Forbidden (3 page)

She blinked, focusing on the one who looked so familiar and yet not. Those dark eyes mesmerized her, made her feel as if she was falling with nothing to grab onto. “Who are you?” She took an instinctive step backward. “W—what do you want?”

“You.”

It was time. Roc had been planning this for weeks, careful to gauge the time and location, careful to give himself every advantage, careful no innocent bystanders were in the way.

When Father Roberto Hellman had helped him destroy the vampire Camille in the quiet, unassuming Amish cemetery of Promise, Pennsylvania, Roc had learned that the smell of blood—any blood, human or vampire—drew bloodsuckers from miles around, circling like sharks.

Even Roberto had been startled by how many vampires existed in his own neck of the woods. He had always claimed to know the bloodsuckers' strongholds, one of which was New Orleans, but maybe he didn't know as much as he thought. Or maybe age was catching up to him.

Six months ago, the priest had been quick enough to snag a hungry vampire on the prowl, which had then led them to another and another. Roc had lost count of how many vampires they'd disposed of in the following weeks and months, each time destroying the bodies (and evidence) in bonfires.

“Is that how to make sure they don't come back from the dead?” Roc had asked, still learning what he could about this new, disturbing world. He'd never wanted to explore the supernatural, or super-unnatural, and had shunned it at first, until forced to confront it after the death of his wife, Emma.

Roberto shook his head, his blue eyes blazing, his gaunt face flushed from the recent fight. Firelight flickered across his features and deepened the shadows along his cheekbones. “Just keeps the authorities from knowing anything.”

Having been a cop, Roc was keen on this aspect, yet suspicious—forensics had ways of knowing. “But what about the remains? Bones and teeth?”

Kicking at the ashes, Roberto tapped down on a persistent ember before it caught the surrounding grass afire. “Nothing remains. Look for yourself.”

When Roc tried to find any pieces of the vampire—bone, flesh, or hair—among the charred logs, ashes, and embers, he'd found nothing.

Through it all, Roc had learned: preparation was everything. Over the last few months, he'd worked hard to get his body in shape; chasing vampires wasn't for couch potatoes or alcoholics. He'd used weights Roberto stored under his cot and taken to running every morning. He was back to the shape he'd been when he first entered the police academy. And this morning, Roc was as prepared as any vampire hunter could be.

But he and Roberto wouldn't be a team tonight. Not this time.

The last few months of staking out vampires and the challenge of destroying them one by one had taken a toll on Roberto, deepening the creases in his face, darkening circles beneath his eyes, and making him seem even more frail than usual. Of course, he wasn't frail, not by any stretch. But Roc didn't want to risk the old man's life. At some point, Roc would have to go solo or find a new partner. So, he'd planned this attack without Roberto's knowledge.

But he wouldn't be totally alone. Not that he couldn't handle it…
them
…alone. But he wasn't keen on dying either. And backup could be useful. He wasn't a rogue force all by himself, and he certainly wasn't on some suicidal mission. He respected the power of his enemy and would not take it for granted. So, he'd brought along an apprentice, whom Roberto had introduced him to a month earlier.

Ferris Papadopoulos looked as if he'd stepped off Mt. Olympus and was ready to battle the netherworld, which was a good thing, because in actuality he was. Young and bronzed by the Grecian sun, this affable youth had come to Roberto months earlier from the recommendation of a fellow priest in Mexico City. Celibacy had apparently been a problem for Ferris, and so his mentor had suggested he serve the Lord in a different capacity.

Ferris began learning right along with Roc, challenging him in his workouts and strategizing self-defense moves. The kid was ready. Or as ready as he'd ever be—no one was ever fully prepared for the first battle: the whispering assault, the black eyes that made the world tilt, the first thrust of a weapon, all the blood, and the hard, unrelenting stare into the face of death.

This morning, which looked more like night than day, heavy gray clouds hovered over the University of Pennsylvania campus. Through research, Roc had learned of its Philomathean Society. One of its heralded archives stated: “Philomathean fierce blood suckers, foulest of the vampire brood.” So Roc had dug into the society, its members and sponsors, which had led him to a certain Professor Victor Beaumont.

His credentials appeared solid until Roc looked beneath the surface, where his origins were dubious at best. With a background in literature and his last teaching position at Tulane University, the professor had a loose connection to Akiva, who had once gone to New Orleans for a literary tour of his favorite authors. But Roc needed more to go on.

Checking with U of Penn students had brought to light a few of the professor's idiosyncrasies and his penchant for dark stories. It was rumored he'd had an affair with a student a couple of years ago, and when he dumped her, the coed had left school. In reality, she had disappeared, and her parents had been searching for her ever since without success.

