Possession-Blood Ties 2 (15 page)

She ran for the door, grabbing a handful of clothes from the laundry hamper as she passed. For the scent, he realized with an inward curse. He admitted with sick fury that she might have the upper hand in this fight. You could train a person to be a hunter, but animals…they were born with it.

He ran after her, nearly catching her at the bottom of the stairs, but when she threw open the door, newborn sunlight flooded the stairwell. He hissed and jumped back. As she fled down the street, she called, “Stay out of my way, vampire. I will kill you if I must.”

I hooked up with I-94 and hauled ass over the state line before the sun rose. After a boring, cramped day in the unbearably stuffy van, I hit the road with a travel mug of cold blood from the cooler I’d brought, and set my sights west. Just outside of Chicago I caught the junction of 80-90, which would lead me into Iowa, and the landscape flattened almost immediately. With no tape deck and a broken radio, I exhausted my voice—and repertoire of Abba songs—quickly. With nothing to occupy my mind, my thoughts turned inevitably to Nathan. I knew he wasn’t dead. I tried the blood tie vigilantly, though all I ever got in return was the tiniest pull. I filled my mind with as much love and support as I could, and sent it his way, hoping he would get the message. Eventually, memories I would rather have ignored started popping to the surface.

I thought of all our failed attempts to play Risk. The way I’d shouted “Bad omen! Bad omen!” every time he’d rolled the dice. It had driven him mad, but not so mad he couldn’t see the humor in it.

I remembered the time we’d tried to repaint The Crypt.

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“What the hell is that?” he’d demanded of the botanical border I’d begun sponging around the top of the walls.

I’d squinted at it with what I’d considered a critical eye. “A fig leaf.”

Apparently, I’d not been critical enough. He’d looked deeply offended by my artistic skills. “Apparently your idea of a leaf and my idea of a leaf differ greatly.”

Frowning, I’d dabbed at the paint protectively. “I think it looks fine.”

“All I’m saying is if you were in charge of the Garden of Eden, I’d be glad not to live there.” It had been close to dawn and we’d been working since sunset. Nathan’s tired voice and his accent, grown thick with exhaustion, had rendered his words barely distinguishable as English.

I’d been unable to resist a guttural “Och!” The ensuing paint fight had splattered the shelves and the ceiling. We would have gotten around to painting over it if we hadn’t ended up jumping each other’s bones right there on the plastic sheets on the floor. I pulled all the happiness I could from these memories and gave it over to the blood tie. Maybe it would reassure him we were looking for him, and keep him from despairing. I wished I could pull the van over and cry, but there was no time. I swallowed my pain and kept my eyes on the road.

What would happen if Max caught up with him? Though Anne had sounded pretty sure he wouldn’t finish Nathan off, she’d also seemed certain the Oracle wouldn’t hurt anybody, and look where that had gotten her. The thought of Max doing anything to Nathan…I wasn’t confident if I would ever be able to face him again should that happen. Then there was the Cyrus problem. It had been easy to let my grudge against him die when I thought he was dead himself. But how could I possibly endure seeing him again? Would he still have that sick, seductive power over me?

There was very little I feared now that I had become the thing that went bump in the night. Unfortunately, my old sire figured largely in that very little. He’d had a hold over me that had surpassed the power of the blood tie. He’d made me believe he’d needed me, that I could have that power over him. For a person who’d wanted nothing more in life than that kind of control, it had been a dream come true. How would I react to him now that he was human and he really did need me?

Assuming he was still human when I got there. I couldn’t imagine him tolerating such a state for long.

Outside the windows, the miles passed by. I never knew why they referred to this landscape as “rolling plains.” They didn’t roll at all. They just stretched out endlessly into the night, with only the occasional farm or small town to break the illusion of standing still.

As close to dawn as possible, without any clue as to what state I was in, I pulled into a rest stop and climbed behind the heavy canvas curtains to sleep. Out of loneliness more than hope, I tried the blood tie again. We’re going to fix this, Nathan. I promise, we’re going to fix this. At first, I thought there would be no response at all, not even the strange tug I’d felt when I’d tried to communicate before. This time, though, I heard him. Help me.

