“Not much shocks me these days,” Rachel said, growing weary.
“This is going to sound utterly mad, but it’s the absolute truth.” He waited until he had her attention. “The man who attacked you wasn’t a man at all.”
“He was a woman?” she asked in confusion.
Gabriel shook his head. “No, he was a sanguis, a blood. You’re more familiar with the term vampyre.”
Rachel slowly sat up, pulling the covers close as fear engulfed her. He was insane. She’d been so blinded by the promise of passion that she’d ignored what her gut had been telling her all along. “Could you repeat that please?”
His chin dropped. “You heard me. I know how it sounds, but I can prove it.”
Rachel judged the distance to the door, then asked, “How?”
“Just know that I would never hurt you.” Gabriel’s voice cracked. “Ever.”
Rachel rose from the bed and grabbed her robe. “You are freaking me out.”
Gabriel gave her a sad smile. “Not as much as I’m about to,” he said, revealing the tips of his fangs.
Rachel nearly tripped over her feet trying to get away. “Oh my God! What are you?”
“I’m a sanguis. We call it sang here in France. It means blood.”
Her hands trembled as she tied her robe. “Are you telling me you’re like the creep who attacked me?” Horrified, Rachel reached for the spot on her neck where she’d felt the prick.
“No!” Gabriel’s jaw tensed. “I am nothing like the animal that attacked you. I clean up his messes.”
“You know who did this and you didn’t tell me.” Fear was instantly replaced with anger. “How can you live with yourself?”
“What kind of man do you think I am?” he asked. “Wait –” he held up his hands “– don’t answer that.”
Rachel stared at him, waiting for him to sprout horns. “You must really think I’m a fool.”
Gabriel looked tired when he finally met her gaze. “You are many things, Rachel Chang, but a fool is not one of them. I don’t know who attacked you. If I did, justice would’ve been swift. I assure you. I’ve been trying to keep you safe.”
“How? By lying to me?”
“Would you have believed me had I said something sooner?” he asked.
Hell, Rachel wasn’t sure she believed him now. Trouble was she’d been a cop long enough to know when someone was lying and, as much as she didn’t like what he had to say, Rachel knew Gabriel wasn’t.
“What did the asshole that bit me really do to me?” She sank into the chair by the window.
Gabriel sat up on the bed. The duvet fell to his waist, revealing a sculpted abdomen. Rachel drank the sight in, then forced her gaze away. The desire she felt now was tempered by anger.
“A normal sang or vampyre bite doesn’t do anything to the mortal other than leave them a little weak. Unfortunately when the vamp bit your arm, you struck him, shattering his nose. This caused a blood exchange.”
“What does that mean exactly?” she asked.
He took a deep breath. “There’s no easy way to say this.”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not a patient person, Gabriel. Just tell me.”
“You’ve been infected. You’re dying, Rachel.” Gabriel’s voice held no emotion when he delivered the news.
Rachel had spent the last several months dodging the bullet that had been meant for her and now it had finally found her. Of course it wasn’t a real bullet this time, but the infection had the same effect. It was just a little slower acting. Instead of fearing the future, she was strangely relieved. “How long do I have?”
“A day. Maybe three max.”
The news sucker-punched her in the gut. Rachel had hoped it would be longer than that, but she recovered quickly. Her mind raced to comprehend all she’d been told. “You were obviously infected, how come you’re still alive?”
“Because my sire stayed around to make sure I was fed,” he said quietly.
Rachel looked at him. “Since mine’s a psycho that’s not going to happen.”
Gabriel slowly shook his head. “No.”
“That doesn’t leave us much time,” she said.
His brow furrowed. “Time for what?”
“To catch this bastard and get my necklace back.”
Gabriel stood, gloriously at ease with his nakedness. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“Every word.” Rachel closed the distance between them. Gabriel flinched when she touched his cheek. “If what you say is true, I don’t have much time left. I plan to make every second count, starting with bringing the bastard down. Help or stay out of my way. It’s your choice.”
