Blood Sin (2)

by Marie Treanor

  There was no time for any reply. The vampires approached, beginning at a walk and advancing quickly to a run. Elizabeth raised her stake and released Josh in order to have both arms free.

  “Straight ahead,” she breathed, and launched herself at the first vampire with a scream of pure rage.

  But something was louder than her cry—the crashing of falling masonry as the ceiling began to cave in. Her chosen victim’s distraction gave her an easy kill. Whirling, she spun to face the vampires closing behind her, and found their backs to her. They were watching in stunned amazement as someone fell—no, stepped—through the hole in the ceiling as if descending a staircase.

  He still wore the business suit, minus the constricting jacket. From his long, loose black hair to his shining shoes, he was dazzling. He advanced on those who stood between him and Elizabeth and Josh. “I’m Saloman.”

  Chapter Ten

  To Josh, the advent of a man who resembled Adam Simon via the club roof merely added to his sense of nightmare. None of this could be real: not the bizarre fight, not the murders committed by Elizabeth Silk, of all people, and certainly not the exploding bodies. His subconscious was merely dragging all his acquaintances into his dream.

  And yet somewhere Elizabeth’s last words nagged at him. Even in a dream, surely it wasn’t right that she should be prepared to die to save his skin? But Elizabeth’s mood seemed to change abruptly. The desperate tension he could almost feel as his own suddenly vanished. He even thought he caught a breath of laughter.

  The men between him and the door began another rush, and Josh acted from pure instinct. Apart from childhood scraps, he’d never been much of a fighter, but as two men ran at Elizabeth, he struck out with a fist at the nearest. No doubt his sudden action after prolonged passivity helped, but as his victim fell back under the punch, landing flat on the floor, Josh felt a fierce sense of satisfaction.

  He whirled to discover that Elizabeth had dealt with the second immediate attacker. She stood now back-to-back with the man who looked like Adam Simon. It couldn’t have taken long, maybe only seconds, but Josh found himself watching with fascination as together they performed maneuvers almost like a dance, drawing and repelling attacks until suddenly the way was clear to the door.

  Dante’s friend Travis sat on the floor as if he’d been flung there, observing through narrowed eyes. The man who looked like Adam seized a chair and crashed it over someone’s head. In the same fluid movement, he caught one of the chair’s broken, jagged legs and threw it over his shoulder. Elizabeth caught it deftly and without a word passed it to Josh. Almost numbly, he grasped it.

  Elizabeth nodded, as if in agreement to something he hadn’t heard. “Let’s go,” she said breathlessly, and Josh registered that there was no longer the same desperate grimness in her voice. It was almost as if she were enjoying herself.

  On autopilot, Josh ran with her the length of the room. She kicked open the door, scanning for any new threat; then, for the first time since this began, she seemed to hesitate. She looked over her shoulder, and Josh glanced with her.

  All Travis’s men—or at least those of them who hadn’t disappeared in clouds of dust—still dressed in their ridiculous gangster outfits, were crowding in on the man who looked like Adam. Elizabeth made a tiny movement, as if, after all, she intended to go back, but in the end, with a sound like a strangled sob, she wrenched herself straight and ran on toward the parking lot.

  Josh loped after her, clutching his broken chair leg more like a talisman than a weapon, and when they all but ran into two more men rushing from the parking lot toward the club, it was Elizabeth who stabbed one and kicked out at the other. But her kick never connected. The man was more interested in whatever fight was still going on inside.

  As they ran to his car, Josh noted that Dante’s vehicle had gone. But there was no time to debate what it all meant. If this really wasn’t a dream, the most important thing was to get himself and Elizabeth as far away from here as possible.

  At least he’d found his key and sprang the lock in time for them to leap inside as soon as they reached the car. Without any pause to fasten seat belts, he started the engine, threw it into reverse, and screeched around to speed out of the parking lot, crashing through the closed barrier and out into the road.

  Beside him, Elizabeth said low, “Are you all right to drive?” She was tense again, like a coiled spring, and the fear had returned to her rather beautiful hazel eyes.

