Revelations in Blood

by Patricia D. Eddy

  A feminine roar had Luigi turning his head so quickly, his fangs tore through her skin, and Evangeline forced her eyes open to see her mother jabbing a pressure syringe into Luigi’s throat.

  Luigi groaned and collapsed, pulling Evangeline down with him. She tried to scramble away, but between her broken ankle, at least one shattered rib, and the drugs, she didn’t have the strength.

  “You’re a fucking piece of shit,” Marie said as she helped her daughter up. “Eva, you have to move, sweetheart.”

  “Can’t.” The pain had her shaking, and tears soaked her cheeks.

  “You have to. Your life mate escaped. He’s out there somewhere. Looking for you. What I gave Luigi won’t last more than a few minutes, and the guards will be here soon. I can buy you enough time to get out…I think. But you have to move.” Marie set Evangeline on her feet, but she couldn’t manage more than a single step before falling to her knees.

  “Shit. Eva…I know it hurts, baby, but we’re out of time.”

  “Marie.” Philipe staggered to his feet. “Help me. I will take care of her.”

  Evangeline pushed up on an elbow as Marie headed into Philipe’s cell. “I don’t have the key that unlocks the ankle cuff.”

  “Perhaps we can break the chain together.” The two vampires grabbed the thick silver cuff, and after a couple hard tugs, the chain snapped, and Philipe limped after Marie back to Evangeline’s side.

  “Promise me,” Marie said as she touched Philipe’s arm. “You will not feed from her. You cannot feed from her—even if you are about to die.”

  “You know what he did to me.” His quiet words carried so much emotion, and Marie held Philipe’s gaze for a long moment. “I will not harm her. If there is a chance she can renew the bond with her life mate, I will die to protect her.”

  Luigi stirred, a weak groan escaping his lips. “Help her up,” Marie said as she pulled another syringe from her pocket. “Now.”

  “Mom? You’re not coming?” Evangeline tried to get to her feet, but a sharp pain stole her breath. “Please,” she panted. “I can’t…lose…you…”

  “This is the only way.” Marie hauled Luigi against her, pressed the syringe to his neck, and used him as a shield as she headed for the cell door. “Get her and follow me.”

  Philipe draped Evangeline’s arm over his bony shoulders. “I am sorry, Evangeline. For any pain this causes.”

  “My…mother…”

  “Think of Nicola,” he whispered. “We have to run. If we survive, we will come back for her.”

  Shouts in Italian frightened her, but her mother’s voice cut over the din. “Open the outer door.”

  Evangeline squinted against the bright lights in the lab space, and the harsh scent of antiseptic and bleach burned her nose.

  “I’ll kill him,” Marie said.

  “Then we will kill you,” another voice warned.

  Marie laughed. “Do you think I care?”

  A crash and her mother’s curse forced Evangeline to risk opening her eyes, and she screamed. “No! Mom!”

  Chaos erupted around them as two guards attacked Marie and Luigi. Philipe braced her against a bench and tackled another guard, driving him to the ground. The two grappled, the guard landing a powerful cross to Philipe’s jaw.

  The door to the outside was only a few feet away, but her ankle wouldn’t support her weight. She dragged herself closer, using the counter for support. Marie called her name. “Eva! Eight-seven-two-zero-five-one-six-two.”

  Evangeline gritted her teeth against the pain and fell against the door, one hand clutching the keypad. “Philipe,” she managed. “Help me!”

  Her mother’s scream almost stopped her, but then she felt the tiny keys. Philipe lifted her, and she punched in the code, holding her breath until the light turned green and the lock thunked.

  “Do not look back,” Philipe said and yanked the door open. He cradled her in his arms as he raced up a long set of stairs.

  Gunshots echoed from the lab, and Evangeline strained to hear her mother’s voice.

  “No. Don’t. I—”

  Unable to fight the drugs, the exhaustion, and the pain of her injuries any longer, Evangeline lost consciousness as a final shot rang out and Philipe stumbled out of another door, into the fresh, night air.

  Warm. The fuzzy thought bounced around in her head as she tried to fight her way to consciousness. The air around her was…warm.

