding in his head matched his pulse.
Man, he felt like shit.
A blinding light hovered overhead, but his vision was so blurred that he couldn’t tell what it was. He squeezed his eyes shut. It felt as if there was tubing in his nostrils. Though his arm weighed a thousand pounds, or at least it felt like it, he gripped the thin tube and ripped it away from his face.
“Damon, no!” a panicked voice cried.
The smell of antiseptic assaulted his nose. It smelled as nasty as a...
His eyes shot opened, and he frantically scanned the hospital room. He was wearing an awful white hospital gown, barely long enough to cover his upper thighs. Before he could say anything, the smell of Tiffany’s sweet vanilla perfume wafted into his nose and her arms were wrapped around his neck. The smell was comforting, bringing to mind memories of the perfume-scented letters she used to send him.
Her body shook as she cried into his shoulder.
He blinked, taking it all in, before he gripped her by the waist and dragged her from the chair beside him onto the bed. She sat next to him, tears filling her honey-colored eyes.
“What in blazing hell is going on?”
Her lip trembled before she burst into another round of tears.
Damn it.
Pulling her into his arms, he cradled her against his chest. Though she’d obviously washed herself off, her gown was crusted with blood, but damn, the slinky thing still looked good on her. “Shh. Shh. Stop with the waterworks and tell me what happened.”
She let out one last sniffle and sat up again.
“Are you all right?” he said.
She stared at him for a long moment, then blurted out, “I almost killed you.”
He stared at her as if she’d grown six heads. “What do you mean, you almost killed me?”
He racked his brain, but the last thing he remembered was the pain of his knees hitting the restaurant’s marble floor after he’d killed Caius.
He’d killed Caius.
If he hadn’t been lying in a hospital bed, he might have done a victory dance. Hell, yes. The bloodsucking bastard was dead.
Tiffany wiped her eyes. “After you killed Caius, you’d lost so much blood. I managed to get you out of the restaurant, but then Carl was there.”
“Who the hell is Carl?”
“He is—was—a vampire. He was Caius’s chauffeur.”
“What kind of a vampire name is Carl?” Damon scoffed. He tugged the edges of the hospital gown to make certain he didn’t expose the family jewels for all the world to see. Not that he minded the gorgeous woman next to him getting a full-frontal view.
She gaped. “Who cares how stupid a vampire name Carl is? You almost died!”
Given the pounding in his head, Damon didn’t feel in the mood to bicker. “But I’m not dead, so that’s all that matters.”
Swearing under her breath, Tiffany stood and paced to the other side of the room. Immediately, he wished she hadn’t. The warmth she’d provided slipped away fast, replaced by the coldness of her absence. Why did she have to be so stubborn? He wanted her with him.
He grumbled, “If you want to make up for almost killing me, get back over here where you belong and lie down with me.”
Her whole body stiffened, but she crossed the room and sat back down on the bed. Before she could protest, he lifted her legs onto the mattress and tucked her against his side. She nestled there as if they did this every night. Though he knew he would never have that, at that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“I think that’s the morphine talking,” she whispered. The heat of her breath brushed over his chest like a soft caress.
Morphine? So that was what was giving him that relaxed feeling.
“Nope, it’s that dress. You’re lucky every man in this place hasn’t come on to you. I’m too much of a gentleman for that.”
She giggled, and the swell of her full breasts pushed against his side. Oh, shit. He yanked the covers up to his waist. Whoever thought flimsy hospital gowns were a good idea needed a strong kick in the ass.
“Back to Carl,” Tiffany said. “He would have ratted us out. Every vamp in Rochester would have known we were responsible for Caius’s death, and then, even if we managed to survive, we never would have been able to stop the virus and the murders. I couldn’t let that happen. I was so focused on stopping him that I chased him and left you behind. I staked him, but then, when I came back for you, your heart was barely beating and I had to call an ambulance.”
She twirled a single finger to indicate the room around them. “That’s how we ended up here.” She let out a long sigh. “I thought you would heal quickly—you know, with all the extra Execution Underground abilities—but you didn’t. Joseph said when Caius stabbed you he nicked your brachial artery, which is why you lost so much blood.”