  Josh dragged his gaze back to the clamorous traffic, took a deep breath, and forced himself to slow down.

  “Shit,” he breathed, rubbing one still-shaking hand over the back of his sweaty neck before replacing it on the steering wheel. “This isn’t a dream, is it? What the hell just happened, Elizabeth?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I tried to tell you. But some things you just can’t believe until you see them for yourself. It was like that for me too. We just met Travis, the strongest leader of the North American vampires, and his bodyguard. And we were recognized as Tsigana’s descendants. Like I told you, our blood is valuable to them.”

  She dug the back of her head into the headrest. “Bugger, I should have listened. I shouldn’t have gone out.”

  Josh had no idea what she meant by that. But an instant later, she seemed to pull herself together, replacing her wooden stake carefully in her bag before she rummaged for her phone.

  Josh concentrated on driving. What he’d just seen, what he’d seen Elizabeth do back there, needed a lot of processing.

  “Mihaela, it’s me,” she said into her phone. There was a pause, then: “I’m in New York now. Can you find me what you have on the American vampire Travis? With particular reference to a possible relationship with Senator Grayson Dante.”

  Curiously, her matter-of-fact words soothed Josh. Then Elizabeth said, “Maybe, but the American network wouldn’t necessarily give me the info—they don’t know me. You’ll have to do it for me. . . . Yes, I’m afraid it is important, Mihaela, bloody important.” She smiled faintly. “Thanks, you’re wonderful,” she said, and broke the connection.

  Josh began to laugh. Elizabeth glanced at him in alarm, as if afraid he’d cracked. Maybe he had.

  “What?” she demanded. “What is it?”

  “I’ve just realized the really annoying thing about this . . . adventure. We went through all that, and I still don’t have my damned sword.”

  They all had stakes of some kind, many made after Saloman’s own example of a broken chair leg, and Travis was strong enough to pierce his skin. There was no doubt that together they could take him, weaken him with bloodletting where his skin was less tough than over his heart, while gaining greater strength from drinking his blood, pushing a stake farther and farther into his heart until, eventually, he would be sent back into the agonized sleep from which Elizabeth had awakened him less than a year ago.

  They might not know it, of course. Ancient-killing had become something of a lost art in the last three hundred years or so. But Saloman didn’t care to bank on it. He could fight, rely on his greater strength to keep them all at bay while he talked them out of a mutual killing spree, if he could. But their bloodlust was up. Elizabeth and Josh had seen to that, and now, without some kind of powerful jolt, they were unlikely to pay much attention to talk.

  A display of his superior power was clearly necessary. It would weaken him, sap his strength and his ability to fight for much longer, so if his ploy didn’t work, he was, in modern parlance, fucked.

  What is life without risk?

  “Enough!” he roared. He used his thundering tone, the godlike one that echoed around the head as well as the atmosphere. It garnered enough surprised attention. Saloman parted his lips and blew out a howl of rage, sending every vampire in the path of his “breath” flying across the room. Several hit the wall on the far side; the rest crashed into them. Saloman turned his head to ensure that every vampire from Travis down got his fair share.

  “Good,�
�� Saloman said into the stunned silence. “Enough fighting for one day.” His roving gaze, which he made as stern as possible, found Travis, who was picking himself somewhat shakily off the floor. “Forgive the unconventional entrance, but the Awakener is mine, not yours. Fortunately, I don’t bear grudges. Shall we talk?”

  Travis’s gaze flickered around the room, taking in the piles of injured and demoralized vampires around him. Clearly he was a realist. “In my office?” he suggested in the tones he might have used to a favored salesman. “Al—two beers.”

  Saloman’s lips twitched, but he inclined his head with politeness as he preceded the American vampire into his office. At least here the desk and chairs were still usable.

  “I hope your operation is not inconvenienced,” Saloman said, taking the visitor’s seat. It was a relief to sit. The loss of the power used in his little demonstration had left him dizzier than he’d been since Elizabeth awakened him. He needed to feed and rest. But not yet.