  “Evangeline?” A heavily accented voice roused her the rest of the way, and she struggled to open her eyes. Philipe. His worried face—three of them—wavered in front of her. “Wake up, mon cher. We must find somewhere to hide.”

  The scent of rotten flowers made her gag. “Sick.”

  Philipe held her hair back as she vomited what little she had left in her stomach. “I cannot carry you much farther.”

  “Where…are…we?” Evangeline wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the strain in Philipe’s voice worrying her.

  “I do not know. I have never been here before. I do not even know if we are in Rome.” He collapsed back against the wall of an old building, his hand pressed to his side. “One of the guards…”

  Shit. The after effects of the drugs made it hard to focus, but the deep crimson stain that spread out under Philipe’s fingers was hard to miss. “How bad?”

  “Silver…bullets. A major organ…” Sinking to his knees, he moaned weakly.

  “No. You are not dying on me.” Evangeline thrust her wrist in front of his lips, not quite believing she was willing to let another vampire feed from her. But he’d been shot trying to save her, and she wouldn’t make it more than a few feet on her own.

  “I promised…your mother.” Philipe turned his head as he used the wall to try to get to his feet. “I could not stop if I tasted you. And…Nicola would never…forgive me.”

  Evangeline stifled a whimper as Philipe pulled her up and draped her arm around his shoulder. “I cannot take us much further.”

  They stumbled down the alley, each step bringing a fresh wave of pain. Sharp stones sliced her bare feet, and Philipe hissed at the scent of her blood, his fangs descending and resting on his bottom lip as he half-carried her down a side street.

  Ahead, illuminated in the glow from a single bulb burning inside, a police booth beckoned. When they’d left the hotel in Rome for the first time, Nic had pointed out the green booths to her.

  “If you are ever in need, the polizia operate these stations all over the city. During the day, they are all staffed. Find someone and tell them to contact the Conclave.”

  She couldn’t call the Conclave now. Wouldn’t go anywhere near them. But she’d memorized Nic’s phone number. If he’d escaped…maybe he found a way to access his phone. “In…there,” she whispered.

  It took Philipe three tries to break down the door, and he collapsed, taking her with him. “I will live,” he assured her. “But you must…remove the bullet.”

  “I can’t see. You’re…there are three of you.” Tears streaked down her cheeks. Her stomach protested every movement, and she had to reach Nic. If she couldn’t…they were dead. “How far did we get?”

  “A few kilometers. At most.”

  Crawling back to the broken door, Evangeline wedged it shut, then used a chair as leverage to get to her feet. Or at least her one good foot. Her shackled ankle still wouldn’t support her. She grabbed a stapler from the tiny shelf that ran along the wall of the booth and threw it at the overhead light.

  Glass rained down on them, a shard piercing her cheek. “Just…hang…on,” she said as she fumbled for the phone.

  If only she could see the numbers. After three attempts that ended with her disconnecting the call accidentally before she’d even finished dialing, she fell to her knees. “I can’t. You have to dial.”

  He didn’t answer, and Evangeline grabbed his tattered shirt and tried to shake him. “Philipe? Please.”

  Panic flooded her when he didn’t answer. She had to focus enough
to make the call on her own. Pain. She could use the pain. Wedging her foot against the side of the booth, she tried to straighten her leg, sending white-hot agony shooting up her calf. Stifling a scream, she focused on the phone. The keypad coalesced just long enough for her to dial, and she held her breath.

  “Chi e?” His voice—strained, weak, but still in control, drew a sob from her raw throat.

  “Nic?” She’d found him. He’d come. Once she was in his arms again, she’d be okay. “I…don’t know where I am. Please…you have to hurry.”

  34

  “Trace the call,” Nic snapped. Her voice sounded so weak, so frightened. “Evangeline, I am coming for you. Are you safe?”

  “I…don’t know. They shot…” He couldn’t understand her next few words. “He won’t wake up. Don’t know…where we are.”

  “Who, cara? Who is with you?” A possessive need to claim, to protect, to hold her in his arms burst over him, the stirrings of the bond he’d thought long gone. In the front seat, Sylvie barked orders over the phone at Thom to find out where the call came from.

