Samson's Lovely Mortal

by Tina Folsom

  “What happened?” Samson asked.

  “I picked up a familiar scent. It was faint, but I thought I recognized it. Now I know for sure. It was Milo. He killed the accountant.”

  Samson swallowed hard. “I remember that he was in a hurry to leave the warehouse. It should have tipped me off, but I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “None of us noticed … and of all people, I should have caught onto him much earlier. I spent the most time with him. I should have seen it,” Thomas blamed himself.

  Ricky waved him off. “He deceived you. It’s not your fault.”

  Amaury nodded in agreement. “If anything, I should have picked up on his emotions. I should have figured it out.”

  “Stop, everybody,” Samson said. “What’s done is done.” He looked at Amaury. “Milo would have guarded his emotions from you. He knew about your gift. As for deceiving a lover—we’ve all been on the receiving end of it at one point or another. You’re not to blame, Thomas. I’m just glad he didn’t kill you.” He put his hand on Thomas’ shoulder and squeezed it in assurance. “What happened then?”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I’m the jealous kind.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I managed to put a chip into his cell phone yesterday to record his conversations. I was just playing them back when Amaury called me to help him with the encrypted files—”

  “I thought I’d heard Milo’s voice in the background.”

  Thomas nodded. “I recognized Ilona’s voice when he spoke to her. They are brother and sister. I never saw the resemblance, but now that I know, I can see similarities, gestures they have in common.” He cast Samson a hunted look. “You’re lucky that you never blood-bonded with her. If you had, you’d be dead now.”

  The realization hit Samson hard. “Dead? Killed by a blood-bonded mate?”

  “No. Killed by her brother. She would have been unable to keep her murderous thoughts veiled once you were blood-bonded. You would have sensed it. But if she had arranged everything with Milo beforehand, you would have remained in the dark about her intentions,” Amaury explained in Thomas’ stead.

  “All this for money?” Samson shook his head.

  “You sound surprised,” Amaury noted.

  “I shouldn’t be.”

  “Ilona will stop at nothing to get what she wants. That’s why Milo infiltrated our group. It all makes sense now, even the timing.” Thomas looked into the round. “Just after you dumped her, Milo showed up. First he gained my trust, and then he tried to figure out how to get at your money. Took him long enough. So he figures out who to blackmail to get at the books from one side, then steals my logon and password to finish it off. No wonder he didn’t want us to talk to the accountant.”

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  Thomas shook his head. “No, but we can try to trace the chip. If he’s still got his cell phone on him, I’ll find him.”

  They reached Thomas’ office upstairs, and Thomas let himself fall into his chair. His hands instantly flew over the keyboard as various screens popped up.

  “He’s somewhere in the vicinity of Ilona’s place. They are probably on their way to pack up and leave the city. You have to go, now.”

  “You think you can reverse the transactions?”

  “Yes, trust me. The transactions are on a time-delay loop. It’s a little program I put in place a couple of weeks ago for extra security. We’ll get all your money back. They won’t get away with this. You just make sure you catch the two before they can hurt anybody else.”

  Samson put his hand on Thomas’ shoulder and squeezed.

  A minute later they were outside.

  “Ricky, call backup. We need a dozen guards to close in on them. It will take us too long to get to her place from here. They’ll be gone by then.”

  Ricky instantly dialed on his cell and gave orders to his subordinates.

  Samson’s cell vibrated in his pocket.

  “Carl?”

  “Miss Delilah is gone.”

  Samson’s throat constricted and his heart froze as all the strength flowed out of his body.

  SIXTEEN

  The Chinese New Years Parade was in full swing, and the masses of people watching the festivities squeezed through the narrow streets of Chinatown. The colorful dragon which was carried on sticks by even more colorful young Chinese men wound its way through the festive streets. Lanterns and lights hung from each shop and each restaurant on the way.

