“The kids, you mean? The two teenagers? The only thing I know about them is that they didn’t belong in the vampire version of Gitmo. As soon as I saw them, I wanted to help them. The vampire probably felt the same way.”
“Bullshit.”
She shrugged and the hospital gown fell down her front, stopping just above her breasts, but hanging there by little more than friction.
Hobbs went to the wall and wheeled a cart toward her. It was a recognizable piece of equipment. She’d seen it in every medical drama she’d ever watched on TV. It held a box with knobs and a dial, and two paddles connected to it by curly cables, like old fashioned telephone cords. It was a defibrillator.
“Shock her,” Hobbs commanded.
Emma felt the doctor cringe inwardly and found herself listening to every thought that crossed her mind. She didn’t want to do what Hobbs told her, but didn’t feel she had a choice. She reminded herself that Emma was just a vampire. It was true, Bouchard thought, that she wouldn’t have been if they hadn’t changed her, but what was done was done. The girl was no longer human. She had no rights, no feelings. No soul.
Emma heard all of that whisper through Bouchard’s mind as clearly as if she’d said it all out loud.
“You don’t need to hurt me. I’ll tell you anything I know, there’s just...not much. Vampires aren’t known for pouring out their life stories to stupid BDs who get into trouble. In fact, I can tell you that this vampire in particular hated that he didn’t have a choice about it. He resented me from the second we met.”
Bouchard glanced at Hobbs. With an impatient look, Hobbs went to the machine and turned it on. Emma heard it powering up and fear clawed at her chest and throat. She tried to get a whisper of what was going on inside Hobbs’ mind, but she found nothing there. He must be blocking. Didn’t Dev say they were trained to do that?
Hobbs picked up the paddles, brought them toward her, held them in front of her chest, almost touching. “What was his name? This male vampire you befriended?”
“Oliver!” She blurted the first name that popped into her head, her father’s name.
“Wrong answer.” Hobbs pressed the paddles to her chest and released a bolt of energy. It felt like being hit by a freight train. It was powerful and brief, and it wrung a scream from the depths of her being. And then he took the paddles away, and she just hung there, twitching and trembling, the straps on the table the only thing keeping her upright.
“What was his name?” he asked again. He turned the dial, and she knew that meant there would be more power this time. A higher voltage or something. Then he brought the paddles near her chest, and she closed her eyes. “Devlin. His name is Devlin.”
“That’s better. Now, where is he staying?”
Sobs began to rack her body. She opened her eyes and met his. Such pretty eyes on such an ugly soul. “I s-swear, I don’t know.”
He pressed the paddles to her breasts this time, and he was smiling when he released their charge.
Sarafina and Willem Stone knelt outside the compound on either side of him, very near where he’d been crouching beside Emma only days ago. He’d retrieved his phone from the hollow in the tree, dead and in need of a charger he didn’t have. The other three were already gone.
Devlin could feel Emma’s pain. But Willem Stone’s cameras had picked up undeniable signs that the entire camp was preparing to evacuate. Their best chance to rescue Emma would be while they were in transit. Devlin couldn’t bear leaving her there an hour longer than was necessary. It was killing him to wait, even now.
Then Stone said, “Look, they’re loading the trucks. They said something earlier about finding the keys under a Jeep. That mean anything to you?”
Devlin shook his head and watched. Vehicles large and small were forming a line near the lopsided and vine-covered gate that was supposed to look old and broken down.
“Can you feel her, Devlin?” Will asked, a hand closing on Dev’s shoulder.
“I can’t feel anything else. She’s suffering. Barely lucid. The bastards hurt her.”
“But where is she?”
Devlin looked toward the entrance to the underground cells, focused his mind there. But no. No, she wasn’t down below. They’d moved her. Then he aimed his attention at each of the vehicles in turn until he felt her energy. It was very twitchy and distorted, like a radio signal blipping in and out as obstacles blocked it from its receiver.
“Third truck from the front.”
