SURVIVAL (Fire & Ice Book 2)

by Karen Payton Holt

  “No one else needs to know.” Sebastian’s lowered tone shared his confidence. “I have yet to give the council the information they need to despatch the guardsmen. At the moment.” He tapped his temple. “It’s still locked in here.”

  “That is gratifying,” said Julian with a smile.

  Julian lifted Sebastian until his toes barely brushed the ground. The silence was broken only by Sebastian’s efforts to swallow. He waited. I’m not going to make this easy. Let’s see how far he will go.

  “How gratifying?” croaked Sebastian.

  Julian resisted a bark of laughter at Sebastian’s nerve. Or stupidity? “No doubt you have a price for this convenient attack of amnesia?”

  “The council... ”

  “Councilor Sebastian?” Julian asked. “And what guarantee do I have that your memory will not suddenly return?”

  Sebastian tugged at Julian’s arm until he relented and allowed his feet to touch down on the sidewalk once more.

  “You’ll have to take my word. I believe that with Doctor Connor gone the fate of the humans no longer matters to you. So-” Sebastian paused for effect. “To coin a phrase, your secret is safe with me.”

  “You’ve given this some thought, I see.” Julian appeared to consider Sebastian’s words. “But I’m intrigued.” Tilting his head, with a half-smile, he mused quietly, “You say I have ‘threatened the food supply’? Where is your proof? Why would anyone take your word over mine?”

  “You made a deal with Serge. I’m sure the council could be persuaded to take a closer look at your involvement with Doctor Connor. How much digging would be needed, do you think, before they find evidence of your partnership?” Calculation roiled in the depths of Sebastian’s good eye.

  Julian’s expression filled with mock regret as he said, “So, I’m guilty of allowing my respect for Doctor Connor’s surgical expertise to cloud my judgement, nothing more.” Julian’s hooded eyelids concealed his realization. Unless a closer look uncovers that Connor has escaped from the storage facility. Then the evidence would be compelling. Julian tightened his grip on Sebastian’s neck. “Now, here’s the thing. I see a flaw in your plan.”

  Julian watched with amusement as Sebastian’s mobile grin became fixed. His hazel eye glazed over while Sebastian ran back over their conversation and failed to find the flaw.

  “I think not,” he said.

  “Do you want to know where you made your mistake?” Julian asked, his face expressionless. “You have no proof. All you have is circumstantial evidence.” Sebastian’s windpipe creaked beneath Julian’s fingertips. “It’s tempting to end this now, and kill you, but that will send the wrong message.”

  Serge would never buy Sebastian’s accidental death. Better to let the human nest be found empty. Julian had to have faith that Connor had a plan to safeguard Rebekah. He’ll hide her until after the attack. A prickle of unease ran along Julian’s spine. How far will Connor go to save her? If it were Leizle, I’d sacrifice myself.

  Sebastian wriggled in Julian’s clawed grip, his fingers digging into his tormentor’s arm.

  “Knowing is not enough, Sebastian. Now, I have an insurance policy. A human body you left drained in the woods, riddled with your venom.” Sebastian rocked back on his heels when Julian released him suddenly. “Now that’s what I call proof.” Julian’s eyes narrowed and he allowed harsh laughter low rumbling expression. “How much of an irritation would you be, I wonder, interred in Storage Facility Eight alongside Doctor Connor?”

  Sebastian shook with frustration. His face tightened as he gritted his teeth, and a clotted blood aroma filled the air. The spark of anger in the hazel eye cooled to calculating rage and Sebastian tensed, preparing to attack.

  “How good is depth perception with just the one eye?” Julian breathed conversationally, his powerful air unassailable. “How old are you? Sixty years turned?” He shook his head, glaring into Sebastian’s face as he snapped, “Don’t insult me, boy.” Julian stepped back. “Go, before I change my mind and break your neck.”

  Sebastian fell back to a safe distance and said, “I guess I’ll see you in court, Principal Julian.”

  “I look forward to it. You’ve got a couple of days left to be smart or stupid. Your call.” Julian stared him down before, turning, he strode away.

