SURVIVAL (Fire & Ice Book 2)

by Karen Payton Holt

  Connor remembered looking for that same response in Vampire Vlad, another long term resident of the facility. It was a decade ago, now, but he could still remember the feeling of vertigo as he stared into Vlad’s eyes, and the blown pupils had almost swallowed his soul.

  It was Connor who had persuaded Julian that Vampire Vlad’s psychosis had advanced beyond the stage where he no longer experienced meaningful recollections. He had gnawed away the inside of his cheek muscles in his craving for blood, and delivering the final release was, in Connor’s opinion, the humane thing to do.

  He had been the only one in the death chamber with Vlad. Usually, three or four vampires would be prepared to meet their final end, with Connor directing the ceremony and synchronizing the movements of the attendant executioners. In an act of kindness, they all met death in precisely the same moment.

  Connor, alone, had taken responsibility for Vlad’s execution. He had placed the C-clamp over the crown of Vlad’s head, bracketing his skull snugly between two six-inch steel plates. He remembered using far more strength than necessary when he gripped the T-bar of the handle, whipped the screw into action and Vlad’s skull imploded with a violent crack, in keeping with his depraved butchery as the two plates slammed together. It seemed kinder.

  The blast of the bone dust blown into Connor’s face was a sensation he would never forget, and neither was the eerie silence after the shuffling particles had come to rest.

  Connor followed Warden James down the polished granite slope into the bowels of the building. The familiar rumble of the River Thames thundering past vibrated through the floor. The polished steel walls glistened with moisture as the temperature dropped. The resemblance to an iceberg, with eighty percent of the building buried underground, was no accident. Sluice gates were opened at high tide and the river’s tumbling current jet-washed the death chamber and swept away the vampire remains.

  The enormous double steel doors loomed in front of them for a moment, before they swished silently open, dragging the blade of a rubber seal over the smooth marble floor.

  Descending through the containment levels to the death chamber was the hardest part of being the hive’s doctor of record. There is no one to pass the buck to. Without warning, the burden suffocated him as he longed for the carefree days when the onus of dishing out death did not rest upon his shoulders.

  He suddenly missed Malachi’s guidance. His skeletal features with the sparse covering of wispy hair were the thing of children’s nightmares, but he was Connor’s maker. His dead fish scale-colored eyes glistened with the sheen of mother-of-pearl, and his waxy skin had the aroma of dry parchment, but his brain was lightning fast.

  Malachi had left Egypt, where he lived for thousands of years, in pursuit of his twin brother. Numu had left a trail of bodies across Africa, and up through Europe, and when Connor became his victim and had been left for dead, Malachi saved him by turning him into a vampire.

  It had taken a while for Connor to feel grateful.

  Together, they finally hunted down Numu, and Connor was forced into killing him. Malachi had spent almost a decade in London until his yearning for Egypt had driven him to leave.

  I wonder what he is doing now? He had not thought of Malachi for half a century.

  He occasionally missed the feeling of having someone who could empathize without words. Connor never knew if it was because he was thousands of years old, or because Malachi had turned him, but he had been able to read Connor’s mind and fill his head with sights and sounds which were not his own experiences.

  But, one decade out of a hundred years was a fragile transparency rather than a reach out and grab it memory for Connor. His recollections of Malachi slipped away as he entered the death chamber and surveyed the five vampires laid out on stone tables.

  Connor pulled a key from his pocket and opened the steel door to a walk-in safe. Taking clamps down from their metal hooks, he checked that each one was oiled and fit for use. He dropped the third clamp into the reject crate as a cloudy residue of bone dust coated his fingers, and then moved onto the next.

  The warden took those that met with Connor’s approval and gave one to each of the five attendant executioners. Their charges lay staring at the ceiling as though they were already dead, but every vampire in the chamber knew better. Would this be my fate, but for Julian’s intervention?

  Once the prisoners were prepared and the clamps expertly fitted, the kindest thing was to proceed quickly. Connor nodded and the attending executioners took up their positions. With his hand held aloft, he commanded their attention. “On my count, gentlemen.”

