The Vampire's Kiss (17 page)

Her back was to him as she bent over the lock. It would be so easy to go her, to take her now. She would never even know what had happened.

But that wouldn’t be any fun. So he waited. Silent. Watchful.

She walked down the stone steps, her padded shoes making no sound against the concrete. When she reached the sidewalk, she paused, her gaze sweeping around the area. He knew she wouldn’t see him. He was far too adept at cloaking his presence.

She walked down the sidewalk.

Where was she going at such a late hour? Hadn’t her mother ever told her that the night could be dangerous?

He crept behind her, inhaling her scent. He could smell her shampoo. It reminded him of apples. He’d always loved apples.

She still had her keys in her hand. They were clenched between her fingers. He almost smiled at her pitiful weapon. He could hear her heart, pounding fiercely in her breast, and he could almost taste her blood, flowing richly through her veins. Sweet, sweet blood. Oh, how he loved the taste . . .

He crept closer, trailing her by mere inches.

She never turned around. The street was completely empty. All of the houses were dark. No one could see her. Or him. He reached out, touching her neck gently.

She screamed and jerked around, trying to scratch him with her keys.

He laughed as the keys cut into his face.

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him. He yanked the keys from her and hurled them to the ground.

“Hello, pretty lady,” he whispered, his eyes blood red. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her eyes widened in horrified recognition. She opened her mouth to scream again.

He clamped his hand over her mouth. “Shhh, love. We don’t want to wake the neighbors, now, do we?” He smiled, letting her see his teeth.

He could smell the rich, heady aroma of her fear. He loved the taste of fear. “Hold still, love.” He licked her throat and felt her tremble.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. He’d always hated a woman’s tears. They were weak. Useless. “Are you afraid to die?” He asked her, his voice tender.

He felt her slow nod.

“That’s too bad,” he murmured. And he sank his teeth into her throat.

“MARY!” SAVANNAH jerked awake, her heart pounding. She’d seen her friend so clearly, struggling in the dark waters of the river. Screaming. Asking for her help.

A cold knot of dread formed in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Beside her, William’s body was eerily still. She touched him, her fingers feathering over his bare shoulders. His skin was so cold, and he wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t moving.

“William?”

He didn’t answer, but then, she hadn’t really expected him to. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, rise until dusk.

Fear was growing within her. She was terrified that something had happened to Mary.

She slid from the bed, wondering what time it was. How long had she slept? How long had she dreamt of a black river that churned with hate?

She slipped on her clothes and grabbed her key. She had to call Mary. She had to make certain that her friend was all right.

She ran through the tunnels and up the stairs. Her legs burned, but she pushed herself, moving as fast as she could. She burst into the kitchen and ran across the room. She sent the door swinging back with a hard shove of her hand and raced down the hallway, her bare feet pounding on the cold wooden floor. She grabbed the phone and quickly dialed Mary’s apartment number.

The phone rang. Once. Twice.

Savannah began to pray.

Three times. Mary usually answered her phone on the second ring. She’d always said she just couldn’t wait to find out who was calling.

Four rings. Still no answer.

Savannah’s hand grew slick around the receiver. Why wasn’t Mary answering? Where was she?

“Hello?” The voice was female, soft and husky.

Savannah’s knees sagged. “Mary?”

“No.” A deep sigh. “Mary’s in the hospital.”

The hospital? The room seemed to spin. Savannah slid to the floor, clutching the phone with all of her strength. She recognized the voice of Mary’s roommate. “Sarah, it’s Savannah. Is Mary all right? What happened?”

There was a tense pause. “She’s not all right, Savannah. The doctors don’t think she’s going to make it.”

Savannah could hear the pain in Sarah’s voice. “What happened?” She felt numb.

“She was in a car accident. They found her at the end of the street. She drove her car straight into a tree,” Sarah said. “It was just before dawn. What the hell was she doing out at that time? Why was she driving?” Tears choked her voice.

Savannah’s lips trembled. “What hospital is she at?”

“Mercy’s Heart. Look, Savannah, if you want to see Mary, you’d better get here, fast. I don’t think she’s got much time.”

You’d better get here, fast.
“I-I can’t. I can’t leave—” She’d promised William.
I only ask that you stay inside.
His words echoed in her mind.
It’s safer inside.

“You
have
to come.” Sarah’s voice was urgent. “She’s . . . she’s dying. The doctors say it’s a matter of days, maybe hours.”

A tear slid down Savannah’s cheek. Not Mary. Dear God, no, not Mary.

“Savannah? Are you there?”

“Yes.” A whisper.

“You
have
to come. You have to see her before, before—”

Before it was too late. Before she died. “I’ll be there.” There was no choice. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Savannah said, her voice husky. William would understand. He would know that she’d had to go, that she’d had to see Mary.

Oh, God, Mary.

She swallowed, tasting tears and pain. Nothing would stop her from seeing Mary again. Nothing.

WILLIAM FELT HER pain. It beat against him, pounding into his mind.

He tried to reach out, to touch her, but he found only emptiness.

He could hear her voice. Hear her tears.

What was wrong? What had happened?

Savannah.
The cry echoed in his mind.

SAVANNAH BARELY remembered the car ride down the mountain. The frantic dash through the airport was but a hazy memory. As she sat on the plane, gazing out of the window at the vast land below, she could only remember Mary. Her dear friend. Her best friend.

Why? Why had Mary been hurt? Had it been just a simple accident? Why had Mary been out so late? What had she been doing?

Something wasn’t right. Savannah could feel it. There was more to the story. More to Mary’s “accident.”

