Revelations in Blood

by Patricia D. Eddy

  Shit. Her throat felt like it was on fire, and the marks on her neck where Luigi had fed throbbed with each beat of her heart.

  “Philipe Dumont. Or…I was.” With a sigh, the vampire dropped his head into his hands. Scraggly brown hair fell over his fingers, a hint of stubble along the edges of his jaw.

  “Philipe.” Despite the drugs muddling her thoughts, she seized on his name. “You were on the Conclave. Bayard was your lover. Oh God. You’ve been here? All this time?” Panic had her hands shaking, and she pulled her sweater tighter, suddenly chilled to the bone.

  “You know Bayard?” Philipe shuffled forward, his steps uneven as his own chain dragged along the ground. “Is he…they did not kill him?”

  “No.” Evangeline pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to focus. “He was…protecting Nic—and me—until…Oh God. Sylvie.” The sight of her vampire guard being shot in the chest, the amount of blood pooling underneath her…had she survived? “I think…Bayard lived. I can’t remember…they drugged me.”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks. Memories of her capture were blurry. After she’d felt the sting of the needle, her body had gone limp, but she’d been able to see for maybe a minute. A dark, stone alley. An idling car. Government plates. She’d gotten a very good look at those plates as they’d bound her wrists and ankles before shoving her into the trunk.

  Then nothing.

  Focus. Find a way out.

  “Can Luigi…is he listening to us?” she asked.

  Philipe shook his head, his nostrils flaring as he scented her blood. “My God. You smell like nothing I have ever experienced. Like a summer day.”

  Eyeing the bars that separated them, Evangeline tried to scoot farther away. “I’m not your snack.”

  Sinking to his knees, Philipe sighed. “I know. I am sorry for my behavior. They starve me. And Luigi…he drugged me before they brought you in. Most of the time, I can control myself. Even as hungry as I am.” He narrowed his eyes. “What are you? Not human. But not vampire either.”

  “I…don’t know.” She let her head rest against the rough stone, her shattered cheekbone throbbing. Gingerly, she touched the swelling, sending white-hot bolts of electricity arcing up the back of her head. When she could breathe again, she plucked out her contact lenses, hating how they turned the insides of her eyelids to sandpaper. “I was human. Now…I’m more?”

  “Luigi’s experiments?” Philipe wrapped his arms tightly around his stomach, and through her hazy vision, Evangeline caught the sharp points of his fangs glinting in the harsh lights.

  “My…father’s. I can’t…” Her stomach twisted again, and she braced her hands on the rough stone floor, praying she wouldn’t pass out again. “If I don’t…get out of here, Nic dies. And I can’t…” Evangeline shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut as another wave of pain gripped her. “I won’t survive Luigi feeding from me again.”

  “I am chained as you are. I do not know how I can help.”

  Feeling along the cold stone, Evangeline crawled closer to Philipe’s cell until the manacle binding her to the wall bit into her ankle. Only then did she open her eyes. “Tell me everything you know about this place. Help me find a way out.”

  Though the vampire in the next cell shimmered in and out of focus, Evangeline had enough clarity to see the moment hope gleamed in his eyes. With a nod, he sat up a little straighter. “That, I can do.”

  26

  Nic woke with his muscles seizing. Curled into a ball on the narrow bed, he moaned weakly as a fresh spasm of pain rolled through him. His skin burned, the red welts from the silver cuffs still fresh. What was happening to him?

  He’d heard Antonio crack the seal on the bottle of blood. It had not been tainted. Had they dosed him with something while he’d been unconscious? The agony of his body breaking down threatened to drive him mad, and he pressed his fist against his heart.

  “Evangeline,” he whispered. “I need you, cara. I do not know how, but I will find you.”

  The way he felt, he could barely walk, let alone find a way out of an impenetrable prison he’d helped design. His only hope was to escape his cell when they next came to take his blood. If he could not, he feared he would die here. Long before they executed him.

  Forcing himself to uncurl his body and roll off the bed, he staggered on unsteady legs to the tiny sink. With his body braced against the steel, he splashed icy water on his face, rinsed his mouth, and in a moment of desperation, stuck as much of his head as he could under the tap.

