The Brethren - Dark Thirst Part 20

Tell me, Brandon, did you really f.u.c.k her? I can't believe even you would stoop so low as to sully your d.i.c.k inside a human's orifices. And a black b.i.t.c.h, at that.

Where is she, Caine? Brandon demanded, sending his thoughts sharply to his brother. His fists tightened reflexively and his brows furrowed. I'm here, you son of a b.i.t.c.h, just like you wanted. Let her go.

"You're here, indeed," Caine murmured with a conciliatory nod. He locked gazes with Brandon and smirked. "But that's not all I wanted."

He motioned with his hand, and the crowd behind him moved, parting to reveal Lina, stripped to her bra and panties, handcuffed to a metal post. She'd been gagged, a piece of fabric tied roughly around her mouth, and when she saw Brandon, her eyes flew wide, her mouth moving inarticulately around the gag.

Lina! Brandon stepped forward, unable to breathe, the strength nearly abandoning his legs. He glared at Caine. Let her go!

No, Caine replied. Not yet. I'm not finished with her. He waved his hand again, and the crowd moved, closing in around Lina, obscuring her from Brandon's view. What do you think of my new friends?

Some friends, Brandon thought. Every time he moved, stepping toward the edge of the dance floor, wanting to go to Lina's aid, the throng stepped closely together, blocking his way. He turned to Caine, his frown deepening. How are you controlling them all at once? Not even the Grandfather can do that.

Caine laughed, canting his head back. "I wish I was controlling them," he said. "But I'm not. They've opened their minds to me freely, and when I ask them favors, they oblige. They want to be like us-can you believe it? Even the least among them has more Brethren merit to them than you, Brandon. They're more than willing to please me-they beg for the chance."

He stepped closer to Brandon, arching his brow. "Maybe you weren't so wrong to leave the Brethren after all," he said, and he began to gather his heavy sheaf of hair back against the nape of his neck, securing it with an elastic band he wore around his wrist. "To their eyes, I'm little more than a child, but here-in this place, this world, to these humans-I'm a G.o.d."

You're f.u.c.king nuts, that's what you are, Brandon said. When the Grandfather finds out what you've- "The Grandfather will be down on his G.o.dd.a.m.n knees singing my praises when I deliver your head to him, ripped loose from your neck!" Caine shouted. "I'll be a G.o.d among them too-I found you before even the Elders! I'll kill you-stop your pathetic blight upon us-and then bring them the G.o.dd.a.m.n human b.i.t.c.h that butchered our sister!"

No, Brandon said. The Brethren would slaughter Lina; they'd rip her limb from limb, open her wide and scatter her viscera to the wind because of Emily. He shook his head at Caine. No, Caine, let her go. I'm here. You've got me-I'm the one the Grandfather wants. They'll praise you enough for that alone. Let her go.

He stepped toward his brother. I'm begging you, he said. Whatever you want from me-anything, Caine. I'll give it to you.

Just let her go. I won't fight you.

Caine laughed. "But Brandon," he said, his eyes blackening, his fangs extending in full. "That's exactly what I want."

He hooked his hand against the collar of his shirt and yanked, ripping the fabric wide open. He shrugged his shoulders, tossing aside the shredded remnants and stood bare chested before Brandon. His torso was smeared with dried blood; he'd fed recently, and well, too, given the copious amount. His skin was glossy with a sheen of sweat, the muscles in his chest and abdomen standing out in sharp, etched detail in the bright light of the dance floor. Brandon could clearly see fading coronas of bruising at each of his shoulders from the bullets Lina had pumped into him; a thin, ragged scab bisected the lower quadrant of his gut-the healing wound where Brandon had run him through.

I'm going to break you, little brother, Caine said inside of Brandon's mind. Mind and body, both broken when I'm through.

I'm going peel your flesh back from your bones and see you choke on the meat of your own marrow. He shook his head once, furiously, whipping his jaw violently out of socket to accommodate the length of his bared fangs. He opened this newly hideous, gaping maw at his brother and screamed, a sc.r.a.ping, shrill, inhuman sound that Brandon heard in his mind.

