Wings In The Night - Twilight Memories Part 5

Again, he nodded.

"Do you mind if I ask what happened to it?"

"No, it's all right. It happened when I was in the city, when I didn't have anyplace to live. It was wintertime, and I guess it just got too cold."

Rhiannon suppressed a shudder at the thought of gentle Freddy, freezing his limbs on a frigid winter's night. "Does it hurt you very much?"

"Oh, no. It hardly bothers me at all, anymore."

"I'm glad." She looked toward the rapidly darkening building. "They're taking too long."

"Maybe we better go back and check on them."

A warning p.r.i.c.kle of danger danced over Rhiannon's nape. She sent the probing fingers of her mind in search of the source, but there was nothing tangible. "I think you should wait here, in the car." Rhiannon shook her head, still unable to pinpoint the source of her precognition. "Lock the doors," she added.

"Rhiannon, is somethin' wrong with Jamey?" Fear made Freddy's voice hoa.r.s.e. "'Cause if there is, I'm going with you."

"I don't know," she said truthfully. "But it really will be better if you wait here. In case Jamey comes out and I miss him. Okay?" She tried to sound unconcerned, and for a moment it surprised her that she should care to ease the mind of a mortal. Then again, Freddy was no ordinary human. When she saw the car doors were locked, she gave him an encouraging nod and hurried across the blacktop toward the entrance.

The thrill of foreboding grew stronger and her fear for Roland and the boy grew with it. Her quickened steps snapped loudly over the lot, and then the sidewalk. She rounded a corner and reached for the doors.

A heavy arm came around her from behind, jerking her off balance and into the shadows.

Fool! Did this human think he could hope to do battle with her and win?

She prepared to pull free, turn around and wring the idiot's neck, when pain split through her consciousness like a piercing cry. The blade tore the flesh at her waist, only a small cut, surely. Yet the scalding pain paralyzed her. And when she felt she could move again, his voice gave her pause.

"I know your weaknesses, Rhiannon. Loss of blood, exposure to sunlight, direct contact between your flesh and an open fire... and pain." The blade pressed to her rib cage, but didn't cut. "Pain," he went on, his voice a rasping serpent in her ear. "The more severe, the more it weakens you. Isn't that right?" The blade's point pressed into her sensitive skin. "And the older the vampire, the more keenly she feels it." More pressure on the blade. A trickle of blood ran beneath her satin blouse, over her abdomen. She sucked breath through her teeth. "So this must be just about maddening, isn't it?"

Teeth grated, she forced words through her lips. "What do you want?"

Again the blade poked, twisting this time. She cried out, then bit her lip. She wouldn't summon Roland, not until she knew what he would be facing. "What do you think?" he rasped.

He was not Curtis Rogers. He was not anyone she'd ever encountered before. He was strong for a human, and unstintingly cruel. The first wound, the one in her side, still pulsed hot spasms of pain as well as blood. She felt herself weakening. A vampire as old as Rhiannon need lose very little to meet her demise. She needed help. d.a.m.n, but she hated to admit that. She'd never found herself less than able to deal with adversity. It infuriated her that this human had identified her few weaknesses, and used them so skillfully against her.

Her knees began to tremble and she forced them rigid once more. "Who are you," she growled, "and why do you court death so eagerly?"

"Not death, Rhiannon. Life. Eternal life. Immortality. You have it. I want it."

The man was insane! "You have no idea what you're talking about. You're not..." She paused, dizziness swamping her brain. She blinked it away. "Release me. I must... sit." She pressed her free hand against the hole in her side, hoping to slow the flow of her life from her body.

"If I release you, lady, you might just find enough strength to kill me. That is not my goal."

"If I die, so does your chance of getting what you want."

"Not really. There are others." His grip on her tightened. His pinpoint blade pressed harder, and the end twisted slowly. She was breathing hard now, in broken, ragged gasps. A response to the pain. Tears blurred her vision. "Give me what I want and I will let you go."

"And if I refuse, you'll let me die?" The words came slowly, and her speech was slurred. "I choose death, then."

"Not death, Rhiannon. Something far worse. There are DPI agents all over this place tonight, waiting for that boy of yours. But they'd consider you a greater prize, don't you think? The vampiress who murdered one of their most highly valued researchers all those years ago? I'll just give a shout and bring them running. You're too weak to fight them. Getting weaker all the time."

She closed her eyes and focused her thoughts on Roland. Take Jamey out of here. Be careful. They're watching, and... Before she completed the thought, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d twisted his blade again, and Rhiannon couldn't stop the gasp of pain that escaped her. "Well? Are you going to give me what I want?"

Her legs gave out. The loss of blood combined with the pain was simply too much. She went to her knees, causing the man's blade to rake up over her rib cage, and nick her throat.

At that moment, the man flew backward for no apparent cause, landing with a heavy thud on the ground. "You've just ended your life, human." It was Roland's voice, and it was quivering with a rage she'd never heard in him before. He reached for the man, who lay on his back, staring defiantly up at him.