“You know I won’t let you go after him alone. It would be a slaughter.”
“I didn’t go down easy the first time.”
Gabriel kissed her. “No, you did not. You are a remarkable woman.”
Rachel blushed. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”
He stared at her. “I’ve never said that to anyone until now.” Gabriel sighed. “Where should we start?”
“That’s easy,” Rachel said, grateful for the change in subject. “The catacombs. I chased him there once. There’s a good possibility he’ll show again. Besides, we have an advantage.”
Gabriel cocked his head. “What’s that?”
“Me.” Rachel shrugged. “He’s obviously after me.”
He nodded. “You’ve seen his face. He knows you can identify him. That makes you a threat.”
She grinned. “Perfect, so let’s give him what he wants.”
Gabriel turned away. “It’s too dangerous.”
Rachel snorted. “I’m dying. There’s nothing else he can do to me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Gabriel said. “There are a lot of things worse than death.”
Six
The plan wasn’t foolproof, but it was the best they could do under the circumstances. The bodies of the two women Rachel had seen in her dreams had been discovered, one by Gabriel’s team and the other by the Parisian police. The fact that the police had been brought in troubled the Sang High Council. A termination order was given to the Trackers of Paris. There would be no trial.
Somehow the killer was keeping tabs on Rachel. She and Gabriel were counting on the fact that he’d follow her, if she left herself open for attack. The best place to do that was in the catacombs.
Hiding until it closed for the evening hadn’t been difficult, although it did require crawling on mountains of bones. Rachel lay on a pile swallowed by shadows and concentrated on not moving. Mentally she kept apologizing to the dead for the inconvenience. When the last employee did his rounds, she slowly made her way off her bed of bones. Human remains from the eighteenth century crunched beneath her booted feet. Somewhere nearby Gabriel was waiting, careful not to give his presence away.
Despite everything she’d been told over the last two days, Rachel felt at peace for the first time in a year. She turned on her flashlight and made her way down the path towards the sound of water dripping. There was no guarantee the killer would show tonight or any other night for that matter. They were counting on his arrogance to bring him.
Rachel reached the stone chalice, which held water that steadily dripped from the ceiling. She and Gabriel had picked the spot earlier because the area was wider here than along the rest of the trail. There were no benches, so Rachel had to stand. She leaned against a wide column that looked to be holding up the cave-like roof. Rachel extinguished the flashlight allowing the darkness to envelop her. Nothing left to do but wait.
The drip, drip, drip of the water onto the stone lulled her mind. Rachel replayed much of her life and realized that, with the exception of Paul’s death, she had few regrets. She’d come to Paris to contemplate ending her life, only to discover a reason to live. Too bad it was too late.
Drip, drip, drip, silence.
She waited for the next drip, but it never came. Rachel slowly straightened,
her ears straining to hear. Something nearby had stopped the water. The hair on Rachel’s neck rose, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. “I know you’re here,” she said.
“Come for your necklace?” a male voice said, far too close for comfort.
“Yes, and to get justice for the women you killed.”
He laughed, the sound rusty from disuse. “We both know that’s not going to happen.”
A cool chain touched the skin on the back of her hand. Paul’s necklace. Rachel snatched for it, but missed.
“So close,” he said smugly. “Now, what am I going to do with you?”
The floodlights came on suddenly. Rachel blinked, temporarily blinded.
“Claude? What are you doing here?” Gabriel asked.
Rachel’s vision cleared and she saw the dark-haired man from the side street standing four feet from her. His green gaze was locked on Gabriel.
“You know this man?” she asked.
Gabriel didn’t take his gaze off the other man when he answered. “This is my partner – my friend. We work together.”
Rachel’s stomach pitched. “This is the man who attacked me. He killed those women.”
“Claude, what is she talking about?” Gabriel’s disbelief was clear.