Sarafina said, “The only one with the medical logo on the side. Makes it easier for us, doesn’t it?”
“She’s suffering. We need to get her out of there, now,” Devlin said.
“They’re not going to torture her while she’s being transported,” Willem said. “We need to have a plan, get them separated, one by one. Otherwise, the minute we move, they’ll open fire. Look.” He pointed. Three of the Jeeps had automatic weapons mounted on tripods and the men manning them were alert and watchful. They were also afraid of an attack by the monsters of their childhood dreams, which made them even more dangerous.
“I’m not waiting,” Devlin said.
“Then go to her,” Sarafina said. “Slip quietly into the back of that truck and stay with her. We’re going to knock a tree over right behind it, a big one, blocking the rest of the convoy. That’ll leave only the two trucks ahead of you.”
“Both of which are probably hauling armed men,” Will pointed out. “But we’ll try to block them from you as well, and then we’ll take control of the medical truck and get you both out of there.”
Devlin nodded. “It’s a good plan.” He looked at the two of them, held their eyes. “Kill as many of them as possible.”
Sarafina shot a look at Will. He said, “That’s not how we work, Devlin.”
“They’re trying to exterminate us, Stone. What more will it take to convince you they’re unworthy of living?”
The two began to argue with him, but he just turned and walked away. There wasn’t time to try to convince them. He’d take the help they offered and be glad of it. Maybe they needed to leave the killing to him.
Those bastards who’d tortured Emma were going to die. All of them. But not until she was safe.
Chapter Eleven
Emma was completely engulfed in pain. It wrapped itself around her like a cold steel chain, crushing in on every part of her, even her face. It hurt to breathe, to the point where she stopped trying. But she didn’t die. And her lungs didn’t spasm or struggle, and her mouth didn’t gape like that of a fish on dry land. She didn’t need to breathe anymore, she guessed. She’d been doing it out of habit.
The pain was more intense than any pain she’d ever felt before. She’d smashed into a cliff face while base jumping in Brazil, but it hadn’t hurt like this. It was as if her cells were on fire, burning her from within. It was as if her bones were all broken. Even her teeth hurt. It was impossible to call the state she was in consciousness. She was awake, yes, but aware of nothing but pain, and gradually, the awareness of her breast being fondled. Through a red haze, she saw one of the goops staring at her. “She’s not bad looking, for a monster. You think we have time?”
“Duct tape her mouth first, or you’re liable to get bit. I learned that the hard way.”
The two men shared a laugh, and Emma tried to raise a hand to strike the one fondling her, but found her wrists were bound by heavy chains that stretched out to either side of her body. She was on her knees in the back of a truck, her hospital gown torn, clinging to one shoulder and angling across her waist to the floor. She was exposed from hip to neck on that side.
And then there was a terrible crashing sound. She was jarred bodily, and the chains jerked her shoulders so hard she thought they’d popped their sockets.
“Jesus,” said the bastard who’d been groping her. “What the hell was that?”
“I’ll go see. You watch your neck or you’ll be sorry.”
“No shit,” he muttered. “Larry, wait. Loo
k at her eyes. They’re turning red.”
“I know. It’s creepy. Take her from behind, so you don’t have to see them.”
He walked to a flap near the back of the truck. The other one rose with a leer. “I like your tits,” he said. “But damn, I can’t look into those red eyes and keep a boner.” He walked around behind her, and she heard his zipper lower. Then his hands were between her thighs, shoving them apart. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”
Her legs were not in chains. She could move them. And when he touched her roughly, she snapped them together with every bit of strength she had in her and twisted her hips. It didn’t feel like much. She was so weak, she could barely hold her head up.
But she heard bones crack, and the man screamed, fell backward, and scrambled to his feet, pants around his ankles, holding his right wrist in his left hand. “Bitch! You broke my fucking hand!”
The other guy had been looking out the back of the truck, holding open a flap of canvas there. He shot his comrade an irritated look. “Shut the hell up, Morrow, something’s going down.”
