by P. Jameson
“Late night getting to you too?”
“Yeah, I guess it is. I remember when I could function on four hours of sleep easy peasy. Is this what they call getting old?”
“Nah,” Lola said. “Thirty’s not old, it’s just getting started. At least that’s what I tell myself.”
Hazel nodded. “I like the way you think, Lo. It’s so… bright. Yeah, that’s what it is. Bright. You’re like a shooting star or some shit. But you’re right. We have so much life ahead of us. So much ass to kick. Old schmold, right?”
Lola laughed. “Exactly. Old schmold.”
Hazel nodded toward the entrance and Lola turned just in time to see Emile push through the front door.
He was a man of average height and compactly muscular. His dark hair and almost boyish face made him unassuming. During previous visits, he’d been polite and a little on the quiet side, with enough of a humor to make her chattering small talk easy.
He’d never set off any of her warning bells. But as soon as Lola set eyes on him, she knew tonight was different.
As he walked through the waiting area, his entire countenance had changed. Instead of unassuming and quiet, he seemed supremely confident. His normally clean shaven face was covered in dark scruff. Instead of a white polo shirt and khakis, he wore ripped up jeans and a black muscle shirt. It was like seeing Doctor Jekyll transform into Mr. Hyde. Like the buttoned up accountant-type had turned bad boy overnight.
He grinned, a sly, slithering thing that smoothed onto his face like butter on toast. “Hello, ladies. I’m here for my appointment.”
Hazel stiffened at his tone, and Lola felt it too. Something elusive and uncomfortable. Something that had her instincts roaring to life all warning, warning, red alert.
Lola cleared her throat and offered him a forced smile. “Good evening, Mr. Maxim. How are you tonight?”
“Wonderful,” he murmured, bracing his palm on the counter and leaning forward into her personal space bubble. He inhaled slowly, and gave her a shrewd smile.
But it wasn’t her heartbeat she was worried about him scenting. He was behaving like a predator. And she knew predators well. If they smelled the teensiest bit of fear, they would pounce.
Or worse, play before they pounced.
Assuming a practical tone, she flipped open his chart. “Let’s see… it looks like you’re here for a refill again.”
“That’s right,” he answered, his smirk evident in his tone. “There isn’t a problem, is there?”
She met his narrowed gaze straight on. Inside she was stirring, the fighting part of her readying for a battle.
The plan was to question him, but she’d changed her mind. The situation had become threatening. She could explain away his changed dress and manners, but she couldn’t ignore the malevolent gleam in his eye. Friendly Mr. Emile now had the look of a killer.
In all her days at the bank, she had never encountered a Daybreaker that set her hackles off like he was now. Questioning him would only make things more tense. The quicker she diffused the situation, the better. She would give him whatever he wanted, get him out of there, and then notify the police and the council of his overuse.
“Not a problem at all,” Lola answered, keeping the smile plastered on her lips. “Just sign right here, and Hazel will take you back for your dose.”
She shot Hazel a warning look as he bent to sign the form. When he was done, he passed it back over the counter, looking satisfied.
“That will do it, Mr. Maxim. If you’ll just follow Hazel to the back, she’ll have you out of here in no time.”
He turned, and Lola mouthed to Hazel, make it quick.. With a scowling nod, Hazel ushered Emile into a room.
When they were gone, Lola rushed to finish closing the bank for the night. She locked the filing cabinets and drawers. Turned off the front lights and shut down the computers. Grabbing her purse, she rifled around for her keychain that had a container of pepper spray attached to the end. Just in case.
It wasn’t really necessary. She could defend herself without it if need be, but there was Hazel to think about and Buddy hadn’t returned yet. If they could close up and get safely to their cars, she’d breathe easy again. For now, she was going to be careful.
Lola glanced at the clock. Ten minutes had already passed.