“The woman is obviously mad. You said so yourself. Why else would she be down here so close to the Otherworld entrance?”
Gabriel’s blue eyes burned holes in his partner. “I heard what you said. Every word. Looking back, I should’ve known. You knew she’d been drinking the night of the attack before I even said anything. The only way you could’ve known that was if you were there.”
He tugged at his cuff, straightening it. “That is a shame, mon ami. It would’ve been easier had you stayed out of it.” Claude launched himself at Gabriel, knocking him into the wall of bones, then proceeded to pound on him with his fists.
Rachel hadn’t even seen him move. It would be a very short fight if she didn’t do something quick. “Claude,” she shouted, then grabbed a thigh bone and hit him on the side of the head as he turned, giving Gabriel time to scramble to his feet.
The men circled, taking swipes at each other with their bare hands. Given the power behind their blows and the sharpness of their teeth, they didn’t need weapons. Rachel watched in fascinated horror as each man tore chunks of flesh from the other. Gabriel was bleeding badly now and didn’t look nearly as focused as he’d been earlier. Claude dodged right and struck Gabriel across the head with his fist. Gabriel went down – hard.
“Let’s end this so we can have some alone time.” Claude smiled viciously at Rachel as he pulled a long antique dagger out of his sleeve.
Gabriel moaned and tried to stand.
She’d already seen what Claude did to women and had no intention of joining his little club. Rachel looked around quickly and snatched up two damaged bones. The joints had been snapped off, leaving jagged points behind.
He grabbed Gabriel by the hair and bared his neck. Claude raised the dagger, preparing to slash his throat. Rachel didn’t think. She roared in anger and rushed forwards, bones held like stakes in front of her.
Claude blinked in surprise. He quickly dropped Gabriel to face the oncoming threat. Rachel ploughed into him. It was like smashing into marble. She drove the bones into his shoulders. They went in a few inches then splintered in her hands.
Rachel stumbled back. Pain blossomed. Burned. She looked down at the dagger sticking out of her abdomen. So much blood. She shivered. Cold. Rachel fell, still clutching the weapon in her gut.
Claude’s fangs extended. His green eyes began to glow. He stalked towards her. “You should’ve waited your turn. But if you insist on going first.” He hauled Rachel to her feet and slammed her against the pillar. “Don’t move.”
She was too numb to feel anything.
“What, no begging or pleading for your life? How about the life of your lover?” He glanced at Gabriel.
Rachel glared. “Just get on with it.”
The bones made sucking noises as Claude pulled them out of his body and dropped them on the ground in disgust. He growled, then wrenched her neck back and opened his mouth. His warm fetid breath bathed her throat. “Painful, but pointless. Do you not know how to kill a vampyre?”
Rachel braced herself.
Claude’s body jerked once. He released her and looked down. Rachel followed his gaze to see the sharp edges of a bone protruding from the middle of his chest.
“I do,” Gabriel hissed, driving the bone deeper.
There was no drama to Claude’s death. He didn’t burst into flames, shrivel up and age, or flail about. He simply fell to his knees, grimaced and died.
Rachel’s legs gave out and she slid to the ground. “We got him,” she said, then coughed. Blood smeared her delicate lips.
“Yes, we did.” Gabriel rifled through Claude’s pockets until he found what he was looking for. He dropped the St Michael medal into Rachel’s hand. “I believe this is yours.” He choked on the words. “I told you I’d get it back for you.”
She smiled and touched his cheek, leaving a streak of blood behind. “Thank you.”
“Listen,” Gabriel said. “We don’t have much time.”
Rachel laughed and winced. “We knew that going in.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You don’t understand. You have a choice to make. Normally this is done by the sanguis who sired you. But since he’s dead, I can offer.”
Rachel’s lids drooped shut. Gabriel shook her hard. “Wake up and listen.” He sounded desperate, even to his own ears. Her eyes fluttered open, but they didn’t focus. “I can change you into what I am, but it has to be done with your permission.”
