Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan Part 14

Ryan looked at him accusingly. "You tried to kill me. You made me deathly ill. My father thought I had sinned against G.o.d to bring such a plague on myself."

"It is what saved your life time and time again," Victor said angrily, "and gave you strength that no mortal could have. It lessened the pain of your Change because you had already begun to Change long before I took you."

Ryan stared at him, realizing a further implication. "Then you planned my Change long before it ever took place. You planned everything."

Victor looked at her with his unblinking gaze and a fire burned there that wasn't all anger. "You were perfect in every way. I could not take the chance you would fall prey to some disease or be killed by some outlaw. I made certain you would survive until you could be Changed, and even then I could not wait and Changed you too soon."

Ryan wanted to ask him what he meant by "too soon," but another question fought its way to the surface. "How did you know I would be *perfect'?"

Victor's face became impa.s.sive, and he wore a dispa.s.sionate expression normally reserved for his underlings. "I just knew," he said.

Ryan was suddenly uncertain. Victor rarely kept things from her, but as she watched him walk from the room she had the distinct feeling he was doing so now.

CHAPTER 18.

SUSAN PULLED INTO THE 24-HOUR MINI-MARKET. She normally didn't shop here and rarely even came to this neighborhood, but Neda had called and asked her to pick up some milk on the way home. She didn't see the harm in running in and running out.

She stepped from her Lexus. The parking lot was dirty. The trash bin was overflowing with garbage and the surrounding area smelled strongly of urine. Susan glanced up at the sun, relieved that she still had another hour or so of sunlight. She set the car alarm, then walked across the parking lot to the store.

The odor of mildew from the refrigeration unit was nearly enough to end Susan's search. But a few milk cartons with expiration dates indicating they were fairly fresh caught her eye. She s.n.a.t.c.hed one, quickly paid for it, then exited back into the parking lot.

She was nearing her car when she sensed a presence behind her. She glanced back and saw two men following her, then a third behind them. Oddly enough they were dressed in business suits. Any other time she would have been relieved by their attire. But it was so inconsistent with this neighborhood that she quickened her step, her heart picking up pace as well.

She was too far from the store entrance now and didn't think she could get into her car before the men caught up with her. She briefly contemplated standing her ground, but then decided that three against one were not good odds. In a hasty decision she would regret, she walked past her car in the hope that there was an establishment nearby that she could duck into. She turned the corner and was alarmed to see there were no storefronts along this row of buildings, no crowds for her to disappear into. She quickened her step until now she was almost at a jog. A glance back told her the men were keeping pace with her, removing any remaining doubt they were indeed stalking her.

Susan broke into a run and she heard an exclamation as the men behind her began to give chase. She was surprised they did not catch her immediately. In fact, she managed half a block in high heels before the closest one caught her. She started to scream, but the man quickly put his hand over her mouth.

"Don't make this difficult on yourself, Dr. Ryerson."

Susan's eyes were wide. One of the men removed a roll of duct tape from his pocket and Susan began struggling. A black Lincoln town car with tinted windows pulled to the curb, and the man holding her tried to pull her toward the door. Susan resisted, stomping her heel down on his instep. He swore and released her. The larger of the other two wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug. He lifted her off the ground while the other tried to tape her kicking legs. The scene up until that moment had been almost comical. But then the one who had received the spiked heel stepped forward and slugged Susan in the face. She instantly stopped struggling and hung limply in the large man's arms.

A strange, tuneless whistle drifted over the sounds of distant traffic, and the men, as one, turned to look up the street.

A tall figure dressed in dark clothing came strolling down the sidewalk, hands in pockets. The approaching woman did not seem overly concerned with the scene ahead of her, and that in itself was enough to give the men pause. They seemed confused by her presence, uncertain what to do.