Emma could see out the flap, probably better than the men could. There was a giant tree lying across the road behind them, and behind that, a convoy of Jeeps and other vehicles. Gunfire broke out, and she saw the muzzle flashes from those vehicles.
The crow let the flap fall and came back, rapping hard on the wall behind her. “Go!” he said. “Go, it’s an ambush!”
The truck lurched into motion, jostling her body, and she winced as her arms were jerked yet again. But then there was another crash, followed by an explosion that lifted the truck right up off its tires, then dropped it again, wrenching a cry from the depths of her being.
The truck took off at a wild, break-neck pace through the forest in the dead of night and she was jerked between the chains, her knees pounding up and down on the floor.
Her attacker had managed to get his pants done up, and both of them had drawn their weapons. She closed her eyes and prayed for it all to just stop. The pain was too much to bear.
There was a whoosh of energy, like a brief blast of wind in her face. But it wasn’t wind. It was him. It was Devlin. He’d arrived like a force of nature, and his anger vibrated right to her soul. She forced her eyes open and saw him snap the neck of one of her guards and toss his limp body out the back of the speeding truck. Then he gripped the remaining man, drew him close, and sank his teeth into the man’s throat.
She knelt there watching him, mesmerized, and she felt her eyes grow hot and her mouth begin to water. Devlin held her gaze as he feasted, and then he withdrew his incisors from the trembling man’s neck, grabbed him by his shoulders, and turned him to face her, forcing him to his knees in front of her. “Drink from him, Emma.”
She looked from Devlin’s red, glowing eyes and his face, flush with fresh blood, to the tiny holes in the man’s throat, and the pearls of blood squeezing out of them. Something in her growled with need. But something else was repulsed by the thought.
“I...can’t.”
“It will take away the pain.” He pushed the man closer. The crow whimpered with fear. “Just try a sip, you’ll see. It’s what you are now, Emma. They did this to you.”
She was hurting so much, so much. Devlin gripped the man by the top of his head and shoved his neck right up in front of her lips. Emma didn’t tell herself to take just a taste, but she did anyway. Her tongue darted out and touched just one ruby droplet. A surge of energy shot through her, a surge of ecstasy with it. Everything in her focused on the blood, on the power of life itself, and with a snarl, she clamped her teeth around her tormentor’s neck and drank. Oh, it filled her! It filled her with heat and with energy. The pain melted away and she felt so powerful she thought her entire body must be glowing with it. And then Devlin was pulling the man away from her, and she was yanking at her chains and snapping her teeth at his retreating neck.
“No, Emma. He’s gone now. We don’t drink from the dead. We stop at the final heartbeat. Do you understand?”
She knelt there, all but naked, looking at him, seeing him, for the first time truly seeing him. My God, what a beautiful being he was. The shape of his jawline, the swirls in his hair, the crook of his full eyebrows, and every single black velvet lash. Look at the colors in his eyes, she thought. She’d called them dark, ebony even, but now she saw so much more.
The truck was still careening through the forest, but she’d forgotten to notice. She was no longer weak. She was strong. She could do anything.
Devlin came to her, slid his hands over her face, and lowered his head to kiss her mouth, and she wondered if he was as high as she was from the blood. She wondered if every molecule inside him was singing the way hers were.
Yes, he whispered without taking his mouth from hers. Yes, it’s just the same for me, Emma. Sweet Emma. He was still kissing her, speaking mentally, she realized, and taking her mouth with his tongue now. She tugged at her chains as she tried to put her arms around his neck, but they refused to give. He kissed her neck, and then made a path down it to her shoulder. He nipped the skin there, making her gasp, and then moved on to her breast, capturing it in his mouth and sucking hard, flicking with his tongue, pinching with his teeth. She threw her head back, panting with need.
And then the truck came to a sudden, jarring halt, slamming Devlin against her. He lifted his head, his eyes glowing like illuminated rubies as they stared into hers.
“If you stop now, I’ll die,” she whispered.
