The steady click of the truck’s turn signal drew Krys’s attention back to the issues at hand: a patient to treat, a semi-mute giant with questionable sanitary habits, and a man over whom she’d practically made a fool of herself. Aidan Murphy was too attractive to ever be interested in a plain Jane like her, and he might be too controlling to be the kind of boss she wanted—basically, one who’d leave her alone and let her run a clinic the way it needed to be run. She’d been controlled enough in her life.
She fought the urge to look out the back window of the Bronco’s hatch, where she knew he was trailing them in his muddy car.
Mirren turned the Bronco in to a parking lot and stopped in front of the double doors of a one-story, midcentury, redbrick building with a sign out front: Penton Medical Clinic. She was surprised. She’d been expecting a small converted house or Quonset hut—this looked more like a hospital, which might even be an omen in Penton’s favor.
Mark Calvert was one lucky guy. Krys applied the last bandage to his sutured abdomen and checked the CT scan of his head one final time on the wall-mounted light table. Minor concussion. He’d regained consciousness before drifting to sleep, and, as she’d suspected, the cuts were mostly messy. They’d hurt like hell and leave some ugly scars, but his life hadn’t been in jeopardy.
No one—not even Mark’s wife, Melissa, who turned out to have a year of nursing school and a level head once she’d gotten over the shock of seeing her husband carved like a turkey—had commented on the strange word carved into his flesh. Krys decided to stitch it up and forget it. Not her concern. Her job was to treat his wounds, not figure why someone had turned him into a greeting card with legs.
She also didn’t comment on Mark’s inner arm full of needle tracks, uncovered when she’d cut off the remains of his shirt. None recent, but at one time the man had had one heck of a drug problem. It might be her concern if she decided to stay here, but it wasn’t now.
The inside of the Penton Clinic delighted her as much as the outside. Its equipment was state-of-the-art, better than Sumter Regional’s, where she had completed her residency. She could do almost any procedure here. Why would a town this small have such good facilities, she wondered. That, plus the salary they were offering, meant Penton wasn’t nearly as economically depressed as the rest of East Alabama and West Georgia.
Mark awoke while she was securing the last bandage, cracking open the blue eyes she’d glimpsed earlier. They were still glassy, but somebody was home this time.
“Where—?” His voice cracked, and Krys filled a plastic cup with water and offered him a sip through a straw. He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but slumped when he couldn’t gather enough strength. Pressing his shoulders onto the bed, she punched the button to elevate his head and stuck the end of the bent straw into his mouth.
“I’m Dr. Krystal Harris, and you’re at the Penton Clinic. You need to be still, not move around much for a few hours. You’re going to be sore for a few days while you heal, but you’ll fully recover. Do you remember what happened?”
He blinked at her, face creased in a frown. “You’re already here? Where’s Aidan?” He swallowed hard and gathered his words. “Gotta talk to Aidan.”
Why the heck would he want to talk to the hospital administrator before he asked for his wife? “Let me get your wife.” Krys opened the door and Melissa Calvert pushed past, followed by Aidan and Mirren, all so focused on Mark that they didn’t give her a second glance. What did they think this was—a block party?
She assumed her best I’m-a-doctor-and-I’m-in-charge expression, the one she and every other resident had practiced since first-year med school. “Everybody but Melissa—out. Mark needs to rest tonight. You can talk to him tomorrow.”
They ignored her, so she walked to the opposite side of the bed, glared at Aidan, and raised her voice: “Now.”
Her brain stalled when he raised his gaze to meet hers. This was the first time she’d gotten a look at him in decent lighting, and it only confirmed her earlier impression. When God was handing out looks, Aidan Murphy had gotten a double dose. Dark hair with a hint of curl, light stubble, and a small scar on one cheek kept him from being too pretty. He’d ditched the black wool coat and wore a navy sweater that accentuated the blue eyes that were narrowing at her above a frown.
And he shouldn’t be in this room. Her brain finally gave her libido a kick in the butt, and she found her voice. “I’m sorry, but you gentlemen need to take it outside and let Mark get some rest.” That sounded about as authoritative as a Muppet.