  Julian was almost disappointed that Sebastian was not stupid enough to try and take him out. Now I know the worst. His gut told him Rebekah was still the prize, but he had the measure of Sebastian’s ambition. He wants the power of being on the council, and thought he could blackmail me into giving it to him. He continued on his way along the exposed side of the Hyde Park with a grimace frozen on his face. Of course Sebastian won’t stop there. He’ll stab me in the back if he gets the chance, but Connor will finish him, and I’ll enjoy seeing it.

  Chapter 21

  As he entered the dining cavern, Connor took a deep breath, sampled the air, and smiled. His arrival galvanized movement in the assembled humans who hitched backpacks up onto their shoulders and shifted from perching on the wooden tables to standing.

  With a nod, Connor acknowledged the thumbs-up from Harry confirming they were all dosed up for the escape.

  “They have enough food and water for four days,” said Oscar, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder as though their fifteen years of alliance could be committed to memory through the skin of his palm. “You go careful, Harry.”

  “I scouted the area, and we’re good to go,” said Connor, “Greg, you bring up the rear, I’ll be waiting in the woods.” Connor turned to leave, but then swung back into the room, calling, “Thomas?”

  The company parted and Thomas scuttled into view.

  “You’ve stayed out of trouble for a while. Good lad, keep it up,” said Connor and he was rewarded with Thomas’ smile.

  “Okay, Greg, let’s move them out.”

  Connor’s sudden departure blasted chilled air over their tense faces as the group shifted forward.

  Harry led the way along the tunnels until they regrouped in the entrance cavern, nervously looking out over the rough pasture.

  The slim pink crescent of a new moon glowed in a black star littered sky. Over the next two weeks the moon would become the bright disc of a silver dollar, but tonight, the impenetrable darkness provided perfect concealment. They darted out across the meadow in single file, heading for the long grass and crouching low.

  At the top of the rise, in the sheltered embrace of the trees, Connor smiled as he watched their beetle-like progress. The darkest night on the lunar cycle was merely a placebo. Their movement was as clear as day to Connor’s sensitive retina. But they feel safer in the dark, thinking they are invisible. He stood, listening to the sound of the woodlands nocturnal mutterings, taking comfort of the assurance that they were moving out in time.

  Still breathing hard from the exertion, the sixteen refugees gathered around Connor in the thick shade inside the woods. Dread bleached their features until they were as white as his own, and fear sent tremors through their bodies. Connor manufactured a smile of reassurance. His pale chiseled expression hardened as he listened, redirecting his focus to make one last check on Rebekah before they left. She’s anxious, but not for herself. Connor sighed. The sooner I return with good news, the better.

  Satisfied the group was ready, Connor laid his hand on Greg’s shoulder, passing over control as he stepped back and melted into the undergrowth. With Greg on point, they moved through the woods at a steady pace, following the compass setting previously traveled with Oscar and Harry.

  Out of human sight, Connor brought up the rear, acting as the perfect deterrent to those who might otherwise fall behind. Some in the group still didn’t know what to make of him. Sheepdog or wolf? After fifteen years in hiding, trusting a vampire proved difficult.

  Three hours later, when Greg gave the command to fall-out, sixteen weary bodies sank gratefully down onto the soft moss-covered earth. Slumping against tree trunks and using their backpacks
as makeshift cushions, they smothered groans of relief. The cool dark air soothed their glowing cheeks and the water they drank down had never tasted better. Waiting in silence was difficult, but for some, staying awake was harder.

  Finally, Seth stepped into view with his staff clenched in his hand and every angle of his tall frame awkward with tension.

  “Seth,” said Connor, inclining his head.

  The tall man swallowed loudly, not meeting Connor’s eye.

  Connor’s head jerked round. Directing a penetrating gaze into the darkest shadows of the undergrowth, he vibrated with anger.

  “What’s wrong?” whispered Greg.

  “Why did you let her come?” Connor growled.

  Seth shrugged, grimacing as the cramped muscles in his neck burned. “I couldn’t stop her, she followed us.”

  “Do you know what she did?” Before Seth could answer, Connor added, “It doesn’t matter.”

  He closed his eyes, flexed his ribcage and filled his lungs with the damp night air. Her aniseed scent scorched his nostrils, and now, saturated in her aroma, his fingertips tingled in anticipation.

  “Annabelle.” His voice was low and persuasive.

