Aaron's Kiss Series Boxed Set (Books 1 - 7) (26 page)

Shade used some of her stash and took a cab straight to the hospital. She wanted to be there as soon as the kids woke up. The need to reassure them and herself that everything would hopefully get better soon was paramount. She hoped that the authorities would have enough now to take the kids from Brenda—mother of the year, she was not.

Diana met her at the emergency room doors. As soon as Shade saw Diana, she knew that something bad had happened to one or both of the children.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Little Becca died on the operating table of massive internal injuries late last night,” Diana told her. “She had blunt trauma to her head where someone had apparently swung her against something really hard. The doctor said she must have been screaming up a storm from what they done to her. She’d been raped repeatedly, the doc telled me. She was just too weak and too broken inside to have survived surgery, honey.”

Shade sat down hard on the floor, her knees too weak to hold her up any longer. She could feel the tears on her face, but couldn’t gather the strength needed to wipe them away. Becca was dead. Her little Becca was gone. It took her several seconds to realize Mrs. Ridge was still speaking.

“Maybe if’n she’d of had a little more strength, she might maybe of had a fighting chance. Do you believe she had only been four years old? Brent, that little darling, ain’t much better, I’m afeared. He’s in a medical coma and they’s hoping he’ll be able to pull through, but it don’t look good. That bastard tossed him against the same wall as his baby sister, I’m abetting. Splitting that poor lamb’s head open like a melon and having the surgeon put a hundred and fifty-six stitches in his little skull.”

“I tried,” Shade started. “I tried to save them, but I was too late. I’m so sorry. I was too late.”

“Shade, honey, there weren’t nothing you could have done to save them. That poor little thing, Brent…he was raped, too, they was a saying, but not by this man, at least not this time. What could you have done, baby, without you getting killed too? They’s momma should have done it; she should have…I’d like to have five minutes with the nasty piece of horse dung—both of them. Why, if my Donny was alive, he’d of…” Shade cut her off, hearing her, but only registering about half right now.

“Will they let me see them at least? I want to also see if I can make funeral arrangements for Becca. Do you think they’ll let me do that? I don’t suspect that their mother will do anything for her. You should have seen what that man was doing to Becca when I opened the door. And Brent...he was just lying there, all broken up too. How could...why Mrs. Ridge, why would anyone do that? Why would anyone hurt their own children?” Tears were coming down her face, but she didn’t care.

Shade wasn’t sure why she trusted this woman when she didn’t anyone else. The few times Diana had touched Shade in an offer of support, she hadn’t felt the need to immediately flinch away or to fight her.

“I don’t know, child. I just don’t know. It’s a horrible thing when a child dies, worst if’n they die by the one person theys suppose to be able to count on. I don’t know what this old world is a’coming to, no I don’t.”

Shade knew what she meant. “How much do you suppose it’ll cost to bury Becca, Mrs. Ridge? I don’t have much, but I could make them payments if they’ll let me.” Shade would make it work if she had to stop eating all together.

“The city will bury her; won’t cost anyone nothin’. You let the city do the burying and you go ahead and get her a nice headstone, one with a pretty angel on it. They won’t give Becca one of dem, just a little old metal disk in the ground to mark where she is. Just a row and grave number on it, nothin’ to tell people what a wonderful little girl she was. You do that for her. Don’t let her be just a number, child; don’t let her be just another number in one of dem city books hid away somewheres dark.”

“I failed them, Diana. I failed them both,” Shade sobbed.

“Oh my God, child, dem kids weren’t yours. You couldn’t do no more than you did for’ em. You can’t think like that. Why, thinkin’ like that will make you sick.”

Shade stood up and walked toward the elevators. She needed to breathe. She needed to get away from the smell of medicine and death, of the despair and sadness.

Shade couldn’t help but think that if she hadn’t stopped to get pizza, she would have been there on time. That Becca wouldn’t have…but it wouldn’t do her any good now to think things like that. All she could do now was hope Brent lived. And Shade hoped she never saw that bitch Brenda again or she would be very sorry she had ever crossed paths with Shade Doe. Just like her run-in with Mark the other night.

Mark had tried to arrest her, or at least he had said that was what he was doing. He had stopped her up while she was walking home after a small job that had paid her in cash. Said she was a vagrant and there was a law about her kind walking around without means to support themselves. She thought it had something to do with the kids, but he didn’t seem to know anything about that.