Caine charged, leaping into the air and hurtling across the dance floor. The crowd immediately swelled back, broadening the s.p.a.ce around them, giving the two brothers more room. Brandon jerked himself sideways, feeling the whip of wind against his face as Caine flew past him. He whirled, just as Caine charged him from the other direction, and caught the blur of movement out of the corner of his eye as Caine swung at him. Brandon's hand snapped up reflexively, catching Caine's proffered punch against his palm. He folded his fingers against Caine's hand, and swept his hand around and then upward, hyperextending Caine's wrist.

Caine's eyes widened with sudden pain and surprise, and he whipped his other first around to pummel Brandon's face and loosen his grip. Brandon caught his other hand and again, wrenched it around and up, craning it at an abrupt, unnatural angle that left the two brother's dancing together, face-to-face and d.a.m.n near nose-to-nose.

Caine reared his head back and then forward, headb.u.t.ting Brandon, ramming their foreheads squarely, brutally together.

Brandon let go of Caine's hands as he stumbled back, reeling, tiny pinpoints of light and shadow suddenly sparkling before his dazed eyes. He crashed backward, tumbling onto his a.s.s, but recovered before Caine could seize upon the momentary advantage. He punted his left foot out, driving his heel mightily into Caine's knee. Caine crumpled to the floor, screaming soundlessly to Brandon's perception, his hands clutching his wounded leg.

Brandon rolled back onto his shoulders and then forward in a kip-up, kicking with his legs and arching his back to lend himself the momentum to spring immediately upright. He landed on his feet and scrambled backward, putting distance between himself and Caine again, watching warily as Caine limped to his feet.

Brandon's shoulder throbbed with pain. Christ, I can't do this, he thought. He glanced behind him and realized the crowd had withdrawn enough to leave a clear path between him and Lina. She stared at him, straining her hands desperately against the handcuffs, her face twisted with fright and pain. I've got to get her out of here. I've- Movement out of his peripheral vision and he turned his head, just as Caine tackled him, slamming into his chest and knocking him back. Brandon slammed against the floor, the impact, and Caine's tremendous weight crushing the breath from his lungs. The pistol slipped out of his waistband in the fall, and went skittering across the floor.

Caine glanced at it, and then stared down at Brandon, straddling his hips and catching him by the wrists to pin him. And what were you going to do with that, little brother? he asked. Did you really think you could stop me with it-that you could stop me at all? You're a fool, Brandon. A G.o.dd.a.m.n fool, and I- Brandon swung up his legs, locking his knees around Caine's neck, and throwing him off. He rolled as Caine fell and wound up on top of his brother as they tumbled together. Caine reached up, shoving his hand toward Brandon's face. Brandon had a bewildered half-second to realize he held a slim black canister of some sort against his palm, and then something wet and abruptly searing sprayed against his face, almost directly in his eyes.

Brandon screamed mutely, pitching sideways off of Caine, writhing on his side against the floor. He clapped his hands over his face, shoving the heels of his palms against his eyes as molten heat, horrible and agonizing, ripped through him. It felt as though Caine had just shoved handfuls of burning coal into his eyes, up his nose. He felt his nasal pa.s.sages immediately swell shut; tears streamed from his eyes and he couldn't as much as begin to force his eyelids open. He gagged for breath, feeling the chemical mist scorch his tongue, his throat.Caine's hand closed roughly in his hair, jerking his head back. Consider that a parting gift from your girlfriend, he said inside Brandon's mind. A little blast of police-issue pepper spray.

He turned Brandon loose, and Brandon crumpled, covering his face with his hands again, gasping and shuddering helplessly. He struggled to open his eyes, knowing that if he didn't, he was dead; if he didn't find some way to fight back, Caine would kill both him and Lina. He pried his eyelids back a faint margin, but the pain was so immediate and excruciating, it was all he could bear.

Oh, G.o.d, he thought in a terrified panic. Oh, G.o.d, I'm blind!

See no evil, Caine purred to him, and Brandon felt something press against his temple; the cool, round end of Rene's Sig Sauer P228. Hear no evil, speak no evil. Now you've got it right, Brandon.

Brandon closed his eyes fiercely, his teeth gritted, every muscle in his body tensed and poised for that horrific moment of heat and pain, the fleeting seconds of awareness that pa.s.sed between the pulling of the trigger, and the scattering of his brain against the floor.