“What are you saying?”
“Do you want to live?” Gabriel asked. “Yes or no.”
Ever since Paul’s death Rachel had been asking herself that question. Up until now the answer had always been the same – no. But that was before she’d met Gabriel. He reminded her that she was indeed alive. She glanced at the St Michael’s medal in her hand. It used to bring her pain and comfort in equal measure. Now as she stroked the necklace with her thumb all she had was fond memories. She met Gabriel’s eyes.
He trembled under her regard. She could tell what it was costing him to wait. He’d live with whatever she decided, but hope burned eternal in his gaze.
“Do it,” she said, then braced herself.
Just like when they’d made love, Rachel felt a slight sting as his teeth broke the skin on her neck. Gabriel held her close, comforting her as he drank. The drips from the water faded and the world began to dim. Rachel felt her heart stutter. Before it stopped, Gabriel pulled the dagger out of her and sliced open his wrist, then pressed the bleeding wound to her mouth.
“Drink for our future.” Gabriel forced her to swallow, when every instinct inside her revolted.
Two Days Later . . .
Rachel woke up in her bed at the Hotel Luxembourg. She reached down and winced as her hand touched her tender abdomen. She lifted her shirt and saw a clean white bandage. Rachel glanced around. Nothing looked different, but the bandage meant it definitely hadn’t been a dream.
She heard the shower running in the bathroom. A moment later the door opened with a billow of steam and Gabriel stepped out with a white fluffy towel wrapped around his trim waist.
“You’re finally awake,” he said, not bothering to hide his relief. “How are you feeling?”
Rachel sat up. “Fine, I think. How did we get here?”
He grinned and her heart skittered. “I carried you.”
“You do realize the hotel is never going to let me stay here again, right?”
“This is Paris. The city of love.” His expression grew solemn. “What are you going to do now that you’ve recovered?”
He watched her carefully. The vulnerability she’d seen in the catacombs was back in full force. Rachel made a show of thinking about it. She had nothing to go back to in New York other than a small apa
rtment, an empty refrigerator and months of psychological evaluations.
“I thought maybe I’d stick around. My French is rusty and I need to learn the ropes of this whole vampyre thing,” she said.
Hope blossomed in his blue eyes. “I’d be more than happy to teach you, if you like.”
“What would I do for work?” she asked. “You can’t live on love alone, not even in Paris.”
Gabriel’s smile was back, wider than before. “I happen to know of a job opening now that my partner has retired.”
“Is that so?” Rachel had a hard time keeping a straight face.
“Of course, I’ll have to interview you.” His heated gaze raked her and she felt an answering pull deep inside.
Rachel arched a brow. “What does a vampyric interview entail?”
Gabriel dropped his towel, revealing his growing desire. “It starts with a very thorough physical.”
Rachel grinned, admiring the view. “Did I ever tell you I received the Presidential patch for fitness when I was in school?”
Gabriel’s lips quirked. “Prove it.”
Coven of Mercy
Deborah Cooke
I hate the month of March. It’s an indecisive month, hovering on the cusp between winter and spring. Indecision drives me wild.
I like clear-cut strategies, battles that are victories or failures. Nothing in between.
March hovers, indecisive whether it should herald warm and sunny spring, or more winter – cold and overcast, the skies thick with falling snow. It ends up in that mucky zone, somewhere in between. Freezing rain and relentless grey, dampness and dull days, are followed by teasing intervals of sunshine. It’s unreliable, untrustworthy, despicable.
Give me black or white. Give me winter or spring. Give me February or April. You can keep March.
My mother died in March; maybe that’s part of it. Diagnosed early in the month, gone by the end of it, hers was a chaotic and whirlwind departure, a roller-coaster ride of triumphs and setbacks. That journey to death – the one no one wanted to take, the one that changed everything forever – is echoed for me every year in the weather.
Love Bites UK (Mammoth Book Of Vampire Romance2) Page 5
