by Jan McDonald
“I’m so sorry, Lane. I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s the hunger, Beckett. You have a choice, feed or die. It’s that simple. I know you better than you think. You aren’t going to give in to this because we both know that you are the only hope our kind have of reversing what has happened to you and hundreds of others like you. And while it is a slim hope, it’s all we have. Now, are you ready to do what you have to?”
Beckett sagged visibly. He was weak and he knew it. Lane read him again.
“Don’t worry Handsome. I’ve got it.”
She picked him up like a small child and took the mountain in minutes. Darius stood near his car peering into the darkness. He straightened as a familiar glimmer alerted him to Lane’s approach, then she was at his side with Beckett in near collapse. He fell against Darius as Lane released her hold on him.
Darius caught him as he fell forwards. “Déja vu.”
“We don’t have much time. It’s not like before, this time is has to be straight and it has to be now. Can you do that?”
Darius nodded, “You know I can.” He pulled open his shirt to the waist as Lane lifted Beckett to his feet again. Darius tilted his head to one side and closed his eyes. “Is this going to hurt?”
She leaned forwards and pierced the vein in Darius’s throat with a small, glittering lancet. Droplets of blood appeared on his skin and slowly began to trickle down into a pool on his chest. Lane dipped her finger into the crimson pool and softly placed it against Beckett’s lips. He opened his eyes and shook his head. “I can’t,” he said brokenly.
Darius grabbed his arm. “Sure you can Beckett. This is a one and only deal, so you’d better make the most of it. This is getting kinda tedious you know.”
He grinned at Beckett and the blood ran faster. It pooled and glistened and Beckett had no choice. His hunger had to be assuaged.
CHAPTER FIVE: CHAINED
Jude had stood for as long as he could and then sagged against the wall; supported only by the manacles, his shoulders pulled nearly from their sockets, head fallen forwards. It was coal black inside the cellar not acknowledging day or night.
Outside the darkness had enveloped the welsh landscape, and the moon was riding high in the night sky, and even in the darkness of the cellar, Jude knew it was night.
He had suddenly become wide awake, a strength coursing through him like he’d never known. A low growl started somewhere deep in his throat, vibrating his upper torso. The growl became a snarl as he yanked at the chains.
And there it was; the tingle in his mouth, the pain at the roots of his teeth as they shifted and grew. His hands and upper body began to burn as they became covered with course dark hair and his nails were once again merciless black talons.
Just as his distance vision had been blurred and fuzzy during the day, now at night his eyes were able to penetrate the darkness.
He felt his fury rising to a crescendo and the manacles around his wrists had left blood slicked hair all over his wrists and hands where he had railed against the chains.
Flecks of white foam sat at the corner of his mouth and he gave way to the torment, thrashing around in a futile effort to free himself. He had done too good a job.
He stopped as suddenly as he had begun, his eyes scanning the dark, his nostrils twitching and his ears pricked and scanning around like radar. Someone was outside.
He lunged forwards, only succeeding in making the manacles bite deeper into his wrists. Then he recognised the scent of whoever was walking around outside, he’d smelled it before. His mind was a kaleidoscope of images and memories, swirling and vying for ascendancy to his conscious mind. He saw trees and moorland and he felt himself running, running through undergrowth and laying down in bracken, fighting his demons, thrashing around. The image of him smeared in blood and naked made him halt. Would she venture inside, and if she did, would she be foolish enough to come down into the cellar?
He tried to remember her name, the beautiful gypsy woman who had stepped from behind the tree, but his mind lay dormant in a murky fog. He thought she’d been kind to him, with an apparent understanding of what was happening to him.
He remained still, unmoving, unwilling to make any sound that would alert her to his presence in the cellar. He sensed her still outside, hesitant.
He felt his heart pick up pace and strength, its beat rapid in his chest, thumping against his ribcage. Then as suddenly as it had begun it ended with a pain akin to a hammer blow centrally in his chest.