  The frigid stream made his skin tingle, but when he straightened and wicked the water from his hair, he felt more alert than he had since they’d taken his blood.

  Touching the bonding marks on his neck, he prayed that somehow, he’d hear Evangeline’s answering call. But once the short burst of warmth across his neck faded, there was nothing. Only the all-consuming horror of being utterly and completely alone remained.

  Memories of his years in Longo’s cage assaulted his mind, rapid-fire images, emotions, and sensations he’d hoped to never feel again.

  “You will reveal all of your secrets, vampire.” Longo held a silver blade against Nic’s abdomen. The metal burned, and Nic snarled around the gag the doctor had forced between his teeth. “How long will you bleed, I wonder?”

  The tip of the knife pierced his skin, but Nic refused to make another sound. He would not give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him scream. But the stronzo did not simply stab him. No. After watching the blood well around the incision and drip down Nic’s side, Longo pushed the blade in further, then twisted it, slowly, a smile curving his lips.

  Agony ripped through Nic’s gut as the knife drove deeper until the hilt pressed against his skin. His body fought to repair the wounds, but silver slowed his healing. Long troughs in the table he was bound to, specially designed to ferry his rich, powerful blood into containers for later study, filled. When he could stand the torture no longer, Nic let out a strangled, weak whimper, pleading without words for mercy, though he knew he would find none.

  With his hands braced against the sink, Nic forced himself to breathe. Longo was dead. The catacombs destroyed. He had to find a way to escape and save Evangeline. Moving to the back of the cell, he ran his fingers over the rough stone wall. He’d overseen the construction personally. Watched as the stone cutters had blasted and carved the cells. Nic punched the wall with all of his strength, and a few shards crumbled to the floor, but he’d done more damage to his hand than the stone.

  His fingers trembled as he tried to straighten them, realigning the bones before they could knit back together. How long would it take him to escape with brute strength alone? Weeks. He did not have that much time.

  Moving to the door, he grabbed one of the bars with his uninjured hand. The silver leached strength from his grip, and though he fought to ignore the pain, he could not do more than rattle the lock. A well-placed kick did no more damage, but the sound carried up and down the long hall, and Nic cringed. If the guards caught him trying to break out, they would chain him.

  How long had he been here? They’d taken his watch and phone when they’d searched him. The hunger in his belly warned him it had been at least half a day. Perhaps longer.

  What were they doing to his Evangeline? Panic took over, and he paced his cell, a quiet Italian prayer on his lips, but too soon, only three words filled his head.

  No way out.

  “Signore. Svegliatti, per favore.”

  Wake up.

  The harsh whisper startled him from a nightmare, and Nic shot up, fists at the ready, before he realized where he was. In the Conclave’s prison, waiting to die.

  Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he took a step closer to the cell door. “Enrico?”

  “Si.”

  “How long have I been here? Please, tell me.” Nic wanted to grab the bars and plead with the vampire guard, but the closer he got to the silver, the sooner he’d need blood.

  “It is 10:00 p.m., signore. I
have brought you a meal.” The vampire guard slid a tray partway through a vertical opening in the bars. A small hunk of bread, two wedges of cheese, and a few slices of cured meat rested on a plastic plate along with a small glass of blood. No silverware. Were they concerned he could actually harm another vampire with a plastic knife while locked in this cell?

  “I am not hungry.” Nic stalked back to the bed and dropped down onto the mattress, his head resting in his hands. Eleven hours. How much longer could Evangeline survive? What were they doing to her?

  Enrico cleared his throat. “Per favore. Nicola. You need to eat. It is the only way you will survive. You must be hungry. Look at what I have brought you.”

  Peering up at the guard, Nic narrowed his eyes as Enrico lifted a corner of the napkin. Was that…? After Enrico slid the tray all the way into the cell, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Count to one hundred. The cameras will shut down for five minutes. Go down, not up. Guardati le spalle.”

  Watch your back. Nic nodded. “Grazie mille. Rimanga sicuro.”

