The front door slammed open, and Vlad lifted his head, trying to blink past the red haze of pain to see who was there. And then he knew, even before he saw her. He felt her.
Tempest. Her wide eyes swept the room, came to rest upon him, where he knelt on the floor, clutching his belly and bleeding, and then turned their full fury on Elisabeta.
"What the hell did you do?"
Elisabeta turned from where she'd been standing, and studying Vlad as if she'd never seen a bleeding man before. She faced Tempest, and her stance became stiffen "Why are you here?" she asked. "Can't you see that my husband and I are having a long overdue reunion?"
"Yeah, I can see that."
"She has a knife, Tempest." Vlad managed to force out the words.
"I see that, too," she said. Then she stepped and turned, and lashed out with one foot, then the other. The two kicks were delivered powerfully, rapidly. The first sent the blade flying from Elisabeta's hand, and the second connected with her borrowed jaw.
Beta's head snapped back, and her body jerked before she hit the floor. Tempest didn't bother with her any further. Instead she turned and hurried to Vlad. Dropping to her knees, she gripped his blood-soaked shirt in her hands and ripped it open without taking time to unbutton it. He saw the way her lips thinned, the way her eyes flickered when they fixed on the wound in his gut. But she didn't give her reaction any more time than she'd given Beta. Instead, she tugged off the shirt she wore, revealing the T-shirt she had on underneath. She balled up her white button down shirt and held it to his belly.
"Press it to the wound. Press it hard, Vlad."
Behind her! He started to speak a warning, but before he made even a sound, Tempest sprang up, turned and slammed the heel of her hand to Beta's chin, then the other hand, then the first again, in a rapid fire assault that had Beta's head snapping like a punching bag. With the final blow, blood spurted from Beta's nose.
Beta shrieked, clutching her face and backing away. "Tarva! Bitch!" she cried as she blinked in shock at the pain and the blood on her hands. "I will kill you! I swear I will kill you if it's the last thing I do."
"Yeah, I'm worried about that. I couldn't fight you before, Elisabeta. You were inside me. But you made a big mistake getting out, getting a body, because I can fight you now, and I damn well intend to."
"You'll never win."
"I already have." Tempest reached for her, gripped her arm and tugged her away from the door.
"Tempest," Vlad managed. "What are you going to do with her?"
She looked down at him, her eyes filled with what looked like blatant disbelief, but before she could answer, Elisabeta bit her hand, and when she jerked it away with a gasp, Beta whirled and ran from the house as fast as Brooke's legs would carry her.
Tempest lunged as if to give chase, then stopped herself, turning slowly back to him. "I should let you bleed out, you know that?"
He nodded once, slowly. "Give me a few more minutes and I'll oblige you."
"Shit."
He fell backward, too dizzy to remain on his knees, as retaining consciousness became a struggle.
Stormy wished for her car and the heavy duty first-aid kit she kept in the trunk. In her line of work, it didn't pay to be without one. Vampires were bleeders. A lot of them were friends. And most of the people who knew of their existence would just as soon see them all dead.
But she'd decided to walk tonight, so she didn't have her car. She was just going to have to make do. She did have some supplies in her backpack.
She raced through the house in search of a kitchen or bathroom, glancing at her watch on the way. Not even eleven yet. There was a lot of time before dawn, when his wound would heal on its own. A lot of time-he could be dead before the sun rose.
Kitchen. Excellent, the water faucets worked. She peeled her T-shirt off over her head, and used her teeth to tear off the short sleeves. Then she put it back on, and soaked the sleeves in water.
Back in what she presumed to be the living room of the broken down house, she saw Vlad trying to get to his feet and shook her head. "Stay down. Just... stay down, or you'll make it worse."
"I thought... you'd gone after her."
"And leave you to die? I'm pretty pissed at you, but not quite that much." She sighed. "Sit down. Lean back against the wall there and let me see how bad it is."
He sank down, leaning back on the wall as she pushed his shirt off his shoulders and began wiping the blood away with the wet cloths. It didn't matter that she had no soap or antiseptic. It wasn't an infection that would kill him-it was the bleeding. But she had to be able to see the wound.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?"
