Chapter Sixteen
The storm blew out at sunset, which was a startling, stunning vista of reds, pinks, oranges and yellows that had Kate and her director of photography sprinting to capture B-roll footage that could be used later, perhaps.
Kate called for filming to start at ten p.m. Garrett presented himself on-set as per the new strategies they had hammered out that afternoon, while the storm battered the trailer, and into the night, once Nial and Sebastian were finished with Gunther.
Gunther had given up nothing, but Nial had not expected him to open up easily, and he had not wasted too much time and effort digging for the truth. Sebastian had driven the man into San Francisco and dumped him, relatively unharmed, before returning to the site with new server components to repair the damage he had caused.
“It doesn’t matter who Gunther was with, or even if he was working solo. The fact that he was here at all means we’re not alone out here,” Nial had emphasized more than once. “We can’t assume that anything we do goes unobserved, now. The plan is working. We need to take up our posts and stay alert.”
So Garrett returned to his assigned position by Kate’s side, reluctance dogging his every step.
She was busy setting up the first scene of the night, so she merely raised her brow as he unfolded the chair that was his and sat in it. “Gracing us with your presence, huh?”
“Figured things needed to get back to normal.” He tried for a casual tone and almost succeeded.
Kate let him get away with it. “Normal sounds good,” she agreed, her tone as fake casual as his and turned away, her attention already pulled by something else.
He looked around. There were perhaps a dozen witnesses to their stiff exchange. He tried to settle into the chair more comfortably and pretend he was relaxed. He watched the bustle around him. Even in just over a week, his education into the processes of shooting a movie had taken a mega-leap and he could name and describe most of what everyone was doing on the set, even if he couldn’t tell if they were doing it well, or not.
His phone vibrated against his chest and he pulled it out.
@DoveAngel. I’m very pleased to have you back.
He looked around. She was nowhere in sight.
His smile after that was quite genuine.
* * * * *
Filming went spectacularly well. It was as if the delays and the storm had been all their bad luck and now they had rolled up and blown away. Patrick was right on top of his game, both physically and with the next scene, a fairly intense emotional scene with Murad’s brother.
Winter stopped by just after three a.m. and crouched by Garrett’s chair and held out a thermos cup. “Coffee,” she said in a voice designed to travel. “I figure you could use some by now.”
“You just earned your bonus,” he said with a sigh and took the mug. From the weight, it felt empty.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“I won’t jinx anything,” he said. “I’m not an expert, but I’d say it seems to be going well. Kate is smiling. That’s a good sign.”
Nial shifted closer and Winter looked up. “Hi.” It was the polite, neutral expression of co-workers who didn’t know each other well.
“I was wondering if that Terry guy was around.” Nial asked. “The computer guy? Patrick can’t seem to get any email on his laptop at the moment and he wants him to look at his computer.”
“He was just waking up when I left the trailer,” Winter told him. “He had to grab a nap. He had an active day today, getting the server up and running again. It’s been down. Maybe that’s why Mr. Sauvage couldn’t get his email. Terry will be here in a minute. I’m sure he can check out the laptop for you.”
Nial looked over her shoulder. “That’s him now, isn’t it?”
Winter turned to look. So did Garrett. He saw Sebastian climbing out of one of the minivans that did nothing but shuttle cast and crew back and forth between the base camp and wherever the day’s shoot happened to be.
Then he heard a sound he had last heard on the battlefield and it made all the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
The quiet, deep “whoomp” had a peculiar echo. It was muffled by the odd little cough that Nial made and the gasping wheeze that Winter gave.
Garrett turned, feeling time slow down to treacle speed.
“And cut!” Kate called, behind him.
No one else had noticed, he realized. No one had realized.
Yet.
Timing was everything now. Timing was critical.
Move, he told himself.
Nial was looking down at his stomach, where a dark stain was spreading on the black tee-shirt. The shirt had been ripped open. And he was starting to fall.
Winter was staring at Nial. She hadn’t processed what had happened to him yet and she wasn’t feeling the pain herself. She could only see the blood on Nial’s skin. Her mind hadn’t caught up with all the facts.
Garrett gripped Nial’s shoulder, straightening him up and holding him upright. “Stay on your feet,” he muttered in his ear. “Whatever you do, don’t crumble now.”
Nial nodded. His eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the suddenly difficult task of simply standing. “Winter,” he breathed.
“I’ve got her,” Garrett assured him and squeezed his shoulder. He took the two steps between Nial and Winter and hooked his arm around her. “Come on, Annette,” he said, in a louder voice. “These night shoots really don’t agree with you, do they? Let’s find you somewhere to lie down.”
“What?” Winter asked, her expression vacant and bewildered.
Garrett half dragged and half carried her toward the catering van, intending to slip around behind it.
The scene was breaking up now. Crew members were spreading out around them. Kate would be returning to her chair, and her P.A., the young thing that was still plagued with pimples, would hover by with her clipboard. They had to get away from everyone now their attention had relaxed from the hard focus upon getting the scene in the can.
The last thing Kate needed was an assassination scare and neither Nial nor Winter could afford to let it be known a sniper’s bullet had just passed through both of them, yet they were still alive.
