A Rush of Wings (46 page)

“You didn’t go back to New Orleans for E,” Moore said slowly. “You went back for
S
…for Dante. You slept with him. He drank your blood, didn’t he?”

Heather grabbed for the Glock, but even stunned and musing, Moore
moved
, yanking her gun hand out of reach and closing her free hand around Heather’s throat, knocking her back into the padded wall. Gasping for air, Heather pulled at the fingers clamping into her throat and cutting off her air. Moore’s fingers felt like steel. Spots flecked her vision.

“And now he’s coming for
you
. Not me.” Disappointment edged Moore’s voice.

Moore’s hand dropped away. Heather slid down the wall to a sitting position. She sucked in air, coughing. Tears blurred her vision.

“Should I let him have you?” Moore murmured. “Should I take you from him? Should he do it himself?”

“He’s no longer a little boy,” Heather said, throat aching, voice hoarse. “He won’t fall for your tricks. He’ll see through them.”

“Will he?” Moore whispered. “I don’t think so.”

A voice issued from a speaker near the ceiling: “Doctor Moore. We’ve got guests in the parking lot.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Moore hooked a hand under Heather’s arm and hauled her to her feet. A smile twisted her lips. “I guess you have a little time to mull things over. Consider this—say yes and I’ll give you back to Dante.”

Heather jerked free of Moore’s grip. “He won’t listen to you.”

Moore laughed. “He never did.” She strode from the room, the door shutting behind her. A red telltale lit up. LOCKED.

***

THUNDER BOOMED AND ROLLED across the sky.

Suddenly, Dante’s weight was gone and E gasped in a breath of cold air. Rolling to his feet, he risked a glance over his shoulder. The Big Guy held Dante by the collar of his leather jacket. Directed his attention away from E—
thanks, Big Fella
!
But it won’t save you
—and toward the figures approaching. One figure lifted a long, dark thing. Fire erupted. Thunder rolled again.

Shotgun.

E ran.

***

JOHANNA HURRIED DOWN THE corridor to the security room, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. Her heart fluttered against her ribs like a wild bird in a cage.

My
père de sang
and my beautiful True Blood have arrived. And E
.

I have long dreaded this night. Long looked forward to it
.

Wallace and S. Johanna shook her head, amazed that she’d overlooked something so obvious. With Wallace’s red hair, it was inevitable that S would want her. Did he think he actually
cared
for Wallace?
He wants to save her
.

And if he does?

Ah, but what if he doesn’t?

She swiped her card through the security room’s lock, yanked open the door, and stepped inside. Garth and Bennington, trapped by the storm, both glanced up from a monitor. Only two guards remained on-site, also trapped by the storm. Noting their absence, Johanna guessed they’d gone outside to confront the unauthorized guests. She sighed. Ronin would kill them, of course.

“Let me see,” Johanna said, stepping past the two agents. She perched in the chair before the monitor. It showed the front parking lot. A van was parked in the center of the snow-buried lot. Three figures stood near the van, but the heavy snow and wind obscured Johanna’s view. One stood much taller than the other two and all seemed to be Caucasian. She frowned.

“Where’s Ronin?”

“Haven’t seen him,” Garth said. “Only those three.”

As Johanna watched, one figure shoved another into the snow, then sat on him. As the figure’s head dipped, the wind stopped for a moment. Gleam of leather and chains, long black hair, white skin; her beautiful child. And it looked like he was feasting on E.

A smile touched Johanna’s lips.
Seems like I can’t give Wallace E, after all
.

Then she realized who the tall third figure was—Lucien De Noir, S’s wealthy friend and companion.
No shirt. Must be vampire as well
.

Two figures in hooded parkas entered the parking lot. McCutcheon and Ramm. Johanna tensed. Just what were they planning on doing? Issuing a parking citation? Shooing them off the property?

“What—” Johanna’s mouth snapped shut when one of the guards raised a rifle, no,
shotgun
, and fired. She stared at the screen, pulse roaring in her ears.

De Noir grabbed S by his jacket collar and pulled him off E, shielded the child with his own body. The shot went wide. Missed.

“Call them off,” Johanna said through clenched teeth. “Call those idiots off before they get killed.”