"Hmm?" Kneeling, she straddled him and tried to quell the queasiness that washed over her at seeing so much blood coating his rippled abs.
"Martial arts moves," he said. "Flawlessly delivered."
"I'm a black belt in Tae Kwon Do."
Her hands were shaking as she continued to wash away the worst of the blood. It didn't do a lot of good, because there was more coming.
"I didn't know."
"I imagine there's a lot you don't know, Vlad. You couldn't possibly have watched my every move for the past sixteen years. Here," she said, pressing the wads of cloth to the wound. "Hold this tight."
He did, but she could see it was hurting him. As old as he was, he probably felt a splinter in his finger the way she would feel a knife wound. God help him. It was nothing compared to what was coming.
She'd dropped her mini-backpack by the door when she'd come in, just before she'd dropped Elisabeta close beside it. She went for it now, brought it back to where he lay and dug around inside. She might not have a full blown first-aid kit, but she wasn't entirely without resources.
Being prepared had become a way of life for her.
She pulled out a small packet that contained curved needles and silk thread. Vlad spied the needle when she took it out of the pack, averted his eyes and swore.
"I know. It's going to hurt like hell, but if I don't stitch this up, you won't last until dawn. I don't see any other way to stop the bleeding."
He nodded. "I know. It's all right, go ahead."
"I intend to."
She bent closer, pinched the edges of the still-bleeding wound together and jabbed the needle through his skin. Vlad's entire body tensed, and he sucked air through his teeth.
"Sorry," she muttered and quickly knotted the silk and prepared to make a second stitch.
It would only take six. Three would be plenty for a mortal, but this was a vampire. She couldn't leave any space between one thread and the next or the blood would just seep through.
"I wasn't going to hurt her, you know. I just wanted to take her back to the mansion."
"For what purpose?"
She jabbed the needle in. "Rhiannon's there. She says Brooke and Beta will both die if things aren't dealt with. She says Brooke's body is incompatible. That the soul won't take."
"She needs your body."
"Yeah. Fortunately, you're in no shape to deliver me to her right now."
He lifted his brows, forcing his eyes to focus on hers.
She averted hers, noting that he didn't deny that had been his intent all along. She put the stitches as close together as she could and tried her best to ignore the pain she was causing the man she loved beyond all reason.
By the time she finished, he was trembling. She cleaned the blood from his skin, watching the area she'd sewn up to see if the blood would still manage to escape. It didn't. She covered the wound with a gauze square from her purse and stuck it in place with the tiny roll of adhesive tape. Then she sat back on her heels. "Done."
She looked at his face when he didn't respond, and alarm shot through her. His eyes were closed. He lay still. The pain must have been tremendous to make him lose consciousness. Unless this was from the blood loss. Unless he was...
"Hey." She smacked his cheeks. "Come on, Vlad, talk to me."
He blinked but couldn't seem to stay focused, and his eyes fell closed again. "Sorry."
"Not your fault." She shrugged. "Well., actually, it's entirely your fault."
Barbs were lost on him at the moment, though. She slid an arm beneath his shoulders, raised him into a more upright position. "Come on, we need to get you off the floor and into your safe room, wherever that is."
"Safe room?"
"I know you have one. You people always have one. So where is it, Vlad? Where have you been spending your days?"
"Oh." He pressed his lips together, swallowed. "Downstairs. There's a room in the basement."
"Isn't there always?"
She stepped in front of him, sliding her hands underneath his arms. "I'm going to help you get up, okay?"
He bent a leg to press his foot flat to the floor and gripped her shoulders with his hands. "I'll try."
"Here we go." She lifted and pulled him forward, and he rose up, only to fall against her chest. She nearly went over backward but managed to keep her footing. She held him hard and told herself this was not the time to think about how much she wanted him pressed against her. Bare chested and needing her. Just not needing her quite like this.
"Easy. Okay, I've got you."
Vlad lifted his head, easing his body's weight from her, but she knew he wasn't strong enough to stand on his own. She pulled his arm around her shoulders. "Lean on me, Vlad. I'm stronger than I look."
"Stronger than I ever knew," he said.