"Here!" the mortal yelled at the top of his lungs. "They're here! Hurry!"

"That won't save you." Roland lifted the man by the front of his shirt, and Rhiannon knew he was about to crush his larynx. She'd never seen Roland so angry. He'd forgotten his well-schooled caution, his carefully cultivated calm. She felt it in his every thought, saw it in every line of his face. He would kill the man, and anyone who tried to stop him. The force of his anger shook her to the core. She hadn't known he was capable of such explosive violence.

"Roland, they're coming," she managed to say. "We must go. Think... of Jamey."

He pummeled the man's face with his fist, and slowly lifted him again. "Let them come. They'll soon wish they'd kept their distance."

She put every ounce of strength she had into her voice. "Roland, please! I'm bleeding--"

All at once, it seemed, his fury dissipated. Roland dropped the limp form to the ground. Then he whirled, bending over Rhiannon and lifting her easily into his arms. He searched her face, his eyes wide with fear now, rather than narrow with a barely suppressed rage. She felt him stiffen as he realized the extent of her blood loss and the weakness of her body. In a burst of preternatural speed, he left the parking lot and the sounds of running feet behind.

"Where... is Jamey?"

"We had to sneak out a window and duck through the brush. There were DPI agents watching all the exits. I put him in the car with Frederick and saw them safely off. They're fine."

She sighed, but it was broken by pain. "Good."

"You're still losing blood." He stopped, and settled her on the ground. She glanced upward, seeing only the black outline of gnarled tree limbs against the paler gray of the night. They were in a wooded area.

She heard the tear of fabric as Roland hurriedly opened her blouse. Then there was more pain, even at his gentle touch, as he pressed a handkerchief firmly to the wound. "Hold it there," he instructed. "Hold it tightly. Ignore the pain."

She did, but cried out. "Easy for you to say. You're less than ten centuries old. I'm more than twice that."

"With age comes strength," he replied in a hoa.r.s.e voice as his fingers touched the smaller wound. She winced.

"And weakness." She drew a shaky breath. "You well know that I'm far more vulnerable to pain and blood loss, sunlight and fire, than you are." Her head fell backward, her neck suddenly incapable of supporting it. "I'm not certain I'll make it to dawn, Roland."

Again, he slipped his arms beneath her, lifted her. This time, he pressed her face to the crook of his neck. "You will, Rhiannon. I won't allow it to be otherwise. You only need to drink."

She stiffened, unsure of his meaning. His hand at the back of her head pressed her nearer, his fingers moving softly through her hair as his palm held her to him. Her lips touched the skin of his throat, tasted its salt.

"Drink, " he said again.

And she did.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Roland closed his eyes as her lips moved against his throat. The blood l.u.s.t came alive at her touch. The s.e.xual desire pummeled him until he felt too weak to fight it. G.o.d, but he wanted her. And what she was doing now only trebled the already powerful longing. Slowly the restraint he'd been struggling to hold in place shuddered beneath the a.s.sault of desire. Roland drew a strangled breath.

"Enough!"

He hadn't meant the single command to sound so harsh. She immediately lifted her head, blinking. Roland saw the pa.s.sion in her eyes, even through the pain clouding them.

"Any more and I'll not have the strength to carry you home, Rhiannon," he lied in a much softer tone. He still feared for her well-being, but in truth if she didn't stop right then, he'd have dropped her into the tangy scented leaves at their feet, and made frantic love to her, pain or no pain.

"Put me down, then. I can walk."

He only shook his head and began again, in the direction of the castle.

"I said put me down. I've never needed any man to help me, and I never will. I can manage on my own."

"You needed the help of a man tonight, Rhiannon. No doubt if you continue in your reckless life-style, you'll need it again. And you need it now, whether you'll admit it or not, so rest in my arms and are quiet."

She did settle more comfortably against him, but the set of her lips told him the argument was far from over. "I will, but only because I know the truth. You're carrying me because you like it. You like the way my body feels so close to yours. As for my needing the help of a male, you are completely wrong. I was only waiting for the right moment to rip that fool's head from his shoulders. I'm as capable as any male, mortal or immortal, young or old, and you ought not forget it."

Roland rolled his eyes. "I thought at least to get a word of thanks for saving your life. Instead, I get scolded for daring to a.s.sume you were in need of a.s.sistance?"

She was silent for a moment, considering his words, he thought. "All right, I suppose I owe you my thanks, then. Only don't dare think of me as inferior."

"I never have, Rhiannon."

"That is purely a lie."

Roland frowned, searching her upturned face as he continued carrying her through the thickening forest. Crisp leaves and fallen twigs crackled beneath his hurried steps. "Why do you say so?"

"Foolish question."

Roland focused on the bite in her tone, rather than on the weight of her hip, or the way it slid over his abdomen with his every step. He forcibly ignored the feel of her head nestled upon his shoulder, and the softness of the rounded breast that pressed to his chest. "I believe being a.s.saulted by DPI operatives makes you decidedly cranky."