A noise clattered from the back, drawing her attention. But the blasting wail of an ambulance siren passing the bank pulled her back to the street. She stared out the front as three more passed, followed by a fire engine and several police cars. A frisson of foreboding shivered up her spine. Something big was happening across town.
Good thing they had extra blood. They’d be getting orders tomorrow, no doubt.
She looked back at the clock, frowning. Five more minutes had ticked off. It shouldn’t be taking this long to—
Lola froze as dread pooled in her gut. Something was wrong. Hazel!
Dropping her purse, she ran past the procedure rooms, down the short hall to the dosing room. But when she went to open the door, she found it was stuck, and slammed into it. She took a second to recover from the force of her body hitting the unmoving wood, and then throwing her weight behind it, she pushed harder, inching it open little by little with each vicious shove.
When the opening was big enough she squeezed through, into the stark light, blinking rapidly at what she saw. Someone had moved the supply cabinet to block the door, but that wasn’t what had her stomach curling and a fearful sound climbing her throat.
Breath heaving, Lola scanned the area, her blood going cold at the scene. As if the second pass around would change what her eyes registered.
The room was painted red with blood, spatters dotting the floor and finding larger pools to call home. Streaks of arterial spray lined the walls and ceiling. Boot prints stamped a crimson path leading out to the rear exit. The harsh color of blood against the stark white room was an unnerving contrast.
And at the center of it all was Hazel.
She lay on the tile floor, a blood coated blade in one hand, unconscious. Two small puncture wounds oozed red from her neck, and Emile was nowhere to be found.
He’d attacked her. Drank her, Lola realized in horror.
Her hands went to her mouth to stifle a scream.
But Hazel wasn’t the only body in the room. Several bodies littered the floor, their throats slit so deep they were nearly decapitated. By their extended fangs and silver streaked eyes, Lola could tell they were Daybreakers. And at the back near the door, Buddy’s lifeless body lay, drained. Two puncture marks at this throat to match Hazel’s.
This was… this was… a Daybeaker attack? It made no sense. Why would they attack the bank when blood was free?
Lola’s eyes fell to the blade still in Hazel’s grip.
They’d attacked Buddy and then her, and she’d fought back. Hard.
Somehow, Lola’s emergency training kicked in, shoving her fear into a little compartment in the back of her mind. She rushed forward and knelt beside Hazel, checking for a pulse.
Relief slammed her hard.
There was one. Too slow. Too weak. But it was there.
Hazel had lost too much blood, but hell, they were in a blood bank. All Lola had to do was give her a dose. Or two, even.
She stood, slipping and stumbling her way to the supply cabinet for a transfusion kit. She didn’t know Hazel’s blood type, but they had plenty of O-neg.
Heading to grab a pint, she tripped over a dead vamp’s limp arm, landing hard on her knee. Pain shattered out from the spot, blazing up her leg to her hip.
“Goddamn it,” she muttered. Righting herself, she rounded the corner to the refrigeration unit and stopped short.
It was a massive storage space, nearly the size of another room. The computer system attached to it kept a careful log of what was debited and deposited, and made sure the temperature was kept at optimal. The steel door rivaled that of a bank vault. It took a double combination password to open, and had an autom
atic closing feature to prevent accidental mishandling and assure the quality of the blood inside.
Yet…
It was wide open.
Inside the gaping doorway was a twelve-inch cube of something wrapped in plastic and tied with duct tape. Atop the block was an electronic box with an array of colorful wires flowing out of it to attach to the cube.
Lola inched forward, her extremities going numb with the realization of what was before her. Mere feet away, there was no denying what was sitting inside the door of the storage bank.
She blinked, her eyes registering green digital numbers.
One minute and twelve seconds.
Eleven.
Ten.
Nine.
She stared terrified, as the numbers on the black box ticked down. They seemed to move in slow motion, yet too fast. Her ears roared as adrenaline pulsed through her body with nowhere to go. And she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Could only watch.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
This… this was a bomb, and she had one minute and five seconds to get Hazel out of here before both of them were goners.
