Twilight Vendetta

by Maggie Shayne

  “More,” she whispered.

  “Yes. More. And more. I want all of you, Emma Benatar.”

  She was tingling with desire already. All he had to do was look at her to make her feel this wild need for him, for his touch. “You told me once there could never be anything between us.”

  He trailed his fingertips over her cheek. “I can’t love you, Emma.”

  “Because of your wife? The one you lost more than a century ago?”

  He lowered his eyes. “Because a man like me can’t love. I’ve never known anything but hate and intolerance. I can’t trust because I’ve been betrayed over and over again. And because I’m going to lead a revolution. And that’s going to make me, and anyone else in my life, a target. And because at heart, you’re a peacemaker. We’d be at odds. You’d be at risk. I’d be second guessing myself at every turn.”

  “That’s weak,” she said. “Even all of it together is weak. And I think you know it.”

  He nodded. “All right, yes, it’s also because of Maria. I don’t ever want to hurt like that again. It almost killed me, losing her and the baby. I haven’t even wanted a dog again since all that. I can’t do it, Emma. I can’t.”

  She lowered her head. “So all we’ve got is...here and now.”

  “Is that enough for you?”

  “Not on your life,” she said. Then she peeled her blouse over her head and turned around, swinging one leg over him, keeping her weight on her knees. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t take every bit of you that I can get.” She bent over and brushed her neck over his face, over his lips. “Have a little sip, Dev. It’ll make you feel so much better.”

  He opened his mouth, closed it on her neck, sucking softly, teasing with his tongue. His hand on her nape tightened; his beautiful incisors pierced her flesh and sank deep.

  And everything in her entire body experienced the rapture.

  A couple of hours later, they were trudging through the woods again. Devlin limped along, still in pain, as much from the tourniquet as the wound, especially since Emma stopped every quarter mile or so to tighten the thing up again.

  Devlin was in a state that was extremely rare for him. He was afraid, and he couldn’t talk himself out of it by saying that the ice demon gnawing at his stomach from within was irrational. It was completely rational.

  Somehow, against all of his defenses, Emma had managed to get under his skin. She’d made him care about her, care for her, made him want more than he should. Already, she’d nearly died because of him, and more than once. When this mission was over and he was back at the island, he had to make her leave. Banish her from his life, once and for all.

  He doubted it would be as easy to banish her from his heart. Its fortress had been breached. There was no going back. He’d hoped to protect himself from the pain of loving and losing. Now all he could hope for was to protect her from dying due to his proximity. He was going to war against mankind. He would become DPI’s most targeted vampire.

  I can’t build another life of ignorant bliss, another love so full of hope, only to lose it to death. To murder. To violence. I can’t get comfortable like that again. Let my guard down. Domestic bliss is for mortals. Daring to be happy is like waving a red flag in front of the bull named fate.

  He was afraid, pure and simple. He was afraid of living through a terrible loss again. He didn’t really think he could.

  All of those thoughts were tormenting him to the point where his throat hurt from clenching so tight against the pain. He was so distracted that it was she, the fledgling, who first smelled it.

  Devlin, stop!

  Her message came clearly, urgently, from her mind to his as they traversed the forest. He walked with a pronounced limp. But he had been replenished by her blood and her body, and was feeling stronger, despite the pain in his leg and the greater pain in his soul at knowing, more than he’d known before, just how short their time together had to be.

  He stopped, opening his mind and sensing the area, immediately picking up on what she had. There was someone nearby, and the scent of strange blood was heavy in the air, a scent he’d only recently experienced for the first time.

  “It’s them,” he whispered. Knowing she would know exactly who he meant, but adding anyway, “The shifters we freed.”

  She nodded. “One of them’s wounded,” she whispered back.

  He moved in their direction, putting himself in front of Emma, and recognizing the energy and scent of the two shifters, Tara and Tomas. He went slowly, silently, closing his mind to interlopers, because he didn’t know if they were psychic or not. He didn’t know anything about their kind, or even what their kind were, exactly. He placed every footstep with great care, moving like a ghost through the forest.