"Stronger than I ever was. I've been working with people like you for the last sixteen years. Have to try to keep up."
He leaned on her, though not as much as she thought he should have, and pointed the way while she walked him to the stairs. She had to hold him close to fit them both down the basement stairs side by side, and he almost fell once. She gripped him hard, held him up with an arm locked around his waist, grunted with the effort.
Eventually they got to the bottom and through the door into the private room. The room was small and Spartan. A king-size four-poster bed, neatly made, took up most of the space. No windows, of course, so it was dark as a dungeon. She supposed windowless rooms were a plus in the vamp real-estate market. She yanked back the bedcovers, then eased him down until he was sitting on the edge of the mattress.
"Can you manage to get the shirt off, Vlad? There's no point ruining the sheets."
"I can manage."
"All right. I'll be right back."
He held up a hand. "There's no need. I'll be fine here until morning. Just... lock the doors on your way out."
She scowled at him. The remark stung, but she told herself this was no time to let her hurt feelings interfere with what had to be done. "I said I'll be back." Then she hurried up the stairs into the main part of the house. She locked all the doors, checked the windows and commandeered a candle she found on a shelf. She always carried matches in her bag. On her way back down, she locked the cellar door, then returned to the hidden little room and locked its door, as well, after she entered.
And the entire time, she was still stinging over his eagerness to get rid of her. But she congratulated herself on not stopping to cry or to lick her wounds. His were more serious right now. Besides, this wasn't about her broken heart. It was bigger. Elisabeta had to be stopped. Stormy's life depended on it.
"All secure," she said when she re-entered the saferoom and lit the candle.
He was still sitting on the edge of the bed. His shirt was pushed down off one incredible shoulder, and that was all. A small red stain showed through the bandage on his belly.
"Damn. It's bled a little more." She set the candle on a stand and moved close to him, stood between his thighs. "Don't move. Just let me do this."
Vlad closed his eyes and obeyed her, remaining motionless as she slid his shirt down the other shoulder, her hands running over him as she did. She couldn't quite deny herself this small pleasure. Her palm skimmed over his shoulder, down his arm, over the firm swell of his biceps and all the way to his wrist. She tried not to feel anything in reaction to the sensation of his skin sliding beneath her palm, her fingers, but she responded anyway.
She slid the shirt's one remaining sleeve over his hand and set it aside. "I'm going to ease you back now. I don't want you to try to do anything, Vlad. You tense up your abs, and that's going to cause the bleeding to start again. All right?"
He nodded.
She got onto the bed behind him and put her arms around him. "Now just let your weight fall against me. No straining. Just relax against me."
She helped to guide him, and once she supported his upper body's weight in her arms, she lowered him slowly and slightly sideways, until his head rested on the pillows.
She got up then. His knees were bent, legs still over the side of the bed. She tugged off his shoes, peeled off the socks, tugged the covers back still farther, and then lifted his legs onto the bed. Finally she pulled the covers over him.
"There. Comfortable?"
He nodded. His eyes were closed again.
She moved up to stand beside the bed, lifted the covers to check the wound, but didn't see any sign of further bleeding. At least no more had seeped through the makeshift bandages. She walked to the other side of the bed, climbed up onto it, being careful not jostle it too much, and sat with her legs folded to one side.
He opened his eyes. "You don't have to stay."
She nodded. But she wasn't really listening to him. She was thinking and trying construct her argument. "I know your kind, Vlad. I know more about your kind than any mortal you've probably ever met. Some of my best friends are vampires. You understand?"
He nodded, though all she could see was the back of his head from her current vantage point.
"You're going to die before morning," she told him.
He rolled onto his back and blinked up at her. "I don't think-"
"You're going to die. You've lost too much blood. Look at you. You can barely keep your eyes open. I stopped the bleeding, but you don't have enough to keep you going until dawn. I can see that." She pursed her lips. "You won't make it unless you let me help you. Let me... do what needs to be done."
His eyes sharpened slightly, plumbing hers. "You would do that for me? Even after... ?"
"After you chose her over me? Look, Vlad, I know you'd rather it was her, here with you, helping you right now."