Had Geoffrey gone after Mary? Was he the cause of her injuries? Guilt almost smothered Savannah at the thought. Had she led the killer to her friend’s door?

She prayed that Mary would still be alive. That she would recover. She prayed and she begged, hoping God would hear her desperate calls. Her fingers were locked tightly together. Her shoulders hunched forward. Her temples throbbed in a steady, pounding rhythm. She was terrified.

As the miles rushed by, a fleeting thought whispered through her mind. She wished William were with her.

WILLIAM AWOKE to find himself alone in the bed.

He knew Savannah was gone even before he took his first breath. He could feel her absence. Feel the emptiness of the house.

And he could feel the echoes of her pain.

Something had happened. Something that had forced her to leave the shelter of his home.

His heart clenched. She was out there, in the night. Alone. Geoffrey would be waiting for her. Waiting for his perfect kill.

He tore through the tunnels, reaching the ground level of the house in mere seconds. His entire focus was on Savannah. He had to get to her. He had to find her. Before it was too late.

He went to her room. He knew she wouldn’t be there, but he found himself compelled to climb the narrow flight of stairs and hurry toward the dark room. He had to see for himself. He had to see—

The room was empty. But he could still smell her. The faint scent of lavender clung to the sheets, the pillows.

He didn’t bother to turn on a light. He could see just as well in darkness as he could in light. There was a note on her bed, propped lightly against the pillow. It was short, brief, terrifying.

I’m sorry, William. I have to go back to Seattle. My friend Mary has been in a terrible accident. I have to see her.

Don’t worry about me. I’ll be safe. And I will return as soon as I can. I promise.

She hadn’t signed the note, she hadn’t needed to.

He crumpled the letter in his fist. She wouldn’t be coming back. Not if Geoffrey had his way. He knew that Savannah was walking into a trap. Geoffrey had attacked her friend in order to draw her out into the open. It was a tactic that his brother had used nine hundred years ago. It had worked then, and William was very much afraid that it would work now.

He had to get to Savannah before Geoffrey did.

He sent the balcony doors crashing open with a wave of his hand and ran straight into the night. He leapt high into the air, his body shifting, transforming. He had many dark gifts. And he would use them all to save Savannah.

The man disappeared. In his place, a large, menacing hawk took to the skies.

He would find her. There was no other choice.

Savannah.

SHE HATED hospitals. Hated the scents, the sounds, and the overwhelming whiteness of the rooms. Hospitals were cold, stark, places of death and despair. She’d spent too many years of her life inside the icy walls of a hospital. She’d hoped to never step foot past the sliding glass doors again.

She couldn’t believe that Mary was here. That she might be dying. Not Mary. She was too strong. Too good.

Her friend was in the intensive care unit. Her body was tied to a dozen different tubes and machines. Constant beeps emitted from the machinery. Visitors weren’t supposed to be in the room with her. But Savannah had known the nurse on duty from her many visits to Mercy’s Heart. Patty O’Connor was a sweet, matronly woman in her late fifties who had taken good care of Savannah during her long hospital stays. She and Patty had become friends during those many hours. Patty had agreed to let Savannah sneak back and visit with Mary, but she’d told her that she could only stay for a few moments.

Tears clouded her eyes as she stared down at her friend. Mary’s face was covered in bruises and cuts. Both of her legs were broken. Patty had said that her friend had also suffered a concussion, two broken ribs, and a crushed pelvis. Her left lung had been punctured. By the time the paramedics got to Mary, her lung had already begun to fill with fluid.

Mary had lost a lot of blood. Too much. The doctors had frantically pumped the precious liquid back into her body. It was truly a miracle that she was still alive. Unfortunately, the doctors weren’t sure just how much longer she would be able to hold on.

Savannah cradled Mary’s hand, her fingers rubbing lightly over its back. “Mary, it’s Savannah.” She swallowed, trying to clear the lump from her throat. “Can you hear me?”

There was no response. The machines continued to beep. The liquids continued to feed into Mary’s body.

“Please, Mary. You’ve got to fight. You can’t leave yet. You just can’t.” But as she gazed at Mary’s pale, still face, she was desperately afraid that Mary would, indeed, leave her soon.

Her fingers tightened around Mary’s. “How many times did you hold my hand when I was in a hospital bed? How many times did you tell me that I couldn’t give up? Do you remember that, Mary? You and Mark. You both kept telling me not to give up. You told me to fight.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Well, now I’m telling you. You’ve got to fight, Mary. You have to live!”

Did Mary’s lashes flicker faintly? Savannah continued talking, her voice feverish with intensity. “You can hear me, can’t you, Mary? I know you can. Stay with me, Mary. Stay with me! I know you’re tired and that you hurt, and all you want to do is to slip away and let the pain stop. I know, because I’ve been there. I just wanted to close my eyes and make it all stop. But I didn’t. I kept fighting. I wanted to live. And you want to live, too. I know you do. You want to get married. Have kids. Cute little kids that you can teach to hack computers. You want to go to Spain. You want to run with the bulls. You want to do so much. But if you don’t fight, you won’t be able to do anything.”

She felt Mary’s fingers jerk against her.

Savannah leaned forward, hope lighting her face. “Mary?”

And then she saw them. Two tiny holes on the left side of Mary’s throat. Barely visible, they would have gone unnoticed by most people.

But Savannah had similar marks on her own neck. She knew what those marks meant, what they were—

A wave of nausea rolled through her. “Dear God,” she whispered, her face full of horror. It hadn’t been an accident. There was no way it could have been. Not with those marks. Geoffrey had done this; he had attacked Mary.