Dark Salvation (8 page)

“I still don’t believe you took out two.”

“Believe it, baby.”

Nicholas heard the clanking of metal and something else. Teeth, he imagined. And they dared call him barbaric?

He’d heard enough. It was time for action. Nicholas watched the shadows, gauging the distance and his own ability to pull the first one away silently. The key to this would have to be surprise.

Just as he was about to strike, the shadow disappeared.

A muffled choke had alerted the man standing closest to him. One of his other clan-members must have reached the room – and by the sound of it, had already attacked. 

Behind him, there were footsteps on the stairs leading toward the basement. Must be the other Saint these two had mentioned. Nicholas knew he’d be spotted in a moment, ruining his element of surprise. Should he wait, and grab the one coming up the stairs, or take the one inside the room?

A shot fired made the decision for him.

He swept into the room, aiming to grab the man who’d been standing in the doorway, but missed by just a fraction of an inch.

Across the room, he spotted Alyssa feeding on the other soldier. Lysander was already en route to intercept the Saint Nicholas had let slip through his fingers.

Damn, he should have grabbed the one on the stairs.

Before he could turn away to go after the other, the frightened soldier pulled something from his jacket. A small egg-shaped item.
Oh, shit!
Nicholas had seen one of these before. “Clear out!” he yelled, just as the Saint pulled the pin on his grenade and tossed it up into the air.

Nicholas’s eyes widened as he followed the small metal bomb’s trajectory.

“Go!” he shouted again to Alyssa.

Lysander snatched the Saint before the grenade hit the floor. He twisted around and yanked the man behind him, then sprinted for the door.

Alyssa dropped her prey and bolted behind her mate.

Nicholas wasn’t waiting around for that grenade to go off; he turned on his heel and put on a burst of speed.

The explosion left his ears ringing and his arm burning. For such a small weapon, that thing packed a wallop, throwing him to the ground. Behind him, the ruined and destroyed room was a horrifying sight. Only vaguely aware of his own injuries, his first thought was of his companions. Nicholas stood, wobbly on his feet, head pounding, ears ringing, and made a quick sweep to ensure Alyssa and Lysander were no longer there.

Satisfied his compatriots were unharmed, he took stock of his own damage. All his limbs, fingers, and toes were accounted for. Thank the gods. Last thing he wanted was to end up like gimpy. Still though, his arm stung like the fires of hell. Shrapnel had torn holes in his coat. The pain told him the injury was worse than he could see at the moment, but he didn’t have time to inspect just yet. The plan was to rendezvous back at the house, and that’s where he was headed.

“That isn’t necessary. I’ll heal,” Nicholas growled. The pain in his arm had not diminished even the slightest in the time it had taken him to get home. He didn’t mean for his words to come out so sharply.

“You said that twenty minutes ago, and still the wound remains.” The determination in Kitara’s voice was endearing. But the pain kept him from enjoying the warmth it should have brought him. He rotated his shoulder, testing his arm to see how much mobility he had left. Movement only brought with it more pain.

Nicholas groaned. 

“You big baby! Will you just let me clean that wound out?”

“I don’t need any help.” He jerked away, each movement feeling like razors shredding his skin. Whatever had caused the wound, there was more to it. Something must still remain; some piece of shrapnel. But never in all his thousands of years had he failed to heal. Whatever the Saints were using, it was working.

“Ouch!” He yelped again as he twisted out of Kitara’s grasp. He wouldn’t intentionally hurt her, but his control at the moment was paper thin. One accidental outburst, one unintended swat of his hand, could seriously injure her. She meant well, Nicholas knew this; but at the moment he was more beast than man, doing all he could to hold back his rage. He needed blood to help the healing process. And with a fresh source so close to him… it was a bad situation. He needed to find a nice way to tell her to leave, but doubted he had the control even for that.

“Hold still. I can see something in there.” She reached out, unafraid, and prodded the gaping hole in his arm.

“Just leave me alone!” Nicholas roared in pain. So much for nice. His fangs bared, he glared down at Kitara’s face. It was all he could do not to crush her against him and sink his teeth into her soft flesh.

“No. I’m going to help you, and you’re going to be a big boy and do as I say.” Though trembling slightly, she held his arm firm and continued her inspection of his wound. “I’m going to get the tweezers and try to get this shard out. Sit still, you hear me?” There was such conviction in her voice. Such authority. She was scared, that much was certain, but she wouldn’t back down from her task. It was an endearing quality, one that might soon get her killed, but also one that Nicholas could appreciate.

When she returned, she shocked him by dumping almost an entire bottle of vodka on the wound. He doubted the fires of hell burned as much as that damned liquid. It took all his remaining self-control not to lash out at her. Instead, he slammed his fist into the coffee table, crushing the wood beneath his fist.