"If it was, I'd be dead by now. She's... she's confused, Tempest."
"She's insane. As I've been trying to tell you all along." She closed her eyes, sighed. "We have to be practical. You need blood. I've got plenty. So let's just do this thing." She turned her arm, palm up, and stared at her wrist. Then, with a nod, she held it out to him. "Go on."
"It will... it will create a bond."
"You drank from me already, remember? And yeah, it did create a bond. It's how I knew you were in trouble when I got close to this place tonight. I felt it, your pain." She bit her lip for a moment, averting her eyes. "Frankly, I don't think what I feel could get much stronger, anyway. I'm like a fly in a spider-web. But don't worry. I'm not going to let you destroy me." She lifted her wrist toward him. "Go on, do it."
Vlad ignored her proffered wrist, reaching up to cup her nape instead. He drew her downward, closer to him.
Halfway down, she resisted, and he stopped pulling her closer but didn't let her back away, either. Her face was only a few inches above his. And she wanted him so much it hurt. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before.
"Not like this," she whispered.
"Like this, Tempest. Just like this."
Stormy closed her eyes and let him move her until her face was only a breath away from his. His lips brushed her cheek and then her jaw. She shivered in anticipation as his mouth slid to her neck. His fingers spread into her hair and caressed her there, his touch as soft as a breath. He kissed her neck, and she sighed, because it felt so damn good. She stretched out her legs and lay there beside him, her chest on his, her throat resting against his mouth. Involuntarily, she arched her neck, wanting him, needing him, to take her.
He whispered her name against her skin, and then she felt his mouth open to suckle her there. And finally there was the shock of pain as he bit down. She gasped, but the piercing hurt was brief and delicious in a forbidden way. And then he was drinking her, and her body shivered its response.
It was like sex-every part of her alive with pleasure at the sensations of his teeth sinking deeper into her flesh, of his tongue caressing, of the gentle and then more aggressive sucking of his mouth as he fed at her throat. She couldn't bear it. The sensations built, and every muscle in her body coiled and tightened as she yearned for release.
And then he was moving, rolling her onto her back, his own body moving over hers. He was still feeding from her while his hand shoved its way down the front of her jeans.
"Vlad... you shouldn't move or... oh, hell."
She stopped speaking, because his fingers were sliding into her. And he had to know then, if he hadn't before, what he was doing to her. How hot and wet and hungry she was. For him. Only for him. He worked her with his hand, and she spread her legs shamelessly, craving what only he could give her.
Then he found the nub that pulsed and cried for attention, and rubbed it with his thumb. He bit down harder at her throat, and pressed and rolled that tender, aching bud harder at the same time, as his fingers slid in and out of her. She climaxed in an orgasm so powerful she thought it would melt the flesh from her bones.
On and on it went. She went rigid, then began to shake and spasm and moan. She arched her pelvis to his hand and tipped her head back until her chin was pointing straight up at the ceiling. And he was merciless. He was inside her, owning her body, his teeth in her throat, his fingers in her vagina. And he wouldn't let go. He just kept working her, making her come, the sensations going on and on and on. The intensity didn't fade. Rather, it built, until her body was jerking and shivering so much it hurt. She was literally thrashing on the bed as he kept pushing her, forcing the pleasure that was almost beyond endurance. And even the pain was good. But it was too much. Too much.
Still, he kept on, until she screamed for mercy.
Finally, finally, the sensations peaked and began to ebb. He withdrew his fingers and then his fangs from her. He stopped drinking and instead kissed her neck in a way that was almost healing in its tenderness. And then he eased onto his back again, keeping one arm around her and drawing her onto her side, so that she snuggled against him.
She was weak from the power of that orgasm. And perhaps from the blood he'd taken, as well. And she was still feeling the shivery aftereffects of the climax. She'd never felt anything like that before. It was beyond human. They'd shared blood before, but Stormy knew, despite her denials, that each and every time it happened, the bond between them would become more potent, more powerful. She was making all of this harder on herself. Everything she did lately was self-destructive and stupid.
And yet she loved it. She loved him.