Then there were the initiation rites of the Philomathean Society. All involved blood.

It warranted Roc's following the professor. For the first week, all had seemed normal, even dull. But then the professor had disappeared for more than twenty-four hours, even missing one of his classes. According to his students, Professor Beaumont often vanished on a full moon. So Roc broke in to investigate the professor's house, and found a freezer full of plastic containers, labeled and dated—blood.

The next day, Roc had been waiting for the professor after his class on nineteenth-century American literature. Surrounded by his students like he was some sort of rock star, Victor Beaumont walked out of his classroom. He had spiky silver hair and matching goatee. He wore a tweed jacket, and beneath it a plain brown T-shirt, and faded jeans. As the tall, smiling man left the building, backing his way through the doorway, he'd tilted his shades downward and winked at Roc. Roc's hackles rose at the sight of those black, sin-filled eyes.

Now, even in the cloying humidity and the feeble light, the stately College Hall, with its gothic style, looked as if Lurch might answer the door, if a doorbell had been available to ring. Beyond the tops of the leafy trees speckling the campus, a light glowed in a fourth-floor window. It was where the society held its secret meetings, had its library and archives, and even housed an art gallery. It was where Roc fully expected to find the professor.

With summer and the weekend in full swing, the building was empty. At a side entrance, to access the building, Roc used a “borrowed” student ID Ferris had procured. Ferris followed him inside. They were both dressed for the warm weather—T-shirts and jeans—and utilized the stairwell rather than any elevator, moving parallel to each other along the wide expanse of steps. The younger man was already gripping a wooden stake, a replica of Roc's, in anticipation of the bloodbath to come. Ferris's brown eyes were wide as he peered into the dim corridors and passageways. A flickering light overhead made a buzzing sound.

Nerves gripped Roc as they always did in the moments before battle, and he suspected the kid must feel the same on his first kill. Nothing Roberto could teach or Roc could say would prepare Ferris for the point of impact, the final thrust, the rush of blood. To take a life, even the life of a vampire, was never easy. Maybe even worse. For eternal hell, if one existed, awaited these monsters. Looking into their dark eyes, the glint of life fading, the strength waning, the fight dying, was not for the weak of heart or purpose.

The kid was strong, though, determined and full of what Roberto called divine providence. Ferris believed God had sent him on this mission, to learn from Roberto and purge the world of this pestilence known as vampires—it was a noble cause. But Roc's motive was simpler in nature—pure revenge.
Still, how would Ferris actually perform in the fury of battle? Would he falter? Hesitate? Run?
The unknown set Roc's nerves on edge.

The vampire they hunted today had done nothing personally to them. Personal vengeance wasn't necessary. The simple fact was that this creature was a bloodsucker, requiring food, and that ultimately meant human pain and death. But Roc also suspected this one might lead to Akiva. And Roc wouldn't quit hunting till he found Akiva and destroyed him.

The stir of air-conditioning ruffled Roc's hair, which had grown longer and thicker over the past months. A clicking sound alerted him, and he paused, his hand clenching not only his Glock but also wielding the wickedly useful wooden stake Father Anthony had given him back in New Orleans. His gaze snagged and narrowed on a yellow Post-it note stuck beneath the edge of a door as it flapped like a wounded bird's wing. Roc leaned against the wooden railing, glanced right, then left, and held a hand up for Ferris to wait.

A quick shift in focus revealed Ferris had moved ahead without waiting. He had already reached the next shadowy landing of the fourth floor, and his gaze seemed fixated on a hallway ahead of him. Without a backward glance in Roc's direction, Ferris crept forward as if being summoned.

Roc gave a whispered call, “Hey!”

But Ferris rushed forward. From his stance, Roc suspected Ferris saw something up ahead. But then the kid's arm went slack, his weapon pointing toward the ground instead of being raised in battle-ready position.
Did
he
hear
the
whispers?
Those whispers had the ability to confuse and confound, to turn someone's thinking into a twisted spire of indecision.

Roc raced up the stairs, taking two at a time, pausing at the top. His Glock couldn't save Ferris or him but it could buy them precious seconds. He took a shallow breath, his back to the wall, and then launched himself around the corner, bracing himself, ready for anything, pointing the 9mm. At nothing. An empty hallway met him. His gaze bounced around the walls and ceiling and doorways. Ferris must have shot forward out of Roc's range. Roc cursed and pushed on. He glanced sideways as he passed closed doors, trying to spot any signs, warnings, or traps.