His reply was faint, but I knew it was him and not my frantic imagination. It was definitely Nathan.

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And he was in unimaginable pain.

Cyrus woke at sunup. Mouse lay curled at his side, a rare smile on her sleeping face. Whatever she dreamed of, he hated the thought of waking her. He rose as carefully as he could to avoid disturbing her, and walked to the bathroom. He closed the door, then thought of the monsters lurking upstairs, and opened it a crack so he could hear them if they came down. Though he was sure his counterthreat had made an impact with the leader, he knew from experience a deal with a vampire was really no deal at all.

He drew a bath, hoping the thunder of water in the tub wouldn’t wake Mouse. She deserved to sleep. Every moment she slept was a moment she didn’t have to think of their dire situation.

Though he knew she had a name, he couldn’t bear to think of her as “Stacey.” Certainly not “Stacey Pickles.” He made a face at that. She deserved a better name than Mouse, but it fit her, and he couldn’t think of a better one.

He slipped into the water and slid down to submerge his head. Though he’d always enjoyed the sensation of being completely enveloped by water, he couldn’t stand it now. His mortal lungs cried for air and every faint noise seemed sinister. He sat up, gasping for breath.

He was surprised to see Mouse jump back from the tub. He hadn’t heard her come in, and his lack of awareness frightened him. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. She still wore the T-shirt she’d slept in, her skinny legs jutting from beneath the short hem, which afforded her little modesty. “I heard you get up. I didn’t want to be alone.”

He leaned into the curved end of the tub and let his arm drape over the side. “It’s okay.”

She took a tentative step forward. “The door was open. I didn’t know you were—”

“I don’t mind.” He liked having her close. At least then he knew she was safe. Her eyes darted from his naked form beneath the water to the floor as she moved to kneel beside the tub. When he reached out and lazily stroked her hair with his damp hand, she blurted, “Today is my birthday.”

“Really?” He didn’t know why he was so interested. Captivity was doing strange things to him. “How old are you?”

She nodded earnestly and leaned against the tub as though it were his living flesh.

“Nineteen.”

“Nineteen, and you’re—” He’d meant to comment on her purity, then realized the comment would be crude. It wouldn’t have bothered him with anyone else, another dangerous distinction he chose to ignore. “You’re nineteen?”

“How old are you?” She looked up at him with terrifyingly earnest eyes. He knew the look in them, and withdrew his hand. “I don’t know. I think I may have been twenty-seven when I became a vampire. I didn’t keep track of the years after that. There were seven centuries, if that helps.”

“Seven—” She choked on the word. “I thought I was old.”

He laughed out loud at the absurdity of her innocent statement. “Hardly.”

With a sigh, she dropped her hand over the side of the tub, sliding it gracefully through the water at his side. Her fingers came mere centimeters from his flesh, and for a moment he

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thought she would touch him. She never did. He stared at her face to try and gauge her intent, but there was no sign of sly seduction or nervous timidity there. She gazed at the cinder block wall, but it was obvious she saw nothing.

“How can you forget how old you are? Don’t you look forward to your birthday?” She rested her head on the rolled edge of the bathtub, still twisting her fingers through the water.

One slender digit brushed against his ribs. It took all his willpower not to shudder. “I don’t know when my birthday is. My mother died a few days after I was born. From a fever. My father took a new wife, but she didn’t know what day I’d been born and my father hadn’t kept track.”

Mouse turned to him, looking very close to tears. “That’s so sad.”

“Not really,” he assured her. “Birthdays didn’t matter much then. There wasn’t as much emphasis on them as there is now.”

“You could still have one,” she offered. “Just keep track from the day they brought you back. Or the day they—”

“Let’s not talk about that.” He didn’t want her to have any knowledge of his vampire world. Didn’t want to hear their sordid terminology cross her lips. Forcing a smile, he said, “I have good news.”