  “Go forth into the comfort of oblivion, your sins are forgiven.” The vampires offered the time-honored blessing.

  Connor murmured, reverently, “Three, two, one.”

  At the count of ‘one’, each vampire drove the tungsten steel discs together and crushed the victims’ skulls.

  <><><>

  While Connor was smothered in darkness, with his sinuses shrinking as the calcium-rich dust of crushed skulls inevitably wended its way inside them, across London, a calculating Sebastian was trespassing on his terrain.

  Keeping a low profile was a frustrating necessity Sebastian was tired of. He traversed the hospital corridors, heading for the morgue. I can pick up Emily’s scent from there and find out which direction she went in.

  As Councilor Serge’s general, Sebastian enjoyed power. Knowledge was that, but gathering this small crumb was of little consolation to him, now. His hazel eyes were muddy with anger. For one week I knew where the humans were hiding. One damn week, and then he moved them.

  He had enjoyed looking Serge in the eye and faking regret that the ambush had robbed them of their informant, Douglas. He could still taste Douglas’ fear and damp flesh, and it still curdled his stomach when he remembered the fragrant contrast of Connor’s woman. If only I had taken her when I had my chance. Thinking himself superior, demotion back into the ranks of the ignorant was unacceptable.

  Protecting his knowledge like a precious jewel, he kept it close and enjoyed its beauty. Of course, Connor’s woman was the jewel he imagined he was holding, stroking her skin and feeling her warmth. Eight attacking vampire guardsmen were slaughtered, I killed Douglas, and yet, I am back at square one.

  It was a bitter memory, the moment when he finally gave in to the temptation to return to the spot where this compulsion had ignited his senses, and found they were gone.

  The sadist in Sebastian had risked all. Connor’s woman excited him, and the scent of her fear was intoxicating. There were so many other shades of pain he would like her to experience. She was a succulent reason to pursue the human group.

  She fought me. She used every ounce of her strength, but even hammering the knife home with a stone had only succeeded in branding him. Sebastian’s fingertips traced the groove carved across his stomach. The scored line, glistening like a vein in marble, extended in an ascending arc over his hipbone. He smiled, his set teeth barely containing the saliva flooding into his mouth as he relived the moment.

  He wanted everything Doctor Connor owned. I want a slice of his life and she is the most enticing part of it.

  Sebastian’s visit to the hospital marked the beginning of phase two of the plan conceived by Councilor Serge, although the seed was planted in Serge’s mind by Sebastian himself.

  Seeds were also a feature of the plan in which Emily would lead them to the human nest. Sebastian grinned. They had given her poppy seeds to scatter at intervals throughout the journey. The black pods, barely a millimetre in size, were indigenous to the meadows, but not found in the woodlands of Kent. Their subtle scent would become more pungent when they absorbed the moisture of the woodland floor, and it would be easy enough for Sebastian to pick up the trail. Connor will not detect their odor when they are scattered, but following on later, I’ll have no difficulty.

  Sebastian knew Connor was signing off on stage-three skull crushes at Storage Facility Eight, and he even knew
that there were five. Therefore, he had half an hour to imagine walking these corridors in Connor’s shoes. Emily has followed orders so far, and things are progressing nicely; releasing the vampire in the morgue had been risky. But we needed the knight in shining armor complex. Connor saved her, so he feels responsible, and the doctor is absurdly predictable where humans are concerned. He has gone soft.

  Joining the flow of vampire bodies moving purposefully towards the blood dispensary, Sebastian adopted the same concentrated, unwavering expression and fell into step. I’ve arrived at a busy time, so much the better.

  His view was obscured by the broad shoulders of a thirty strong clustered group marching in the unison of vampires who spend all their time working in harmony. Super-tanker nomads might as well be emblazoned across the back of the grimy fabric of their coats.

  The seafaring vampires were here to collect their dues. They existed outside of the laws of vampire society, living in their own floating community. Sebastian despised them. It stung that he could not be sure that their unfettered existence was not, in actual fact, in some way preferable.