When he reached the end of the hallway, Roc crouched low and turned, glancing to each side, peering into the darkness of an open doorway. How many times had Roc told Ferris “We have to work as a team”?

But then again, Roberto had always added his own mantra: “Don't trust anyone.” Roc had challenged him on that once. “Why work together then? Why trust this kid? Or even me?” With his sharp blue gaze, Roberto had pierced him. “I don't.”

“Ferris?” Roc whispered, his gaze searching past the shadowy lines of chairs, tables, and bookshelves.

Then he heard the scream. It came from behind him, down the hallway in the opposite direction Roc had already searched. The scream went on and on, reverberating through the hallway and through Roc's chest. He ran back toward the stairs, down another hallway, crashing through a door, bruising his shoulder. A series of closed doors awaited him. Roc sprinted past each, chasing the scream, and slammed his knee against a table, racing toward the cry of desperation.

And still the screaming went on and on.

I have a rendezvous with Death

At some disputed barricade

When Spring comes round with rustling shade

And apple blossoms fill the air.

I have a rendezvous with Death

When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

Akiva had been watching Rachel for days, weeks, months, waiting for her belly to ripen, waiting for the right moment, waiting for her to finally be alone. At home she didn't venture far, not like Hannah had, and someone always accompanied her. But now…now his opportunity had arrived.

It amused him that she could recognize him, where the one who had betrayed him had not. Of course, Hannah had opened her mind and heart readily then, and so Akiva was able to veil himself from her, out of love and in order to protect her until she understood. But Rachel saw him for who he was, who he wanted to be: Jacob. Maybe those days in New Orleans had meant more to her than he had ever suspected. Maybe his plan would be easier than he had thought.

He stayed in the barn's doorway, his gaze penetrating the shadows. The sun warmed his back. But he didn't approach Rachel. Not yet.

She trembled all over, from the top of her prayer
kapp
to her plain, dirt-smudged sneakers. Her eyelids fluttered nervously, her gaze shifting to and fro, searching above as if heaven would offer help. “W—why me?”

“Don't you know?” he asked in his most alluring voice, the same voice he'd used to cajole many of his victims.

She shook her head, as if dismayed. “You loved m—my sister.”

A rustling above alerted Akiva. It was the boy, who could do nothing to stop this. If Akiva had to, he would kill him.

“Didn't you love Hannah?” she asked.

Akiva's gaze narrowed.
What
had
that
lying, conniving traitor told Rachel? Had Hannah told Rachel how she'd deceived him into believing she cared? Had she confessed her dark thoughts and longings? Or owned up to her dishonesty?
No, he doubted her ability to be truthful about anything. She had probably only spread lies about him. Or maybe…maybe she had remained silent, mortified by her failings, shamed by her own sins.

He took one step toward Rachel, clouding her mind with whispers. “I remember the good times we had, Rachel, do you?”

“I don't know you.”

“Yes, you do. You called me by my name.”

“Jacob?” This time when she said his name he had to read it on her lips, for no sound emerged. She shook her head. “It cannot be. You died.”

“What if I didn't? All things are possible, are they not?”

Her head tilted to study him, as if intrigued.

Then he took another step in her direction. “So you remember then…the times we shared?”

She looked aside. “Foolishness.”

“But fun.” He smiled as her skin flushed. Her heartbeat was strong, calling to him. He reached her side, turning his head and keeping her gaze locked with his. “You didn't seem to think it was foolishness then. In fact, you liked the way I made you feel.” His tone soothed and lured. “You liked the things I showed you.”

Her blue eyes filled with fear. But she didn't move away. He had her.

“You liked me, didn't you?” He dared to touch her earlobe with the tip of his finger and drew an invisible line along her jaw and neckline. Her pulse leapt beneath his touch. “You cared for me.”

“How could I not? But…” Her voice faltered. “I love Josef. I am married—”

“He is gone.” Akiva dismissed the notion immediately. There would be no lies between them.

Her eyes widened, as if surprised he would know, and then narrowed as if questioning his knowledge.

Did
she
not
know?
Had
Hannah
truly
lied?

“I keep track of all that goes on here,” he said. “After all, this is where I grew up. It was my home. I know the pain you have suffered, Rachel, over the past few months.”

She glanced downward toward her heart, then her gaze sprang back to meet his. “Then you know that Hannah married.”

His body tensed, and he grew cold. He forced his voice to remain calm and unaffected. “She made her choice.”

“What is it you want, Jacob?”

“I told you.”

“Are you coming back to stay? To live here?”

He laughed, and all in the barn went silent. Not even the boy above in the hayloft made a sound. “Rachel, Hannah has not been honest with you either, has she?”