“We’re not alone, Emma.” And to her utter regret, he straightened her hospital gown, fastening the snaps over her bared shoulder and covering her nakedness. “I met a pair of friends. They took over the truck and drove us out of harm’s way.”
Then the canvas flap was flung open and two strangers jumped into the truck, a woman wearing a silk bandana knotted around her head, with glossy black curls spilling from beneath it, large gold hoops in her ears, a paisley print blouse draping off one shoulder by design not by accident, and a pair of tight fitting leggings. There was a colorful scarf knotted around her hips, its ends dangling. She was either a pirate or a Gypsy.
“Gypsy,” she said, moving to Emma’s wrist and fiddling with the manacle there. “My name is Sarafina. This is my husband, Willem Stone.” The cuff snapped open, and the Gypsy woman moved to the other one. Soon both her hands were free and Devlin was gathering her into his arms.
“Sarafina?” Emma asked.
“We need to get away from here before they catch up,” the woman said. “Can you run, do you think?”
“She’s been tortured,” Devlin said. “She needs more blood–”
“I could fly if you want.” She held Dev’s eyes as she said it and warmed at his approving nod.
Willem Stone was pulling a pack off his back, tugging things out of it. “Here are some of ‘Fina’s clothes, Emma. Put them on as quickly as you can.”
Emma took the things from him, pulling the leggings on and up underneath the gown. Then, turning her back to them, she stripped off the hated hospital gown and put on the blouse. It seemed more like several silk handkerchiefs sewn together than it did a top. She noticed the deep marks on her own wrists, then glanced down at her chest and saw that it was a patchwork of burns in the shapes of those paddles. Thank goodness the blood had taken the pain away. But the marks....
“They’ll heal with the day sleep,” Sarafina said. “And you’re still weaker than you know. But you’re going to be all right. And then you can begin learning how to guard your thoughts so we only hear what you want us to hear.”
Emma smiled a little as she turned to face them all again. “I know how. I just keep forgetting.”
“Sarafina and Will are going to take you to safety,” Devlin said, leading her to the back of the truck, then jumping to the ground. He reached up to grip her waist and lifted her down as well. “I need to go back.”
She sank her fingers into his shoulders when he would’ve turned away. “For what?
The twins are long gone. My father’s not there. They’ve abandoned that camp. There’s nothing left.”
He met her eyes. “I won’t be long.”
And she knew what he was doing. Going back to kill every one of them. And despite what they had done to her, the notion made her sick. But she also knew his feelings on the matter, and she knew arguing for peace wouldn’t do any good. Especially now. So instead, she said, “Devlin, please don’t leave me. Not again.”
“I won’t be–”
“Please. I’m changed. I’m a different...being. Everything is...strange and vivid and wonderful and terrifying. I need you. I need you to stay with me.”
He frowned, dragged his eyes from hers to look in the direction he wanted to go, then stared back into her eyes once more. “They don’t deserve to live.”
“No. No, they don’t. But Dev, you’ll have plenty of chances to remedy that. You’re immortal.” She blinked as it slowly sank in, and then said it aloud. “And so am I.” She almost smiled. There was this giddy sense of invincibility overtaking her more and more with every moment she spent as this changed, empowered being.
“I have to do what I have to do,” he said, cupping her face with one hand.
“I need you right now–”
“I won’t be long. And Emma…it gets better, you know. The power. The strength. The heightened senses. Better and better. Go with Will and Sarafina. I promise, I’ll join you soon.” He nodded to the others. And then he was gone.
Devlin raced back through the forest feeling the wind on his skin and the earth beneath his pounding feet as never before. Everything had changed. Emma was one of them now. A vampire. Immortal. A creature of the night.
And she glowed with her newfound power. As uncertain as she had been about making this decision, it was clear now that she was relishing her new nature. Emma Benatar had been born to be a vampire. Even as a human she’d been doing things that seemed impossible to other mortals. She’d already been head and shoulders above other women. Powerful. Confident. Fearless.
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