  Delilah had tricked Carl. She’d sent him on a fool’s errand to the drugstore—pretending to have stomach cramps—and had been surprised at how easily he’d bought her lies. She knew that Samson would probably punish him for leaving her alone, but she couldn’t allow herself to feel sorry for him now. She needed to get away.

  A future with Samson was impossible, and the faster she put a stop to all this, the better for all involved. The last day and night had severely tried her belief in reality. Suddenly she’d been confronted with a world in which vampires not only existed but pretended to live lives similar to humans.

  And in the last few days she’d also had to realize that all walls she’d built around herself had started crumbling. She’d never told anybody about the pain she’d carried around with her for so long, and she still couldn’t understand why she’d told Samson. Of all people, he didn’t deserve her trust.

  He’d lied to her, again and again. And he would continue lying to her. In his eyes she’d seen his desperation to have her, consume her. What other lies would he dish up, just so she’d stay? She barely knew him, and the idea of spending eternity with him was too foreign, too much, too soon. While she was with him, she knew she couldn’t think straight. He’d make sure of that by seducing her over and over again. And Delilah knew she would be unable to resist him.

  But she couldn’t make an important decision like that, a decision that meant being with a vampire forever, while she was in his arms, when her brain was utter mush.

  It was pure luck that Amaury had interrupted them, and she took it as a sign that she had to escape. It was now or never. She finally had to think with her head and squash the little voice coming from her heart—the voice which kept on insisting that she was making a big mistake.

  Delilah knew she couldn’t make it to the airport for the last flight out, since it was too late already, but she would hide in a small hotel, somewhere where he wouldn’t find her. She’d give a wrong name, pay cash. And tomorrow morning, she’d be on the first flight to New York. She was pretty confident that she’d considered every precaution she had to take, because if anything, Samson was resourceful and would try anything to find her.

  Delilah had forgotten about the parade. The crowds made it difficult for her to get through the streets, but there’d been no taxi. She had to make it down toward Union Square where she hoped she had a better chance of finding transportation.

  Her suitcase felt heavier and heavier as she rolled it behind her. She had taken everything that was hers, not wanting to give herself an excuse to go back. She was weak enough in her resolve as is.

  The music and the noise of the crowd drowned out some of her thoughts as she tried to push her way through the sidewalk. Every few seconds she got bumped by somebody or felt another foot on hers. Her toes were already bleeding, she was sure.

  Under other circumstances she might have enjoyed the colorful parade, sampled some of the exotic foods, and even bought a trinket or two, but a sightseeing tour of San Francisco was the last thing on her mind.

  Different languages whirled past her ears as she inched forward through the crowd. Young and old faces passed her, men and women, children and seniors, Caucasians and Asians. It took more than fifteen minutes just to advance one block.

  Delilah was relieved when she finally made it through the maddening crowd and found herself in a quieter alley. She would be able to cut through the worst of the crowd from here and find her way to Union Square down the hill.

  The sound of the wheels of her suitcase on the cob
blestone street echoed through the alley. In the background the music mixed with it and then the sound of cars and motorbikes.

  Another faint sound made her spin around, but she saw nothing. She was still too jumpy. It would settle, soon. Her imagination was just playing tricks on her.

  Delilah turned into the next street which was wider than the alley she’d come from. To the left was a dead end, so she turned right. The street was lined with apartment houses three stories high, and their entrances were blocked with iron gates, their piercing spikes accusingly stretched toward heaven. She walked along the sidewalk and lost herself in her thoughts again.

  She had to convince herself that she was doing the right thing by leaving him.

  Too late Delilah heard the sound behind her, the engine of a motorcycle. She twisted her head and saw it heading straight for her. She was unable to make out the dark figure riding it.

  Her feet picked up speed, and instinctively she let go of her suitcase. She ran, but the motorcycle gained on her, the sound of its engine growing louder as it approached. Louder and more menacing with every second. She could never outrun it. Frantically she looked to both sides to find a hiding place where the motorcycle couldn’t follow her.

