Out of the Night

by Robin T. Popp

  Mac had no time to enjoy his victory because Burton, Harris, and Brown were there, stalking him, spaced far enough apart that he had a difficult time keeping an eye on all of them at once.

  “What are you going to do now, Knight?” Burton taunted.

  Brown was the closest, so Mac dealt with him first. Pulling his gun, he discharged a full clip into the man, even as the other two rushed him. The impact of the two hitting him sent the gun flying out of his hand, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that there was little left of Brown to worry about.

  It was Mac’s last victory. With both Burton and Harris attacking him, he was soon overpowered. They beat him until he could barely hold up his head, and the cuts from their sharp teeth and nails bled freely.

  Consciousness came and went as they carried him downstairs and tossed him onto the pile of rags beside Lanie.

  His eyes swollen almost shut, he struggled to open a lid enough to see. Her complexion was sallow, except for the bruises starting to darken her cheeks and jaw. The fear in her eyes tore at him, and Mac felt a murderous rage well up inside him at the sight of her abuse.

  “Well, this is certainly a moment to be savored,” Burton gloated, hovering just inside Mac’s range of vision. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to postpone the pleasure of killing you for another night. I have a few loose ends to tie up.”

  He turned to Harris. “Go dump what’s left of Smith and Brown outside where the sun can turn them to stone. Then take these two to the lair. And, Harris—I want them alive when I return. I’ve waited a long time to kill Knight. I won’t be robbed of the moment.”

  He stared at Mac with bared fangs and ran a tongue over their gleaming points. “Victory will taste so sweet. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go see an old friend.” He spit out the word friend as if it tasted bad. “I’ll be sure to give the admiral your regards—right before I rip out his throat.”

  Laughing, the two vampires left, leaving Mac and Lanie alone.

  “Baby, are you all right?” Mac croaked past his bloodied lips, knowing it was a stupid question but needing to ask it anyway.

  Lanie nodded. “I’m sorry you had to come for me.”

  He forced himself to sit up, though it cost him dearly, and struggled to get close enough that he could reach the ropes binding her arms. “I’m going to undo these, and then I want you to leave.” He paused to take a breath and found her shaking her head.

  “No way. I’m not going without you.”

  If he’d had the strength, he would have groaned. “Now is not the time to argue. Just do as I say. Please?”

  “You can’t ask me to leave you,” she begged. “Come with me. I’ll help you.”

  He worked at the knots, his fingers bruised and swollen, almost too numb to function. The loss of blood from the cuts he’d sustained made him feel light-headed and it took several tries, and the last of his energy, to finally get the knots undone. He fell back on the pile of rags and closed his eyes, the thought of death almost a welcomed relief. “It’s me they want,” he said weakly. “As long as they have me, they won’t go after you.”

  He rolled his head toward her and cracked open one eyelid again. She was busy untying the bindings around her ankles. Soon she had those off as well.

  “Okay,” Mac mumbled. “Get out of here and call the admiral. Tell him Burton is coming.” He’ll know what to do.

  She didn’t move, and he grew desperate. Didn’t she realize that Harris would be back any second?

  Her brow furrowed for a moment, as if she waged a great internal debate, and then she pulled her hair away from her neck and tipped her head to one side. “Bite me.”

  Mac would have raised an eyebrow if he’d had the strength. “Excuse me?”

  She scooted closer so she could lie down, putting her neck within easy access. “You know—feed off me. It’s the only way we both have a chance of getting out of here. Please, Mac. You remember how you felt when you took my blood earlier. It gave you energy. It might revive you.”

  He rolled over on his side so he could see her better, wanting to push her away. All too well he remembered the revitalizing energy and strength that came after he’d taken her blood. It had been incredible, but he’d not been in such desperate need. Now he was weak, near death. What if he lacked the control to stop?

  Seeing the fear in his eyes, she placed her hand lightly against his cheek. “I trust you.”

  Her words left him dazed, barely noticing when she pulled his face to her until his mouth was pressed against her neck. The intoxicating lure of her pulse beneath his lips sealed her fate.