  Travis straightened his gangster tie and adjusted his hat to a preferred angle on the back of his blond head. “I don’t mind them having to work. I pay them enough. In dough as well as blood.”

  If he thought to flummox Saloman by his use of old-fashioned slang, he must have been disappointed when Saloman merely smiled.

  “I didn’t expect you,” Travis said, sprawling in his chair. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “I guess you weren’t. I unmasked some time ago, since I had no wish to startle you when I visited.”

  “So you planned a courtesy visit before you smelled the Awakener in my vicinity?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I trust you found my friend Severin quite well.”

  “I found him serene, and his welcome a little more traditional than yours.”

  Something like annoyance flickered in Travis’s blue eyes and vanished, as if he was irritated rather than impressed by Saloman’s openness. Or perhaps he’d wanted to impress Saloman by his powerful sense of smell.

  Travis’s brow cleared again. “Well, now you’re here, what can I do for you?” he asked almost jovially.

  Travis clearly was a vampire who liked to play games. It was no accident that he’d chosen to host an illegal casino. His thoughts were closely shielded, his amiable expression revealing very little. But although he lounged in his chair as if perfectly at ease, the still, tense set of his shoulders gave him away. Travis was suspicious and on edge, as he should be. And as Saloman gazed into his dense eyes, he was pretty sure anger simmered. Travis saw no reason to give up his power, no reason it should be expected of him. He was a modern vampire, living with minimum order only so long as it suited him. His heart was as chaotic as Zoltán’s, as those of the Spanish rebels Saloman had killed in Salamanca.

  But Travis had considerable power here. He was intelligent; the theme of his club as well as his speech proclaimed a hint of humor. In fact, in time, Saloman might even like him.

  “What can you do for me?” he repeated. “You could tell me what Senator Dante wanted with you.”

  Travis’s eyelids didn’t flicker. “He’s looking for a sword.” He smiled. “Your sword.”

  Saloman tapped his lips with one finger, contemplating the other vampire’s dishonesty until Travis shifted in his seat but still didn’t break eye contact.

  Saloman smiled. “A wager would seem to be called for. You like games?”

  Travis shrugged elaborately. “What else is there?”

  “Good. You are aware of the powers attributed to my sword? Why it is that Senator Dante wants it?”

  Travis inclined his head. “Of course.”

  “Very well. Then let us race to find it. Since the sword is mine, as you acknowledge, the sword itself will be my stake, which you win if you find it first.”

  Travis smiled as if amused, but this time he couldn’t hide the sparkle in his sharp blue eyes. “And my stake?”

  Saloman smiled. “Overlordship of the North American vampires, of course.”

  If Saloman “died” again, she wondered if she’d know. He’d been so firm in his telepathic instruction to go, so amused by the very idea that he could not deal with the American vampires, that despite the jagged fears in her heart, she’d left him in order to look after Josh. Shying away from the very idea that Saloman could be killed, she wondered instead what the consequences of his victory would be. Would the conflict spread out across the city, like the “gang fights,” leaving human as well as vampire casualties?

  Elizabeth’s throat closed up in horror. Perhaps it would simply mean Saloman now controlled all the American vampires? Which might be more peaceful in the short term, but was the very thing she’d come here to prevent. Had she actually handed him more power on a platter by going to Travis’s? And doomed the human world to whatever rule Saloman chose to inflict?

  “Was that Adam Simon?” Josh said abruptly, breaking into her bleak thoughts. They were back in his apartment, where Josh was ignoring the constant messages coming from his phone in order to make tea. Since his hands had stopped shaking, Elizabeth was happy to let him. He needed mundane tasks to counteract the weirdness of the day.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No.” It was the truth, looked at one way.

  Josh frowned, handing her a mug of tea. “But you mentioned him. You said I should tell him what happened if I got out. Why? In Scotland, you told me not to trust him. What’s he to do with any of this?”