And then he remembered.

How did you do that with the birds? Brandon had asked Rene. Call them like that, make them fly around you?

I don't know, Rene had replied. I've always been able to, ever since I was a little boy. I just open my mind to them, and once I sense them, I just... push my self into them. I see through their eyes, sense through their senses. I don't know how to describe it otherwise.

Brandon opened his mind, struggling to summon his telepathy, to force it outward beyond the club.

It takes practice, that's all, Rene had told him.

Oh, please, Brandon thought Jesus Christ, please...! All at once, he sensed the birds in Water Tower Park, a hint of them in his mind-hundreds of them roosting in the trees-and seized up on it. He focused on the fluttering, whispering sensation of them.

I don't know why someone said you're weak, pet.i.t, Rene had told him. I've never met anyone but you and my daddy with the power, but yours is sure as h.e.l.l strong. A lot stronger than his-more than anything I've ever felt before.

Please... Brandon thought, pushing with all of his might, reaching out desperately to the birds. Oh, G.o.d, please...!

That's it, Brandon, Caine whispered in his mind. Beg me for mercy.

It takes practice, that's all, Rene said in Brandon's memory, and he felt the birds stirring in the treetops, taking to the skies, a dizzying whirlwind of images flashing through his mind-leaves and branches silhouetted against the sky; stars overhead with faint inklings of clouds, luminous in the moonlight; the sudden thrill of flight, of looking down and seeing the outline of the nightclub barges below, its decks peppered with lights that flashed against the surface of the water.

Maybe I'll let you live long enough for your eyes to heal... Caine said.

When the birds swooped down, plunging toward the barges, Brandon felt the whip of wind against his face. He watched the bright lights of the deck suddenly swell into view, and then the birds swept aboard the nightclub, flooding into the lobby like the leading edge of some ma.s.sive, swift-moving wave.

I'll let you watch me tear your b.i.t.c.h's throat out with my hands, Caine hissed to him. I'll let you watch as I drain her- The birds rushed through the doorway leading downward into the Catacombs. Brandon could see through hundreds of tiny pairs of eyes as they swooped over the dance floor in a sudden, frenzied cloud. Immediately, the humans frighted and panicked, staggering about and screaming, flapping their hands, and plowing into each other, knocking one another down and underfoot as they tried to escape. The birds were everywhere, clawing and pecking, talons tangling in hair, tearing at faces, hands, and eyes.

When they surged toward Caine, Brandon saw it through them; he watched his brother's eyes widen in bewildered shock and then they were upon him, forcing him back, driving him away from Brandon.

Brandon staggered to his feet, hunching his shoulders reflexively, even though the birds cut and dove around him, giving him a broad and deliberate berth. He couldn't open his eyes, but in his mind, he could see what the birds saw; flashing, overlapping, rapid-fire images from all around him, a panoramic view of the entire club. He turned until he could see Caine in his mind, and then limped toward him. The birds cleared a path for him, guiding his way.

Caine's eyes were closed, his hands drawn toward his face as he swatted and screamed at the birds. They were tangled in his hair, ripping and pulling, stabbing their beaks into the meat of his shoulders and chest. He couldn't fend them off; for every one he drove back, ten more darted forward in its place. He still had the gun in his hand, and when Brandon reached for it, it was as if he watched it on television. Through the birds' eyes, he could see himself, as well, and when he closed his fingers around the barrel of the pistol, twisting it suddenly and sharply out of Caine's grasp, he saw his brother open his eyes, blinking in surprise.

"You-!" he began, and then Brandon closed his free hand into a fist and sent it flying, smashing his knuckles into Caine's temples, crumpling him to the floor. Brandon had expected his shoulder to scream in protest, but all at once, as his fury grew and his adrenaline surged, the pain was forgotten. The burning in his eyes and airways was forgotten and he could see again; through a veil of fading tears, the world around him swam again into sudden, murky focus. He felt a new heat sear through his body; something invigorating and wondrous. His gums throbbed and his canine teeth began to drop. Rene had told him that feeding would accelerate his inherent healing ability, and that when its full effects came upon him, he'd know it. You'll be flying, he'd said. It's almost as good as making love... almost.

