Ben nodded slowly. “I think so. And... there’s a body.”
Vincent crouched down beside the younger man and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Sam... wasn’t herself, you know? The person you know wasn’t the one doing those things.”
Ben shook his head. “You’re wrong. It was her. I know it was. I know because she looked me in the eye... And she didn’t hurt me.”
Vincent sighed. “I have to go take care of her, okay?” Ben’s fearful expression in response spoke volumes. “No, no, I’m not going to hurt her. She’s changing back now, may already have done. But she can’t go out of here through the hospital or past the police.” The sounds of voices and feet approaching from below grew louder. “I have to get her out of here... My way.”
Ben glanced down the parking ramp, then back at Vincent. “I’ll stall them as long as I can.”
“Good enough.” Vincent clapped Ben on the shoulder and took off running up the ramp again.
Vincent slowed as he stepped out onto the roof. He sniffed the air, trying to pinpoint where Sam was and, perhaps more importantly, what she was, at the moment.
Ben’s confidence about Sam retaining her human sensibilities as a werewolf were touching but in Vincent’s experience, unlikely. The last thing on Earth he wanted to do was to be in a position where he had to shoot her to stop her from attacking.
The first thing Vincent smelled was death and it was very close by. He stepped forward cautiously, his hand on his gun. As he stepped clear of the barrier wall, he saw Diane Weber’s body on the ground. She was several yards away, but even at this distance Vincent could see that her throat was gone, crushed into nothing. The blood pool around her was massive. Vincent walked quickly to the body and drew his gun. He shot twice, once in the head and once in the chest. The body convulsed as the mercury interacted with the dead werewolf’s chemistry, shaking and beginning to dissolve into the surrounding pool of blood.
Vincent watched the body as it melted. The air was already starting to clear, the smell of death disappearing as the body did.
Then, he smelled her. She was human, again, thank God, and close. Vincent stepped away from the body following the strongest path of scent.
“Sam? It’s Vincent.”
“Go away.” Her voice was soft, strained, her throat undoubtedly raw from howling. Vincent walked quickly in the direction of her voice, past several parked vehicles.
She was sitting on the ground behind an SUV, her torn clothing pulled around her like a raggedy wrap-dress. Tears stained her cheeks as she looked up at him.
Vincent knelt down in front of her, his voice soft as he asked, “Are you all right, Sam? Are you hurt?”
Sam shook her head. “No.”
“C’mon, time to go. Can you move yet?”
Sam shook her head again. “I don’t think so.” She dissolved into tears, sobbing pitifully.
There was no time for this, not now. Vincent quickly slipped off his coat. “Put this on,” he said as he wrapped it around her shoulders. “C’mon, arms in. We have to get out of here.”
Sam slowly put her arms into the sleeves and pulled the coat around her. She struggled to button it in front, attempting several times before letting her hands drop to her sides.
Vincent quickly buttoned three of the buttons, enough to keep the coat pulled together around her. Then Vincent took Sam’s arm and placed it around his shoulder. Using his good arm, he scooped her up in his arms and started towards the back of the parking ramp.
“Where are we going?” Vincent glanced at her. Her face was very close to his, her voice soft and almost childlike.
“I want you to hold on, all right? Hold on to me, Sam, and close your eyes.” He watched the puzzled frown on her face dissolve into realization as he easily jumped up onto the wall. Vincent stood there for a moment that seemed to go on forever.
Sam looked down at the five floors that lay between them and the small alley below. She’d looked down from this kind of height before...
“No, Vincent, no. Please—”
Vincent made a soothing sound, his mouth pressed against Sam’s cheek. “It’s all right, darlin’... Trust me... and close your eyes.” Vincent saw her eyes flutter shut as she nodded.
He looked down himself now, noting that it was a bit higher than he had ever jumped before. Vincent took a deep breath, another, another, then stepped off the wall.
Sam felt the rush of air, the movement in her stomach as gravity took over and they began to fall toward the ground. She clutched Vincent tighter, holding her breath. She opened her eyes slightly, just enough to get a glimpse of the ground coming toward them, then everything went black.