  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a movement, but it was too quick for her to register what it was.

  “Delilah!”

  The bellow echoed through the street and bounced off the buildings. A bellow of somebody clearly horrified. Before she could turn, she felt arms push her out of the way, slamming her onto the asphalt. She fell hard. The impact made her ribs hurt, and she groaned loudly.

  The lights of the motorcycle blinded her for a second as she whipped her head around, just in time to see the bike hit the person who’d pushed her out of the way. She saw the figure flung into the air as if it were a ragdoll, then crash down. The downward fall was broken by the spikes of the iron gate.

  The body hung there, impaled.

  The motorcycle skidded, a figure tumbling to the ground, rolling, then getting up, obviously uninjured. The engine suddenly cut out, and it was quiet.

  Delilah’s side hurt as she tried to move, but she had to. The biker was heading for her after briefly glancing at the figure impaled on the gate.

  Delilah stumbled to her feet. It was too dark for her to make out who the person on the gate was, but she knew nevertheless. She’d heard him scream her name in a voice that was all too familiar. He had pushed her out of the way and saved her life, if only for a few minutes.

  But she didn’t want to acknowledge who he was. Because if she did, her whole world would collapse. The person who’d pushed her out of the way of the motorcycle, trying to save her, was now impaled on the gate, seemingly lifeless.

  Delilah tried to move, but her feet froze firmly in place when the biker came toward her, as if somebody was keeping her in place by invisible strings. She tried to lift one foot in front of the other, but couldn’t. Nothing would move. She was paralyzed.

  Something caught her attention and made her snap her head to her right. That’s when she saw them: several men in dark clothes rushing toward the scene. That’s when she realized she had no chance. It was over. They were coming for her. They would kill her, just the way the motorcyclist had killed her rescuer.

  Delilah looked back at the biker who suddenly turned away from her and sprinted in the opposite direction, away from the men. What?

  “Delilah?” she heard another familiar voice. A second later, Amaury stood next to her. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, dazed. Suddenly her muscles moved again, and she almost collapsed. Amaury caught her.

  “Samson?” Her head tilted to the direction of the iron gate. She didn’t want to hear the answer. She watched in horror as two of the men brought him down from the spikes and laid him on the ground. A slight movement caught her eye. Had he moved by himself?

  “Samson!”

  Delilah tried to run toward the man they’d laid on the pavement. Samson. A strong hand pulled her back.

  “No,” Amaury said. “You don’t want to see him like that.”

  She yanked her arm out of his grip. “He’s hurt because of me!”

  She ran to him, dropped down next to him. Samson’s body lay slack on the ground, blood pumping from several large wounds. So much blood! But to her surprise, she didn’t feel the usual queasiness in her stomach that normally befell her when she saw blood.

  Delilah looked at his face. It was smeared with blood. But his eyes were open.

  “Samson.” She stoked his cheek. Her eyes filled with tears at pain displayed on his face. She’d never seen anybody in this much agony, this much physical pain.

  In the background she heard Amaury give commands, but all she saw was Samson, the man from whom she’d tried to run away. Why? She couldn’t remember.

  “Somebody help him! We need to get him to a doctor,” Delilah called out to Amaury. Cold fear gripped her as he gave her a grave look.

  “A donor is on the way.”

  She didn’t understand. “A donor?”

  Samson tried to speak, but his voice was a mere gurgle. Delilah bent closer to him, trying to soothe him. But she didn’t know what to do. She had no first-aid skills, and even if she did, would they even work on a vampire? She was helpless.

  “Don’t try to speak. We’ll get you help. Everything will be alright, please, just hold on,” she encouraged him, knowing her words were a lie, ringing hollow in her ears.

  Samson moved his head from side to side.

  “No!” she screamed, understanding what he meant. “Amaury, tell me what to do!”