  He didn’t know how safe Enrico would be once Antonio realized Nic was gone, but he could not worry about that now. He had a way out.

  Nic shoved the wedge of cheese into his mouth. He didn’t want to take time to eat, but without blood, the food would help keep him going a little longer. Lifting the napkin, he fingered the lock pick tools Enrico had given him.

  Another five seconds. Nic stood, the picks hidden in his palm. He waited for an extra ten count just to be certain no one would see him. Thrusting his hands through the bars, he winced at the burn of the silver against his skin.

  Fingers shaking from the strain, he clenched his teeth as he maneuvered the first pick into the lock. Working blindly, Nic fiddled with the second tool, trying to maneuver the tiny hook into the thick lock.

  “Merda,” he swore when the second tool almost slipped from his damp fingers. Slow down. Get yourself out so you can find Evangeline.

  Forcing himself to breathe, he closed his eyes. The first set of tumblers clicked into place, and the thrill of the tiny victory gave him the strength to keep going. How much longer did he have? Two minutes? Three? Another tumbler fell. One more.

  When the lock popped open, Nic shoved the door with his foot, glanced up and down the dimly lit hall, and headed towards the lower levels. Another prisoner shouted for help, and Nic paused for a breath. If he freed the other man, took the time to pick another lock, he might lose any chance he had of escaping.

  “I do not belong here,” the man whispered. “I did nothing wrong. Please help.”

  Nic met the vampire’s gaze. He’d been beaten, his arms and legs held in silver fetters. “I will make this right,” Nic said as he headed for a narrow set of stairs at the end of the hallway.

  He only knew of one way out. An old drainage channel with a silver grid across the sluice gate led to a system of tunnels that spilled out into the Tiber River. If he could open the gate, he could crawl to freedom. Through perhaps two miles of muck and at least a thousand feet of water.

  Down another set of stairs, and he was out of the range of the cameras. He hoped. But as he skidded around the corner, he collided with a massive vampire carrying a bag of tools.

  “What are you doing down here?” the man asked. He shoved Nic back against the wall, then grabbed a large wrench and slammed it into Nic’s abdomen.

  Choking, gasping for air, Nic wheezed, “Get the fuck out of my way.”

  “I don’t think so.” Another hit from the wrench sent Nic to his knees, but he swung his arm out, catching the man around the ankles. As the hulk hit the floor with a shout, Nic grabbed for the wrench. Rolling his body, he tried to yank the weapon from the other vampire’s hand, but the man wrapped his legs around Nic’s waist and squeezed.

  He couldn’t breathe. No. Not this close. Drawing on his last reserves, Nic rolled again, slamming the maintenance man into the stone wall. Fisting the other vampire’s hair, he yanked his head back and slammed a punch to the man’s neck.

  As the vampire grabbed his throat, unable to draw breath, Nic scrambled up. “I am sorry,” he managed. “I cannot take the chance that you will tell anyone you saw me.”

  With one final swing of the wrench, Nic fractured the other vampire’s skull. Blood spilled onto the stone floor, and Nic dropped to his knees to check his attacker’s pulse. Still there. Faint, but present. “You will heal,” he whispered.

  The sluice gate loomed up ahead, the light glinting off the silver mesh. Nic clenched his teeth against the pain, slipped his fingers through the small holes in the grate, and let out a guttural cry as he ripped the silver away.

  I am coming, Evangeline. Wherever you are. I will find you.

  Nic scrambled into the tunnel. Darkness pressed in on him, and he crawled, sightless after the first gentle bend. At every turn, he scraped his forehead, shoulder, or hip against the rough walls, and by the time he fell down the first drop, the scent of his blood was thick in the dank, still air. Despite being deep underground, the Conclave’s prison was built on a hill high above the city of Rome, and Nic tumbled down a second vertical pipe without any warning, slamming his hands into the muck at the bottom. The stench choked him, and he forced shallow breaths through his mouth as he pushed on. Water reached his thighs, then his stomach. Another hundred yards and he was swimming.

  Turning onto his back, he floated, his nose and mouth as close to the top of the tunnel as he could manage. Forcing all of the air from his lungs, he sucked in a deep breath, then started swimming as best he could in the cramped space.