Get up, Brandon thought to Caine. He tossed the pistol away, sending it clattering across the floor. He stepped back, motioning to Caine in beckon. Get on your feet, b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"You... you're dead," Caine hissed, raising his head. Blood streamed from his nose, and he choked, spitting out a mouthful. "Do you hear me? You're dead! You and the G.o.dd.a.m.n b.i.t.c.h!" He pressed his hands against the floor and staggered to his feet. He glared at Brandon, laughing. "I'll bleed her dry right in front of you. I'll open her G.o.dd.a.m.n throat."

Brandon hooked his left fist around, driving it into Caine's nose and cheek. Caine didn't even see it coming in time to draw his hands up; his head cracked sideways on his neck, and he sprawled to the floor again, landing hard, gasping for breath.

Get up, Brandon hissed again. Caine huddled against the floor, whooping in mouthfuls of air, laughing as blood choked him again. He drew his knees beneath him and stumbled, rising clumsily. He turned his face and spat; a tooth flew in a spray of b.l.o.o.d.y spittle from his lips, making him laugh all the harder.

"She's a carca.s.s," he said, and he swung his right fist toward Brandon's face. Brandon ducked his head toward his left shoulder and drove his left fist around again, battering into Caine's cheek, sending him reeling. Caine recovered his footing and charged again, slamming his knuckles into Brandon's gut. Brandon gasped, buckling slightly, and then he lashed out with his foot, hooking against the back of Caine's heel, punting his leg out from beneath him. Caine toppled to the floor, and Brandon danced away from him.

"A... a G.o.dd.a.m.n human wh.o.r.e..." Caine hissed, grinning at Brandon as he limped to his feet again, his lips and teeth smeared with blood. "And when she's dead, I'll rip her head off and bring it back to the Grandfather along with yours."

He swung at Brandon. Brandon canted back, arching his shoulders and spine away from the blow. As Caine's fist darted at his face, he raised his hand, catching the punch squarely against his palm. He wrenched Caine's arm, hyperextending his wrist, and Caine cried out hoa.r.s.ely, staggering. Brandon drove his free fist around, pummeling Caine's face. He kept hold of Caine's arm and drove his fist again and again into his brother's head, shattering his nose and cheek, pounding teeth loose of their moorings.

Caine collapsed to his knees, his face bloodied, and Brandon backed away from him, opening his hands and flexing his fingers, closing them deliberately into fists again. Get up, he said.Caine sprang from the floor, leaping unexpectedly. He tackled Brandon, knocking him off his feet, and the two of them crashed to the ground, rolling together. Somehow, Brandon wound up on top and reared back, sitting up and letting his fists fly, driving them again and again into Caine's face. Caine screamed and fought beneath him, trying to punch him, to ward off his blows.

Brandon struck him, his knuckles slamming into Caine's cheeks, temples, his brow, his eyes, nose, and mouth. Blood sprayed in wild arcs every time his fists connected; every time he drew them back on the fulcrums of his shoulders and drove them forward again. He beat Caine until his knuckles shattered, the bones in his hands that had only just healed crumpling anew, cracking with the force of each furious, brutal impact. He beat Caine until his brother's struggles beneath him waned, and his hands abandoned their feeble efforts at protest.

Brandon beat Caine until his face was gone, bashed beneath Brandon's fists, a bloodied, battered ruin. He beat him until he was oblivious to everything but the marks of his aim as he drove his fists downward. The room around him faded and there was nothing but helpless, anguished rage-rage for the years he'd spent living in terror beneath his grandfather's roof; for the shame Caine had always inflicted upon him; for the hopelessness that had time and again made Brandon's heart and mind turn to escape-any escape, even death-if it meant freedom from the Brethren. The rage welled inside of him and he unleashed it against Caine.

When he was finished, when Caine lay motionless beneath him, Brandon fell still, gasping for breath. The nightclub had emptied quickly; the birds had driven the humans away. Some still remained, but only because in their panic, enveloped in swarms of birds, they'd been unable to reach the exit. Brandon staggered to his feet, holding his injured hands against his belly, blinking in dismay at the swollen, crippled mess that had once been his knuckles.

He stumbled toward Lina. She knelt against the floor, her cheek pressed against the pole, her hands cuffed on either side of it.