  Greg stiffened at the sound of the name and hissed, “Seth. No.”

  He, at least, knows there is reason to fear. Connor tapped out the compelling rhythm of the girl’s rattling heartbeat on his thigh until his patience wore thin. “Annabelle, come out.” His harsh whisper wafted through the leaves of the trees, and then his silence held everyone still.

  The woods echoed and creaked as she made her way over roots and mulch, and finally, she emerged. Focused on her feet, she concentrated on avoiding ground elder and nettles. The curtain of blond hair hid her face. But she cannot hide the sweat of fear on her skin. Connor’s smiled viciously as he recognized the jerky movement of muscles which fought to drive her forward when all she wanted to do was run away.

  Licking dry lips, she rolled away one small pebble of deceit. “My name isn’t Annabelle, it’s Emily, I lied.”

  Her blond hair was shorter and darker, and without the luster he remembered. Her apprehensive blue eyes, which could not quite look at him, were the color of turbulent white water.

  Connor’s fingers flexed as he imagined seeing those eyes darken. The desire to drag clouds of pain across their surface became an overwhelming urge and he moved fast. His black garb blurred into a thunder cloud of movement, and the bark of a tree bit into her shoulder blades when Emily leapt backward in fear.

  “Do you think I care what you are calling yourself today?” Connor stood barely six inches away with his hands braced on the tree trunk either side of her head. “Why are you here?” He snarled and the rush of his breath over her skin closed her eyes.

  Keeping her eyes squeezed shut, she swallowed. “I wanted to come.”

  “Why?” The tree trunk vibrated painfully beneath her shoulder blades as Connor slammed his hand down and made a palm sized dent in the bark.

  “To get it over with... this.” Her face crumpled into a pinched fist of terror. Forcing her eyes open, she whispered, “To say, I know what I did, and I’m sorry.”

  Connor smiled, allowing venom to drip from his teeth. Chips of ice glinted in the coal-black shadow of his eye sockets. “Sorry?”

  He retrieved a hand from the crater in the bark and dragged his fingertips along her collarbone. As they reached the graceful bow in the middle, closing his thumb and finger over it, he squeezed slowly. Adrenalin rushed through Emily’s brain at the searing pain of his touch, and, the sensation of holding a hot poker in his hand as her skin flushed, exhilarated him. Connor leaned in close, whispering, “This is a bare fraction of what she suffered.” He pinched harder and purple bruises blossomed beneath his fingertips as the capillaries collapsed and the bone fibers began to creak.

  “Please.” Her blue eyes darkened with pain, and a dry gasp burned her lungs.

  Connor’s eyes gleamed as Emily’s knees buckled, but the downward slide made the pain bite harder, forcing her to brace back against the tree and bear it.

  Every pair of eyes remained glued to Connor’s face in horrified fascination. His anger was a tangible force which made breathing difficult. For Connor, their thundering hearts were a prelude to the keening cry building in Emily’s throat.

  Suddenly, the spell shattered as a tall sandy-haired man barreled his way through the bushes. He burst into the clearing, his face contorted in anger. “Take your hands off her.”

  Metal flashed dull gray in the dim light as the young man raised a fist holding a knife and rushed at Connor.

  Connor sighed at the interruption, irritated that he would lose sight of Emily’s terrified expression for even the half second it would take to disable the man. His fingers twitched as he considered darting out a hand, twisting the man’s grip and slicing the blade across his own jugular. Instead, Connor grunted in satisfaction as Greg tackled the rushing figure from behind and wrestled him into an arm lock.

  “Don’t be a bloody fool,” Greg snapped.

  Adrenaline tainted testosterone flooded Connor’s nostrils as the young man struggled. Greg’s hold tightened and his mouth dropped open in strangled protest.

  “Ah, the boyfriend,” said Connor, glancing at the cramped features and shrugging. “We all deserve a fighting chance.” Reaching out, Connor plucked the blade from the man’s slack fist and ran his thumb over the jagged edge, scoring a line into his hard tissue. Like dragging a nail down a blackboard, the blade screeched, setting human teeth on edge as Connor stared into the young man’s face.