  “Keep her talking,” she said as she gunned the motor and swerved across two lanes of early morning traffic to change directions. “She’s somewhere on the east side of the city.”

  “Evangeline!” Her ragged breaths still carried over the line, punctuated by sobs. “What do you see? Help me find you.”

  “Police…box…”

  “Look outside.”

  Her weak moan shattered his heart. “Can’t…get…up. Drugged me. So…dizzy. Marie…”

  “Marie?” Nic had to keep her focused. “Who is Marie?” She didn’t answer. “Evangeline, please. Stay with me.”

  “Nic…can’t…” The phone clattered to the floor, and a soft thud followed. Her tiny whimpers faded into silence.

  “Tell me you know where she is,” he said, keeping the phone pressed to his ear for any sign she was still alive. With the roar of the engine and his own pounding heart, he couldn’t hear anything.

  “Got it, mate. We’re fifteen minutes away.”

  Nic slumped back against the seat, the phone his only lifeline. Thank God Sylvie had insisted on cloning his phone. If they survived this, he needed to give both of the bodyguards raises. Or anything else they wanted. Cars. Yachts. Small countries.

  After leaving Antonio at the safe house, still restrained, Bayard, Sylvie, and Nic had set out for Luigi’s home, heavily armed. Sylvie had Thom and at least one other member of the Network analyzing traffic cameras, monitoring the Conclave offices, and listening to the police radio traffic. Nic’s escape had gone over the radio twenty minutes ago, and he hunched lower in the back seat in case they passed any members of the vampire polizia secreto. Though with the speed Sylvie drove, Nic would be nothing but a blur to anyone watching.

  “Evangeline, please come back to me.” Nic tried to keep talking, but the lump in his throat made his words thick and awkward. “I love you, cara. I need you. I am coming for you. Just a few more minutes. You will be fine. I promise.”

  Fear sat like a rock in his gut. The past day had proven he could not promise safety. He would die for her, but even that might not be enough.

  A weak cough gave him a measure of relief. She still lived. No one had found her yet. “Couldn’t…stop…him,” Evangeline whispered.

  “Who? I will stop him. I swear. We are close, Evangeline. Mia sposa, te amo. Sempre.”

  Another crash over the line made Nic jump. “Hurry,” he said, leaning forward to peer at the deserted streets. This part of Rome was primarily industrial, and the city would not wake up for another hour.

  “Doing the best I can, mate,” Sylvie said through clenched teeth. “Unless you want me to flip the car. I don’t think you’re in any shape to run the rest of the way.”

  Bayard turned and clapped his hand on Nic’s shoulder. “She is alive, Nicola. Five minutes and you will have her back. We have come too far to fail now.”

  With a nod, Nic strained to hear her voice. Her breathing. “You are strong, Evangeline. Stronger than I am. Hold on for me. When we are safe, we will take a proper honeymoon. Somewhere warm and private where no one can find us. I will teach you Italian, or French, or perhaps Japanese. We will make love by the sea or…in the mountains. I will cook for you, hold you all night long…”

  The car screeched to a halt, and Nic threw open the door and sprinted for a darkened police box on the corner. He felt her. Finally. So faint…the bond almost completely broken, but a single, frayed thread still held them together.

  Slamming into the door, he stumbled as it fell away, the lock broken. “Dio mio.”

  The overwhelming scent of another vampire’s blood filled the small space. A crimson pool spread out around a male Nic never thought he’d see again. Behind him, Bayard swore. “Putain de merde.”

  Evangeline lay in a heap next to Philipe, one arm outstretched, her fingers an inch from the phone.

  As Bayard pushed past him to reach his lover, Nic came to his senses and dropped to his knees. “Cara, I am here.”

  She jerked when he touched her, a fearful whimper escaping her chapped lips. Dark bruises swelled under both eyes, fingertip marks purple and blue around her throat. As she turned her head away, horror sent Nic onto his ass. Twin puncture marks with rough edges ripped through her flesh right along her sweetest vein. Marks from another vampire.

  “Who did this?” Nic growled as he hauled her up against him. Evangeline tensed and started to fight, clawing at his chest, her hoarse wail destroying him.