She was weeping, her entire body wracked with sobs. Brandon had inadvertently knocked Rene's pistol in her direction, close enough so that she'd been able to kick her leg out, hook it with her foot and draw it near. She clutched at it now in her bound hands, grasping it so tightly, her hands shook, as if it was a life preserver to her.

She'd managed to jerk the gag away from her mouth and cried his name as he approached. He fell to his knees before her and touched her face, unfurling his broken fingers to caress her cheek, ignoring the terrible pain the effort caused.

"Brandon...!" she gasped again, and when he leaned toward her, tucking his forehead against her shoulder, she shuddered, weeping and kissing his hair.

It's alright, he thought. It's alright, Lina. It's over now.

He sat back and managed to smile for her. She raised her hands and strained to reach him, touching his blood-smeared, battered face. New tears welled in her eyes and he leaned toward her again, kissing her. Where are the keys to the cuffs? he asked her in his mind.

She glanced over her shoulder. "There," she said, her lips trembling uncontrollably. "There, near... near those couches... my pants pocket."

Brandon nodded, rising again. His shoulder and eyes might have felt better, restored at least in part from the aftereffects of feeding, but he'd traded old injuries for new ones and tried not to grimace, because he knew it would frighten her. She saw anyway and her tears spilled. He limped toward the nearby lounge area she'd indicated, a cozy arrangement of leather couches and arm chairs. A dead man lay sprawled on one of the couches, clad only in his underpants, his arms and legs outstretched. It was Jude Hannam. His throat had been ripped open; Caine's gruesome handiwork.

Jesus, Brandon thought, shivering. He saw Lina's uniform lying in a pile. Rather than attempt the excruciating act of shoving his broken hands down into her pockets, he settled for the less painful effort of simply picking them up and carrying them to her.

You'll have to help, I'm afraid, he thought to her as he approached, stepping over Caine's fallen body, unable to look at what remained of his brother's face-the brutal damage he'd caused. Instead, he locked gazes with Lina, offering her a feeble smile.

She still clung to the pistol tightly, with such desperate fervency he wondered if she'd be able to let it go. My hands are in pretty bad shape. I don't think I can- Her eyes flew wide, and her mouth opened in a silent cry. He watched her scream his name-Brandon!-and then she raised her hands, jerking the tether of her cuff chains up the metal pole, aiming the nine-millimeter straight at him. His eyes flew wide and he ducked, throwing himself sideways as Lina's index finger flexed inward against the trigger.

He didn't hear the gunshot, but as he landed hard against the floor, catching the brunt of his fall against his hip and shoulder, he saw a sudden burst of blue-gray smoke surround the muzzle of the pistol. He whipped his head around to look over his shoulder. Caine was still alive; his face was monstrously damaged, a bloodied mess of pulp and meat, but he'd managed to shamble to his feet as Brandon had pa.s.sed him. He'd lunged at Brandon, meaning to tackle him from behind, but Lina's bullet had caught him in the shoulder, sending him staggering back.

The first one, anyway.

Again, Brandon didn't hear the pistol fire, but he saw Caine lurch, wheeling clumsily to his left as another bullet slammed into his chest. A third struck his groin, nearly doubling him, and the fourth-the last shot-punched into his skull, throwing him back and off his feet, crashing to the ground.

Brandon blinked, shocked and ashen at Lina, but she didn't tear her wide, stricken gaze away from Caine. She kept the gun leveled in his direction as a tremor started in her hands and worked it way up through her arms to her shoulders, shuddering eventually through her entire, slender form.

Brandon stood, stumbling toward his brother. Even as he approached, he could see the dark stain of blood spilling around Caine's head in a broadening circ.u.mference, stark and apparent against the glow from the lighted dance floor. His eyes were half-open, but there was little else left distinguishable in his face-only his canine teeth as they slowly withdrew back along his gum-line, shrinking into proper place.

Brandon turned to Lina. "He... he said he'd kill me," she said, as the pistol tumbled from her fingers to the floor. She began to weep again, clapping her hand against her eyes. "He... oh, G.o.d, he killed Jude...!"

Chapter Twenty-four.