Everything rushed back like a dam breaking. Her breath, her ability to move. And the numbers began ticking down faster. Impossibly faster.
Lola spun, racing back to Hazel and slipping around the corner, her shoes slicked with spilt blood.
The cabinet was still blocking the doorway. She’d never get both of the them through. And it would take too long to make her way to the rear exit. Besides, Emile and whoever had done this might still be near.
The only option was to move the cabinet that weighed five times what she did. It would take too many seconds—they must be well under a minute now—but it was their best choice.
Decided, she planted her hands against the cold metal frame and pushed with all her might. She wasn’t surprised when the cabinet moved more easily than the first time she’d tried.
“Thank you, thank you,” she whispered.
When there was enough room, she grabbed Hazel under the arms and hulked her through the opening, cringing at the red trail left by her feet dragging across the tile. In the hall she tried to speed up, but panic made her feet feel like cinder blocks.
Down the hall, through the waiting room, out of the building. Gotta get out of the building, Lo.
If she could do that, they’d be okay. Somehow she knew it.
She tripped over her own feet, landing hard on her butt and jerking Hazel on top of her.
Shit, shit, shit. Get up!
Struggling to stand, she found her footing, but lost more seconds. They must be getting close to boom time. Tears streaked down her cheeks but she ignored them, her only goal, reaching the door. Knocking chairs out of the way with her hip until she felt the cool glass of the front door against her back, she let an ounce of relief give her strength.
Lola pushed outside, dragging Hazel with her until they reached the street, and then her legs gave out.
No! Have to get farther away. This isn’t enough.
Footsteps could be heard over the roar in her ears, but all she could think about was getting farther away from the impending blast.
“Lola,” a voice barked. It was familiar, but not. She knew it, but had never heard it sound so… hard. “Shit, Hazel? Aw, fuck.”
Hazel was lifted from her grasp, but still, Lola scooted backward.
Even with her eyes swimming, she could see it was Michael. Michael.
No! Not him. Too dangerous.
Michael was here, and he was in danger, and her heart felt like it was tearing to pieces.
“B-bomb,” she said. It seemed like she was screaming but not loud enough. “Bomb! There’s a bomb!”
“Where?” He frowned, and she shook one finger at the bank, crab walking, then twisting and falling on her ass again.
Shit!
A strong arm lifted her to her feet and dragged her across the street. Faster and farther they went, but even still, when the box inside the bank reached zero, the blast sent them all flying like ragdolls caught in the storm of a child’s tantrum.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
And then nothing. The silence after the thunder.
And a moment of question: Am I alive? Is he?
Then she felt pain, and knew the answer to at least one of those questions. Pain meant she wasn’t dead. But Michael…
Please, she begged whoever was listening. Please let him be okay. He’s mine.
Chapter Five
The blast was like a wave of extra heat on top of the already blistering night. The force of it was a whole body punch, sending Hatch vaulting forward. He landed in a heap on the sidewalk, Hazel and Lola haphazardly strewn about.
Pain ricocheted through his body but it was nothing compared to the pain in the vicinity of his heart. The two females who mattered most to him were hurt. It was unacceptable. He needed to get them out of here, fast.
Moving to sit, his gaze found Lola first. She was stirring. It was a good sign.
Soot and blood covered her periwinkle scrubs. There was so much of it, he couldn’t tell what was hers and what was Hazel’s.
“She’s… hurt,” Lola said weakly, hand limply gesturing to Hazel.
It was all he could do not to grab her and examine her from head to foot in order to determine how badly she was injured. The fear that his girl was hurt was like a boulder in the pit of his stomach.
But Hazel… Hazel was quiet, and so pale she was nearly blue in the dim light from the street. A quick glance told him all he needed to know about what had happened to her. The prick marks on her neck were the evidence.
The boulder in his stomach turned to lava.
She’d been drained. There was no fixing her.