He saw her part her lips to reply, then she stopped herself, frowning. "I'm not sure he was DPI. At least, if he was, he was more concerned with his own interests than theirs."

"What do you mean?"

"Roland, the man was uncommonly knowledgeable about our kind. He listed our weaknesses. He called me by name."

Roland stopped walking, glancing ahead to the dark stone wall that completely surrounded the Castle Courtemanche. He could hear the violence of the River Tordu to his left as it splashed and roiled its way to fuse with the older, calmer waters of the River Loire. To his right, past the edge of the woods, a cool, green meadow rolled like a carpet from the outer wall to the winding dirt road. But the aromas of the gra.s.ses, of the rivers, of the very night, faded beside the scent of Rhiannon's hair and skin.

Roland shook himself and honed his senses, searching for the presence of others. They'd made excellent time, but he feared DPI forces would be on their way.

"Roland, you aren't listening. I scanned, and found no sign of this man, though he was lying in ambush. He can mask his presence, block us out."

Roland nodded. "It was only a matter of time before they learned that simple trick, Rhiannon. It shouldn't alarm you."

"He ordered me to transform him."

Roland froze, a chill of precognition tiptoeing up his spine. "That's ridiculous. He couldn't be transformed unless he was one of The Chosen. Anyone working for DPI would know that--"

"Which can only mean he is one of The Chosen. Roland, we should have felt his presence. He has somehow sharpened his psychic abilities. The man is dangerous."

Roland recalled again the shock of pain that had lanced through him when he'd felt Rhiannon's mind reaching out to him back at the stadium. He recalled the rage he'd felt when he'd seen the b.a.s.t.a.r.d holding her, that knife piercing her sensitive skin, the blade twisting as she gasped in pain, the tears shimmering over her eyes.

"You ought to have let me kill him."

She stilled utterly, searching his face. "You very nearly did, Roland. I've never seen you like that."

"With good reason." He glanced down at her. He wished to G.o.d she hadn't witnessed the ugliness inside him. But now that she had, there was little use in denying it. "I'm a man capable of great violence, Rhiannon. There lurks within me a demon, one who thrives on bloodshed."

She frowned, sable eyebrows bunching over her small, narrow nose. "I've known you from the first moment of your preternatural existence, Roland. I've never seen a sign of this demon."

"I keep it in check, or I have, until now." He gazed at her beautiful, flawless face. Why was control so much more difficult when she was near? She was like a magnet, drawing the beast from its hidden lair, stirring it to life by her very presence. "It was in me before, Rhiannon, when I was yet a mortal."

"You were a knight! One known far and wide for courage and valor and--"

"All pretty words for bloodl.u.s.t. I was talented in the art of battle. A skillful killer. No more."

She stiffened in his arms. "You're wrong about yourself. This demon you claim possesses you is no more than the will to live. Those times were violent, and only the violent survive in battle, a man must kill or be killed. You did what was necessary..." She winced all at once, and clung more tightly to his neck.

His knowledge of her discomfort was as acute as if the pain were his own. "Press the handkerchief more tightly, Rhiannon. The bleeding is beginning again." He strengthened his hold on her and ran the last few steps to the wall, leaping easily over it. Now was no time for recriminations or confessions. Not while her very life was slowly seeping from her body. Oddly enough, Roland felt as if his vitality were draining away, as well, keeping perfect pace with hers.

He carried her over the barren courtyard, past the crumbling fountain that marked its center and through the huge, groaning door. He set her on her feet to pull the door closed.

The cat lunged gracefully from the lowest stair, stopped in front of her mistress and seemed almost to study her, eyes intent and intelligent. Pandora lifted her head, and sniffed delicately at Rhiannon's blood-soaked blouse, and the sound she emitted from deep in her throat could have been a snort of alarm.

"There, kitty. It's not the end of me." Rhiannon stroked the cat's head with one hand, still holding the hanky to her waist with the other.

Jamey came bounding down the stairs with Frederick on his heels. The boy stopped a yard from Rhiannon, his face setting into a granite mask no child of his age had any business wearing.

Frederick came forward, dropped to one knee in front of her and moved the handkerchief aside briefly before pressing it tight again. "It's bad. You need st.i.tches."

"Not necessary," Roland stated, hoping to hide the effect of those words on his equilibrium. St.i.tches. It brought to mind the image of a sharp object piercing her sensitive skin, an object held by his hand. The pain would be incredible.

Frederick looked again and shook his head. "It isn't gonna stop bleeding."

Roland swallowed hard. Frederick had been a medic in the army before he'd succ.u.mbed to the mental illness that kept him so childlike. The man knew a bit about injuries. Still, the thought of the pain... "She needs only rest."

"Nonsense," Rhiannon said softly. "I can rest, but the regenerative sleep will only come with the dawn. I doubt I can keep from bleeding to death until then."

At her words, Roland felt a fist in his stomach. Reckless and irritating though she was, he could not see her die. Even the thought was too much to bear. He glanced once more at Frederick. "Can you do it?"

Frederick's blue eyes widened and he shook his head. It was obvious the very idea scared him to death.