He refused to cry out, biting into his lip to stop it. The pain eased, melting away like old snow. And then he passed out.
Sabine stood at the side of one of the outbuildings, listening and watching, waiting for a sign that she was in the right place. The door was shut and she could see that the windows were boarded from the inside. She had to be careful; she remembered what happened when Abram had been confronted by strangers when in the middle of his wolf phase. It hadn’t been pretty and had resulted in the bullet to the head that had ended his misery.
In the distance, she heard the blast of a shotgun, a farmer putting a half dead sheep out of the misery that Jude had left it in. There was no movement from within the farmhouse. She waited for an hour and then made a decision. She would talk to her father after all even though he was likely to be angry at her. Anything that brought memory of his beloved Abram back was taboo. But he may know what to do better than she and she suddenly felt nervous. She would come back and continue her vigil later, for now her father’s wisdom seemed the best way forwards.
The three caravans were parked close together in a small dip in the harsh terrain, a small stream running close by. They were modern caravans but her father still referred to theirs as the vardo, refusing to relinquish what remained of their heritage. Occasional words had never changed, remaining in their original Romanian or Romany.
Her father was sitting on the steps to the vardo, puffing on his old pipe his face devoid of expression. Since Abram’s death they had left their community and more or less isolated themselves, banished by their own kind, travelling with Sabine’s uncle and two cousins who had chosen to stay with them.
She walked up to her father quietly and he opened his eyes, sensing the presence of his daughter as she stood watching him cautiously. She didn’t want to cause him pain but feared she would, needing his advice which she knew wouldn’t be what she wanted to hear. But there was a chance that he would help.
“Hello Bato,” she said softly, using the Romany word for Father. “You were miles away. Was it pleasant where you were?”
He gave a half smile, as much as he could manage these days. “Sabine, where have you been?”
Her hesitation made him put down his pipe on the step beside him. He pierced her with brilliant dark eyes as she stood allowing his appraisal.
“What is it, child?”
“Bato, I don’t want to cause you pain, but I fear I will. I need your wisdom on a matter that will bring back dark memories. I have come across a man who is in desperate need of help. I fear he is as Abram was. Varcolac.” Varcolac, the Romany word for werewolf hung in the air like a thundercloud.
He didn’t speak, just lowered his eyes and stood up slowly. He went inside the caravan, his vardo, and closed the door behind him. She heard the lock click into place. She had her answer. She was alone.
CHAPTER SIX: NEW HOPE
Back at the Cedars, Lane said, “So, tell me about Jude Mason,” flicking the ash from her cigarette into an ornate marble ashtray.
Beckett wrinkled his nose, “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I know you do, but it’s hardly going to kill me now is it? Nor you now.”
“You always say that, but it’s antisocial.”
Lane laughed aloud at him. “That’s good. I’m a vampire, policing the world of human killing, blood drinking vampires who often have to be killed and smoking is antisocial? Give me a break, Handsome. So? Jude Mason?”
“As I said, he’s ex SAS, been to h
ell and back in Afghanistan. He came back after his fourth tour of duty with PTSD, medically discharged on a pension from the force and living up on the Brecon Beacons. As I said, he’s tried to rebuild his life by setting up a pre-selection programme to tie in with the rigours of selection for the Special Forces. Completely private and doing okay. Not making a fortune but making a living. Typically of ex Special Forces, except for a few that have cashed in with books, he’s reticent about what happened to him. Something massive to push him over the edge I think. I thought we were getting somewhere when he suddenly stopped coming to see me. You know the rest.”
Lane was thoughtful. “Does he not want to talk about it or does he not remember everything?”
“Both I think. He’s in turmoil. That much I sensed from him. And it didn’t take the vampire in me to sense it. It’s hard Lane, to separate the therapist instinct from the vampire.”