  And then Emma called out loud, “Tara? Tomas?”

  He shot her a killing look, but she only made a face and kept speaking, full volume. “Don’t be afraid, it’s Emma and Devlin, the ones who set you free. We’re alone. Just the two of us. Devlin was injured, too.”

  He shook his head at her trusting nature, taking it as further proof of their incompatibility, and they moved a few more steps, then stopped. The scent said they should be on top of them, but there was no sign of the two. Emma’s perplexed frown captured his attention so completely that he lost track of what he was supposed to be doing for a moment.

  “Up here, vampires,” Tomas said. “If you can help my sister, I’ll try to bring her down to you. If not, then get out of here and leave us alone.”

  They both looked up to see Tomas sitting on a pine limb far, far above them. His hair was a mix of ambers and browns, his skin tawny, like he had a golden tan. Then Devlin spotted his sister on a nearby limb, her back against the tree’s massive trunk, one leg dangling, the other stretched out. Her head was tipped to one side. Her eyes were closed.

  “No need to bring her down,” Emma said, and then she crouched and sprung, rocketing high, her aim sheer perfection, her coordination, mind boggling for one so young. She landed easily on the limb, then she crawled closer to the girl.

  Devlin jumped up too, pushing off a bit crookedly from his one good leg, not that he was needed. Emma seemed to have things well in hand. She was pushing Tara’s blouse aside and examining a bullet wound, small and neat, in the girl’s abdomen. She looked at Devlin, her eyes grim. “She’ll die if we don’t get her some help.”

  “Only her human half,” her brother muttered.

  “What does that mean, exactly?” Devlin asked.

  Tomas pressed his lips. “No one can help her. Get out, leave me to my grief.”

  “Someone can help her,” Emma said quickly, then looked to Devlin. “The vampiress Rhiannon has powers way beyond what most of us have.”

  Devlin was sure he hadn’t told her that. And she hadn’t been around Rhiannon long enough to have learned it from her. More of her research, he suspected. Rhiannon was legend among their kind.

  “She’s not here, though, is she?” Tomas’s tone was sarcastic and venomous.

  “No, but she’s not far from here. There are others with her. Friends. If Rhiannon can’t help, maybe one of them can. What do you have to lose by letting them try?”

  He stared at his sister, tears in his eyes. “Everything,” he whispered.

  “No, Tomas. You have nothing to lose. She’s dying either way. But you have everything to gain if one of our friends can save her.”

  He stared at her for a long time. Devlin knew he wouldn’t withstand the sincerity and caring in those deep brown eyes of hers. No man could. He wasn’t sure any living thing could.

  Predictably, Tomas nodded. “You can carry her to the ground more easily than I. She can’t shift just now to get down on her own. Land gently.” And with that, he jumped from the limb on which he sat, his body twisting and morphing as he went, until he landed in a pile of deep brush. Devlin glimpsed fur, thick and gray. Or did he?

  He glanced at Emma, whose huge eyes were wide with amazement. She felt his gaze
on her, he thought, because she returned it. What did he shift into? she asked silently.

  He shrugged. Take care, Emma. I don’t trust them.

  She smiled. You don’t trust anyone, Devlin. Then she nodded toward the girl. “You take her. You have more experience landing gently than I do.”

  They followed the directions they’d been given until they were near enough to feel the energy emissions of the Offspring, which were strong and unique to their kind. From there on, they moved more quickly, and Emma heard Devlin’s mind clearly as he announced their arrival, and Rhiannon’s quick and impatient reply, It’s about time.

  The barn’s side door slid open as they drew nearer, and Rhiannon stood there, arm in arm with her beloved Roland, who needed her help to balance on one leg.

  “Bastards stole my prosthetic,” he muttered.

  “That’s pretty low, even for them,” Devlin said. He reached out a hand, not to shake, but to clasp Roland’s shoulder in a show of affection the likes of which Emma hadn’t sensed between him and any other living being. There was a bond there, she thought. “I’m glad to see you, my friend.”

