They must still be out burying the evidence of the camp. Oscar and Greg were both formidable in size, although, Oscar was closer to a bear than Greg’s rhinoceros tough mass. Rebekah should be safe.
Connor made his way back up through the chapel and waited inside the embrace of the portico. An indolent leaning statue, he rested his shoulder against the wall, stillness creeping over him as his senses scoured the woodlands. A frown etched into his face when he heard approaching footsteps and counted only two sets of everything. He grimly absorbed the heightened stress levels rattling around inside the humans. Their adrenalin-pumped heartbeats were still inclined to race, but then, it had been only two days since their last fight for survival.
Greg and Oscar emerged from the wood, and as Connor moved forward into the moonlight, the stark anger on his face froze their half-smiles of welcome.
Connor’s gaze cut a path through the trees behind them, searching for her face and her slender, graceful frame. “Where is Rebekah?”
“She’s here, waiting for you.” Oscar’s tone vibrated with sudden nerves. “Isn’t she?”
“No.” Connor shot the word into the dark.
His vampire perceptions went into overdrive as he relived past events. The weeks he had known her were marked by anguish. Her flesh had been almost as cold as his, the night she nearly died of hypothermia, lost out in the woods trying to rescue Thomas. And then, his heart clenched anew as the lingering threat of the rogue vampire they had failed to track down reared as a specter in his mind. His enemy had left his scent when he had laid a hand on her during the last battle at the old eco-town, and creeping suspicion struck fear into Connor. Has she been captured? Did he track us, and I missed it? He knew he had not missed anything, but nothing else made sense.
Greg’s words struck a chord of reason in Connor’s brain. “She’s got a headache. We were only twenty yards out before she came back. She’s here somewhere. Hiding maybe, because she’s here alone?”
“Hiding?” An elusive feeling laced tendrils of doubt through his mind. I am missing something. Closing his eyes, Connor tried to get inside that stubborn head of hers. Like a thunderbolt strike, a sudden surge of electrical activity arced through the atmosphere and his body jolted. He could smell the static charge as her brain raced through the tunnels of a nightmare, and, as if his gaze could bore through earth and stone, he zeroed in on her depressed heartbeat and cold skin as though he was standing next to her. And in the next moment, he was.
He swiped away the boulder which sealed the mausoleum, sending it crashing to one side, pulled the wrought iron gate from its hinges, and buckled the rusted grate in the floor in his haste to drop down into the crypt and pull her freezing body up into his arms.
“Damn it, Rebekah,” he murmured as the micro tremors racing through her gave him an insight into a mind gripped in the horror of a night terror. Her lips were gray, and her capillaries were gossamer strands of purple lace tinting her clammy skin blue. Connor was already moving, rifling through the options he had available to warm her, because that was all that mattered. The nightmare may even be the delirium of her cold body crying out for help.
<><><>
Rebekah’s throat ached, and electric-white sparks arcing across a black velvet sky crowded her vision. Her mouth gaped as grief tumbled rocks of ice into her chest.
She forced her eyes open to look down at the limp weight of the baby in her arms, Connor’s influence was clearly written in the stark contrast of her milk-white skin and jet-black hair, her head resting back and her mouth, an open pink bud, hanging wide.
“Don’t touch her!” she howled, the words inside her head screaming, and not the croak which barely escaped her dry throat. Rebekah glared into Connor’s impassive face. “Don’t touch her,” she whispered vehemently, squeezing the soft body to her chest. She ached for a sigh of protest from the tiny throat; something to cling to that the baby was not dead.
Why she was so scared of Connor, she didn’t know, but she felt sure that if she lost her grip on this tiny body, she would never hold it again.
His hands, even colder than the glacial chill inside her, closed over her shoulders and shocked her back to awareness.
“The baby’s not dead,” Connor’s voice whispered, the tone dull and empty as he pulled in a harsh breath. “She will never die, it’s not over.” He dropped his hands and held them out, waiting for her to pass the baby to him. “It’s never over for us,” he added simply.