Ryan removed her hand from her pocket and began to run it along the chain-link fence bordering the sidewalk. Without removing her eyes from the three men, she let her hand drift up the fence. As she walked, she began casually brushing it along the barbed wire. She appeared almost to caress the wire, then gripped it in the palm of her hand, still moving. The barbs sliced into her flesh as she slid her hand down the wire and blood began to flow down her arm. As she stepped away from the fence she clenched her fist and snapped the wire from the post, wrapping the barbed strand around her knuckles.

The men were frozen, stunned by the act of self-mutilation and the fact it appeared to have no effect on the woman walking towards them. A very primal fear began to grow in all of them, but not soon enough for it to save them.

Ryan hit the first man with her makeshift bra.s.s knuckles and drove him into the ground. She turned on the next man who tried to strike her, but she easily blocked the blow and raked the barbs across his cheek. He was the one who had struck Susan. Ryan palmed his face in her hand and with little more than a shove, threw his entire body backward, headfirst through the pa.s.senger window of the towncar. The car squealed off, the man's limp body hanging from the window.

The last man huddled behind Susan and Ryan reached down, grabbing the man's shirt collar. She picked him up contemptuously and threw him like a rag doll against the wall. He fell into a crumpled heap.

Ryan tossed the barbed wire aside and with her other hand leaned down. In her oddly chivalrous manner, she helped Susan to her feet. She touched the bruise that was forming on Susan's cheek.

"So tell me, dear doctor, is your research worth this?"

Susan was shaken, but also angry. "How long is this going to go on?" she asked accusingly. "How many of your *kind' are going to come after me?"

Ryan shook her head. "Oh no," she said, glancing down at the unconscious man. "these are not my Kind."

Ryan's reply brought Susan up short. "Not your kind?" She, too, looked down at the unconscious man. "Then who are these people? What do they want with me?"

Ryan shook her head, holding out her arm to Susan. "I do not know." Her eyes swept the deserted street. "But I will find out."

Susan took the proffered arm, then brushed at her skirt in embarra.s.sment. "You're quite strong."

Ryan smiled without revealing her teeth. "Fight or flight syndrome, I'm sure." She turned to look down the block, her amus.e.m.e.nt evident. "But I never flee."

Susan noticed the damage to Ryan's hand. The physician in her, and possibly some sort of mothering instinct came into play. She removed her arm from Ryan's and took the damaged hand in her own.

"That wasn't very intelligent," she said, examining the hand.

Ryan pulled her hand from the doctor's grasp and raised it to her own lips. "It's not as if it's going to kill me," she said, looking at Susan over the hand and gently sucking the blood from the wound.

Susan watched her with a sense of morbid fascination. It was an utterly self-sensual act, and it seemed to slow the bleeding.

"What are you doing?" Susan asked, not certain she wanted to know.

The blood had stopped and Ryan wiped her lips. "Well, I've heard the act of Sharing is similar to s.e.x, so this must be akin to masturbation." She turned on her heel. "So glad I could share that with you," she said over her shoulder.

Susan watched as the woman began to stroll unhurriedly down the street once more. "Is that what you call it," Susan asked when she caught up with her, "Sharing?"

Ryan shrugged, hands in pockets once more. "For lack of a better term. It is appropriate."

"Well, the ones who are killed might object to it," Susan said.

Ryan glanced over at her. "I have killed a lot of people and have very little moral objection to it. But I have never killed anyone in the act of Sharing."

Susan was confused. "Then how do you feed?"

Ryan stopped in her tracks. "What do you mean, *feed'? Are you still caught up in your vampire fantasies?"

Susan was slightly embarra.s.sed. "Well, I just a.s.sumed from your story that-"

"That what? That I roam the night seeking innocent victims so I can suck their blood?" Ryan had a look of distaste on her features. "How disgusting."

Now Susan was really confused. "Well, I was just trying to come up with a hypothesis that fits the information you've given me, which you have to admit is pretty sketchy."

The look of distaste was still on Ryan's face as she began walking again. "But human blood would do nothing for me. And it tastes like salt. Try downing a salt shaker and tell me if that's enjoyable for you."

Susan did not think she would accept this particular challenge. "Then why was Victor different? I don't understand."