  “Not as glad as I was to see you in that prison,” Roland returned. “Thank you. That’s twice now you’ve saved my life.”

  “I heard they blew up the Anemone. I’ve been sick to my soul ever since. Did everyone make it off the ship?”

  “They did,” Roland said, and it felt as if a huge weight lifted from Devlin’s shoulders when he did. Then Roland frowned, looking beyond Devlin’s shoulder at the two strangers. Tomas carried Tara in his arms.

  Rhiannon eyed them too, and said, “Lycan,” the way some might say, “spoiled meat.”

  “Lycan?” Emma asked, her eyes going round. “You mean–”

  “Werewolves,” the ancient vampiress told her, tossing her long dark hair behind her. “Where did you find them?”

  “We freed them when we freed Roland,” Emma said quickly. Tara’s been shot. I told them I thought you could help them.”

  Rhiannon lifted her brows and looked at Roland, a question in her eyes. He said, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  “I beg to differ, my love, but I’m not going to argue with you on our first night reunited.” She inclined her head. “Bring her inside, I’ll see what I can do.” Then she turned and moved deeper into the barn, and Tomas followed, carrying his sister. He got about four feet in, heading toward the mountain of hay that took up one entire side of the structure, when suddenly a black panther leapt from the top of the pile to land in a ready crouch just a few feet in front of them. The fur along the cat’s spine bristled upright, and she bared her teeth in a low growl. Emma jumped backward with a squeak of alarm, then clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from agitating the beast. Where had it come from? They were certainly not native to the woodlands of New York.

  Tomas bared his teeth and growled back, the sound inhuman. It was a wolf’s rumbling threat, not a human’s imitation of one.

  “Tomas,” Tara said softly, “No.” She moved one limp arm, extending her hand toward the panther, turning so she could look at the animal. She’d been unconscious the entire way through the woods, but somehow, she’d come around.

  The cat’s head tipped to one side. She stretched her neck closer, without moving a single step, sniffing the girl’s fingertips softly. Then she sat down. No more bristled fur. But her eyes never left the two.

  “Good cat, Pandora,” Rhiannon said. She’d been watching this exchange and looked as surprised as Emma felt. Then Tara’s hand went limp once more, and her eyes rolled back into her head. “Quickly, lay her down, so I can see what we’re dealing with.”

  Tomas obeyed, and as Rhiannon, Roland, and Tomas gathered around Tara, even Pandora crowding in close, Emma looked around the barn. She saw Wolf and Sheena sitting in a corner, and two of the seven-year-olds were taking turns climbing up to the rafters and jumping down into the pile of hay, giggling the entire time. The little girl bore a striking resemblance to Rhiannon, with her sleek black hair combed straight and blunt bangs across her forehead.

  The third child, one of the two little boys, had rolled to the bottom of the hay mountain on his last jump. He crowded in to join the group gathered around Tara just as Rhiannon was saying, “I can stop her bleeding, but healing this wound is beyond even my abilities.”

  “I can do it,” the little boy said. And then he pushed his way through the adults gathered around the girl. “Move over. Let me fix her.”

  “Gareth,” Rhiannon began, but Roland put a hand on her shoulder and met her eyes, his message spoken mentally, but not privately. What can it hurt to let the boy try? We have no idea what he’s capable of. Look at the way Nikki picked up your invisibility spell after seeing you do it just once.

  Nikki? Emma blinked in shock, realizing that the little girl must have been the one who’d made them all disappear back at The Sentinel. Amazing.

  “Your name is Gareth?” Tomas asked.

  “Roland gave it to me,” the little boy said, but he was distracted, his focus on Tara.

  “My grandfather’s name was Gareth.”

  Rhiannon clasped the child’s arms and moved him right up beside the patient.

  “You better move back a little,” he told her. “Sometimes you might get burned.”

  She frowned as if puzzled, but she took a step back.

  Then little Gareth held his palms over the wound in Tara’s abdomen, closed his eyes, waited a long moment as everyone watched. The energy of the room was tense.

  But nothing happened.