The door hissed as Bennington left. Johanna stared at the screen. E rolled to his feet, then staggered away into the storm, one arm in a sling, the other hand pressed against his bleeding throat.

Another shotgun blast. Johanna gritted her teeth. S ducked low, then
moved
. She gasped, astonished by his speed. Was it the True Blood? De Noir
moved
, as well, his speed equally astonishing. Then S stood over the body of one of the guards, hands clenched into fists at his sides. A puddle of blood, bright red and steaming, melted the snow. Johanna blinked. She hadn’t even seen S kill the guard. And the other? De Noir dropped the second guard’s broken body into the snow.

Apprehension rippled into Johanna. “We’ll direct them,” she said. “Lock down parts of the building and leave other areas open. We’ll have the advantage.”

Black wings flared behind De Noir. Johanna froze, mouth open, mind empty of rational thought. De Noir wrapped an arm around S and lifted him into the air. Into the storm.

Fallen. One of the Fallen walks at S’s side. Guides him. And I feared
Ronin?

Johanna pushed away from the monitor, looked up into Garth’s stricken face. “Okay. Okay. I want you to shut down—”

An explosion echoed through the corridors. The power went out. The building plunged into darkness.

Johanna felt the icy touch of real fear.

***

LUCIEN DROPPED THE GUARD’S lifeless body into the snow. His wings untucked and fanned out into the wind. Before Dante could take off on his own, Lucien locked an arm around the boy’s waist and lifted them both into the air.

“What are you doing?” Dante automatically slipped an arm around Lucien’s neck.

“Looking for their power source.” The wind buffeted them. Ice edged Lucien’s wings. He scanned the power poles, listened to the frozen land. Captured electricity thrummed. Lucien smiled. He flapped down to the building’s rear. Touched bare feet to the snow-covered pavement and released Dante.

Dante saw the door marked FIRE EXIT and loped toward it.

<
After I shut the power down, wait for me
.>

<
No
.>

Lucien spiraled up into the savage sky, watching his son as he stood in front of the exit door, black hair whipping in the wind, his hand poised to grab the handle.

As he flew toward a transformer, Lucien wondered where Jordan had gone, wondered if the mortal would freeze to death and hoped he wouldn’t. Lucien had a different death in mind for him, one that involved his own knives and his own skin.

Hovering beside the transformer, Lucien arced blue flame across the sky.

***

A LOUD EXPLOSION VIBRATED in from outside. The light went out. Staring into the darkness, Heather reached inside her bra, felt beneath the warm curve of her breast for the nail file, and pulled it free.

She padded to the door. No red LOCKED light. Any secondary systems? If so, she’d better move before they switched on. She pushed. The door swung open. Pulse racing, Heather slipped out of the padded room and into the dark corridor. She pressed up against the wall. Listened. Allowed her eyes time to adjust.

Red lights flickered to life and bathed the corridor in an eerie glow. Nail file in hand, Heather made her way down the corridor. She wondered who had arrived. Jordan? Dante? De Noir
had
to be with Dante. Was Jordan still alive?

She remembered Dante’s words:
I’m coming for you
, chérie.

I’m here
, Heather “shouted.”
I’m here
.

An image of Dante poured into Heather’s mind, washing away all thought, all worry. Dizziness whirled through her and she stumbled. Grabbing at the wall, she caught herself before she fell. She closed her eyes, breathing fast, fire searing her veins.

Dante’d heard and answered.

He was on his way.

***

E SHIVERED CONVULSIVELY. His hands and feet were numb, but his heart blazed, an inferno. An inferno he was
dying
to unleash on his betraying Bad Seed bro. He grinned, or tried to anyway, but his face was also numb. Maybe a grin
was
plastered across his face, frozen for all time.

Hunkered down behind a shrubsicle, E watched as De Noir—
wow. Wings. Holy fucking shit
!—rose into the sky, Dante clutched to his side. Something else Ronin had neglected to mention. Fucker.

E tasted bile at the back of his throat and swallowed. Thought of the hypo hidden in his sling. Thought about the sweet smell of dark cherries and Gina’s last words. He knew Dante wouldn’t leave without them.

Bam
!