  Elizabeth turned away from him to walk back into the spacious living room, where she took a seat on one of the leather sofas. “Nothing, really,” she said vaguely. “He’s just a man with a finger in lots of pies, useful to have on your side to get you out of a scrape.” Like the one we were in.

  Another thought occurred to her. In the heat of the moment, she’d sent Josh not to the hunters who should have been his first line of defense, but to Saloman, who wanted his blood. What sort of crazy instinct was that?

  But Josh had moved on. While she absently sipped her tea, he said, “You couldn’t hurt them. No matter how hard you hit them, they just got back up. Except when you stabbed them, and then they disappeared.”

  “That’s vampires for you,” she said flippantly. She became aware of his gaze on her, steady, fascinated, but no longer containing any trace of attraction. It wasn’t even friendly. Rather it was as if he were studying a particularly rare if ugly insect.

  “You have hidden parts, Elizabeth Silk,” he said slowly. “Is anything I’ve seen before today actually real?”

  “It’s all real. It’s all me. I just can’t marry it all up.” She set down her mug and jumped to her feet. “Look, Josh, I have to go. I’ll call you later. Don’t worry about this stuff; it gets to feel normal after a while. Mostly. For now, just remember you’re quite safe here.” If Saloman isn’t dead. Or if Saloman doesn’t elect to go his own way and kill you anyway . . .

  But she wouldn’t believe that. Any of that.

  “We’ve alerted the local hunters and they’ve promised to watch your apartment,” she reminded him, as a half-anxious, half-annoyed frown re-formed on his brow. “Contact me anytime, Josh, but for now, can you call me a cab?”

  He wasn’t in the room when she got back to the hotel. Telepathic queries bounced back at her. Restlessly, she walked to the big full-length window and gazed down at the greenery of Central Park. It would be dark soon, but tomorrow, whatever else she did, she’d walk in Central Park, maybe even go to the zoo.

  Finding the remote control on the table beside her, she pointed it at the television, just to have some background noise while she paced. After a few circuits of the entire suite, she gave up and went for a shower. Staking vampires was a sweaty business. She’d just emerged from the bathroom in the hotel robe and slippers when the sound of a name brought her attention back to the television and she walked quickly through to the living area to see a close-up of a familiar face on the screen.

  “. . . Dante has canceled his appointments for the next
several days. According to his aides, the senator has been unwell since returning from his UK visit earlier this week. On to sports now . . .”

  The suite door opened and closed behind Saloman, once more wearing the jacket that went with his suit. Where had he kept that while he battered his way into Travis’s casino and took on a dozen vampires?

  She felt giddy with relief, with the surge of helpless desire that always swamped her in his presence. Yet she blurted only, “The news says Dante’s sick. He looked pretty fit to me as he legged it out of Travis’s place.”

  Saloman walked toward her. “He’s giving himself time to act, and a cover story ready if he needs to bow out of the public arena for a longer period.”

  “Do you think so?” Elizabeth asked doubtfully, hiding her perverse disappointment when he walked right past her into the bedroom. “Did he really go to Travis to ask for immortality?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Did Travis tell you?” she asked, following to stand in the doorway.

  “No.” He sank onto the bed and it struck her, almost with awe, that Saloman was tired. “I heard him. From above.”

  Elizabeth walked toward him. “How did he know, Saloman?”

  “Know what?”

  “Everything! About the sword, about your awakening. How did he know where to find Travis?”

  He smiled faintly, but appeared to be more intrigued by the shine on his smart black shoes. “I told you he was an interesting man.”

  “Saloman, are you all right?” With sudden anxiety she dropped to her knees in front of him to peer up into his pale, handsome face. Although there was surprise in his dark eyes when they met her gaze, she could see no signs of illness, no shadow of exhaustion or flush of fever. But that meant nothing. He was a vampire. “Were you hurt back there?”

  His eyes seemed to lighten, softening in the way that melted her heart. “Don’t be silly. I merely spent a little too much energy in a manly display of power.”