Eternal Hunger (30 page)

She turned to look at him and said gently, “Open your eyes, Gray.”

His face twitched as if he was trying to shake his head, but his muscles were too weak.

“Open your eyes now,” she said again, a little stronger this time.

Like a lover going in for a kiss, or a fish stretching for food, Gray pressed out his lips. He was talking—in the only way he could and Sara knew what the movement meant.

Normally, she’d give up at this point, let him be, let him rest. But not today. She didn’t have the time or the patience for his petulance. She leaned down close to his ear and whispered tersely, “Open your eyes, dammit!”

He flinched, but slowly his eyes opened and he stared up at the screen. He didn’t gasp, didn’t turn away, scream, or get agitated in any way, as she’d thought he would—as she’d hoped he would so she could take the next leap into the treatment. What he did do was stare up at the images, eyes unblinking like some scene from
Clockwork Orange
, tears welling in his eyes, then snaking down his cheeks.

Fuck
.
Fuck Gray and fuck me
.

Sara flicked off the projector, went to stand in front of him, her emotions high as they had been for days. “Look at me, you stubborn bastard.”

He did, his eyes bright with the tears of a tormented soul. She recognized the look, she’d seen it in the mirror on more than one occasion.

“Is this it?” she asked him, shaking her head. “Are you ever going to let me help you? Or am I done? Do you want me to be done?”

He stared at her.

“Because I’ve had offers. Not pretty and probably painful as shit, but there’s someone who can help you in a way I can’t seem to.”

Gray dropped his gaze and looked away.

As he always did.

Jaw tight, those goddamn tears pinching the back of her throat again, Sara pushed off the bed and went out into the hallway. “Bring him back up,” she told the orderly. “I’m done.”

Soul weary, Sara headed for the stairs, for her office and for the twenty remaining patients who actually wanted her help.

Drugs were being sold in Washington Square Park in broad daylight, bodies too, and the scent of both made Nicholas’s prick stand up. He shoved his BlackBerry into the pocket of his coat, the message from Alexander thoroughly imprinted on his mind. Twenty-four hours until he was sunlight intolerant. Hmm. How much did he care? What living he did do usually happened after the sun died anyway. If it wasn’t for Lucian and the very real possibility that when he morphed he would become the next Breeding Male, caged and tested by the Order, he might just forget this whole battle, tell the Order to kiss his Roman ass, tell the troll standing in front of him now to return to his bridge.

“So what do we get for assisting the Romans?” The short, hairy “eye” in front of him grinned, his fangs worn down from too much
gravo
.

“I can offer you money or blood,” Nicholas said. “Which do you want?”

“I’d say we wanted you, Nicholas,” the “eye” said with a cackle. “But you work the streets without a master now, don’t you?”

His gaze unwavering, Nicholas stood utterly still.

“Those ribbed fangs of yours were a real draw, even as a young
paven
.” The “eye” leaned closer, his breath resembling a decades-old trash can. “I’m curious—what do you do with the money you’re paid for one of those fancy fucks? Don’t have another
veana
to buy
gravo
for, do you?”

Nicholas had a knife to the “eye’s” back before the
paven
could take his next breath. “I will ask you once more before I rip you open, neck to asshole—money or blood?”

A chirping sound erupted from the “eye’s” throat and he forced out, “Three hundred grand for the location of the Impure.”

“By tonight.”

“Agreed.”

“Good to see you, Whistler.” Nicholas slapped the
paven
on the back, shoved his knife into the waistband of his jeans, and took off into the park.

T
om Trainer had changed. Strong body, keen eyesight, developing fangs, and the kind of hearing a bat would envy. So he was hardly surprised to overhear a hushed discussion between Dare, Alistair, and Mear three rooms over, in the new compound Ethan had procured for them. He was, however, surprised to hear his name mentioned, and when the male voices dropped another decibel, he jumped to his feet and went over to the door to listen.

“You did promise him, Commander.” It was Mear.

“He’s not ready yet,” Ethan said tightly. “He will go after that doctor and not only forget his obligation to me, but cause a disturbance that might hinder my plan.”

“But, Commander, I could—”

“Do you want a dead lover, Mear? Because if he goes and my wishes aren’t carried out to the letter, I will slice him apart in front of you, understand?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“He will have his day to drain the pain-in-the-ass doctor. Today I must take back what is mine. If what Alistair says about the doctor is true, if she indeed has vampire blood in her veins, the
balas
and its host are no longer safe there. Mear, you go with Alistair. Make sure there are no problems.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tom hid behind the door as the two recruits passed by him. They were going to Walter Wynn.

His blood, renewed, strong, lustful, and hateful, cried out for her.

Sara
.

Ethan Dare was his commander, and he would follow him in all things. All things, but one.

Today, he followed Mear and Alistair—right out of the iron gates and into the street.

S
weat ran from Alexander’s neck to his chest and arms, but he didn’t slow. Hadn’t in the past three hours. Hyped up and ready for battle, he’d run the tunnels, then sparred with three Impure guards, before following Lucian on the course he’d erected in the living room.

Night had fallen now and as the burlap bags swayed back and forth, Alexander weaved between them, slamming his blades into the center of each. Planted in the hallway, fresh from his own workout, Lucian cleaned weapons, while Nicholas performed a little cyber recon on Google maps as he waited for news from the “eyes.”

“It’s too bad Bronwyn’s gone,” Nicholas said, typing furiously. “Knowing who Dare’s family connections are—who could be helping him ...”

“You can blame Luca for that,” Alexander muttered as he ripped a burlap sack from top to bottom, sending beans raining all over the floor. “She just couldn’t handle being around such a charming personality all day.”