Aidan stared at her for a couple of seconds longer before giving her a tight smile. “No problem, Dr. Harris. Come to the office when you’re finished with Mark, and we’ll talk about how to keep you here.” He gestured to Mirren and the big man followed him into the hallway, the door closing behind them with a click.
He wanted to keep her here—did that mean he already knew he was going to offer her the job? What in the world was she going to tell him?
From the shadowed alley beside Penton Hardware, Owen Murphy had a direct view of the clinic entrance. He smiled as a dark blue sedan whipped into the parking lot behind a big SUV.
“There you are, Brother.”
Nice feckin’ ride. Aidan had done well for himself. Of course, Saint Aidan would have done it the hard way, learning how to invest and play the stock markets. No way he’d stoop to enthralling rich humans to take what he wanted the way Owen would.
The man had no idea how to be a decent vampire, which was why he’d never be able to protect this little empire he’d created.
After sitting in the car for a few moments, Aidan climbed out, spoke to the driver of the SUV, and walked up the front steps of the clinic. His broad back in its fancy black coat made a tempting target. Owen raised his shotgun, caught Aidan in his sights, and whispered, “Bang.” Too bad a bullet wouldn’t get the job done.
“You gonna let him know you’re here?” Anders moved alongside Owen, waiting like a dog for his master to bark out instructions. The eejit’s ability to follow orders without overtaxing his brain had earned him the job as Owen’s second-in-command.
But what a bloody nuisance. “Not yet. This has to be done right.” My life depends on it.
He needed to make sure his message had arrived safely—tucked in the back of that SUV, he guessed. Owen lowered the shotgun and settled back to wait, resting against the side of the building. Its brick façade spread cold into his shoulder blades even through his coat.
“What if the human kicks it before he can tell your brother about the meeting?” Anders asked.
“Didn’t cut him bad enough to kill him.” Owen leaned his head back and took in the sprinkling of stars. Damned air was too heavy and humid here, even in the cold. Too quiet. Too dull. Perfect for his farm-boy brother, but not him. He missed the noise of Dublin, the music, the women. But he bet Aidan didn’t. The fool tended a greenhouse full of plants in the dead of winter, for the love of all that was holy.
But Dublin, like most of Europe, was full of the hunger now, and from what Owen had seen in the last month, America wasn’t far behind. Couldn’t walk a block without tripping over starving vampires fighting over the same unvaccinated humans. Except for Aidan and his little u-frickin’-topia free of the pandemic vaccine. Whole vampire world went hungry while Aidan and his cronies drank like kings.
“Here we go.” At the sound of the SUV door opening, Owen edged toward the mouth of the alley again. He frowned and stepped closer to the street for a better look as the driver climbed out. “Bloody hell. Wouldja look at that?”
Anders sidled alongside him and swore. “Only one vamp I ever heard of that big, but I thought the Slayer was dead. Maybe it’s a human.”
“No, it’s him. I’ve seen the bastard before. Seems the rumors of Mirren Kincaid’s death have been a wee bit exaggerated. He’s a game-changer.” Owen believed he could best his brother in a fight. Aidan might be physically stronger but he’d get tripped up
following the rules. Not that bloody mercenary Kincaid. The Slayer had no rules. And if that damned Matthias Ludlam knew he was here and hadn’t warned Owen...well, the price for killing Aidan just went higher.
“And there’s my message.” Owen grunted in satisfaction as Mirren pulled Aidan’s human from the truck and carried him inside. A woman climbed out of the truck as well, and he studied her. Tall, slender. Maybe the Slayer’s mate? She might be leverage. God knew Aidan wouldn’t have taken another woman. Probably still flogging himself over his dead wife.
“Mission won and done. Let’s go.” Owen led Anders through the alley, taking a dark shortcut to the old mill village, a dead-end street lined with small houses originally intended to keep workers in debt to the Man while they inhaled cotton dust till their lungs collapsed. Now the houses sat abandoned, the woods behind them dense and the hills full of caves. All convenient hiding spots for the small scathe he’d pulled together after Matthias called, and the few humans they’d been able to scrape up for food.