They were now back at her car. Ryan indicated that Susan should give her the keys. Susan did so, not exactly certain why.

"Victor was not human, nor am I. We don't feed on humans, but on our own Kind."

Ryan opened the pa.s.senger door and held it open for her. She then walked around the rear of the vehicle and let herself in the driver's door. She moved the seat rearward then examined the keys carefully. She chose the correct key for the ignition and started the car. She pulled the Lexus smoothly away from the curb.

Susan wanted to continue their conversation, but Ryan's driving was now taking all of her attention. Although her driving was extremely skillful, she was traveling a good 30 miles per hour over the speed limit. In no time at all, they were pulling into Susan's driveway. Mr. Earl was on the porch.

Wordlessly, Ryan exited the vehicle and rounded the car. She helped Susan from the vehicle and handed her the keys. She turned and began to walk down the street.

"So tell me," Susan called out after her, "are you spending all your time just following me around, waiting for me to get into trouble?"

Ryan turned. "No, not exactly, I've just been lucky."

Susan unconsciously lifted her hand to the bruise on her cheek. Ryan nodded her farewell and turned away. Susan watched as the woman disappeared into the dusk.

Goldstein was startled to see two men in business suits push their way into his office. It was late, and he was not expecting them to return. Upon closer inspection, he realized that these were not even the same men who had been there earlier.

"Who's the other woman?" the first one asked.

Goldstein shook his head. "What are you talking about? What other woman?"

The first man looked to the second and some silent communication pa.s.sed between the two of them. He turned back to Goldstein. "Our employer is not going to be happy at this turn of events."

Goldstein was exasperated. "What in the h.e.l.l are you talking about? I tried to get you whatever information you wanted, but I can't even get into the G.o.dd.a.m.ned lab. The only other thing you asked me to do was call you next time Susan Ryerson left work. Which I did."

The two men glanced at one another once more. The first nodded stiffly. "Very well. Perhaps you won't be of much use to us after all. We will relay your lack of competence to our employer, and he may decide he no longer has need of your services."

Goldstein watched the door close behind the two men. He silently cursed Susan Ryerson under his breath. That b.i.t.c.h would be his downfall yet.

He pushed away from his desk and stood up. He moved to the coat rack near his door and s.n.a.t.c.hed his overcoat. He grabbed his hat, inadvertently wrinkling it, and struggled to put his coat on. He started to put his hat on, then paused. He looked back at his desk. He stood there for a moment, contemplating. He turned away from the desk angrily and crushed the hat onto his head. He reached for the doork.n.o.b, but again paused.

Frustrated by his own indecision, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the hat from his head and threw it on the ground. He removed his overcoat and tossed it in the general direction of the coat rack, ignoring the fact that it fell to the floor. He marched back to his desk.

He pulled the false panel from underneath the desktop and leaned down to dial the combination to the safe. He dialed it incorrectly the first time and swore under his breath. The second time the lock released with a barely audible click and Goldstein opened the door. He carefully removed the object within and settled into his chair.

Goldstein stared into the vial of blood. Although it was not refrigerated and no attempt had been made to preserve it, the blood had not coagulated, dried, or changed color as it was supposed to. He inverted the vial. The bright red liquid flowed from one end to the other. He uprighted it, and the liquid flowed back to the other end. He sat back in his chair, holding the vial up to the light. The thick red fluid coated the gla.s.s, then pooled at the bottom once more. He stared at the blood, as if his observation alone could unlock the secrets it held.

David Goldstein would sit that way long into the night, his hat and coat forgotten on the floor.

CHAPTER 19.

EDWARD STEPPED FROM THE LIMOUSINE and glanced upward at the gla.s.s and steel skysc.r.a.per. What an utterly soulless piece of architecture, he thought to himself. No sense of grace, beauty, or refinement. It was all metal and right angles. He walked up the steps, swinging his cane. The automatic doors swung inward to admit him.