Lucian glared at the destruction. “Hey, save it for the Impures, Alex. That’s my work there.”

Nicholas eyed Alexander and grinned. “Yes. Charming.”

The screech of a car’s brakes outside the house dissolved Alexander’s dark chuckle, and had them all up and headed for the window. Alexander got there first, his gaze dropping to the curb below.

“What is it?” Lucian asked, coming up behind him.

“Dillon’s car,” he said, already turning around to go. “Halfway up on the curb. Something’s up.”

The brothers were out the front door, down the steps in mere seconds. They rushed over to the town car, ignoring the driver, to find Dillon slumped in the backseat. “What the hell happened to you?” Alexander demanded.

Dillon lifted her head then, let the top half of her body fall back against the seat. No bruises, no blood . . .

“Oh, shit,” Alexander uttered as he saw the man sitting beside her in the back, dressed for a freaking summer day in jeans and a T-shirt. “You took Sara’s brother from the hospital?”

“The human,” Dillon whispered, her tone pained. “Trainer—he tried to attack Gray. I had to ...”

Alexander’s guts dropped into his boots. “Sara?”

Dillon squinted up at him. “She was with a patient. She’s okay. She doesn’t even know.”

Alexander gestured to Nicholas and Lucian. “Take him in, call Leza, and tell her to get over here.”

When Gray was out of the car and headed into the house, huddled against both brothers for support, Alexander leaned in and tried to remove Dillon from the backseat. He wasn’t sure what kind of injuries she’d sustained, but knew they were internal.

“Trainer’s body is still in the room,” she said, letting Alexander pull her out and onto the sidewalk.

“Dead or out cold?” he asked, helping her up the steps.

She was pressing her hand against her right side. “I don’t know. Didn’t have time to check.”

“Why the hell were you with the brother? Why weren’t you watching her?”

“She asked me to go to him.” They got to the door, inside the entryway. Dillon pushed him off of her. “I’m okay. You have to go back.”

“She’d better be unharmed.” Alexander turned to go, to flash, just as Dillon collapsed in the doorway, blood seeping from her side.

 

Sara entered her office, and with a heavy veil of exhaustion dropped into her chair. Long-ass day, and now she had the pleasure of going back to her hotel room, ordering a pizza, and watching some bad TV as she stared out at the balcony hoping the other half of her heart would show up and maybe make her cry again . . . maybe make her come again.

Her skin vibrated at the thought. Or she could take his deal. Her throat went dry. She was so damn thirsty. Had been for two days now. And not the kind of thirst that can be satiated with a few glasses of water. Her lust, her perverse need to possess Alexander had done something to her, changed her physical structure, and now his blood was all she thought about.

Over the years, she’d treated a few patients who were “human vampires,” mostly adolescents who were desperate for love, their beliefs and rituals self-destructive and impossible to maintain in society. And yet Sara couldn’t help wondering if one of them had perhaps met up with a friend of the Romans.

She sighed, grabbed a few files from the stack on her desk. Her gaze flew over the pages: Derek Kennedy wasn’t tolerating meds, diarrhea ...
fine
,
fine
. Pamela Newl was back for the fourth time—twelve-year-old daughter brought her in this time . . . Pearl McClean: second set of lab results—
never got the first
. With keen interest, Sara scanned the labs, thinking that Pete was probably right about letting the cops and social deal with the mom. Unfortunately, Sara rarely did what was “right” in these kinds of situations. Instead, she did what she had to do to get the answers she—

Sara sat forward in her chair, her pulse knocking harder in her veins, louder in her ears. She stared at the file, the labs. “Jesus Christ.”

She grabbed the phone, dialed the extension for the nurse’s station in the juvenile ward. The second it was picked up, she jumped. “This is Dr. Donohue. Is Pearl McClean in her room?”

“Dr. Donohue, Pearl was released an hour ago.”

Blood drained from Sara’s face. “What?”

“You signed her out yourself.”

“No—” A hand stole around Sara’s mouth, the other reached around her, grabbed the phone, and yanked it from the wall.

Instinct jumped in Sara’s blood, and she drove her heel into the ankle of the attacker, grabbed at his hand, and clawed at his flesh. But whoever it was held her in an iron grip.

“You can forget about Pearl,” the man whispered, his mouth near her neck. “She’s with the commander now.”

Sara’s eyes widened and her nostrils flared trying to get air in her lungs.
Fuck no!

She bit down on his hand, then flinched at the sudden pain. Her teeth, they hurt, felt loose . . .

Tom jerked her back against him, keeping his hand over her mouth, but snaking his arm across her belly. “I’ve missed you, Dr. Donohue.”

The fight in Sara hummed, wanting to get out, get wild. She slammed her elbow back into his gut, over and over, but he barely flinched.

“I thought about holding you again, touching you,” he said, sadness threading his tone. “I thought about it every time he touched me. It was like we were all together. The three of us. Maybe that’s how it’s meant to be.”

Recalling a technique she’d read about in a case study, Sara sucked in her breath, hunched her back slightly, and spun in his arms, stopping when she faced him. Without a thought, she kneed him hard in the groin. When he sucked in air, she did it again, a huge jolt straight to the balls. But he didn’t back off, didn’t do anything but breathe heavy and grip her so tightly against him that she could manage only tiny gasps of air.

He smiled down at her. “I look different, don’t I? I feel different. I
am
different.”

She couldn’t give a shit. She struggled in his arms.

“A friend shared his blood with me,” Tom said.

For one brief moment, Sara froze, looked up at him. “Shared blood ...” Oh God. That’s what she’d missed. The look in Tom’s eyes—she’d seen it before. The cuts, the look of pleasure in Pearl’s eyes—she had fed too.