Rebekah looked down again into the infant’s still features, muscle tone slack. “Don’t let her die,” she wailed, watching helplessly as his hands scooped up the tiny body and bore it away. “Please, save her. Save her,” she breathed, hugging her own body and seeing only blackness as she squeezed her eyelids tightly closed.
A thick silence settled and dread gripped the base of her skull. As she strained to listen, a rhythmic, moist suckling sound pulsed through the stillness and dragged her gaze up. She had to see. The smell of soured milk on his breath as his jaws tore into new-born flesh curdled her stomach and nausea engulfed her.
The vampire holding her baby was no longer Connor. Wavy black hair framed features which were sharp with spite, and deep-set predatory eyes bored into hers as he bared his teeth in a grimace of satisfaction. Blood made every tooth appear dark red, and pooled along his slackened lower lip. Understanding struck Rebekah in the chest, taking her breath away.
Her fist clenched in her sleep, as if she once again held the knife that had been all she had to protect herself the last time she looked into that face. Connor had arrived and the vampire ran, but the zealous cast to his features when her blade had skidded over the polished marble of his stomach muscles returned to haunt her, more and more.
A viselike grip of fear closed around her throat... and she woke up sobbing.
“Sh... it’s okay, it’s okay.” Connor’s soothing tone pierced the terror and melted the scene from her mind as his warm arms pulled her back into his body. “It’s okay, honey, you’re safe, you’re safe.”
They were alone in the warm cavernous space beneath the chapel. She was lying on her side on a padded bedroll with Connor’s body, his warm body, fitted seductively into the curve of her spine, beneath a soft fleecy blanket. Rebekah’s breath scratched at her parched throat. she took comfort from his embrace, running her palm over the sinews on his forearm draped across her chest, and then she noticed the ashen cast to his skin. A frown chased across her features. Running her fingertips over the satin-clad iron of his smooth muscle was a familiar feeling, but this time her hands became covered in carbon dust.
“You’re hot again?” She smiled weakly.
“Well, if you could stop trying to freeze your ass off.”
“What happened?” She reached back and ran her fingers through his wet hair.
Connor’s tone was grim. “You put me through hell, again, literally, this time.”
Rebekah thought she had dreamed that part, too. The image of the sarcophagus lid slipping back, and the glow of coal embers flaring to life as Connor climbed out, had felt surreal to her terror trapped mind. His silhouette, framed in a flickering orange halo as he walked towards her, with his skin dressed in a gray sheen of ash from the fire, had taken the familiar and dressed it in awestruck wonder.
“You were in Oscar’s oven?”
“I had to be creative. But you know, you don’t have to try and kill yourself every time you want hot sex.” Connor growled playfully. “How about we make it an anniversary thing?”
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to be close to you.” Her voice cracked, and the tremor of relief wiped the smile from his face.
“But, you had a nightmare?” he asked.
Rebekah nodded slowly.
“Are you going to tell me?” he murmured gently.
She pulled his arm in tighter around her chest. “Not right now. I need to get my head around it.”
Moving up onto his elbow, Connor turned her face to his. Looking into her ey
es, he found confusion, with their usual spark extinguished. “But it was bad?” He felt her chin nudge his fingers when she nodded again.
“Alright, I will wait.” He subsided back and held her again. “Try and sleep, while you can.”
He settled down to wait for her to fall asleep with his mind in turmoil. When in the throes of the nightmare, she had cried out his name, and he needed to know what demons he was fighting.
Rebekah rubbed her chin, tracing the tender areas left by his touch. He was as gentle as he could be, but there would always be battle scars. Even though he sank into revival sleep whenever they were together, he dusted her skin in bruises, bruises which Rebekah bore with joy in her heart.
His body simmered as he immersed himself into the tranquil waters of revival sleep. His warm fingertips traced over the hot spots on her skin, leaving streaks of charcoal in their wake. His hand drifted down over her tummy as he pulled her gently against him, melting the nightmare and stirring fire in her belly. Rebekah’s pulse quickened as his hands moved, and erasing the vista of horror inside her head suddenly seemed simple when she turned in his arms.