  He pierced the tender skin with his fangs and let her life-giving blood fill his mouth. Once again tasting the sweet nectar, he swallowed and felt new strength and energy coursing through his body. It was ambrosia to a starving man, and he lost himself in the sensation.

  How long he drank he wasn’t sure, but the fear of hurting her overrode the pleasure of drinking and he forced himself to stop. He licked the traces of blood from her neck, feeling incredibly good. When he turned to thank her for her gift, her face looked paler than before, and her eyes were closed. Instantly, his euphoria was replaced by the horrible fear that he’d somehow misjudged how much he’d taken.

  “Lanie, look at me. Are you okay, baby?”

  Her eyelids fluttered open and she smiled weakly up at him. “Wow,” she whispered.

  He smiled back, relieved, and kissed her forehead. At that moment he heard Harris return. Mac waited until the man came closer and he could see that Burton was not with him. Then Mac rose to his feet.

  Harris’s eyes went wide in alarm when Mac lunged at him. He put up a good fight, but Mac had the benefit of his energy boost. In a macabre dance, they moved about the warehouse floor, exchanging blows, each trying to wear down the other. They had drawn even with the outer door when Harris ducked a punch from Mac and raced outside, disappearing into the night.

  Mac let him go and returned to Lanie, who still lay on the pile of rags. She hadn’t moved. Worried, he stooped to pick her up and carried her to his car. When he set her in the passenger seat, she opened her eyes. “We have to go back to the hotel.”

  “No way. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “No, there’s no time. Take me back to the hotel—I have something there.” She paused before going on. “You’ll need it . . . to save Uncle Charles.”

  He hesitated. For once, his course was unclear.

  “Please, Mac. You’re the only one who can save him.”

  A few minutes later, Mac opened the door to Lanie’s hotel room. It was still in shambles from when Lanie had fought off her abductor.

  “He hired someone to kidnap me,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “He came while I was packing.” She gave a helpless gesture. “The sun was out. I wasn’t expecting trouble.” She spoke slowly as if she were having a hard time catching her breath. “He took me to the warehouse and we waited for the sun to set. He thought he’d get paid. Instead, Burton killed him.”

  Mac felt no remorse for the kidnapper. He got what he deserved. They moved into the room with Mac supporting her as she stumbled along, her gait unsteady. Near the chest of drawers, in the travel carrier on the floor, the baby chupacabra moved about, restless. Mac ignored it as he helped Lanie across the room. He started to take her to the bed, but she motioned to the desk chair instead.

  “Look in my duffel bag,” she told him, not making an effort to get it herself. He lifted the bag onto the bed and, digging around, soon found the small wrapped bundle.

  “Be careful,” she warned as he unfolded the layers of cloth. “There should be two items in there—a vial and a syringe. You want the syringe.”

  “What’s in it?” He held it up to the light and examined the clear, amber liquid.

  “It’s antiserum. According to Dad, it’s fast-acting, extremely painful, and lethal when injected into vampires.” She hesitated. “And changelings, so don’t accidentally stick yourself
with it.”

  Mac nodded, knowing why she’d not told him before. Her father had given it to her for protection—against him, if need be. He couldn’t blame the man for that.

  He put the syringe in his pocket and then turned to Lanie. She was looking worse. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “No—I’m fine. You have to hurry. Since Uncle Charles didn’t answer the phone when you called from the car, Burton must already be there.”

  Knowing she was right, he gave her a quick kiss and left.

  “I love you,” she whispered, watching him leave, a single tear escaping to run down her cheek. Fate could be so cruel. To find love too late . . .

  Inside the carrier, Gem rattled the cage door, clearly irritated with being locked away all night, but Lanie didn’t have the energy to let her out. She was cold and tired—so tired. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep.

  But she couldn’t. Not yet. There was something she needed to do first. She pulled out paper and pen from the middle drawer and started to write. There was so much she wanted to say, but in the end, the message was brief.