  The little boy opened his eyes and called, “Sheena, I need your help.”

  “What for?” Sheena asked, rising lazily from her spot on the hay and brushing bits of it from her clothes.

  “The bullet is inside her. You can pull it out.”

  She heaved a sigh so typically like that of a teenage girl irritated by a younger brother that Emma almost smiled. They were not so different. Not so inhuman. Whatever else these Offspring were, they were also kids.

  Stomping over to the wounded girl’s side, Sheena frowned. “I can’t move what I can’t see.”

  “It’s right here,” Gareth said, pointing his forefinger at Tara’s abdomen, two inches below the entry wound. “About this deep.” He held up thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. “Try to bring it back out the way it went in.” He drew his finger upward toward the hole to demonstrate. “Be careful.”

  Sheena nodded, glancing up at the girl’s face, and then staring at her for a long moment. She frowned briefly, as if surprised by whatever she was feeling and shifted her attention back to her task with a look of determination. With her hand, she mimicked pinching hold of the bullet, then moved her hand upward, lifting it as she went. Tara moaned, but within seconds, the bullet emerged from the hole with a little pulse of blood, and lay soft upon her belly.

  “Perfect,” little Gareth praised. Then he moved his small hands into position again and an orange-red glow came from them. The wound seemed to be cauterizing itself, and again Tara groaned in pain and the scent of overheated flesh was sharp to the heightened senses of a vampire. But it was necessary.

  Gradually, the light from the child’s hands cooled from orange to yellow to a soft and odd green hue. Then he moved up and down her body, slowly infusing her with whatever that green light was.

  Tara’s breathing hitched, hiccuped, and then became long and slow and steady. Her color began to return. And after a few tense moments, her eyes blinked open. She looked around, disoriented, confused at first, but then her gaze fell on the little boy and she smiled. “I dreamed there was an angel. He was healing me.”

  Gareth smiled. “It was just me,” he said. Then he turned and ran off to resume his game with his siblings.

  Roland and Rhiannon exchanged looks of wonder.

  Emma shook off her own stunned amazement at the little boy’s abilities, to ask the question she’d been holding back for the past several minutes. “Where is my
father?”

  “I’m sorry, Emma,” Rhiannon said. They hadn’t been introduced, but Emma wasn’t surprised that Rhiannon knew her name. She probably knew a lot more than just that. “I should’ve spoken sooner,” she went on. “He’s in the little room in the back with that mad vampiress. He hasn’t come out since we arrived.”

  Nodding, Emma turned to Devlin, squeezed his hand briefly, and then jogged across the barn in the direction Rhiannon had pointed. The room was small, just off the main part of the barn. It held an old, well-deep sink and tarnished faucets, a stack of buckets, a small window, and an exit door.

  Her father sat on the floor beside the poor woman they’d rescued from the coffin-like box at DPI’s Sentinel. A vampiress, yes, but so long without sustenance that she was barely more than skin stretched over bones. She looked like a mummified Egyptian royal. Her hair was long, shock white, and thin, her face, shrunken and leathery.

  “Dad?” Emma whispered.

  Her father looked up, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose. There were tears on his cheeks, though, so the glasses slid right down again. He met Emma’s eyes and smiled sadly, but he didn’t get up and run to hug her. He just shook his head and looked down again.

  “The vampires tried giving her some of their own blood, but she’s too weak to swallow. I don’t know if she’ll live, but I thank God you got here in time to see her before she.... before she....”

  Emma frowned harder, moving closer to her father. She put a hand on his shoulder, needing to touch him, to assure herself he was real. She’d expected him to run to her, to hug her. But he was still on the floor staring at the woman, holding her hand, even. “Dad, I’m confused. Do you...know her?”

  “I’d know her anywhere. She’s the love of my life.” He looked up at Emma. “Honey, this is your mother.”

  Emma’s knees turned to liquid, buckled, and she wound up on floor, staring in disbelief at the woman who resembled, more than anything else, a horror movie prop. A Halloween lawn decoration. “That...that can’t be Mom,” she whispered.