“You know, for a powerful vampire, you are one big baby,” Kitara said as she swabbed Nicholas’s gaping wound with a damp rag, and then began the tortuous work of digging around inside of the wound. “It’s in there pretty good.”

“Then leave it.” He spoke through clenched teeth, still fighting every urge inside of him telling him to kill her.

“Stop being such a brat.”

He bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something he’d later regret. If she only knew how close she was to her own death, she would not be mocking him at the moment. No amount of tough could endure this pain without complaint. And his control had never been tested like this before. But, as agonizing as it was, he knew she was doing the right thing. The poison coated shard was preventing him from healing. All the blood in the world wouldn’t help until the damn thing was removed. He’d have to endure.

It felt as is if she were spearing him with the dull point of a well-worn sword, but in reality it was only the tiny head of the metal tweezers. Why did it hurt so much? What new poisons were the Saints using?

“Got it,” she exclaimed. And with a quick yank, she pulled out the small bit of metal.

Nicholas panted and tried to catch his breath. The offending shard was gone, but the wound was not closing.

“I need blood,” he groaned.

Kitara recoiled as if she’d been struck. Finally responding in the manner he needed her to. He was lethal, and she’d been playing with fire, taunting him like she had.

“I’m not going to bite you.” Nicholas attempted to sound reassuring, but the sharpness of his tone didn’t quite hit that mark. “Find me Ian, Alyssa, or Lysander…quickly.”

“Uhh… Ian got a call and left an hour ago.” Nicholas caught Kitara’s worried look and strained tone. “As for the others, I don’t know where they are. They didn’t return when you did.”

“That’s unfortunate.” In more ways than one. Ian was supposed to be watching her. He’d give that cripple hell to pay later. And Alyssa and Lysander – what had become of them? He was almost certain they’d been clear before the grenade went off. He hadn’t seen nor heard signs of them after, what with the ringing in his ears. Were they still alive? He was in no shape to go find them, but he needed to know if they were okay. “I need blood. I need to heal. Fast.”

Kitara hesitated and slowly backed away. “Maybe I should go get more bandages.”

His eyes trailed down from her face to the pulsing vein in her neck. Her heartbeat thrummed like a siren’s call. The subtle perfume of fear floated in the air. Even though he was in desperate need of it, he refused to allow himself. He was better than this. Stronger too. He wouldn’t give in to the temptation. Not with her. She was innocent. She had helped him. And, though he would not admit it aloud, she was attractive. Despite all efforts to ignore those thoughts, images of her writhing beneath him in bed while he filled her body and slaked his thirst secretly tempted him. Nicholas took a deep breath and calmed himself.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not.” Her tone said otherwise. “Your… your wound. It’s going to bleed out if we don’t try to stop it.”

In a flash, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the other room.

He knew he’d spooked her. He could only imagine the beastly look of desperation in his eyes. Blood was more than just a desire, it was a deeply ingrained need. He looked down at the wound. A steady stream still trickled out down his arm and pooled on the wood floor beneath him. She was right; he would bleed out soon.

Immortal as he was, he still needed the blood to keep his body functioning, and as the need grew more desperate, so would he. A starving vampire is a vampire without control. Perhaps it was better she was in another room. Maybe even in another house. He wouldn’t consciously hurt her, but he couldn’t guarantee that his subconscious wouldn’t.

“Where do you keep your first aid kit?” she called from the other room.

He had to laugh at the question. In a house full of supernatural beings, a first aid kit was not something they’d ever needed.

Well, maybe the wolves used them, but certainly not the vampires. “Check the upper floors.” Brady and Aiden lived on the top floor. If anyone had one, it would be them. And the farther he sent her away, the better.

He didn’t see her, but he heard her footsteps as she skipped up the stairs. Poor thing. He really did spook her. As much as he relished being an asshole, he really did not wish to scare her.

The pain in his arm had lessened a little. But the need for blood was almost overwhelming. He inspected the shard she’d removed. It looked like nothing more than a scrap of metal, but he could smell a slight tang to it. The Saints were no strangers to chemical warfare. Anything to kill what they deemed unnatural. 

His vision blurred. Refocusing took extra effort, and in his weakened state his body was not responding as it should. To ground himself, he tried to think of his compatriots. Where could they be? Lysander was too crafty to be caught unawares and too old to be taken down by the likes of the Saints. He had to be okay. Perhaps he had spotted the runaway Saint and caught up with him. Yes, that had to be it. Lysander would not have been killed so easily. And Alyssa, he had to admit, naïve as she was, she was his best student. He’d taught her well, and she should have been able to escape any trap. Yes, they both had to be okay. They had to be alive. He tried to let that thought comfort him as his eyes drooped down. Exhaustion sapped him of any will to move. His body was so heavy. He found himself sinking lower, down to the floor.