“What do you mean?” The fluttering of her lashes told him so much—she suspected the lies.

“Did she tell you what happened to Josef?”

Her breath froze in her chest. Her gaze shifted sideways, and her fingers plucked at her apron. “It was an accident,” she said in a rush. “An accident on the road…in the buggy.”

He leaned closer. “What if it wasn't?”

She recoiled as if he'd struck her. “W…what are you saying?”

This time, he remained silent, letting his question linger and sink deep into her soul. “Come with me, Rachel. I will explain everything to you, things Hannah would not tell you. I will tell you how Josef died.”

Her gaze flicked above his head.
Was
she
praying?
Or
seeing
something? Oh, the boy. Of course.
Did
Rachel
worry
he
had
overheard
their
conversation? Maybe he would tell someone. There would be questions when Rachel disappeared. But nothing would be done. The Amish would do nothing. They didn't like to call in the English authorities. Not that they could do anything either. What would it matter anyway, what this boy might say? They would not find Rachel. Ever.

A slow smile tugged at Akiva's lips. He could take care of the boy without much effort, but then…if he did, Rachel might not go quite so easily. And he wanted her cooperation. At least for now.

Rachel's fear pounded and pulsed around her and consequently through him. Her hesitation, insecurities, and doubts twined about her. “B-but,” she managed, “why do you want me to go with you? How is it possible? You were dead. They…Levi…Hannah…your family…everyone said you were dead.”

“Do I look dead?”

She remained silent as if any answer had died within her.

“Touch me.”

She hesitated.

“Go ahead.” He smiled. “I won't bite.”

Slowly, her hand moved upward toward his chest. Before she touched the place over his heart, she lifted her hand higher until she cupped the edge of his jaw.

The warmth of her skin shocked him, and a raw hunger pulsed inside him. He used his restraints not to snag her around the wrist and burrow his face into her neck. Instead, he drew a slow, steadying breath. “They lied to you, Rachel. They deceived you too. For I am not dead. You do not need to fear me. I will not hurt you.” His gaze shifted down toward her belly. He could hear the blood pulsing through the womb and the tiny heartbeat fluttering. “I need your help.”

She pulled her hand away. “My help?”

“You were right all along, Rachel. You told me to forget about New Orleans. You told me to go home to Hannah. You told me what I was doing was dangerous. And it was. Now I need your help.”

“But what happened to you?” She took a step back, yet her body angled toward him. “Where have you been?”

“I will explain it all to you.” His gaze sharpened on her as he penetrated her mind, whispered thoughts of hope and longing into her. She was thirsty for attention, for companionship. She was alone, so alone, and her emotions drifted like an unmoored boat. He would be her anchor.

She gave a slight shake of her head as if to ward him off, but she couldn't. “I tried to forget everything I'd seen. Everything you and I—No.” She took another step back. One hand rose like a barrier between them and the other touched the rounded side of her belly. “I don't want to remember. Please…I…” Her fingers splayed wide as if they could protect her baby as she backed farther away from him. “I can't—”

Her voice cracked, opening the crevice in her heart, giving him a glimpse of her greatest need.

“Rachel,” his voice coaxed, “you have to fix things.”

“Fix what?” she pleaded.

He lifted one shoulder awkwardly, then it settled back into the straight, powerful line. “Josef. Me. Only you can do it, Rachel. Only you.”

“But how? What can I—?”

“Come with me.” He held a hand out to her, palm up and beckoning as if he didn't have the sheer power to force her. “I will show you. And I will tell you about Josef.”

She whispered her husband's name as if it was a prayer and met his gaze straight on. “But Jacob—”

“I go by Akiva now. Didn't Hannah tell you?”

She shook her head and swallowed hard. “Why?”

“It's a long journey we have ahead of us. I'll tell you on the way.”

“But—”

“Don't you want to help Josef?”

The toe of her black tennis shoe turned inward. “My family is here.” She glanced downward toward her belly. “And the baby is coming.”

“Yes, of course. That is why it's important you come now, before your baby's time. You will be home in plenty of time to give birth.”

“I just want to forget—”

“But you can't, can you?” he interrupted. “Only God can forget the sins of the past. Has He forgotten yours? You haven't. You can deny things happened, Rachel, but that doesn't change anything. And now
you
must pay the price. Only you. All sin requires a sacrifice, does it not?”

She nodded and took a step toward him, as if a string attached to her heart pulled her forward…then another step and another.

His hand stretched outward toward her, and she dipped her fingertips into the cup of his palm. Before she could regret her action, his fingers closed over her hand, his grip tightening.

And she walked out the barn door with him into the sunlight.