"Rene!" Lina screamed, pressing on the call-b.u.t.ton outside his building. It was three-thirty in the morning. The street was empty, the sky black and silken. Brandon leaned heavily against her, his strength waning quickly, and she struggled to support his weight with only one arm while she punched at the intercom. They'd taken a cab; as she and Brandon had limped together from the barge to the sh.o.r.e, she'd heard the distant din of numerous sirens-dozens, by the sound of them-approaching fast. Sorry to interrupt your supper break, Larry, she'd thought grimly.

Lina and Brandon had fled. There was no way in h.e.l.l she would be able to explain what had happened that night-not without sounding like a stark-raving lunatic-and so she'd wrapped her arm around Brandon's midriff and hauled him in tow. They'd stumbled together through Water Tower Park until they'd found themselves facing Memorial General Hospital. From here, she'd been able to flag down a cab. Just as before, on the night that Caine and Emily had attacked them, they didn't draw as much as a second glance from their driver. Brandon had huddled against her in the car, whatever reserve of strength that had seen him through that night thus far abandoning him, and by the time they'd reached Rene's, he'd been gla.s.sy eyed and dazed with pain.

"Rene!" she screamed again, thumbing the buzzer over and over. "Rene, please! G.o.dd.a.m.n it, where are you?"

The heavy steel front door squalled on its hinges as it swung open, and she burst into relieved tears to see Rene there, striding forward, his hands outstretched. "Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, seizing her by the back of the head and jerking her and Brandon against him in a fierce embrace. "Oh, Christ, I thought I'd lost you, chere," he gasped against her ear, his voice choked and ragged. "Get inside-Jesus Christ, both of you."

"Brandon's hurt," Lina said, as Rene helped her hustle the younger man inside. "His hands... be careful of his hands...!"

Tessa stood in the expansive foyer, pinned in a pale beam of light from an overhead security lamp. She cried out softly and scurried forward, her eyes round with horror as Rene caught Brandon in his arms, hoisting him against his chest. "Oh, G.o.d!

What happened?" She looked toward Lina. "What happened?"

"Caine is dead," Lina replied grimly, hurrying to follow as Rene carried Brandon toward the elevators.

"What about the Elders?" Tessa asked, scurrying closely behind.

Lina shook her head. "There was n.o.body but Caine. Trust me-he was enough."

Once upstairs in the loft, Rene lay Brandon against his bed. Brandon kept trying to move his hands, to sign or write, but each time, it hurt him, forcing him further and further toward unconsciousness. He lay against the bed, his eyes closed. When Rene moved to touch his right hand gently in examination, Brandon jerked, gasping sharply for breath.

"They look broken to me," Rene said, and Tessa uttered a soft, pained sound at this, her hand darting to her mouth. Rene looked up grimly. "And broken pretty bad off, too."

"But they'll heal, right?" Lina asked. "Like before, when he was shot, he'll heal fast."

"He's not fully healed from that yet, chere," Rene said, drawing the neckline of Brandon's T-shirt down somewhat, enough so that she could still see the bruising along his upper torso from the bullet wound. "But yeah, he'll heal. It'll take him months-at least. We'll have to bind his hands up, let those bones knit back into place."

"We don't have months," Tessa said, stricken. "Just because the Elders weren't with Caine tonight doesn't mean they won't be coming. They could be here any day now."

"What if he feeds again?" Lina asked, but Rene shook his head, making her frown. "You said before it would help him, that it would make him heal even faster."

"It will, chere," Rene said. "But he can't feed from you again is my point. It's no different than if you'd just donated a pint down at the blood bank. You can't afford to lose anymore-not without throwing your body into systemic shock. He can't feed from you for at least two months."

"Two months?" Lina blinked at him, startled.

"There's another way," Rene said, cutting an awkward glance toward Tessa. "I know a couple of people... girls I call sometimes..." His voice faded and he looked decidedly sheepish. Lina could have sworn he was blushing. "You know, chere."

"Know what?" Tessa asked, puzzled, not understanding Rene's inference. "What are you talking about?"

"No," Lina said, shaking her head, because she understood perfectly. "No, we're not calling your hookers over here so he can feed off of them. What are they going to think of this, Rene? This is more than kinky-his hands are f.u.c.king broken!"