  When she finished, she left it on the desk and crossed to the bed. It took almost more strength than she had to climb under the covers, and though she pulled them up to her neck, she still started to shake. She let her mind wander to thoughts of Mac, praying he’d be okay. When sleep finally beckoned, she closed her eyes and surrendered to it.

  The front door to the admiral’s house stood open, and Mac didn’t bother looking for another way in. The main room showed signs of a struggle and Mac followed the blood trail to the study, where he found Burton sitting at the desk. He didn’t look the least surprised when Mac walked in, leaving Mac to wonder now if maybe Harris’s running away had been not an act of cowardice, but rather a strategic retreat, in keeping with a carefully orchestrated plan.

  Mac didn’t like the feeling that he’d been played. Walking into the study, he saw that books had been haphazardly knocked off the shelves and imagined it had happened when the admiral’s body had been slammed against the bookcases. The display cases holding the various daggers and swords lay shattered about the room and their contents hung from the ceiling, tips embedded in the wood.

  Admiral Winslow lay prone on his stomach off to one side, his head bloodied. Mac couldn’t tell if he was alive or not, but resisted the urge to go to him. First, he needed to deal with Burton.

  “Interesting choice you made,” Burton said casually, playing with a letter opener. “I would have bet on the woman, but perhaps your relationship wasn’t as close as I’d assumed.” He glanced over at the admiral and shook his head. “He put up a good fight. Oh, don’t worry. He’s still alive—barely.” He turned back to look at Mac. “What about Lanie? I know you fed off her to regain your strength. Was she still alive when you left her?”

  “Unlike you, Burton, I don’t have to kill when I take blood. Lanie will be fine.”

  Burton looked first surprised and then pleased. “She didn’t tell you, did she? Impressive. She’s obviously stronger than I thought.”

  Mac felt confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Lanie’s blood donation to you was not her first this evening. In fact, it wasn’t even her second or third. When I finished, I honestly wasn’t sure if she’d live long enough for you to rescue her.” He showed mock concern. “Did you have to take an awful lot? I mean, the human body can’t afford to lose too much.”

  “You’re lying,” Mac growled, suddenly filled with doubt. “I saw her neck—there wasn’t a mark on it.”

  “Well, there wouldn’t be, would there? I find the upper femoral artery to be so much more—enjoyable—when feeding on women.”

  Chapter 21

  Unable to listen to more, Mac leaped over the desk, going for Burton’s throat. The weight of their bodies sent his chair toppling backward and they crashed to the floor. Mac delivered a blow to Burton’s face before the vampire hit him, knocking him back. Mac quickly climbed to his feet and, driven by an unrelenting fury, went after Burton again. They exchanged blows of inhuman strength that sent vampire and changeling, in turn, hurtling through the air until they smashed into the bookcases lining the walls.

  The surge of energy Mac felt after receiving Lanie’s blood quickly ebbed under Burton’s constant assault. In the back of his mind, he worried about Lanie, fearful that Burton might have told him the truth and she lay dead or dying back at the hotel. Desperately, he fought, but Burton’s strength and energy far exceeded his own.

  Picking himself up off the floor from where Burton had recently thrown him, Mac charged. His reaction time was too slow and Burton sidestepped him, bringing his arm down on Mac and smashing him to the ground.

  Burton rolled him over until he lay on his back, fighting to stay conscious while Burton straddled him, sitting on his chest, pinning him to the ground.

  “You put up a good fight,” Burton gloated. “Just not good enough. Before I kill you, let me tell you what I’m going to do to all the people you care about. First, I’m going to finish off . . .”

  Burton rambled on, but Mac had stopped listening. His hand was resting on the floor beside his hip and he felt the small bulge of his pocket. The antiserum. The trick was getting it out without Burton noticing.

  “Whoa,” Burton mocked when Mac suddenly bucked his body, extracting the syringe as he did. “I guess there’s a little fight left in you, isn’t there?”

  “More than you know.” Mac snapped off the protective cap of the syringe and stabbed Burton in the hip, injecting him.

  Burton lurched away but didn’t get up as he twisted to see what had stuck him. When he saw the syringe, he pulled it out and held it up. For a minute, he looked confused, and then comprehension dawned.