Heart thudding against his ribs, E glanced over his shoulder. The research center went dark. Swinging around, he ran for the door and the warmth beyond. Ran knowing Dante was stepping inside at the same moment.

A contest, fuck yeah. May the best Bad Seed bad-ass win.

E grabbed the ice-slicked door handle and, yanking it open, darted inside.

***

DANTE THREW THE DOOR open and ran inside, then stopped. Uneasiness curled through him, snaked around his spine. He breathed in the scent of pine antiseptic and ammonia. Memory prickled.

A woman, blue eyes almost black with wonder as she slides a knife into his side—

No, that was the Perv—or—

Wasps droned, needled venom beneath his skin.
I’ve been here. Many times
. Dante pushed the thought away, tried to refuse the memory, but it pushed back. Hard. Fragmented images whirled through his mind: Restraints strapped tight and biting into his wrists, his ankles, his chest; a liquid bead hanging from a needle tip; white walls smeared and streaked with blood.

The droning faded and Dante shuddered.
Heather. Focus on Heather, dammit. Don’t fucking fall apart
. Pain throbbed at his temples and behind his eyes; he shoved it below.

Red lights winked on. A fiery glow lit the corridor.

Heather’s voice whispered into his mind:
I’m here. I’m here
.

Dante listened for her heart, her steady, quiet rhythm.
There
. White light strobed at the edges of his vision.

Dante
ran
.

***

JOHANNA STRODE OUT INTO the corridor. The emergency backups powered on, flooding the building with red light. Garth stepped out behind her, gun in hand.

“Don’t shoot S,” Johanna said. “I have tranks for him.”

“What am I supposed to do if he comes at me in the meantime?” Garth asked, one eyebrow arched. “Throw my gun at him? Offer my fucking throat?”

“You wanted to see him. Well, here he is. Just stay out of his way.”

“Great. What about the guy with wings?”

Good question. “I’d advise staying out of his way, as well.” Johanna
moved
, leaving Garth alone. And cursing.

Her little True Blood walked corridors he hadn’t walked in six years. He’d been seventeen the last time she’d had him drugged and picked up. Of course, he had no memory of that, just another blank spot in his mind.

But this time, S walked these halls because he
chose
to. Because he meant to rescue Wallace. Because he meant to confront Johanna. Her heart jumped when she remembered his speed.

Confront
?
No, he means to kill. That’s what he knows. It’s in the blood
.

***

HEATHER GLANCED DOWN THE empty red-lit corridor. She still felt the heat of Dante’s mental touch; his image-voice circled through her mind—
On my way
.

Pushing away from the wall, she ran down the corridor in her stocking feet, the green-cool glow of the EXIT signs her guide. She couldn’t stay put and wait for Dante to find her. Couldn’t risk Moore finding her first. Couldn’t risk Dante sacrificing himself for her. Because she
knew
he would.

Shhh
. Je suis ici.

Pain bit into the undersides of the fingers on Heather’s right hand. She glanced down. Her hand, white-knuckled and stinging, was clenched around the nail file. As she forced her fingers to relax, she heard a soft padding behind her, moving
fast
—

“Freeze, Wallace. Hold it right there.”

Heather heard the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered and smelled the faint scent of sweet melon. Trench. Parka’s partner.

“I’m not the one you need to worry about,” Heather said, tucking her fingers over the nail file. “He’s coming for me.”

“Psycho bait. I know. Turn around. Slow.”

“Walk away,” Heather said. She measured the distance to the corridor’s bend. If she was needed as bait, would Trench risk killing her?

“Don’t. I’ll put one into your knee.”

Heather stared straight ahead. Shifted her sweat-damp grip on the nail file. Slid the point between her fingers. Heard Moore saying:
Should I let him have you
?

Not for you to decide
. Heather whirled to the left, her hand arcing up and over for a file-toothed shoulder punch. Then she froze.

Elroy Jordan jerked a syringe from Trench’s neck. The agent gasped, her eyes rolling up white. Her gun dropped from her fingers and clattered against the tiled floor. His gaze met Heather’s. Abyss-eyed. A shark’s unemotional regard.

“Looks like
I’m
the one she needed to worry about,” he said as Trench collapsed, limbs twitching against the floor tiles. He shook his head. “That was supposed to be for my Bad Seed bro.”