  Little was known about them, except that they transported crops grown by vampires for the humans on the farms from one continent to another. Their night time hours were spent unloading massive containers at the docks onto fleets of transporter trucks. Then, they delivered the cargo to each hive’s human farm facility. They brought in food which could not be grown locally, and were paid by each hive in blood. They were eerily silent. Rumor had it that they were inbred, and when they were turned, each vampire had fed from the other, and a telepathic connection ran like a current between them.

  Sebastian saw only the bluish, waxy toned skin which had clearly not seen even cloud-filtered rays of light in decades, and wondered at their strangely tribal existence. He instinctively dropped back, allowing other vampires to crowd into the space. Just in case they can read others’ minds, too. Sebastian had a lot to lose.

  The entrance to the morgue came into view, and he gained in confidence as sidestepping through the doors, he entered the coldly clinical room. At first glance, things were in order, however, a closer inspection told a different tale. The autopsy tools were on a trolley, but flicking back the cloth cover revealed they had been dumped onto the tray rather than set out in order. The bulging laundry hampers were lined up, but the unwashed linen from one had been regurgitated onto the floor.

  The brownish specks on the linen told the story, and the scent of Emily’s blood teased his nostrils. So, this was her hiding place. Sebastian gripped the edge of the sheet and tore off a blood-splattered sample. He buried it deep inside his pocket as a reminder of her scent, if needed.

  The merest whisper of vampire movement snapped his head around, directing his attention to the far end of the room.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” a voice called out.

  Before Isaac, the morgue attendant, rounded the corner of the tall bank of locked cadaver drawers and came into view, Sebastian slipped out through the doors again.

  He strolled along the corridor, embracing the growing feeling of complacency, when he came face to face with Anthony. Ah, the surgical assistant.

  “Can I help you?” Anthony asked abruptly.

  Sebastian’s smile was automatic as he searched for an appropriate lie. Anthony would have no clue who he was, but being seen was a glitch, nonetheless. “Oh, sorry, I’m lost.”

  Suspicion focused Anthony’s attention on the intruder. “This is a private wing. Please leave.” Anthony’s hands curled into fists, and his usual warm demeanor plummeted to ice cold.

  Sebastian nodded in quick apology, and, deciding that the sooner he left, the better, he walked away.

  Watching him go, Anthony resolved to talk to Doctor Connor if he saw the vampire again. He was less blinkered these days. Wandering the surgical corridors was not a usual activity for any vampire. Blood fumes alone were enough to upset the control of some. Anthony was offended on Connor’s behalf. This is Doctor Connor’s territory, so what was he doing here?

  The wavy black hair and boyish face could not mask the calculating glint in the muddy-green hazel eyes. Anthony doubted that he ever got lost.

  Anthony had finally woken up to the idea that Connor was more than just a doctor; he had scruples which bred enemies.

  Since Doctor Connor’s clash with Councilor Serge over the Human Breeding Project, Anthony had detected a restlessness in him. A human girl died and I became part of a plan that I still do not fully understand.

  Vampires have time on our side, but finding a mentor who’s willing to forgive my mistakes, four decades on, is rare. Most would have pulled him up in front of the council for his failings and suggested he was better suited to farming. Doctor Connor has more than earned my loyalty.

  Anthony sensed Doctor Connor was in danger, and he worried about that.

  Chapter 6

  Keeping vigil in the sitting room with his charge, Julian studied Annabelle’s reflection in the mirror because looking directly at her pinched features made her fragile frame tense up.

  Connor has been gone longer than I expected. Julian’s curiosity ran through the list of possible delays, and he was left with one thought. Connor is a pain in the ass. His disarming expression disguised the urgent need to get moving. The breakneck speed of a motorcycle ride would be a welcome release after the effort of standing still in the room for so long.

  Annabelle sat huddled on the couch, rubbing her arms and convincing herself that it was only the cold which made her shiver.