Lazily, Stormy reached down and drew the covers over them, and as she did, she checked the bandage. A little more blood stained it than had been there before. But not a lot, and she knew hers had replenished him. He would be all right.
But would she? Would she ever be all right again?
She felt dizzy, sated, weak and utterly compliant. He could do whatever he wanted to her tonight, and she knew she wouldn't resist, not after that. He'd devoured her will along with her blood. Not that she'd had a hell of a lot to begin with, where he was concerned.
She lowered her head to his shoulder. "Thank you, Vlad," she whispered. And then she fell asleep in his arms.
Elisabeta was confused and hurting when she left the house where Vlad was staying. She'd stabbed him-stabbed her beloved husband! She could hardly believe she'd done it. But he would be all right, surely. She had been angry, told him goodbye, but she hadn't meant it. And after all, he was immortal, a vampire. He would be all right.
She couldn't focus on any other alternative-she had more than she could deal with just... just living.
She wasn't used to the intricacies, much less the full blown sensations, of being incarnate again. And she'd lost touch with how fragile life could be. Oh, she had felt the stuff of living several times since her death, but only briefly, when she'd managed to take control of Tempest's body. Now she was inhabiting a body all her own. Brooke was trying to take it back, but her efforts were pathetic, at best. She was no threat. Already she was weakening.
But God, the sensations!
That tarva Tempest had hurt her. Blood had spurted from her nose, and pain had exploded in her face. It hurt for a long while after their fight. She was not accustomed to physical pain.
And there were other things. An unfamiliar pang in her stomach rumbled until she realized it was hunger. But she wasn't sure how to deal with that. She hadn't had to make her own way in the physical world in a very, very long time. More than five centuries. But she had found that if she searched her mind, she could access the knowledge Brooke had acquired during her lifetime, just as she had been able to access Tempest's storehouses of information.
There was money in her pocket, Brooke's memory told her. There was a twenty-four-hour grocery store a mere mile and a half away. She could purchase food there.
It seemed a very long walk to Elisabeta. She was tired long before she made it there, and by the time she did arrive, she was almost too tired to want to eat anymore. And another urge had made itself known, demanding to be dealt with. Fortunately Brooke's knowledge included the finer points of public restrooms, and Beta was able to find and use the one within the small grocery store. But it felt odd and disgusting. She'd forgotten some of the less pleasant aspects of physical existence.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when the porcelain bowl seemed to come to life all on its own the instant she rose from it. Water whooshed into the thing, then out the bottom with a rush of noise and pressure that left it as clean as it had been before she'd used it. She stared at the thing for a long moment, her hand pressed to her thundering heart.
And then she smiled, because she had a heart. A healthy, living, beating heart. And it was good. Surely she had experienced this kind of marvel before, while lurking inside Tempest's body. She simply hadn't paid attention.
Now she did. These bowls were called toilets, she knew that. And they were to be "flushed" after use. Apparently some of them flushed themselves. People today must be unbelievably lazy.
Finished with the nastiness of elimination, Beta washed her hands, enjoying the convenience and the feel of hot and cold running water, and the smell of the soap, which was nothing like any she'd smelled before. She even enjoyed seeing her reflection in the looking glass, after the shock of looking up to see a stranger's face. It wasn't a bad face. Attractive, in fact. She ran her hands through her auburn hair and over the trim figure. It was a good body.
But weak. She wondered why.
Finally she returned to the grocery store's aisles, and wandered up and down them, searching the shelves for something she could eat. Most of the items looked inadequate: cans and boxes with pretty pictures on them that didn't seem to match their size, shape or weight. Surely the large round can marked "Crisco" could not possibly contain the golden brown fried chicken depicted on its label. It didn't shake as if it had fried chicken inside.
Disappointed, she returned the heavy can to the shelf with a sigh. If only she were already a vampire, she thought sadly. She could just bite some stupid mortal and be done with it.
Like Tempest. She would love to drain the life out of that evil, husband-stealing wench. And she would.
For now, though, food.
She found some promising items behind a glass case in a section marked "Deli," and she eyed them. There were dishes of many sorts. Some salads, and piles of thinly sliced meats.
"May I help you?"
She looked up at the woman behind the counter. She wore a white hat and apron, and she smiled.