Fatigue claimed his limbs and Nicholas had not the strength to fight it. He leaned back and rested on the cool floor. His eyelids drooped further. He blinked once, twice… and then allowed exhaustion to take him.

Vaguely aware of his surroundings, the rummaging of someone nearby brought him back to consciousness. Kitara. He remembered. She was helping him. She was human.

She was bleeding.

The sweet coppery scent hit his nose and his eyelids flew open. Instantly, he focused on the origin of that smell.

Blood!

His entire being craved it. As if pulled by invisible strings, his body lifted off the floor. He was on his feet, snarling, fangs bared, ready to sink into soft flesh. It did not matter that she was frightened, Kitara’s blood called to him.

Before he could comprehend his own actions, he was on her. She squealed in fright but did not back away. “Please don’t kill me,” her voice was little more than a frantic whisper, but held her ground.

Nicholas had her wrist at his mouth, suckling like a babe at the wound she had made. He had not taken a second’s pause to wonder at how she had done it, but the cold tip of a blade pressing at the back of his neck answered that question for him.

“Please don’t kill me,” she said again, but this time the conviction had returned to her voice. “I don’t want to use this.”

Brave, he thought. Not that the knife would really save her, but that she thought to at least arm herself made him smile. He gulped down what little blood he thought he could without harming her, and lapped at the wound to close it. The invigorating effects were immediate. Warmth returned to his limbs. The ache of his wounds diminished to a dull throb.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice thick with desire for more. Nicholas had to rein in his inner beast. Her blood had been so rich, so sweet. A tantalizing treat he should never have sampled. Just that small taste had him craving more.

“You needed to heal.”

He looked at his arm. The wound was still there, but it had begun to scab over. Her blood was already working magic. “You took a dangerous risk.”

“I was armed.” She held the blade, a 10-inch chef’s knife up ready to strike.

Without warning, Nicholas lunged forward and grabbed Kitara’s wrist in a crushing grip. He pushed her backwards, pinning her to the wall with his body. She tried to struggle, but was no match for Nicholas. He took her free hand and held it firm against the wall.

Kitara’s heartbeat raced, vibrating through her chest into Nicholas’s body. The tantalizing
thump-thump
sent all of his blood rushing south. A new need arose within Nicholas. One he had not satisfied in a long while. Kitara’s breath shuddered. Nicholas felt the contracting of her muscles as she tried to fight his grip and bring the knife down upon him. Her human strength was nothing. Even in his weakened state he held her firm, but he admired her spirit. The smell of her fear, and her sweet orange and vanilla scent, called out to him. He bent his head low to take a better whiff. His nose grazed the soft skin at the base of her neck. She was a delicious temptation. He’d already sampled her blood once; he knew how rich and sweet she tasted, and he longed for more. He bent lower, drawing out the moment, savoring the anticipation, reveling in the frantic
thump-thump
of her calling heart, the pulsing artery in her neck practically begging for him to open up and devour all she had to give. Nicholas let out a slow breath and reined in his hunger. He gently pressed his lips against the soft warmth of her skin. Just a simple kiss, but that alone had its own satisfying effect.

Kitara’s body spasmed under his grip. She let out a strangled squeal, then went slack in his arms.

Nicholas held her firm, wrapping one arm around her waist, taking on her weight and keeping her upright. “Have I made my point?” Husky need filled his voice. Oh, how he wanted to slake his desire for her blood and her body! But that could not happen.

“Yes.” Her words came out in a whisper. The heat from her breath blew against his ear and her body pressed so close to his. Her warmth. Her scent. He was the one supposed to be in control, yet everything about her made him want to sit up and beg like a dog. All of his remaining blood had traveled down south, and suddenly his pants became unbearably tight.

 “Don’t ever take a risk like that again.” He pulled away from Kitara with a jerk, as if her very touch burned him.

“I’m not going to say I’m sorry.” Kitara’s voice found its conviction.

Nicholas didn’t bother to look at her as he responded. “You would be if I’d lost control.”

“I wouldn’t be able to feel anything if you’d lost control.”

“So you still have a death wish then?”

“Now who’s the one who can’t say thank you when they’ve had their life saved?”

The door opened behind them, a welcome distraction from the temptation that threatened to ruin Nicholas’s self-control.

“I’m immortal, sweetheart.” He couldn’t help but laugh. She had spirit, that was for sure.

“Are we interrupting something?” Lysander sounded tired but congenial.

Nicholas turned to the door. Relief washed through every part of his being to see the safe arrival of his friends. Well, almost safe. Alyssa appeared to be limping, but she was alive, and that was what counted.