He had pointed his gun at her and forced her into the back of the car. But once he got her into the cruiser, he took her in the opposite direction of the station house. By the time she had figured out what his intentions were, she was locked in the back and the handles had been removed.

He drove her to a remote site and dragged her kicking and screaming from the car. He’d had to hit her a few times to get her to “cooperate” with him. Then when she kneed him in the groin, he changed tactics. His weapon had come out again so fast that she didn’t have time to react and to move out of the way. He had hit her on the side of the head so hard that she saw stars. She had actually, but they cleared quickly in her panic to survive. Thinking that he had knocked her out she supposed, he relaxed his grip enough for her to move, giving her the perfect opportunity to attack. Shade drew her knife from her boot and stabbed him in the arm, then another longer, deeper cut in the shoulder. Shade fled the scene and never looked back, not caring if she had killed the stupid bastard or not.

A few days ago, she heard on the news that Mark Sells was a hero. It seemed as though the decorated officer had gotten out of his cruiser to help someone with car trouble, something that he said he always did. Then someone, for no apparent reason, attacked him. He had told the anchor girl his “story” while lying in his hospital bed, bandaged from his ordeal. It seemed he had just been able to get to his radio and call for help before passing out from blood loss. Jerk. Lying jerk had tried to rape her and he came off looking like a fucking hero.

~CHAPTER FIVE~

Colin went by the apartment a few days later. He had tried to stay away, but couldn’t seem make himself. He still didn’t know why he was checking on the woman, but he did it all the same. The place was quite. No one seemed to be around even in the playground, but that could have been because of the cold.

Colin knew something was different the moment he stood outside the building, smelling blood heavy and clotting in the air. He knew the scent of old blood and knew that it had been at least a week since it had been spilled. He flashed himself up the two flights of stairs to the apartment door—the scent coming from inside the rooms was stronger than anywhere else in the building and outside. The first thing he noticed was the yellow crime scene tape crossed across the door barring his entrance. Colin had the power to “ghost” himself into another room, as long as it wasn’t steel, going right through doors and walls. He did so now, and staggered to the floor from the fresh odors. The room was filled with the scents of blood, fear, despair, drugs and people. He felt the woman he’d been looking for in the room along with others, many of them men. And under it all, he could smell the scent of impending death and terror.

Colin couldn’t move. He sat there on the dirty, stained floor, trying to sort through what had happened by the scents, who had been injured, who was dead. Colin couldn’t separate the different emotions and scents from one another. It flooded his system as if all had come from the same person. He could smell distinct smells, such as wolf, cocaine, semen, filth and fear, but they were all over the little apartment. He knew where to go. He went back to the mansion with a heavy heart and a need for answers.

“Where the heck have you been, big...what’s the matter, Colin? What’s happened?” Concern laced Sara’s questions. Aaron came into the kitchen as soon as Colin had entered the kitchen door.

“She’s dead. That woman, my mate, she’s dead. I could feel her pain. Oh God, the blood...help me, Sara, please? She...she can’t be dead.” Colin sobbed.

“Tell me what you need, Colin. I’m here for you, both Aaron and I are. Tell us what you need for us to do.” He pulled her to him, his need...his need to hold on to something, someone overrode his knowledge that one did not touch another vampire’s mate.

“Come with me. I want you to come with me to her house. Her child, maybe I could take her for her, raise her as mine. Will you go with me, please? You could get the information for me. What I need to find her child. The little girl. What if they won’t let me…what if they won’t help me?”

Colin had never known the child’s name; he only just realized and he wished that he had. That saddened him more than anything he had ever felt before. And that little girl, he would see she would never want for anything as long as he lived.

The three of them bundled into the car and Colin led them to the building. Sara wasn’t able to go through the doors, but she could sense what had happened from just outside with her hand pressed tightly against the frame. Sara relayed all she could get from the room as she closed her eyes and moved mentally through the rooms just on the other side.

The information was not perfect because of the large number of people that had been in the room, but she could get much. Also, Sara could not disassociate one person from the other, as she had never met any of them before. She didn’t know which signature belonged to Colin’s mate.