“Then don’t. Use them in conjunction with each other. You are what you are now, Beckett. So roll with it. I know you aren’t reading people yet, but when it happens. and it will, it won’t be a question of can you but it will be more about suppressing it until you really need it. You may be able to help this guy better if you allowed yourself access to his memories, though I realise that hasn’t fully developed in you yet. My thoughts on that are that the anti-HVV is suppressing it for now. Maybe it’s a blessing or maybe it’s a curse. But one thing is for sure, one day you will look into someone’s mind and see their most private and hidden thoughts and fears.”
“That is not a day I look forward to, but I’ll deal with it when it happens. I wonder if he would see you? In conjunction with myself if you like. I’m sorry to ask you but I’m afraid for him, Legs.”
“How afraid?”
Beckett hesitated. “Fairly afraid. For now.”
Lane smiled at him and the corners of her emerald eyes crinkled. Her parted lips displayed the sharp white canine teeth that never receded completely. Those that didn’t know her could be forgiven for thinking it gave her a predatory look. Mostly it just made her look sexy as hell.
“Well, partner, if he agrees to come back, I’m happy to give it my best shot.”
Beckett appeared relieved. “Thanks. I haven’t forgotten what happened the last time I asked you to do this.”
Lane pulled a wry face, “No. But here we are. And you know what, Beckett? It’s going to be okay.”
Beckett appeared to relax although she could feel the tensions and struggle within him. He was such a stubborn son of a bitch.
“You have a contact number for him, I take it?”
“Yep, I have his mobile number, although he doesn’t answer it. I keep getting his voice mail. At least I did before today. I’ll try him again.”
“Later then, Handsome. Give him time to think about things again. Right now, we are going out.”
“Oh?” his interest piqued.
“Time for you to meet Helena Bancroft. At her new lab.”
“Where?”
“An annexe to the Sanctuary.” She put up a hand to deflect his protests. “There is no access to the Sanctuary from it. She doesn’t know yet what she’s dealing with, but she has a mind like a bacon slicer and I don’t think it will take her long. Long enough I hope to gain her trust. And I think that will have a lot to do with you, Handsome. You need to work your charm on her.”
“Now wait a damn minute! I’m not playing Romeo just to deceive her. Bloody hell, Legs, where did you hide your ethics this morning? And anyway that Darius’s department.”
“Don’t flatter yourself Handsome. I merely meant for you to be your natural charming self, not seduce the hell out of her. I’m banking on you appealing to her humanitarian instincts as a doctor. There’s something about her, I don’t know. I think you’ll like her.”
Beckett tried not to look grumpy but just managed the little boy lost look that made Lane laugh inside.
“Come on, we’ll call in to your old office on the way back and collect all your records and anything that you want that will fit into my car, which won’t be a whole lot. Darius has arranged for your old chair and that damn filing cabinet to be collected and brought here. Now, be a good boy and stop sulking. If you’re really good, the doctor may give you a lollipop.”
Beckett burst out laughing. The first time that he had really felt mirth since he couldn’t remember when. “You’re really good for me, Legs. What the hell would I do without you?”
Lane put on a mock serious face and shook her head. “I really don’t know. It’s beyond me.”
Their easy mood and relaxed friendship continued during the short journey from Abergavenny to Newport. However, Beckett’s mood fell as they approached the area of Danse Macabre, the nightclub that had been owned by Darius’s brother the vampire Andrei Marinescu and the scene of carnage that had left him turning into what he had become. A vampire.
Lane remained silent, feeling his emotions, reading his thoughts, and flippancy had no place there, only quiet understanding. Beckett had withdrawn again and she left him in his own darkness. His fragile barriers were up and although she could penetrate them with ease, she granted him his privacy.
It was Beckett that broke the silence.
“That place needs burning to the ground.”
“I know how you feel, Handsome but we need to keep our eye on things and if the Born go underground it will make the job harder. God knows it’s hard enough.”
“I doubt God has anything to do with it.”