  How far had he gone? His lungs burned. His eyes felt like they were about to pop out of his head from the pressure. When his diaphragm convulsed, he clamped his lips shut and pinched his nose to stop himself from inhaling the brackish water.

  A little farther. Fight.

  Up ahead, a faint glow gave him hope. He could do this. For his Evangeline. As he reached the edge of the pipe, his body betrayed him. Another spasm as his lungs fought for air sent a gush of water into his mouth. He couldn’t stop himself from inhaling the deluge.

  Something moved in the water as darkness closed in on him. He’d failed.

  Evangeline. I am sorry…

  27

  Something hit his chest. Hard. Loud voices reached his ears, and his body convulsed as he struggled to breathe. Another thump against his clavicle and water bubbled up from his throat. Nic turned onto his side, coughing and wheezing as a hand pounded on his back.

  “Breathe, you stubborn bastard,” a male voice ordered.

  “Trying.” The single word scraped over Nic’s raw throat, and he curled his body inward, fresh pain shooting through his chest. “Stop…hitting…me.”

  “Merda. He is back.”

  Nic knew that voice. Never wanted to hear it again. Struggling to his feet, he drew in several heaving breaths as he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “What are you doing here, Carlo?”

  As his vision cleared and he focused on the rest of the vampires around him, including his former physician, he added, “Vittoria, the only woman I ever struck was my sire. You are dangerously close to becoming the second.”

  “Nicola, sit down. You almost drowned.” Bayard took his arm, but Nic shook it off.

  “Where is Evangeline? And why the fuck are they here?” Turning, his jaw fell open when he saw Sylvie. Her hair hung in limp, wet strands, water clinging to her eyelashes, Above the t-shirt plastered to her chest, a round bullet scar was still healing. “How did you survive?”

  Sylvie jerked her head towards Vittoria. “That one. And E’s blood.” At Nic’s snarl, Sylvie held up her hands. “Hey, mate. I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. You try refusing blood when you’re unconscious and dying. I dare ya. You want to blame someone, blame Bayard.”

  “I saved your life, femme ingrate. And you throw me under the bus?” Bayard shook his head. “Nicola, we do not have time to fight. You need blood, and we do not know where Evangeline is
.”

  Now that he was above ground, on the banks of the canal under a bridge, Nic realized as his vision sharpened, he tried to sense his life mate.

  Nothing.

  “Nicola.” Carlo took a step forward, his hands raised. “Per favore, mio amico. I did not betray you. Not truly. I did what I had to. For you. For Evangeline. To protect you both.”

  “I do not trust either of you at the moment.” Nic’s hoarse voice cracked, and he rubbed the back of his neck, finding a dull, throbbing pain just under his hairline. “What the fuck is this?” He ran his fingers over the wound until Bayard cleared his throat.

  “A tracker.” He held out his hand, a small, bloody disc with a tiny wire resting in his palm. “This is how they found us this morning. They must have inserted it when they performed the medical exam during the interrogation.”

  “How did you discover this?” Too exhausted to stand, Nic sank down to the damp grass.

  Carlo took a shuffling step forward, his gaze fixed on his shoes. “I told him.”

  “You are treading on unsteady ground,” Nic replied. “I feel like shit, but I could still kill you easily. Answers. Now.”

  “Um, I don’t suppose we could head for the cars, could we?” Sylvie said as she ran a hand through her wet hair. “I’d feel a lot better if we were at the safe house rather than out in the open, next to a drainage pipe someone at the Conclave is going to check once they discover your escape. Soon.”

  “Safe house?” Nic turned his tired gaze to Evangeline’s bodyguard.

  “Yeah. You really think any spook worth her salt would find herself in a major city without one?” She extended her hand to help Nic up, then thought better of the action and stepped aside so Bayard could lift Nic to his feet.

  As the small group climbed up the embankment, Nic leaning heavily on the Frenchman, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Keep talking, Carlo.”

  “After I left your home yesterday,” Carlo began, “I went to the Conclave to meet with Luigi. I offered to continue working on decrypting Longo’s research—”