“There are two children, boy and a girl, they’re related, a sister and brother, I think. They were both gravely injured recently. There’s a woman who is here a lot; her signature permeates the rooms in high concentration. There is a high amount of drugs, different kinds. I don’t know...alcohol as well. There’s a man who is...he is evil. I can feel his intent and a provocation toward inflicting pain, especially to smaller people. He is a wolf, I think…no, he is one, but not an alpha. He’s really quite mad, insane. He’s been here enough that I can smell him and if I need to, I can find him again. I hadn’t realized that it would smell so much like canine,” she told Colin with a sad smile. “I can also smell the wolf, his scent, semen, semen that’s mixed with blood. Oh, Colin, those poor babies. It’s their blood, isn’t it, those babies? There’s another woman. She’s much stronger—magic. I can almost taste it it’s so strong. She’s...I can feel her love for the children. Her blood is here, too, fresh and strong. I don’t feel her...this one doesn’t spend a lot of time inside of this dwelling.”

“I dinna know there were two of them. But I’m glad. The other one, the one with the magic, Sara, can you tell me what she is?”

“I’m sorry, Colin. All I can tell you is that she is magic. Her signature isn’t strong enough to indicate that she’s here much. I would say that she doesn’t stay here. I had a stronger scent of her just down the hall and below the stairs when we came in. There are men, law enforcement and others. Medical personal too. I can smell their drugs, but it isn’t the street kind. It’s nothing like the stronger stuff.”

Sara stopped talking, but not crying. She could feel the pain and suffering of the children, and Colin was sorry for that. He would never hurt Sara, not for anything in the world. Colin looked at Aaron, who held his mate.

“That’s all I can get, Colin. There are just too many people, and I don’t know your mate’s pull. I can’t tell much about the children, if they survived, but none of the other adults in the room were hurt all that badly. The man was, but as he is were; he’ll live, more the pity. The woman, the stronger one, she’s hurt too, but like the were, she’ll survive. Something else you should know, she is powerful and she is magic. While she is untrained, she is very commanding and strong. Do you know who she is?”

“No. The drugged-up one, though, that’s my mate. The children are hers, although I didn’t know there were two of them, just the little girl. I’d only seen the little female. She’s a pretty little thing. I think she has a cold, poor child. Thank you, Sara. I know it was hard for you. I have to go. I need to go.”

And before either of the other two could say anything to him, Colin flashed away from them.

He didn't know where he was going, not yet at any rate. Nor what he was going to do once he got there. He wanted to know what had happened to her children. He knew now that his mate hadn’t died, but she had been there when they were hurt, so no matter what happened, he would make sure she paid.

How could a mother do this? Was she so fucking out of it she did nothing to help them, just let it happen? He had a sudden urge to go to the hospital. He knew that was where the children would be if they were as hurt as Sara thought they were.

Colin found the same scents in the emergency room as were at the house, strong and heavy in the air. He could only assume it was the children’s scent now. He couldn’t smell hydrangeas in here, so he assumed that she had not been brought here. Colin followed the scents into the separate examining rooms. He was able to follow one to the third floor, pediatrics.

There was a police officer standing at the desk right outside the room where the scent was strongest. Colin slipped inside the room without anyone seeing him, pulling a shadow around him to conceal his presence. He made not a sound as he approached the tiny person in the bed.

The little boy’s head was bandaged and he was hooked up to an IV and other machines. His heart was beating slowly and without any regularity, the sound coming from one of the machines in the room. But Colin was able to reach deeper, much deeper, to see the extent of his injuries.

Colin had been around long enough and had been in enough hospital rooms to know that they were monitoring Brent’s heart and brain activities. Colin could feel, Brent Shell, it said on the chart, was nearing death. His small body was too weak and broken to fight the injuries that would soon claim his life. Colin knew he couldn’t stand by and do nothing for him as his mother had done. He would like to think that most anyone would do the same for the child, any child.

Colin closed the door to Brent’s room, locked it, and strode over to the tiny figure on the bed. Colin opened a vein in his wrist, a small wound. He knew he couldn’t heal him completely—that would raise questions and suspicions—but he could save his life. Brent deserved a chance, and Colin was going to see that he got it.