“Pull a female out of the herd and bring her to the house,” he said, turning left in the direction of the village. “I’m starving.”
Anders nodded, taking a sharp right toward the mill and its dank, partially collapsed basement where their humans had been tethered since the previous night. Since Aidan bonded his humans, Owen’s scathe couldn’t feed from them. They’d had to provide their own, and it was a sorry lot—mostly junkies grabbed off the streets of Atlanta.
He continued to a small, white-framed house at the dead end of Cotton Street, digging a cell phone from his pocket and punching a number as soon as he’d slipped inside.
The voice answering the call didn’t bother with a greeting. “Did you set it up?”
“A fine evening to you as well, Matthias,” Owen said. “And how are things with our esteemed Tribunal leader? Relaxing over brandy and cigars, are you?”
“Shove the sarcasm, Murphy.” Matthias’s hard-edged Yank accent annoyed Owen more than the stale beer at most of Atlanta’s so-called pubs. “You said you could get a meeting with Aidan. Did you?”
“I sent the invitation, and he’ll bloody well answer,” Owen said. “He’s too much of an optimist not to. He’ll try to convince me to go back to Dublin and leave him and his little town alone.”
“And you’re willing to end it?”
“You mean, will I kill him? What’s wrong—don’t want to get dirty by saying the words?” Owen swung the door open for Anders, who sauntered in gripping the arm of a young woman with dead eyes and a slack-jawed expression. Owen flicked his eyes over her body and nodded. Almost used up, that one, but she’d do.
Matthias snorted. “You get extra credit for getting Aidan out of commission for good, but first priority is to get that town of his shut down and his scathe broken up. He’s getting too powerful.” He paused for a moment, and then resumed in a softer voice. “And you know what’s waiting for you if you don’t.”
Yeah, Owen knew. A date with the Tribunal’s executioner. The current one. The guy might not make you suffer as long as the Slayer would have, but at the end of the day, your head would still be lying in a separate plot from your body.
Speaking of which. “So, Matthias, guess where your old friend the Slayer is spending his time these days?”
Ludlam snorted. “Saw Mirren Kincaid already, did you? We want him back in the fold so don’t kill him unless you have to. As for you, we have others who can take you out if you don’t perform.”
“Oh, the job will be done, but your price just went up.”
Owen flopped down in a threadbare plaid armchair that smelled of mildew and poverty, and pulled the woman to his lap, grabbing the scruff of her neck to turn her head toward him. Her eyes grew glassy, and she leaned into him, running a dirt-smudged hand between his thighs.
“You’re a lucky bastard that my brother pisses me off even more than the Tribunal,” Owen said, closing his eyes as the girl worked him through his jeans.
Matthias laughed, a brittle cackling sound. “Come on, Murphy, you’re only doing this to save your own miserable life. You had half the cops in Dublin looking for the so-called Vampire Killer.”
“It would have blown over.” He grabbed the girl’s hair to get her attention and shook his head when she began fumbling at his zipper. Not yet.
“You’re reckless, Murphy. Lucky for you the Tribunal is split on this little social experiment of Aidan’s.” He paused, and Owen heard the clink of a glass. “Aidan has friends on the Tribunal, so remember—I’m not involved. No one on the Tribunal is involved. Don’t forget that.”
Owen walked to the window and looked out, jerking the shade into place as a dark sedan crawled down the street, paused in the cul-de-sac, then turned and slowly rolled the other way. Aidan had started patrols around the mill and village after the murder of the town doctor, which meant that most of Owen’s people had to stay in the woods, living in the dark like beasts.
“Look, we don’t have enough people for an all-out war, so I have to hit slow and strategic-like, especially with the Slayer in the picture,” Owen said. “Besides, Penton has more than twice as many humans as vampires, and near as I can tell, every human is bonded directly or indirectly to Aidan. Once he’s down, the rest of his people will run.”
Another long silence. When Matthias spoke, his voice dropped a few decibels. “I can’t send you fighters, but I can send a courier to Atlanta with a new weapon.” He paused. “And if I ever hear you link it to me, there’s nowhere you can hide. Understand?”