Hatch scrambled over, cradling her head in his hands. Hazel was trained in hand to hand combat just like he was. She was a warrior, otherwise he would never have asked her to do something so dangerous. He would have found a way to watch over Lola himself.
Hand shaking, he brought his fingers over the vein at her neck and held his breath.
Please, please, please.
The frail bump against his touch was like a splash of cold water to the burning fear inside him.
She was alive. Barely so, but he’d make it work.
Lola crawled over to them on her hands and knees as the wail of sirens drew closer. Hatch dug in his jeans and came out with his pocket phone. He slid it along the pavement to her and said, “Speed dial one. When he answers, tell him to get here now. Tell him…”
Hatch had never used the code word Drak gave him in case his life was ever in critical danger. But right now was as close as he’d ever come. And if he couldn’t get Hazel better and Lola out of here, he might as well be critical. Because he wasn’t making it through this. Not emotionally. Not mentally. Losing either of them would crush him to dust.
Damn it.
“Tell him ‘thunder down.’”
With trembling hands, Lola managed to touch the right button and Hatch could hear the line ringing. Drak picked up right away, but the noise in the background muffled his response. A second later, it was quiet and his normally calm tone came through the earpiece harsh and hissing.
“Where the hell are you? Two of the three banks have been hit, and I’ve been trying to call you. You need to get to the third one now before—”
“T-thunder down!” Lola yelled, and the line went silent. “Thunder down. Do you hear me? Thun—”
“I hear you. Where?”
“The north bank… it’s… it’s gone.”
“I’m on my way.” And then he disconnected.
Lola stared at the phone in despair. “What do we do? We have to help her.”
Hatch found her gaze and held it, sharing the burden of her fear by seeming strong. He’d been afraid before, but it’d been so long, he could hardly process it.
“There is nothing we can do. We wait for Drak.” He held Hazel cl
ose, thankful for the heat that would keep her body warm, and hopefully her heart pumping.
“Drak?”
“He’s fast. He’ll be here soon. Come here.”
Lola crawled closer until she was right beside him and he maneuvered one hand away from Hazel to cradle her cheek.
“Where are you hurt? Did they…” He swallowed the fury in his throat at just the thought of a Skin drinking her. His eyes fell to her neck, but there were no marks.
“No,” she said. “Only Hazel. I found her and some others on the floor in the blood room. She’d killed them. When I went to get some blood to give her a transfusion, I saw the bomb inside the refrigeration unit.”
Quickly he looked her over, cataloging her injuries. Cuts and bruises to her cheek. Split lip. Blood on her sensible shoes. Leg of her scrubs torn at the knee. Sliding his palm along her arm, she winced when he got to her elbow.
“Sore?”
Lola nodded. “It’s okay.”
The sirens grew closer, but before Hatch could think about it, rapid footsteps approached, and Drak was standing over them, eyes wide as he stared at the roaring fire coming from the building. His perfect hair was windswept, his white dress shirt gray with soot. He pulled his gaze away from the rubble and found Hatch.
“Where are you hurt?” Funny. The same thing he’d asked Lola.
“Not me,” he said, staring down at Hazel. “Her. They drained her, and I need your help.”
There was a long silence that brought Hatch’s gaze back to his friend. Drak stood frozen as midnight in Russia. He stared at Hazel with his mouth half open, and Hatch couldn’t tell if it was from shock or anger or both. His pale eyes shimmered with an otherworldly glow Hatch had never seen before as he slowly crouched to examine her. His hand moved at a snail’s pace, reaching, and when it touched her tangled blond hair, the action was soft. Careful instead of sure like he usually was.
“Mi corazón,” he whispered in awe, and then he yanked his hand back, his face turning hard.
“What? What is it?” Lola demanded.
Drak looked at her and back to Hazel, before finally meeting Hatch’s curious frown. “She has lost too much blood,” he said, and Hatch wanted to smack him. Of course they knew that. It was why he had Lola call him in the first place.