Damon mulled over the current situation. Him in a hospital with all his extra abilities was not good, and that begged the question how Tiffany had explained his injuries, not to mention what she would do about any fallout from what had happened at the restaurant. But most importantly... “Who is Joseph?”
“A guy I knew in undergrad. He’s a couple of years older, so he’s already doing his residency. He’s kind of sweet on me.”
Damon frowned. It didn’t matter whether or not she was his, whether or not she still hated him for what he’d done to Mark, he didn’t want any other man looking at her. He eyed the way she was nuzzling into him. Did she still hate him? He shook his head. The morphine must have hit him harder than he’d thought if he imagined she would ever forgive him for what he’d done.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I told him we were mugged, but I asked him not to call the cops until you woke up. I figured if the cops showed, you’d know how to handle them, but I think we might be able to slip out of here unnoticed before they arrive. I don’t think Joseph bought the mugging explanation for a second, but he’s eager to please me. Plus, I offered him five hundred bucks to keep his mouth shut.”
Damon rubbed the base of his neck to ease the tension. “Where are you going to get that kind of money?”
Shrinking in on herself, Tiffany looked away from him. She was flat broke, and he knew it from the way she’d talked in her letters. Now, with Mark dead, all she was living off of was Mark’s E.U. accidental death insurance.
She bit her lower lip. “Well...I figured you would pay for it.”
He chuckled. “I suppose I can file for reimbursement with the E.U. I’ll make sure to list it under bribery.”
She frowned. “I was trying to help. If I hadn’t brought you here, you would have died. But then...it was my fault you were almost dead to begin with.”
He lifted her chin with two fingers. “As you said, if you hadn’t brought me here I’d be dead, so I’m thankful for that. The E.U. will pay for your friend’s silence and the hospital bills. Not much to worry about.” He paused. “Aside from getting me out of this hellhole.”
She smacked herself in the forehead. “Oh! I forgot you told me you hate hospitals.” She scrambled off the bed and pulled out his clothes from the small closet. “I made sure the EMTs didn’t cut them off you.” She tossed the clothes to him.
“Thanks.”
<
br /> She glanced at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. “You’re welcome.”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. What was that all about? He could tell she was upset, but he wasn’t sure why, and he wasn’t sure how to ask, either. Had he done something awful in his sleep?
He swung his legs off the bed and stood. An IV dangled from his arm. Ugh. There was nothing worse than the poking and prodding of annoying hospital staff. Without flinching, he pulled out the needle. When he faced front again, Tiffany stood in silence, staring at him as he untied the back of his robe.
A sly grin snaked across his face. “Admiring the show?”
Her embarrassed grin coupled with her deep blush was priceless. Her voice came out in a near squeak. “Sorry.” She turned in the opposite direction.
He dropped the hospital robe and examined the bandage across his shoulder. The wound beneath it was probably healing over already. With the extra help from the hospital to keep him breathing, a nick in his artery felt like nothing.
He pulled on his jeans. “You can turn around now. I’m dressed.”
Tiffany faced him, and her blush deepened at the sight of his bare chest. “I thought you said you were dressed?”
“Tiff, you’ve seen a lot more of me than this.”
She bit her lower lip and stared at the floor again. “I know.”
As he pulled on his shirt, he eyed the beautiful woman in front of him. “Do I look anything like you imagined?”
Her head shot up, and she gaped. “Who said I ever imagined you?”
Damon rolled his eyes. “Come on, Tiff. You wrote to me for years. You’re telling me you never once wondered what I looked like?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I imagined a few times.”
“And...?”
She shook her head, flustered. “I don’t know. I guess I imagined you shorter and with more hair. But I was wrong—wrong in a good way.”
He would chop off part of his legs and grow his hair longer if it pleased her. That was the sort of thing he used to say in his letters. As far back as he could remember, he’d always been a quiet person. But over time, when he’d written to Tiffany, he’d begun to confess things to her, to speak to her in ways he’d never spoken to anyone else. In ways he now knew he couldn’t speak to her in person. With the morphine no longer dulling his pain and with all that had happened between them...how could he be the man she’d once cared for when he no longer had her faith to support him?
After Dark Page 23