Owen grinned. “Must be a fine bit of stuff, that. Tomorrow night’s kill is going to make me a free man.”
“That woman’s gonna be a handful.” Mirren followed Aidan down the hospital corridor. “Not too late to change your mind about keeping her here.”
“Yeah, it is.” Aidan couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this angry. First Doc and now Mark. He wasn’t likely to be the last of Owen’s victims. “Get someone to bring her car in and stash it.”
Mirren grumbled something beneath his breath but headed out the front door when Aidan turned left toward the clinic office for a quick meeting with Will.
He slowed his pace, wishing he had time to feed before encountering Krystal Harris again. Because no way he’d have reacted this way to her if he hadn’t been hungry and angry—skin heating, slow vampire heart speeding, every blood and sex urge igniting. She was pretty enough, sexy as hell, but he was acting like a besotted vampire who’d encountered a potential mate.
He’d never felt it before, and he didn’t want to feel it now—especially about this woman. Not only was she human, but he’d spent the last two hours planning her abduction. How screwed up was that?
After all these years, he should know better than to get into an emotional situation around that much blood when he hadn’t fed. Idiot.
Now that he’d met her, he hated what he was about to do even more, but the plan to keep her had to move forward. He’d worked hard to turn Penton into a place where his scathe and their human fams could live in peace, so he’d just have to suck it up—even if Krys Harris pushed all his buttons. Besides, she was responding to him as a man, not as a vampire. He’d seen desire turn to fear in a woman’s eyes in the span of a heartbeat.
He needed to get a grip before she came in for her interview. And he needed to find out why Will had picked her.
Aidan unlocked the office door and flipped a switch that simultaneously turned on the three lamps scattered around the room. Their soft light cast dramatic shadows on the deep teal walls and cherry furnishings—and the head of spiky blond hair emerging through an opening in the far corner floor.
“About time you got here. How’s Mark?” Will Ludlam pulled himself out of the hatch and slid the interlocking wooden panels back into place to cover the opening. He brushed imaginary dust off his pants legs before reclining on the sofa beneath the window and taking a not-so-subtle glance at his watch. Aidan chuckled; it was Will’s way of saying
that night was burning and he had more interesting things to do than to check the locks on a suite for an about-to-be-abducted human.
“Mark’ll be fine. Owen hurt him enough to scar him, not kill him, so I’m guessing he sent a message. Haven’t had a chance to get Mark alone yet, though.”
Aidan sat behind a cherry desk roughly the size of a football field. Scathe members had been using the office as a general meeting place since the town’s doctor had been murdered, but nobody had had the heart to move his furniture or take down the ugly-ass primitive oil paintings that dotted the walls.
He paused for a beat. “How sure are you about your research on Krystal Harris? She’s a lot tougher than I expected.” Tough didn’t cover it.
Will straightened the shirt cuffs peeking out from beneath his jacket sleeves. “You asked for a human doctor who hadn’t been vaccinated for the pandemic, and that’s what I got you. She’s perfect.” He counted off points on his fingers. “She’s unvaccinated, estranged from her family, no close friends, finishing a residency in general medicine, looking for a job in rural medicine. Probably meek as a kitten and homely as a toad.”
“Wrong and wrong.” Holy hell. Aidan rolled his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “Hard to believe no one will miss her.”
Will looked at him sharply. “What’s with you, man? You look rattled. But you and Mark and Melissa are tight. I get that. Something else going on?”
Rattled. Right. “So the doctor is—”
“She’s perfect—believe me. I hacked into the friggin’ personnel files of every human hospital in the Southeast looking for an unvaccinated doctor and she’s the best I found. Besides, we have a bigger issue.”
He didn’t have enough problems between his homicidal brother and a soon-to-be-abducted doctor he wanted to wear like a glove? “What’s wrong?”
“When I came into the office to check the locks on the suite door, the hatch wasn’t covered and the panel was hanging open. Whoever went down there last needs a serious reminder about security.”
Redemption (The Penton Vampire Legacy) Page 3