"I'm hungry," Elisabeta told her.
The woman's smile seemed to freeze, and her eyebrows rose a little. "We have sandwiches. They're pretty good. I have one myself most days, for lunch. Roast beef is my favorite. But the turkey's great, too, with provolone cheese and all the fixin's."
Elisabeta didn't know what "fixin's" were, but since they came highly recommended, she didn't suppose they could be bad. "Beef. I'd like that."
"Sandwich, sub or wrap?" the woman asked.
Beta frowned. "What's the difference?"
The woman tilted her head to one side. "Are you okay, hon?"
"Yes. I'm just... not from around here."
"You're foreign aren't you? I thought I caught a slight accent, but honestly, your English is almost perfect. Where you from, hon?"
"Romania," she answered, thinking it was really none of the woman's business, but deciding the salesperson was friendly, so she would try to be, as well.
"Romania! Imagine that. Well, don't you worry any. I'll help you out." She proceeded to explain the differences between sand-witches, subs and wraps; then she made a sand-witch for her, wrapped it in white paper, put it into a little basket, then added a bottle of something called "Coke" that looked like a very dark ale of some sort, and a shiny, small package of some kind of chipped potatoes. Then she led Beta to the front of the store, where another woman took her items from the basket and punched buttons on a machine.
Cash register, whispered the knowledge inside her mind.
The woman at the machine took her money. She gave Beta some coins in return and put her sand-witch into a plastic bag.
She didn't need the bag, Beta thought. She was going to eat the thing right away. People today were not only lazy but terribly wasteful.
She left the store, painfully aware that she still had to walk all the way back to the house where Vlad was staying. Fervently, she hoped the other woman would be long gone by the time she returned. She needed to apologize to Vlad for hurting him the way she had. She needed to explain that he had made her angry, and that she had only reacted in response to that anger. He really shouldn't do that anymore-make her angry. And he needed to transform her into a vampire right away.
Brooke's body had seemed strong and fit when she had first entered it. Why, then, did it get so tired and so sore from a simple walk?
Elisabeta unwrapped the sand-witch and ate it on the way. It was good. And eating was good, as well. The taste of the food on her tongue. The act of chewing. She almost choked several times before she mastered the rhythm of chewing and swallowing the food. But aside from that, eating was a pleasant experience. Only now did she realize how much she had missed it.
When she finished the sand-witch, she tossed the bag and white wrapper onto the roadside, and carried the package of chipped potatoes in one hand and the "Coke" in the other. She stopped long enough to open them both. The potatoes were terribly salty, but she enjoyed the crunch and flavor of them very much.
They made her thirsty, so she took her first large drink from the bottle, after a mighty struggle to remove its stubborn lid.
She drank, and then she choked. The fluid burst from her mouth, and shot from her nostrils. It was strong! And it tickled!
She caught her breath, wiped her face, swallowed hard. The inside of her mouth still tasted of the remnants of sweetness from the drink. Drawing a breath, she stared at the bottle and tried again, taking only a tiny sip this time.
Taken slowly, it wasn't so bad. She'd only been surprised. She supposed it took getting used to, and determined that it tasted better than the sour dark ale she'd mistaken it for. Each sip, though, made her belch. Disgusting. Why were the bubbles necessary at all? Surely the sweetness of the beverage would be as good without them.
When she finally made it back to the house where Vlad was staying, it was very, very late, or perhaps even very early-dawn might be near. She tried the door but found it locked tight, and a surge of anger rose up inside her, heating her face. How dare he lock her out? Didn't he know better than to make her angry again? Why on earth would Vlad push her to this extent?
She was tired and sore and thirsty, even though she'd drained the bottle of "Coke." Her legs hurt and her back ached. She felt heavy, and her head throbbed. She wanted a warm bed and Vlad's strong body wrapped around hers. But as it was, she settled for a comfortable patch of deep, dry grass off to the left of the house's front door, near a large maple tree. She curled up there to rest for a while. She would figure out what else to do later on. When daylight came, she thought, she would be able to find a way to get into the house. When the sun rose. She would be able to see then.
And he would be unable to stop her.