He could tell she didn’t want to believe him. To get her hopes up would only serve to see them dashed again. She couldn’t seem to resist temptation, though. “What is it?”

“When I talked to the vampire woman last night, she said they’d bring us more food.” He glanced worriedly at his lean stomach. He’d have to watch his intake, or he’d grow fat. That was something he’d never had to think of before.

“Where are they getting it?” Mouse’s expression became troubled. Whatever could be the matter with her? Did she want to starve to death? “I don’t know. Maybe they have some here. It is a church. Don’t they give out alms for the poor?”

“The food pantry is for the low-income families of the parish.”

“Yes, and they believe it has burned to the ground.” He frowned. “Mouse, we don’t have much left.”

“Mouse?” A hesitant smile crossed her lips. “Why did you call me that?”

Damn. He’d never addressed her with anything more than “You there,” before. “Because you remind me of a mouse.”

She looked deeply offended, and he rushed to correct himself. “Not physically. But you’re so quiet. If you want me to call you—”

“No. Call me Mouse. I’ve never had a nickname before.” Her smile widened, as if she knew a secret he did not. “It’s a good birthday present.”

They sat in silence, the only sound the occasional drip of water from the faucet.

“I won’t feel right taking that food.” She looked him in the eye. Something new sparked there, an inner flame that burned to banish the hopelessness she’d succumbed to before.

“But I’ll take it, because now it’s every man for himself.”

“Or herself, as the case may be.” Cyrus picked up the soap. “But I’m glad to see you’ve developed some reason.”

She shrugged. “You promised nothing would happen to me. You’re the closest thing to a protector I have, so I believe you.”

His heart ached with the shameful memories of what he’d done to her, but he wouldn’t

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apologize. Conscience or not, he still had some pride, and he wouldn’t live with regret. He finished his bath and gave Mouse a warning before he stood, so she could modestly turn her back. She went into the other room to change, and when she’d finished she brought him clean clothes, as well. When he emerged from the bathroom, she stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up with a worried expression.

“What’s the matter?” He touched her arm. He wasn’t sure why. She jumped, then nodded with an apologetic look. It hadn’t been him that had startled her.

“Are they…I mean, will they come out? If we went up there?”

“They can’t go into the light. They’ll burn up. If we were in the light, we’d be fine.”

She chewed her lip. “So, once we got outside, then…we’d be fine?”

“In theory.” What was she insinuating?

Mouse started up the steps, but took them slowly. He caught her arm. “What are you doing?”

She lifted a finger to her lips to signal quiet. He didn’t want to follow her, but her singleminded concentration drew him in. He stayed close behind her, one hand on the railing, the other on her wrist. A few times, she stopped. He thought she would change her mind and turn around, but then she moved forward as though she’d screwed up her courage and forced herself on.

Once they entered the vestibule and closed the basement door behind them, her courage deserted her. She stared in terror at the sanctuary doors. A chalk sigil marred the wood. Cyrus could only guess at its purpose.

“They can’t come out,” he reminded her, pointing to the sunlight slanting across the carpet. How that sight used to terrify him, and now it seemed so harmless. No wonder she doubted its effectiveness in protecting her.

She paused before the exterior doors, bracketed on both sides by long, thin windows. And then he knew why she’d brought him here. Her shoulders, usually slumped in defeat, rose. Her face appeared less tired and sad, and a gleeful smile appeared as she surveyed the bleak landscape outside.

“We can escape.” He reached for the handle.

She grabbed his wrist, stopping him. Her shoulders slumped again, and her face regained the sad, haunted look he recognized far better than hope. “We can’t.”

“Of course we can. Look! We can go out of these doors and go find help.” His hands shook as he laid them on the metal push bar. He prayed no alarm would sound. There was a faint click and a screech of hinges, then freedom lay before him in the form of a barren, desert road. His heart fell a little, but he made a desperate attempt to bolster it. “It can’t be that far to the nearest town.”

She shook her head. “Five miles.”

“Five miles? Is that all?” He could easily walk five miles, even as a human. Five miles. He could carry her five miles! “Let’s not waste any more time!”