Brent fought the urge to swallow at first, but Colin tilted his head back enough, careful not to disturb the wound and let only a few drops go down his throat. Colin stayed a few minutes more, making sure that Brent had gotten enough of Colin’s rich blood running through his system to give him at least a fighting chance. He could feel the blood doing its work and could see more color return to the little boy’s cheeks.

Colin left Brent’s room a few minutes later and went back down to the ER to follow what he now assumed was the girl. He was not encouraged when he was drawn to go downstairs, her scent pulling him toward the basement levels. He knew even before the elevator stopped that she had not made it. That he was being led was the morgue. That beautiful little girl with the yellow hair and raggedy dolly had died at the hands of her mother. Oh, Colin knew who had actually caused the little human’s death, but her mother was no less guilty in Colin’s eyes than the man who had done the actual killing. And she was going to pay. He would see to it with his dying breath.

~~~

Shade found that she didn’t have the will to do anything anymore. She just couldn’t make herself care about getting up much less simply lying down. She hadn’t had the appetite to eat much either, so she was a little dizzy on top of being depressed. Shade hadn’t left her room for the past few days, not since she had broken down the door to the nightmare of eight days ago and then just the one time. That had only been to go to the funeral for little Becca.

Becca had been buried the day before yesterday, during one of the prettiest days they’d had for a while. The sun had been shining, and there hadn’t been a single cloud in the sky. The perfect day for a little girl to be outside playing, swinging on the play set, or just hanging out with her big brother. But instead, she had been put into the ground, never to play outside again, never to grow old, never to kiss a boy. Shade began crying again, her heart breaking once again.

Shade had failed those children and she knew it. She should have made David take them somewhere, or she should have gone over to the apartment as soon as she found out Brenda had taken them from the hospital. Now, one of them was dead and the other was not going to make it. It should have been her; she wished it had been her. And the fact that it wasn’t hurt her to the core.

Shade wasn’t stupid. She knew that Brenda had been ultimately responsible for their lives, and eventually, Becca’s death. But Shade knew she could have made reports, let more people know—like David—what had been happening at the apartment. But she had not. Shade had been too scared to get involved. Poor Becca was dead because Shade wanted to stay hidden and left alone. How would she ever live with herself knowing she hadn’t done enough to save them both? She laid her head down on her blankets just wishing that she had been a better person, been brave enough to save little Becca and Brent from what they’d had to endure.

Shade felt the stirring again, the sensual feelings she had had once before. It took her a few minutes to remember where she had felt it before. It was the man, the one she had dubbed “the wall.” He was nearing to where she was living, inside the building, she thought. She could feel his anger, at what or who, she didn’t know yet. But soon, when he got closer, she would know. The closer he got, the stronger his hatred for her got; it poured off of him in rivers and onto her, drowning out the sensual feelings until they were completely hidden. Shade was too shocked to be afraid. She just let him come closer and closer without trying to hide from him.

Shade was panting now, his anger so intense that she could barely breathe through it. Sweat began to gather on her forehead and stream down her face and between her breasts despite the coldness of the room. When he finally came to the doorway, she was soaking wet, her hair damp at the edges and around her face, her body bathed in his heat.

Before he had appeared to her, she had the feelings of a monster, a great monster there to tear her apart, to rip her in two; nothing could stop him. He was coming for her. When she saw him standing there and felt him reach to her, she realized that she was not far off. He was probably there to do just that—and she didn’t care as long as he touched her.

“What do you want? Why are you here?” she asked him, her voice raw with emotion. She knew now what he was, a vampire. Her first vampire, and he was a pissed off—at her.

“Let me in; invite me in,” he demanded of her. His voice was heavy and tight with built passion and anger. An anger so strong it was like a living, breathing thing to her.

He couldn’t cross her threshold, she realized. She had made the abandoned rooms hers so he was unable to breach the room to get to her—thankfully. And he needed to get to her to unleash whatever he had churning tightly through his body.

“No, I don’t think so. Not until you tell me what you want, how you found me, and why.”

Shade wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it suddenly seemed extremely important that he not touch her, that he never touched her. Along with the heat of his anger and hate, she could almost taste his desire, his need for sexual dominance over her. Something she was sure she would enjoy, but he would hurt her too. No, she thought, he couldn’t touch her; she couldn’t let him near her.

“You. I want you. I want to fuck you. And I will. Now. Tonight. Invite me in.”