“What do you remember next?”
“My head hurt. Worse than ever. I swear I thought I’d die from the sharp pounding.”
“You were hungover.”
“Maybe. I was sure it was something else. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t see. Everything hurt. My head. My arms. My neck. My legs. My teeth. My fucking teeth hurt, Bill.”
“You could have been drugged. Rohypnol, most likely.”
“Rohypnol?”
“Commonly referred to as the date-rape drug. Someone might have dropped it in your drink. Because River doesn’t have any memory of getting home, we think he was roofied too.”
“Roofied?”
“That’s what they call it on the street. Think hard, Dante. Do you remember seeing anyone unusual that night? Before you woke up?”
“It was Mardi Gras. Everyone was masked.”
“Yeah. That’s what River said.”
“It’s been ten years. Why would I know anything more than what River has already told you?”
“I’m just trying to help you, Dante.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But I don’t remember anyone unusual. I mean, everyone was unusual.”
Women had been flashing their tits to get beads. Riv and I hadn’t been able to stop ogling them. I’d been erect the whole damned time.
I’d thought I was in heaven.
God, how stupid.
Heaven didn’t exist. But hell sure did. I’d experienced it firsthand.
“What’s the last thing you remember before you woke up?” Bill asked.
I squeezed my eyes shut again.
Tits. Tits everywhere. Someone handed me a drink. Someone with tits.
And a mask.
And very fair skin.
“A woman,” I said. “I remember now. She was topless. She gave me a drink.”
“All right.”
“She had very fair skin and searing blue eyes.” My insides turned to ice. “Oh my God. She was a vampire, Bill.”
Chapter Sixteen
Erin
“What?” I sat across from Lucy at breakfast after work, hoping I hadn’t heard her right.
“I’m going out with Detective Hottie tonight,” she said again.
I scoffed. “Good luck.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“If he’s anything like his cousin, don’t expect to get very far.”
“What happened now?”
I didn’t feel like rehashing the previous morning. It was too humiliating. “Suffice it to say, I’m done with him.”
Words were words and nothing else. Even after saying them, I knew, if I saw Dante again, I’d feel that same uncontrollable pull.
The answer? Never see him again. Which would be difficult if my best friend started dating his cousin. Not to mention his cousin being partners with my brother. All I could do was hope that Lucy fucked River and got him out of her system, and that Jay got reassigned.
“Hey,” I said, remembering Mrs. Moore, “do you know if Dr. Bonneville’s mother was also a doctor?”
“I have no idea. Why?”
I filled her in on my conversation with Mrs. Moore.
“It’s possible,” Lucy said, and then she chuckled. “The Z names are interesting. But somehow I never really thought of her as having a mother. I just assumed she was conceived out of pure evil.”
I joined her in laughter. “True. But she does take losing a patient very hard, so she must have some shred of humanity left in her.”
“That just means she cares more about the dead than the living. It’s her ego. She couldn’t save the patient, so she takes it hard. It has nothing to do with the actual loss of a human life.”
“Hmm. I never thought of it that way.” I took a sip of my decaf. “She is a brilliant physician, though.”
“Genius has nothing to do with kindness. Sometimes the more scientifically brilliant a person is, the more lack of regard he has for what’s truly important.”
I swallowed a bite of English muffin. “Maybe. But Dr. Thomas is intelligent too, and she’s a great person.”
“Dr. Thomas is an excellent doctor, but I wouldn’t put her at Bitchville’s level. That woman must have an IQ of 160 or above.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “I just like Thomas so much better, so I’d prefer to think she’s just as gifted. At least she understands bedside manner. That’s nearly as important as aptitude when it comes to being a good physician. Or nurse, for that matter.”
“And she treats her colleagues with respect,” Lucy agreed.
“Hey, can you do me a favor?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“When you go out with River, can you get the scoop on Cynthia North?”
“I can try. But why don’t you just ask Jay?”
“I intend to. But Jay said she was responding better to River, so he left him alone with her last night. I’d like to get his take on the whole thing.”
“I’ll ask. But why are you so interested? She’s back, and she’s recovering. She’s no worse for the wear that anyone can see.”
“She was taken from our hospital,” I said.
“And returned unharmed.”
“True, and I’m thankful for that. But doesn’t it bother you that she just disappeared for a few days?”
“Of course it bothers me, but I have enough to worry about.”
So did I. But something niggled at me. Just as I felt Mrs. Moore had had important information for me, I now felt Cynthia North did too. The question was…what was it?
Work the next night was quiet, so I decided to visit the blood bank.
That was where I’d first laid eyes on Dante, and though I wanted more than anything to forget him, I couldn’t.
So I’d try to figure out exactly what it was about him that called to me.
He was gorgeous, no doubt, but I’d felt the pull the first time I’d seen him, looking like a maniac with blood on his hands and face. Not something that would normally entice me, no matter how physically attractive the person was.
I walked in, rubbing my arms against the chill. Of course the bank was immaculate. Nothing like it had looked when I’d found Dante vandalizing it.