“We’re back to that are we? I thought you’d made your peace with the Big Guy.”
Beckett gave her a puzzled look. “The Big Guy? Hell, Lane. You know how I feel.”
“Sure I do. But I also know what happened when you prayed for Kat back in Greece. I know it gave her peace in her soul. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel it.”
“As I recall, you weren’t there.”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t feel it. I felt the shift in the energy, felt the presence Beckett and you’d better start to accept it. “
“Spoken like a true Catholic.”
“Up yours. Just for now, can we leave this? There are more important things to concentrate on right now. So if you can’t get over yourself for a minute, I’ll drop you off right here.”
She shocked him with her intensity and as he studied her closely he could feel the tension, feel her uncertainty and there was something else. He could feel her deep longing for a cure although she was way past its help; she yearned to be able to help those that it would. There was a flash in his head, like an arcing of electricity and he ‘saw’ her, tending a newly turned vampire and weeping. The image disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. The moment he had dreaded had come, her barriers were down and he had read her momentarily.
His voice was thick with emotion as the remnants of her grief still remained. “I had no idea. I’m sorry. You’re right I’m being selfish. Come on then, Legs. Let’s go see the scientist geek.”
Despite herself, Lane laughed aloud. “I’m sure she would love that description.” She pulled the car up at the kerbside and switched off the ignition. “So. Are you ready for this?”
“Hell, yes.”
They didn’t speak as they past by the entrance to the Sanctuary, unseen by those who didn’t need to know, disguised as it was behind an innocent Indian restaurant. Beckett closed his eyes as he pondered on his last visit.
At the outer door to the new lab, Lane took a card from her pocket and swiped it through the digital lock. “There’s one for you too,” she said. Beckett didn’t reply.
Inside the entrance hallway a steep flight of stairs rose at their feet leading to the lab which occupied the entire upper floor of the building. Movement from above told them that Helena Bancroft was hard at work. Lane took the stairs two at a time and her movements were only visible to Beckett. He still had remnants of belligerence so he climbed the stairs slowly and deliberately, consciously locking out the woman above. He needed to make a state
ment as he had no idea where this encounter was going to lead him.
Inside the lab a white coated woman with cropped, spiky red hair was bending over a microscope. Beckett noted the high heeled black leather thigh boots and short skirt. The open lab coat revealed a voluptuous figure. Large amber earrings adorned her lobes and his nostril twitched as he detected her expensive perfume. Lane smiled as she read him. “Not the geek you were expecting, Handsome?”
Beckett frowned. She laughed.
Helena Bancroft looked up from the microscope. Her expression changed instantly and her fury was obvious in her emerald eyes that were only a shade away from Lane’s. She stood up abruptly and her high stool fell backwards and clattered to the floor as she directed her fury at Lane.
“What in God’s name is this? Don’t take me for a fool Dr. Dearing! How dare you assume that I would simply accept your story of a mutated AIDS virus? I believe I deserve more respect than that. Explain yourself! And I warn you, if I don’t like the explanation I’m walking out of here and going straight to the authorities with this. For Christ’s sake, the virus cells are being killed off and then regenerating! Have you any idea what the implications of this are? I demand an explanation. Now.” She slammed her fist onto the workbench causing a rattling of glass tubes.
Lane retained her customary cool exterior but Beckett sensed her rapid thought processes and her instant assessment of the raging redhead with elfin features in front of her. He waited for her Obi Wan trick but it didn’t come.
Instead she walked casually towards Helena. Not for the first time Beckett found himself watching her lithe catlike movements and the swing of her chestnut mane. As always he found himself admiring her.
Lane’s hand was outstretched and she was smiling her reassurance. It seemed to have the effect of calming the woman. “Helena, this is Beckett. He is infected by this virus and needs your help. And there are many others out there like him. Now if you are prepared to open your mind, I will tell you exactly what this virus is.”