Connor’s eyes glinted in the dim candlelight. He was awake, as always, and stone still, as always, until Rebekah put her palm on his cheek and whispered, “Love me.”
He drowned in her scent, savoring the honey accented odor washing over him. A smile settled on his face as he reveled in the pain of resisting, of not biting into her soft skin and drinking his fill. Scorching hunger abraded his throat and burned a trail down inside to fill his raw chest. He tortured himself further, resting his bared teeth on her carotid artery and feeling the echo of her tantalizing heartbeat. As venom flooded his mouth, he leaned in to kiss her, deep revival sleep washing relaxation through his muscles, and for him, it was as if he waded through water, with every gesture slow and controlled.
“Love me, Connor.” Rebekah closed the space between them, stroking her thigh up over his and pressing into his hard, smooth chest. The citrus spice of his kiss was a familiar pleasure which transformed the simmering heat in her stomach into a burning hunger of the flesh, of the human kind.
“I will. I do,” he whispered.
He molded his hands to her body and moved his lips gently over hers. Contentment swelled inside him that she was still his, and the dread in her voice, from her dream, had not filled her heart. She was still his Rebekah.
But, her agonized voice nibbled at his consciousness. He would ask her again, but for now, he needed every ounce of control. Rolling onto his back and taking her with him, his touch played over her body as her breasts brushed his skin every time she moved. His hooded gaze devoured her rapt expression, the heavy bouquet of her scent settled in his gut, and he locked down his muscles as her thighs framed his hips and he filled her.
The flush on her skin entranced him and she felt deliciously warm to his touch. The shudders racing through her, and the heat pooling in his groin, sliced satisfaction though his core.
As she bit her lip, smothering her gasping breath, he surged up and kissed her. Tasting her excitement, his own body ached to join hers in rapture.
Rolling her over onto the padded bedroll, his body was tight with regret as he pulled away at the very moment when he wanted to stay. His sure touch stroked inside her and a snarl of triumph tightened his face as he tumbled her clamoring body over the edge once more. He savored every tremor, embracing the storm of vibrations which rocked through him, too, as her breathless sighs whispered in the air.
Afterwards, Connor held her tucked into his side, feeling satisfaction that she was relaxed and at peace. He stayed tuned in to her body, and the only trembles he detected in her slight frame were those he had built inside her as he made love to her. The taint of fear in her scent had gone.
“I wish you could stay, you know, until...” Rebekah murmured.
Connor dropped a kiss onto her hair. “You know the score honey. I am in suspended animation. Not dead so much as frozen in time. The risk of pregnancy is non-negotiable. I’m a doctor, and I won’t gamble, Rebekah, not even on long shots.” Melancholy dragged through every line of his body as he said quietly, “That night, I made a mistake. Saving you from hypothermia in the woods, and then, risking your life, all in the same moment was idiotic.”
It was barely three weeks ago, and his joy at having her back was still tinged with guilt. It was the only time that his emotions had overwhelmed him, and, unable to hold back, he had poured his seed into her. “I’m not playing with fire again.”
“Apparently, you are,” said Rebekah mischievously, “Oh, no, that’s right, it was submerging yourself in boiling water until you were a man-sized storage heater, that time.”
Connor growled. “Don’t mess with me, young lady. My living hell is no joke.”
“Talking about living hell.” Rebekah craned her neck to look into his face. “When do you have to leave?”
“Tomorrow night, you will all be safely installed in the new eco-shelter. Although Julian has bought me a few days by telling Charles, the vampire who runs the blood dispensary, that I’m at the Bristol Hive operating on a human with appendicitis, I’m still expected to show up at the hospital soon.”
Connor would return to London and keep up his pretense that nothing had changed for him since Rebekah. He was still a doctor, and Councilor Serge’s relentless hounding would continue on as always, of that he was sure.