34
SAM AWOKE WITH A START, sitting up straight in the bed and clutching at the sheets. She was home. Even in the dim light of evening that was peeking through the curtains and the haze of first waking, she could see familiar things in the room... her collection of Jane Austen novels on the bookshelf... her NYPD softball hat hanging on the doorknob... Emmett the teddy bear lounging comfortably in a bean bag chair near the window. She was in her own room.
Sam breathed out with relief, a big whoosh of air that sent her relaxing back into her pillows again. The cool of the sheets felt wonderful. She closed her eyes, letting the chill and the softness begin to lull her back to sleep. She took a deep breath in through her nose and froze. She wasn’t alone here in the apartment.
Sam quietly slipped out of the bed and walked toward the door. Turning the doorknob slowly, she pulled on the door, hoping this would be a time when it didn’t stick or creak. Thankfully, the door opened without a sound. Sam stepped out into the hallway and tiptoed toward the living room.
She stopped at the end of the hall and peeked around the corner. The spot gave her an excellent view of the sitting area... the chair, the sofa, and HIM.
Vincent was leaning back on the sofa, his head resting on the back, his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked like he might be asleep. He was naked from the waist up and Sam’s eyes traced over him, noting the wounds on his face, his arms, his chest, and stomach. He’d clearly been through a battle with that man in the garage.
And then there were the tattoos. There were two runes on his right forearm: one like the point of an arrow pointing left and the other like a two-step ladder without the left side rail. A Celtic cross was emblazoned across his right pectoral muscle, a flaming heart at its center. Creeping up from his back and onto his left shoulder was an intricate vine-like design. A few pieces of the vine trailed onto his left chest and the bulk of the design went down his left arm, stopping a few inches above his elbow.
Sam’s focus reluctantly returned to the wounds and she wondered what the other guy must look like if Vincent looked like this. She glanced down at the coffee table in front of him. First Aid materials were spread out there... peroxide, gauze, antibiotic ointment.
“Are you all right?”
Sam jumped at the sound of his voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Vincent sat up slowly, the movement clearly painful. “I wasn’t asleep. Just... resting.” He looked over at her. “You’re all right?”
Sam shrugged; her arms hugged across her chest. “More or less. I’m clean.”
Vincent cleared his throat nervously. “Yeah, well, sorry... You were a bit out of it, and I didn’t want... Your sheets were clean, so...” He trailed off, grabbing a piece of gauze and the peroxide from the table. He moistened the gauze and began to dab at the cuts on his hands, wincing each time the stinging liquid hit them.
“It’s fine.” Sam fought a smile. “I knew eventually you’d get me naked. I just didn’t think it would be under those circumstances.” She watched him finish with his knuckles and move on to the cuts on his chest. “Here. Let me do that.”
Sam quickly crossed the room, taking the dry gauze from his hand as she sat down beside him. She moistened the gauze and carefully dabbed at the cuts on his chest. She glanced up, noticing
the bruising on his left shoulder. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Sore. It’s okay. Not the first time I’ve had to reduce—Ow!” He yelped as the antiseptic contacted a particularly large scratch on his stomach.
Sam winced along with him. “Sorry.”
“I’m fine.” He looked at Sam’s face. Even after sleeping for almost twelve hours, she still looked tired, the shadows under her eyes darker than usual. “You should be resting, Sam. You’ve had a... rough couple of days.”
He watched her. She smiled and nodded. She didn’t leave, though; instead, she reached for the ointment and began to lightly coat each cut and scratch.
Vincent watched her fingers as they moved over his chest and stomach, struggling to fight the urge to just grab her, hold her and end this. Her hands were soft, like silk moving over his skin. Her touch electric, a cooling sensation shooting over the surface of his skin, brushing against the hair on his chest and making his stomach tighten involuntarily.
Vincent swallowed hard as she moved from his chest up to his face, the same delicate touch moving along his cheek and jaw. Quietly, he said, “You don’t have to do this.”