  They were having a standoff of sorts, and Julian felt he was winning.

  His battle was resisting the histamine aroma the arm rubbing released as a fragrant cloud. Interesting that her scent is tarragon. His nostrils flared as the enticing hint of anise tingled inside them. It was a sweet smell, also known as dragon-wort, thought to be able to fend off snakes and dragons. Julian’s smile was ironic. That should keep her safe, hmmm? Clamping his throat muscles tight created an airlock in his lungs, so it was only his nose that stung. Julian’s smile widened. No contest, if I took a step closer, she would run a mile.

  The sound of a motorcycle pulling up outside signaled that the waiting was over. Should I be glad about that? As the hope that Rebekah had not let Connor talk her round faded, he was not so sure. He opened the front door, his roaming vision piercing the darkness beyond his boundary to make sure Connor was the only vampire out there. Looking over his shoulder was becoming second nature. Finally, he directed a skeptical look at his friend. About time.

  Connor was standing on the sidewalk beside a motorcycle. He raked his hands through his black hair and released a cloud of bone-dust which hung in the air for a moment before settling onto his broad shoulders. And then he sneezed.

  The calcium-laden odor plumed into the air, and all became clear.

  “You had some stage-threes to proclaim, then?”

  “Five.” Connor grimaced. “It’s later than I wanted.”

  Julian jerked his head to indicate the trail bike parked up at the curb, the cooling engine ticking like a deathwatch beetle.

  “We’re off-roading?”

  “Through the woods. I thought it would be safer, given that dawn is not so far off.” Connor lifted a brow in enquiry. “See you in ten minutes, south of the Thames? We’ll head out through Swanley. The street lamps there gave up a few years back.

  Julian nodded. “Sure, it’s overgrown now, anyhow. Sounds good.” Casting a bemused glance at the scattering of stars above, he added, “But we have plenty of time before dawn.”

  Connor’s lips twitched in amusement as he threw a bundle containing two jackets at Julian’s head. “Let’s just say, humans have a way of throwing a spanner in the works. You’d better cover up.”

  With a final salute, Connor headed off into the shadows on foot, intent on collecting his own off-road motorcycle, and Rebekah.

  Julian watched him disappear before shrugging into the larger of the leather j
ackets and pulling on the gloves he found in the pockets.

  Returning through the house, he entered the sitting room, and even though he remembered to stop and wait for her sluggish human vision to catch up, the girl still jumped when he materialized in front of her.

  “It is time to go,” he said, when she finally focused on his face.

  “With Doctor Connor?” Her pleading eyes strained to see past his bulk.

  “You can trust me, will have to trust me, Annabelle. Doctor Connor and Rebekah are meeting us, but we have to get moving.”

  He tossed the black weatherproof jacket to her and she caught it.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  She put on the coat, zipping it up to her chin as she followed him out into the damp night.

  Julian was aware his ten minutes were ticking by. Connor will be wondering where we are. He mounted the motorcycle and held out his hand.

  “I don’t-” began Annabelle.

  “Sure, you do,” he said, cutting off her protest. With a firm tug on her jacket, he pulled her up onto the seat behind him.

  “Hold tight,” he muttered.

  Seconds later, Julian raced over wet tarmac with an anxious girl clinging to his back. He scoffed at Connor’s assessment. Dawn is an hour away, at least.

  Her grip tightened as he opened the throttle, kicking a few more horses into action, and the motorcycle surged forward. The leather jacket smothering his skin creaked when he flexed his shoulders, and he wondered again if it was really necessary.

  He glanced skyward as he cranked the motorcycle over to take the bend onto the ring road which led onto Vauxhall Bridge. They crossed the River Thames. The oil-black waters glistened with moonlit slivers as though a shoal of a thousand silver fish played beneath its turbulent skin. “We have plenty of time,” he muttered.

  Julian revised that assertion a short time later when, for the fourth time, he skidded the motorcycle to a halt as Annabelle again cried out that she was going to be sick. It was not a plea he could ignore.