Edward crossed the lobby and stepped into the waiting elevator. He pressed the b.u.t.ton to the top floor, ignoring the curious gazes of the other pa.s.sengers. By the time the conveyance reached his destination, he was the sole occupant of the car. He stepped out into sumptuous surroundings and sniffed disapprovingly. These furnishings were as garish and tasteless as the building itself.

He approached the receptionist, who eyed him from her workstation. Two large men in dark suits stood a few feet away from her on either side. Edward smiled graciously and extended his card to her. He spoke in his utterly refined way.

"I believe Mr. Grant is expecting me."

The receptionist glanced at the card, and her demeanor changed immediately. "Oh yes, Mr. Evans. Mr. Grant is waiting for you now."

Edward was ushered into the huge corner office. He was not surprised that his large, dark-suited escort did not leave when the door shut behind him. The chair behind the executive desk swiveled around, and Alan Grant replaced the phone receiver in its cradle.

"Mr. Evans," he said without rising, "please take a seat."

Edward stepped forward and settled into the chair. He leaned back, at ease, and folded his hands in front of him.

Grant stared at him for a long moment, then cut to the chase. "Why don't you tell me why you're here, Mr. Evans. I don't normally see anyone. But when I receive a message from one of the most prestigious law firms in town telling me that it would be in my best interest to grant you an audience, it piques my interest. Especially when they won't tell me why I should I meet with you, or even who you are."

Edward was silent for awhile longer, allowing Grant's irritation to grow. He finally spoke. "I am here on behalf of Dr. Susan Ryerson."

If Grant was surprised at the statement, he hid it well. Or he would have had the person sitting across from him not heard the increase in his heart rate. Grant attempted a mocking laugh, but Edward heard the hollowness in that as well. He smiled a tight smile, revealing no teeth. He continued.

"I understand you have attempted to purchase the rights to Dr. Ryerson's research and that the hospital has refused you."

Grant shrugged. "Grantech International is the world's largest pharmaceutical company. We would be very interested in Dr. Ryerson's research. But this is not the first time we've been turned down."

"And is it your policy to pursue alternative methods to obtain what you want?" Edward asked smoothly.

Alan Grant's face was expressionless, and in fact his demeanor would have been frightening to someone who had any reason to fear physical harm. But Edward could hear the unevenness of his heartbeat, sense his agitation. He was not fooled by the calm arrogance of Grant's reply.

"I certainly hope you're not falsely accusing me of something, Mr. Evans. I would regret having to send my attorneys after you."

Edward very slowly smiled, gazing at Grant with his unblinking stare. "Yes," he said simply, "you would." He abruptly stood, the action so quick it startled the bodyguard by the door. He placed a card on the desk in front of Grant, bowing from the waist.

"I just wanted you to know that Dr. Ryerson is currently under contract with my employer. Any further attempt to obtain her services will be viewed with some hostility. Good day, Mr. Grant."

Grant was dumbfounded. But before he could signal his bodyguard, the elderly gentleman was gone. Although he hadn't appeared to move in any great hurry, he had simply disappeared.

The bodyguard went out into the hallway, which was empty in both directions. He leaned back in the door, shaking his head. Grant waved him off, furious.

How dare that British buffoon come in here, threaten him, then just disappear. He picked up the card, then threw it down. "Timeless Enterprises," what kind of stupid name was that. He picked it up again. There wasn't even an address or a phone number on the card. It said simply, "If we need you, we'll call."

Grant's anger burned. He was not used to anyone competing with him in terms of arrogance, let alone beating him at it so soundly. He sat down heavily in his chair, fuming. He was tempted to send his men after the Brit, ordering them to drag him back here and beat him senseless.

He turned his chair to look out over the city. He would not admit to anyone, not even to himself that it was not restraint that kept him from doing so, but perhaps the tiniest trace of fear.

Ryan sat gazing into the fire in her den. She c.o.c.ked her head to one side. Although the gate was a quarter of a mile away, she could hear the limousine coming up the drive. That would mean Edward was returning.