  Amaury was at her side. “His injuries are too extensive. He knows it. I’m sorry, but he’ll die if he doesn’t get human blood immediately.”

  “Then get an ambulance, and get him a transfusion.” She suddenly remembered the vending machine at Dr. Drake’s practice. “Can’t you get some bottled blood somewhere?”

  “Bottled blood won’t work, not this time. His injuries are too grave. He needs blood coming directly from a human’s vein. He needs the life force of a human to help him regenerate.”

  “I’ll give him mine.” Without hesitation Delilah pushed the sleeve of her sweater up

  “No …” Samson’s voice was weak, but determined. His eyes cast a pleading look into Amaury’s direction.

  “He won’t let you,” Amaury explained.

  Delilah gave him a surprised look then shook her head. For once she didn’t give a damn what anybody did or did not want her to do. She would not sit by idly and let him die.

  “I don’t care. He’ll take my blood.”

  “I can’t let you do that, Delilah. Samson forbids it.”

  Tears flowed from her eyes and ran down her cheeks as she looked back at Samson. “I won’t let you die.”

  It looked as if he tried a smile, but his face distorted in pain instead.

  She put her wrist to his mouth. “Bite!” she ordered with fierce determination.

  But he didn’t bite. Instead, he turned his head away from her wrist.

  “You stubborn vampire! Fine, you won’t bite, I’ll have one of your friends bite me, and then I’m going to force-feed you my blood. Do you understand?” Anger colored her voice, and she saw something flicker in Samson’s eyes. Disbelief?

  “Amaury, bite my wrist,” she commanded, stretching her wrist toward Amaury.

  He shook his head. “I can’t.”

  She gave him a sharp look. “Somebody else then? You!” she shouted at one of the men who’d helped take Samson off the gate. “You’re a vampire—bite me, damn it, so I can feed Samson.”

  The vampire hesitated and looked between her, Samson and Amaury.

  Suddenly Delilah felt a hand on her other arm and turned. Samson’s hand had gripped her.

  “… don’t want … hurt you,” he pressed out, his voice barely audible.

  Now he had decided he didn’t want to hurt her? What about when he’d lied to her? The man’s ti
ming sucked. Major. She’d have to have a word with him about that, but later.

  “You will only hurt me if you leave me. Don’t leave me, please.”

  She placed her wrist at his mouth again, but he made no move. That’s when she lost it. Anger rolled over her. “Bite me, damn it, or I’ll kick you in the balls so hard you’ll scream into the next century! Do you understand?”

  A second later she felt the sharp pain of her skin breaking and liquid dripping. A fraction of a second later the pain was gone, and Samson’s fangs were firmly lodged in her wrist. She felt him suck, his eyes closed.

  With her free hand she smoothed his hair back from his bloodstained face. “Take what you need, my love.”

  Delilah felt more than heard his sigh. She dropped her head to his, and placed a kiss on his forehead. “I’m here, Samson, I’m here.”

  Amaury helped her lift Samson’s head into her lap so it was easier for her to feed him.

  “Thank you.”

  Amaury shook his head. “Samson is a very lucky man to have you.”

  The commotion behind her made her turn her head.

  Two vampires brought the struggling biker with them. The helmet was gone now, and revealed was a head of long auburn hair. She’d seen the woman before, at the theater.

  Ilona Hampstead, Samson’s ex-girlfriend.

  Ilona tried to escape the hold of the two vampires, but despite her struggles, she couldn’t. They were stronger than she was. Her expression was furious.

  The woman stared right at Delilah, watching how she let Samson drink her blood.

  “What, you think he’s going to be yours just because you let him have your blood? Dream on, sister!” Her voice was laced with venom.

  Delilah returned her vile look with a killer stare of her own. “Bitch! I’ll deal with you later!”

  She wanted to wring the woman’s neck for hurting Samson, for nearly killing him. Delilah looked down at him as he suckled from her wrist and saw how Samson’s eyes flew open in shock.