Why would a person vandalize a blood bank?
Why would a person even seek out a blood bank and mistake it for a regular refrigerator?
I shook my head. I had no idea.
Nope, nothing to be learned here. I turned to leave, when I noticed one of the shelves was empty.
No B positive blood.
B positive was the type Dr. Bonneville had sent me to Tulane to order. It must not have arrived yet. Odd. She’d sent me personally for that very reason, to get it here quickly.
Oh, well. No worries. The B neg shelf was full, and B neg would suffice for anyone who was type B pos.
I walked back up to the ER. Dr. Anderson was on duty tonight, and he kept to himself unless he needed help. Some docs were like that. They didn’t trust the nursing staff. Fine with me. I could catch up with paperwork. But first, a look at the news.
“What?” I said aloud when I saw the first headline.
Apparently, the woman who’d disappeared from the free clinic around the same time that our patient had disappeared had been returned as well, also in a drug-induced coma.
“That is that,” I said aloud, standing. I checked in with Dr. Anderson and got permission to leave a few minutes before my shift ended.
Attending physicians did their rounds early in the morning, so Cynthia North would be awake.
She and I were going to have a talk.
Chapter Seventeen
Dante
“Good morning, you piece of shit.” The masked servant—I didn’t know his name, but he was the more odious of the two—glared at me and then moved his gaze to my cock, licking his lips lasciviously. “It’s torture time. I’d love to put a vise clamp on you here, but unfortunately, the queen forbids it. A shame.”
Though I hated her, I couldn’t help but fee
l a tiny sliver of gratitude.
This sadist wouldn’t touch my cock, thank God.
“She likes you to look pretty. Too bad. I really want to use my whip and watch that perfect skin crack open, watch your fucking blood drip everywhere. Can’t waste the blood, though.”
I closed my eyes and tried to zone out. Tried to stop hearing his evil voice.
Tried, but—
“Aaauuggh!”
My eyes shot open to see a silver clamp pinching my right nipple. Sharp pain lanced into my flesh, as if the nipple had been ripped off my body.
“Hurts. Yes, that’s good. Scream for me.”
I clamped my mouth shut. I would not scream again. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
I kept that vow.
Time and time again.
“Are you sure she was a vampire? Maybe just a human with fair skin?”
It was the eyes. She was the queen. Her. The one who’d fed from me and had me tortured, forced me to drink her blood. She had been there that night, had been the one to drug me and take me.
“I’m sure.”
“Anything else?”
I let out a long breath. “Not that I can remember. The next thing I recall is waking up in the dark room. Not being able to move. God.” I pushed my hair out of my face. “How did I survive?”
“You survived because you’re strong, Dante. You’re descended from a long line of strong and resilient vampires. The Gabriel line is known for both its physical and mental strength.”
“There were times when I wanted to die.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I didn’t. Sometimes the pain was so bad I didn’t think I could possibly live through it.”
“But you did.”
“I did.” And after that last time, I hadn’t given my torturer the satisfaction of ever hearing me scream again.
“How long after you got there was it before someone came to you?”
“I honestly don’t know. Time didn’t seem to exist in that place. I didn’t see natural light the entire time I was there.”
“Did they feed you?”
“Yes. Eventually. Three meals a day. Lots of water.”
“Good. So whoever had you didn’t take you with the intention of killing you. That’s clear, since you lasted ten years there.”
“Does our family have any…enemies in the vampire world?”
Bill shook his head. “There are so few of us left. Millennia ago, when we lived in clans, we were probably friends with some clans and enemies with others. But no written history has been kept of any of that.”
I sighed.
“What do you recall next?”
“I was in pain. My head was pounding for what seemed like days. And my stomach. I was hungry, thirsty. Just when I thought I might die from thirst, someone entered.”
“Who?”
“One of the two servants who fed me. And tortured me. I could smell them. They weren’t vampires. They were human.” The scent rose up in my memory. No human smelled bad to a vampire, but by the end, all I smelled when either of them entered was rotten fish.
The scent of evil.
“I see. Interesting. They were male?”
“Yes. Human males. Human sadists. I mean real sadists. This wasn’t for sexual gratification. This was just because they enjoyed inflicting pain.” I closed my eyes, humiliation rising within me. I rubbed my arms against a sudden chill.
“Dante?”
I opened them. “I’m all right. It’s just…embarrassing.”
“You had no control over what happened to you. There’s no reason for you to feel embarrassed.”
“Yeah? Tell that to my brain. I can’t help it. I’m a Gabriel vampire. I should have been able to fight them off.”
“You were eighteen years old.”
“And I was twenty-eight by the time I escaped. I should have been able to escape way sooner than that.”
“Something kept you strong, Dante. Your blood.”
“You mean her blood,” I said quietly.
“No. I mean your blood. Your father’s blood. My blood. My father’s blood. It all flows within your veins.” He cocked his head. “Wait. What do you mean…her blood?”