She paused, her hand hovering above his cheek. Her eyes took on a distant light, a hint of sadness illuminating them. “I know. I want to.” She sighed, smiling weakly, as she looked down at her hands. “I just ripped a woman’s throat out with these hands. I feel the need to do something good with them.” She looked up at him beneath her eyelashes. “That make sense?”
“It wasn’t you, Sam.”
“Does that help you sleep at night? Telling yourself that it wasn’t you?” Sam looked down at her hands, rubbing her fingers together gently as she continued: “It was me. I remember everything. I remember changing. I remember killing that bitch who murdered my grandfather. And I remember not killing Ben. It was me.” She blinked away the tears brimming in her eyes and turned her attention back to Vincent’s wounds. She dabbed the scratches on his cheek and jaw a couple more times. “There, that should do it.”
Vincent watched her as she pulled together the used gauze, wadding it into a ball as she stood and headed toward the small waste basket in the corner of the room.
Vincent took a deep breath before speaking. “Sam? There’s something I need to tell you.” He watched her toss the wadded gauze into the waste basket, then turn around to face him. He swallowed, hard. “What I told you about why I came here... It wasn’t exactly the truth.”
He looked down at his folded hands. “I didn’t come here for Ivan. I came here because of you. To protect you from the other wolves. Ivan knew that they were massing here, that sooner or later they would find him, and he knew he couldn’t protect you anymore. Of course, that’s changed now. Before you were attacked, you would have been a potential victim to them just like anyone else, but now, with Diane Weber dead...”
“I am the Alpha female.”
Vincent’s head shot up, the surprise, shock even, on his face, unmistakable.
Sam wore an amused smile as she slowly walked back to the sofa. “Don’t look so shocked, I’ve watched PBS before.” She plopped down beside him, the force and her weight causing the old piece of furniture to bounce slightly. “And I saw the way that guy in the parking ramp was looking at me. Prutzmann? Yeah. I’ve seen that look before, that I-want-to-devour-you look.” She smirked. “Of course, in his case, I suppose he really could, huh?”
Sam sat back on the sofa, pulling the afghan draped over the back around her as she did. “So that’s why you came here. Okay. Ivan sent for you?”
Vincent hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”
Sam nodded solemnly. “He sent for you to look after me.”
“Yes.”
Sam was silent for what seemed to Vincent like an eternity. In fact, it was only a few seconds before she spoke again, though her question caught him a bit off-guard.
“How does Jack Hudson figure in all of this? What does he want?”
Vincent averted his eyes, shaking his head as he fiddled with the piping on the edge of the sofa cushion and tried to think of a reply that would satisfy her without being revealing.
“All I know for sure is... he doesn’t want you harmed in any way.”
Sam sighed and got up, the afghan still pulled around her shoulders. It dropped down nearly to the floor, forming a cloak of sorts.
She walked slowly toward the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to look back. “I think I need a drink. You want a drink?” Not waiting for an answer, Sam disappeared into the kitchen.
Vincent could hear cupboards opening and closing, glasses clinking, something being poured.
Sam re-entered the room with two rocks glasses of whisky in hand. She handed one glass to Vincent, then sat down on the sofa, pulling her legs up beside her, throwing the afghan over them. She raised the glass slightly. “Salute.”
Vincent fingered the glass for a moment before raising his as well. He clinked it gently against hers. “Sláinte.”
They both took a long sip of the amber liquid, enjoying the silence as it made its fiery way down to their stomachs. Sam cleared her throat. “So... Is that all you needed to tell me?”
Vincent quickly downed the contents of his glass. “Yes.”
Sam sipped her drink again, holding the whisky in her mouth for a few moments before swallowing. “You know, in the few minutes since we talked to Hudson that I’ve been cognitive, human and not suffering excruciating pain, it occurred to me that Hudson may have some plans for... us.”
Vincent shifted where he sat, his discomfort painfully obvious.