  He winced as the first of the antiserum coursed through his body, then Mac saw the muscles along his neck spasm. Burton shut his eyes as a look of pain distorted his features. Mac held his breath, unable to do any more than that, and waited for the serum to end Burton’s life.

  The look of pain on Burton’s face gradually faded and was followed by one of intense concentration. That, too, quickly vanished as he opened his eyes and sighed with relief.

  “Was that the best you could do? The professor’s antiserum? Surprised that I know about it? Please. Do you really think he was capable of thinking of it on his own?”

  Mac stared up at him in horror, slowly realizing that his ace in the hole, the antiserum, hadn’t worked.

  “Planting the suggestion was easy,” Burton continued. “I’ll admit that it took a little more of a compulsion to get Weber to test it on Kinsley, but well worth the effort. What’s the matter, Knight? Confused? Let me explain it to you.

  “Every time the chupacabra kills, it injects more venom. I’ve not died once, Knight. I’ve died five times. That’s five times as much venom and recuperative powers. This little injection isn’t powerful enough to hurt me.” He tossed the syringe over his shoulder.

  The expression on his face changed from one of amusement to one of pure hate, and Mac knew he was counting the last of his time alive in seconds. Garnering his energy for a last desperate attempt to get free, Mac twisted his body, trying to dislodge Burton, but the vampire didn’t budge.

  “Give it up, Knight. You lose. I’ve anticipated every move you could make. You can’t kill me.”

  In his twisting, Mac had seen something familiar out of the corner of his eye, too far away to reach. Stretching out his hand, he yearned with all that was in him that he might be given one last chance. Suddenly something warm, hard, and metallic smacked into the palm of his hand.

  “There’s one thing you didn’t anticipate,” he said, closing his fingers around the hilt and swinging his arm upward. “Let me introduce you to the Vampire Slayer.”

  The sword sliced cleanly, leaving no evidence of a wound for several long seconds. Then blood began to seep, forming a necklace of red around Burton’s neck. Then the body was roughly shoved aside, and
Mac heard the sick thud of Burton’s head hitting the floor somewhere out of his range of vision. He looked up and saw the admiral standing there, beat up and shaken, but very much alive. He extended a hand down to Mac and helped him to his feet.

  Mac, still clutching the sword in one hand, turned with the admiral and together they studied what was left of Burton. Neither spoke at first.

  “Death Rider,” the admiral finally said conversationally, as if he were commenting on the weather.

  Confused, Mac gave him a questioning look.

  He gestured to the sword. “The sword is called Death Rider—not Vampire Slayer.”

  Mac held it up and saw the ruby eyes of the etched vampire’s face blazing brightly in the pommel, blood clinging to an otherwise gleaming blade, and he rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He handed the admiral the sword and raced out of the house.

  Mac broke land-speed records getting back to the hotel. He’d tried several times to call Lanie on the phone and when she didn’t answer, he tried the hotel’s front desk. The young man he spoke to assured him that they would send someone to Ms. Weber’s room immediately and would call an ambulance if necessary. He thought he heard something about the fifth floor as he disconnected and when he called back, no one answered the phone.

  There was no ambulance out front when he reached the hotel. He hurriedly parked the car and raced to the rooms they shared, a litany of prayers running through his head asking that she be alive; that Burton had lied, despite the ring of truth he’d heard in Burton’s tone.

  Throwing open the door to the room, Mac spotted Lanie’s still form in bed. He rushed to her side and pulled back the covers, but she didn’t move. Her eyes were closed and she was so pale, even her lips had lost their color.

  Undoing the fastening of her pants, he peeled them down her hips, needing to know the truth, no matter how it turned out. Four sets of bites lined her inner right thigh, and knowing how forcefully Burton had to have bitten her in order to reach the artery buried so far below the surface of the skin, Mac wondered why the bruising was not worse than it was. Until he realized that there’d not been enough blood left in her body to form much of a bruise. He and Burton had taken it for their own selfish purposes, but at what cost to her?