Chapter Eighteen
Erin
“I wish I could tell you more, but I just can’t,” Cynthia North said. “I’ve already told the police that I don’t remember anything.”
“Do you remember being shot at all?”
She’s a bleeder. Dr. Thomas’s words when Cynthia North had been wheeled in by the EMTs. The words that had sent me down to the blood bank for O neg.
The words that had sent me to Dante.
“No. Just that bitch coming at me. I panicked. And then…nothing.”
Cynthia had apparently gotten over the agitation Jay had witnessed, because her demeanor with me was good. Her complexion was rosy. She’d been transfused before going to the OR for surgery—the surgery she never made it to. She looked and sounded remarkably healthy for someone who’d been near death only a little over a week ago.
Wherever she had been, she had received excellent care.
“How do you feel, Ms. North?”
“Cynthia, please. I feel…good, actually. I’d really love to get out of here.”
“That’s up to your doctors. Who’s been working with you?”
“Dr. Leonard Brown mostly. Oh, and another has been by a few times. A woman. Dr. Bonneville.”
“Dr. Zabrina Bonneville? She’s an emergency room physician.”
“Really? She told me she was a hematologist.”
A blood doctor? Maybe. Her residency could have been in hematology. Maybe she switched to emergency medicine later. I’d have to check.
“Are you having any blood problems?”
“She just took some of my blood. Wanted to rule out a few things.”
“Have you heard back on those tests?”
“Yes. I’m fine, apparently.”
“That’s good to hear.” I patted her hand. “Thank you for your time, Ms.— Cynthia. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. And if you could put in a good word for me with either of my doctors, I’d appreciate it. You know, to get me out of here sooner.” She smiled.
“I’ll do what I can.” I thanked her again and left her room, leaving her door open.
I got home with renewed energy. The shift had gone well, even if I hadn’t gleaned much information from Cynthia North. A night that kept me busy but resulted in no fatalities or even a critical condition was a good night.
I fixed myself a quick breakfast and pulled out my laptop.
Time to do a little research on Dr. Zabrina Bonneville. She was a hematologist now?
She was really good with my second son, Carlos. He had a blood disorder.
Maybe Dr. Bonneville wasn’t a blood doctor. But her apparent doppelganger, Dr. Zarah, had been.
I searched furiously for an hour. What I found astounded me. Or rather, what I didn’t find.
Dr. Bonneville had not published any articles in medical journals, nor had Dr. Zarah. I checked all three surnames Mrs. Moore had given me. If Dr. Zarah had truly come up with some kind of protocol to keep Mrs. Moore’s son alive, why hadn’t she written about it? Documented it?
Dr. Bonneville was also known for her brilliance as a diagnostician. Lucy had talked about her ego. Wouldn’t her ego demand that she publish her findings?
Where had she gone to med school? Done her residency? Any fellowships? I couldn’t find any documentation. On the internet, Zabrina Bonneville didn’t seem to exist.
Not possible. She’d been hired at University, so she clearly had credentials. Why they weren’t documented anywhere online was more than a puzzle, though.
I’d never questioned her ability as a physician. She was top-notch. It was her personality that drove all of us in the ER crazy.
I’d attack this from a different angle. Mrs. Moore’s son. She’d said his name was Carlos. M
rs. Moore had been ninety when she died, and she’d said Carlos had died in a car accident at twenty-four. She’d also said Carlos was her second son. If she’d given birth to him between twenty-five and thirty, I was looking at around forty years ago. The internet hadn’t existed forty years ago. Still, I might be able to find something. Many newspapers had already moved all their old microfilms and microfiches to the internet.
It was worth a look.
Carlos Moore was a more common name than I’d thought. I found a writer and an attorney in the area with that name. But the name did not come up in any automobile accidents within the time frame I was researching.
They could very well have been living somewhere else. I was truly looking for a needle in a haystack. I was about to give up when something caught my eye at the bottom of my search screen.
“Carlos” and “Moore” showed up separately in an article about an automobile accident during the correct time frame. What the heck? I clicked.
Three people are confirmed dead after a horrific four-vehicle crash on Gayoso Street on January 9.
A station wagon driven by Mark Strahan, thirty-eight, plowed into a sedan driven by twenty-four-year-old Carlos Mendez, son of Juan and Irene Mendez, who was pronounced dead at the scene.
Strahan was rushed to Tulane Hospital and is in critical condition. His blood alcohol level indicated he was intoxicated while driving.
Two pedestrians, both minors, were killed when the vehicle driven by Mendez was pushed into them during the accident. The minors’ parents asked that their names not be released.
“This is yet another accident clearly caused by drunk driving,” NOPD Officer Joseph Moore stated. “Three innocent lives have been lost due to one person’s inebriation. Let this be a wake-up call to all drivers who get behind the wheel after drinking.”
Strahan, if he survives, will most likely be charged with vehicular manslaughter.
Unchained: Blood Bond Saga: Volume One Page 16