Sam fought her amusement at his discomfort. “Is the good doctor trying to play matchmaker?”
“That may be his intention. I don’t know.”
Sam downed the rest of her drink. “Anything else I should know about?”
Vincent shook his head.
“Good. Do you feel better now?”
Vincent smiled. “A little. How much do you hate me right now?”
Sam shrugged as she stood up. “I don’t know, maybe this much.” She held up her thumb and index finger, a space of about a quarter of an inch between them. “Another?” She quickly grabbed Vincent’s glass and headed for the kitchen.
Vincent walked to the window and peeked through the drawn blinds. It was dark out now and the sounds of vehicles driving on wet pavement were blending with the laughter of bar-hoppers beginning their nightly crawl. He should leave –
“Round two.”
He turned to find his glass hovering in front of his face and a smiling Sam behind it.
“Listen... I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable or anything, but... Do you think you could stay for a while? You could sleep on the sofa or whatever. I just...” Sam trailed off, taking a large gulp of her whisky before continuing, “I don’t really want to be by myself right now. It’s all kind of... hitting me... now, and...” She shrugged and took another big gulp, swallowing it then smiling. “I promise I won’t try anything. Okay?”
You won’t, but what about me? Vincent took a long, slow drink of his whisky before replying. “Okay, but I need to get cleaned up a bit. I don’t want to mess up your sofa.”
Sam finished off her whisky and handed the glass to Vincent. “Take care of that? I’ll get you some towels.”
Vincent sighed and turned on his side. The sofa was... well, a sofa. The shower had helped the pain in his body, but the springs in the old piece of furniture were not making his bruises feel any better. He debated whether to go to the kitchen and get more of the whisky. It would help with the discomfort, and probably help him sleep. Of course, sleep might more readily come if he could get his mind to settle down.
He should have told her everything, about him, about Hudson, about Dublin. Vincent reached up and rubbed his neck, fingering the dark design tattooed there. A crescent moon shape with a ring at its center, a heraldic hameçon. He had borne it for ten years now, and yet sometimes it still pained him, the sting of the
needles and the healing after, still a potent physical memory.
It was not like “theirs,” Hudson had told him... “Yours is special, Vincent, just as you are very special. It is a Wolfshaken, a noble symbol. Wear it with pride.”
Pride. Vincent shifted on the sofa again, arching his back slightly and settling into a more comfortable position. Admit it... You know she would lose it, hate you even, if she found out the truth about you, about your past, about... everything. He turned his nose into the pillow, enjoying the smell of clean soap and light perfume. She’d given him one of her own pillows. Vincent smiled and snuggled into it, closing his eyes and wishing for sleep to come. And soon, as the clock chime began to ring the midnight hour, Vincent’s wish was granted.
35
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22nd
SAM STROLLED ALONG the Pier 17 boardwalk, her hand sliding over the metal railing that separated her from the East River. Her jacket hung open despite the sharp chill in the air. She didn’t feel it, was rarely cold anymore. Not since... Sam gripped the railing and pulled up short, swung herself around and leaned on the railing. Had it only been a week? She hesitated then glanced to her left.
It was there, as it had been there a week ago when they sat there upon it. She and Ivan. Sam closed her eyes, fighting off the tears that had welled as she looked at the spot.
She had known that coming down here would be difficult, but seeing their bench, feeling the cool, sea air blowing through her hair... The ache in Sam’s stomach grew. It wasn’t THE ACHE, though. That wouldn’t come back anytime soon. At least, that’s what Vincent had said.
Vincent. Sam sighed and let go of the railing, releasing some of her grief as she released her fingers from the cold metal. She hesitated before moving to the bench and slowly sitting down. She let out a huge whoosh of a sigh as she looked out over the harbor. The water had always been Ivan’s favorite place to be. It didn’t make a difference where that water was; the Harbor, Long Island Sound, the Hudson... hell, even the East River was deserving of a visit in his book. He said it calmed him, it soothed his mind, it made him feel...
The Bloodline Series Box Set Page 22