  “Nic!” Sylvie hissed, grabbing his arm and trying to loosen his grip. “She’s been assaulted and drugged. Can’t you smell it? She’s too out of it to know you.”

  It took all of his strength to calm his ragged breathing and let his life mate sink against Sylvie. She sobbed incoherently, her eyes unfocused.

  “Evangeline.” Nic kept his voice low and soothing as he reached out to stroke her arm. “Can you hear me?” Switching to his thoughts, he tried to reach her. “I am here, cara. You are safe now. Let me hold you. Please.”

  “Merde. Silver.” Bayard cradled Philipe against him, the former cleric’s head on his chest. “Sylvie, help me. Evangeline has the same shackle around her ankle. Get them off, and then we need to move.”

  Sylvie glanced around the small space, slapping her hand on the narrow counter that ran along the edge of the booth and coming away with two paperclips. Seconds later, she tossed the silver cuffs away, and Bayard lifted Philipe, crooning softly to him the entire time. “We are safe now, je t’amie.”

  Evangeline shuddered as Nic tried again to touch her. “Evangeline, please look at me.”

  Struggling to lift her head, she blinked up at him with watery eyes. “Nic?”

  “Si, te amo. Sono qui.”

  “I couldn’t stop him,” she whispered. “I tried. But—”

  “Shhh. You are safe. Nothing else matters now.” Slowly, Nic eased her into his arms, and though she stiffened for a minute, once he had her tucked against his chest, she inhaled his scent and melted into him.

  He tried to stand with her, but too weak, his left knee hit the ground. “Merda.”

  Sylvie cupped his elbow. “You don’t have the strength to carry her, mate. The adrenaline’s wearing off. Give her here.”

  “No.” He might never let Evangeline go again. “Help me.”

  With a roll of her eyes, Sylvie grabbed Nic’s arms and half-lifted him to his feet with Evangeline still held close. They ran—or in his case, stumbled—for the car.

  As Sylvie threw the sedan into gear, Nic took his first easy breath since they’d been attacked. He’d found her. Whatever happened now, Evangeline would live.

  35

  Nic’s scent comforted her, and she curled her fingers, fisting his t-shirt. His muscles shifted under her touch, and his voice rumbled through his chest. “You are safe, cara. Hold onto me. I will not let you go.”

  “Nic? Can you hear me?”

  So
mething pushed against her mind, but he didn’t respond to her. Their bond was gone, and it was all her fault. She should have been stronger. Should have fought harder.

  Nic skated his thumb over her cheeks, brushing away her tears. She tried to open her eyes, but searing pain shot through her skull, and she turned her head into his chest.

  “What is it, Evangeline?” He stroked her hair, and as Sylvie took a corner on two wheels, he tightened his arms around her. “Talk to me.”

  “Sick,” she whispered.

  His wrist pressed to her lips, and the taste of him, spicy, rich, and very male, flowed over her tongue. Evangeline struggled to swallow, memories of Luigi forcing his blood down her throat warring with the intense need to recreate her bond with Nic.

  “You’re too weak, Nic,” Sylvie snapped, and Nic growled something in Italian.

  “Piu, cara. More,” he said quietly.

  But despite her drug-addled mess of a brain, Sylvie’s words penetrated the haze, and she swiped her tongue over the wounds, sealing them with the subtle pressure. “I’m…okay,” she slurred, and tried to open her eyes again. This time, Nic’s worried face swam in and out of focus, but the intense pain didn’t follow.

  “No, you are not.” His gaze softened, and he leaned down and brushed his lips to hers. “I love you, Evangeline.”

  How could he love her after all Luigi had done to her? She’d seen the horror and disgust on his face when he’d discovered the wounds on her neck. And without the bond…all of their differences…her insecurities grew into mountains between them.

  “Say something, cara. Please.”

  “So sorry. I…wasn’t strong…enough.” Closing her eyes, she let herself slip into the comfort of unconsciousness.

  “Bayard and Philipe take the bedroom on the left, Nic, you and E get the one on the right. I’ve got a full med kit in the kitchen,” Sylvie said as she marched into the dark apartment.