Charles bought the appendix explanation easily. There were so few vampires who could cut into human flesh and not succumb to their hunger.
Connor possessed a rare ability; to slam his vocal chords shut, isolate his lungs, and minimize the effects of the odor of human blood. Even without his plastic mask pressed tightly over his features, he could resist that lure. Maybe it was because he was a surgeon when he was human. He’d spent his vampire years haunting battlefields throughout the last century, delivering his own brand of triage.
He handpicked and trained every vampire intern who worked on the human farm, but he had yet to find one who could master their bloodlust without using revival sleep, suspending their breathing behind the form-fitting plastic face masks, and ensuring they were first fully fed first. And even then, there have been accidents.
“In any event, thanks to Julian, no one has been looking for me, or wondering why Anthony is doing the rounds at the hospital on his own. I have a day or two to settle you all in before I have to face Serge again.”
Rebekah laid her cheek on Connor’s silent chest and trailed her fingers over his sculpted torso, tracing patterns in the sheen of carbon which accented every ridge.
“Rebekah.” His low tone was a speculative warning. “Spit it out. What are you plotting?”
She took a deep breath, and her words rushed out before she could stop them. “Greg and Harry are planning a trip into London to pick up the supplies you stashed at the safe house. I’m going, too.”
Connor’s chest rumbled as he chuckled. “Of course you are. Why would I expect anything else?” His cool fingertip tilted her chin and his serious gray gaze raked over her determined features. “I have already spoken to Greg. You will all wait a couple of weeks, at least, and I will make sure you get home. I won’t rest, not knowing if you made it back safely. Understood?”
The relief blossoming on her face told him all he needed. “Understood,” she said solemnly.
“Now, go to sleep.” Connor anchored her fingers to stop them wandering into dangerous territory, and closed his own eyes.
Chapter 3
Connor played out the deception and approached London from the northwest as though he was returning from the Bristol Hive. It was not ideal, because it meant detouring from the usual route through the woodlands south of London, which passed by where the human traitor, Douglas, was buried. The body was twelve feet underground, preserving the venom locked inside his desiccated tissue. It was the evidence he and Principal Julian held against the vampire who had slipped through their fingers, and whom they hoped wo
uld surface again.
The advantage, however, was that he could stop off at Julian’s West London home in the leafy suburb of Richmond. He hurtled across Kew Bridge. The tumbling gray waters of the River Thames were a fair reflection of his mood as he wondered if Julian had uncovered any news on Douglas’ killer. He is definitely a fly in the ointment.
Connor announced his arrival at the house by skidding to a halt and scattering the gravel of the driveway up over the immaculate facade, just to annoy his fastidious friend.
On cue, the heavy oak door swung wide and Julian glowered at him, icy annoyance glittering in his green eyes. “Connor.” He greeted him stiffly and turned away, leaving the door open.
Following him into the house, Connor matched Julian’s stride along the wide hallway. Once inside the study, he sank into an old brown leather chair which creaked under the dense weight of his bones.
“Any news?”
“Nothing yet.” Julian shook his head as he sat down behind his Victorian desk and rested his elbows on the sage green leather covering its surface.
The two friends had not been alone together since the clean up after the final battle at the eco-town. Their gambit of luring Councilor Serge’s attacking guardsmen into the underground habitat, at the same moment as they smuggled the humans out through an emergency exit tunnel, had gone according to plan.
The eight guardsmen had met their deaths at Connor and Julians’ hands, and they had felt secure until Connor had caught the scent of Rebekah’s panic attack. Typical of the chaos which hounded Rebekah, she had not made it to the safety of the burrows, the hiding spaces dug out beneath the woodland floor. Connor had reached her in time to scare off the rogue vampire before he could kill Rebekah. At least, that was the preferred scenario to Connor’s mind. A more sinister motive for him leaving her unharmed did not bear thinking about.
SURVIVAL (Fire & Ice Book 2) Page 3