  Releasing Emily, Connor whipped around, threw the knife, and buried the blade and half the hilt in an adjacent tree trunk. Connor said quietly, “I’ll make you a deal. You pull that out and she gets to walk away without the broken bones I have planned.”

  Connor smiled and his loosened grip rested like a necklace around Emily’s throat. Waving an hand in an ‘after you’ gesture, he invited the youngster to approach.

  The metal end-stop of the knife handle glinted like a malevolent eye, daring him to touch it.

  Greg withdrew, and the only sound was the young man grunting as he tugged his clothes straight. Clearly wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into, he stepped forward.

  Keeping a wary eye on the vampire’s menacing presence, the youth recoiled when the brittle smile abruptly disappeared from Connor’s tight white features, and his dark head whipped around as a sound pitched for vampire ears alone riveted his attention.

  Leizle’s screaming. Connor’s anger evaporated. His narrowed gaze stared back through the wood as though his sight could burn through the obstacles hiding the scene from his view.

  “Rebekah.” Her name drifted through the trees as Connor vanished.

  Emily cried out in pain as Connor’s fingers dragged away.

  As he accelerated rapidly, Connor locked the pleasure deep inside his chest as a consolation prize. His diamond-hard nails had dug deep, scratching across Emily’s throat. If Serge created a monster, then I have branded her. Like a carved scarlet letter, his jagged tear in her flesh labeled her a ‘liar’. His satisfied roar echoed through the woodlands.

  Connor crashed through the woods, oblivious of the splintered tree branches shredding his clothes and scoring lines in the velvet sheen of his granite hard tissue. He ricocheted from tree trunks as he leapt clear of the ground and, grinding his footprint into bark, launched himself dozens of feet over densely packed brambles.

  She’s shouting for Oscar, now. Connor heard it as an echo which the leaves on the trees tried to swallow, but each syllable seared a hole in his brain.

  The path he cut across the meadow tore grass out by the roots, and churned up the ground.

  Leizle’s scream still hung in the air as the twenty seconds he promised elapsed. Connor’s shoulders collided with the tunnel walls, showering dirt onto the floor as he shaved seconds of the time by taking the shortest path.

  Drawn like iron filings to a
magnet, he hurtled into the empty dining cavern and was bombarded by a metallic cacophony of pots and pans crashing to the ground.

  The smell of iron rich blood flooded his brain, and instinctively he salivated before the kick of hunger registered.

  The first thing he saw was Leizle with her hands clamped over her mouth, her bulging eyes transfixed with horror. He swung into the kitchen and stopped, taking in the sluggish tide of blood flowing across the floor, transforming the cracks in the tiles into a crimson spider’s web, with Rebekah at its center, sitting in a pool of sated hunger.

  Remnants of raw liver clung to Rebekah’s face. Connor slammed his vocal chords shut as his ravenous gaze grazed over the curves of her blood-soaked frame. Blood oozed from her mouth, and every rapturous bite she took laid a river of red down over the swell of her stomach and pooled in her lap.

  Leizle’s hyperventilating breath and the blood dripping through Rebekah’s cotton skirt onto the tiled floor were the only sounds Connor could hear.

  Shedding his muddy greatcoat and dropping it at his feet, Connor pushed into revival sleep, clamping down on the feeding frenzy flooding his brain in the euphoria of anticipated pleasure. He surged forward and scooped Rebekah up from the floor.

  “Hey honey, let’s get you cleaned up,” he whispered as the urge to kiss her, to dip in and taste the blood, molded a snarl to his lip.

  His appearance unleashed a litany of words from Leizle as she finally took a gasp of air and muttered, “Thank God. Thank God, Thank God.”

  Connor settled Rebekah into his body, uncaring that the pool of blood in her lap saturated his shirt and flowed freely down the front of his pants. Rebekah clasped her hands around his neck, and, resting her cheek onto his chest, she relaxed into him.

  “I was so hungry,” she murmured.

  Connor smiled, his voice tight with relief as he replied, “It’s the baby, honey.” A lucid sentence, even one four words long, was a good sign. It’s not yet the feral hunger of grave-sleep, but...

  Connor stopped in front of Leizle. “She’ll sleep, now. Try not to worry. She’ll be okay.” His gray eyes were sincere. But for how long, I’m not so certain. How long before this hunger becomes grave-sleep?