Sebastian hurried up to them and picked up Winter’s other arm. “I saw her start to slither,” he said, his voice low. “What happened? Is she ill?”
Garrett should his head. “Not here,” he said shortly, saving his breath for carrying her. Winter had become almost a complete deadweight and he was using strength and power to make it look like she was still doing most of the walking. “Help Nial, instead.”
“Nial?” Sebastian repeated, alarmed. He let Winter go and turned back to where Nial, Garrett presumed, was following behind them.
“What the fuck?” Sebastian breathed softly. “Ó jesus liaigh, mháthair Mary. You didn’t duck, you dumbfuck?”
“Didn’t see it coming,” Nial replied, sounding tired. “Armour-piercing round. I couldn’t stop it from taking Winter, either. Someone has to dig the bullet out of the side of the camera mount it drilled into, before it’s found.”
“I’ll get it,” Garrett said. “As soon as I know you two are okay.” He rounded the back of the van. It was cool and quiet and dark here. Better still, it was relatively private. He propped Winter against the wheel, sitting up. Her eyes were closed.
Sebastian lowered Nial to the ground next to her and he settled on his knees, studying her. He was alert and aware and the flesh peeping through the jagged hole in his tee-shirt showed pale and whole. He had healed already.
Not so Winter.
Sebastian ripped her business-like jacket open. The silky shirt underneath was covered in blood. He moaned, his hands hovering over the mess. Delicately, he reached around behind her, feeling her spine and back. He lifted his hands up. They were covered in blood, too. In the dark, the blood was an ochre-brown, but the coppery smell was an unmistakeable siren song that told Garrett he needed to feed very soon. He felt his nostrils flare.
“Straight through,” Nial breathed. “High velocity sniper rifle. A human would be dead, or close to it.”
“How does this work?” Garrett asked. “Why isn’t she healing like you?”
“She has to be conscious to heal herself. It’s a deliberate act.”
“You mean we have to wake her, make her feel the pain and fix it?” Garrett asked, appalled.
Sebastian breathed heavily, controlling his reactions.
“It’s that, or let her die,” Nial replied.
Garrett hesitated.
Nial pushed him aside, leaned forward and smacked Winter sharply across the face. “Winter!”
Winter moaned, a deep furrow creasing between her brows.
Sebastian grabbed her shoulders and shook her, ensuring she did not slip back from consciousness. He was not gentle.
“How can you do that to her?” Garrett breathed. “She’s your wife.”
Nial glanced at Garrett as he sat back on his heels. “Exactly. She’s our wife. That is why we can do it.”
Garrett shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
Nial’s mouth lifted at one corner. “How could you?”
Sebastian was still leaning over Winter, watching to ensure she roused properly. He tapped her cheek, more softly this time. “Winter,” he said, his voice and tone softer and more gentle than Garrett had ever heard him use before. “Come on, amháin milis. Show me those green eyes. Wake up pissed at me for stealing the covers again. Come on.”
Winter took a deep breath…or tried to. She gave a soft cry and her eyes screwed shut, as she was slammed back into full consciousness by her own pain.
Sebastian heaved a heavy, loud sigh of relief and Nial stroked the back of his neck.
Garrett shifted out of the way as they both gathered around her, murmuring encouragement, as Winter used her unique and special talents to heal herself.
He glanced around. It seems they had got away completely unnoticed. No alarms had been raised. No one was panicking. There was no hysteria.
His gaze was dragged back to the three of them. He watched them huddled together, his mind racing in lockstep with his heart.
How could you? Nial had said. Meaning…what? How could he know, when he was not married? Not in love? Had never been in love? Had never loved another?
His gut clenched as he forced away any thought-images of Roman. That had not been love. That had been the equivalent of a summer’s obsession that had played out over a few centuries. That was all. It was done, now.
But if it had been Roman lying there?
Well, it was a null issue. Roman would never have been lying there. He was vampire. And Garrett didn’t fall in love with humans. He had kept himself scrupulously apart from them because—
Kate.
Garrett surged forward to grab Nial’s shoulder, his heart booming, his gut churning. “I have to feed. Now.”
Nial’s gaze raked over his face, taking in what Garrett was sure was an unhealthy pallor and the early symptoms of blood fever. Nial nodded. “She’s healing now. We’ll recover the bullet and cover for you with Kate.”
Garrett hurried away from the little scene of domestic perfection, racing from his feelings, from anything that made him think of Kate Lindenstream and love in the same sentence or thought.
* * * * *
Once the major repairs had been completed, Winter tried to find a more comfortable sitting position. She had barely moved, when she felt herself being lifted and placed gently into arms, her buttocks resting on thighs, rather than the hard, dry and cracked earth.
She opened her eyes and looked up. Nial looked down at her. “Welcome back,” he said softly.
“You, too.”
Sebastian picked up her hand. He wasn’t sitting cross-legged like Nial, but leaning over both of them. “Stop distracting her, Nial. She needs to finish healing herself. The wound on her abdomen is still open, and—”
Nial grabbed Sebastian’s head and silenced him with a kiss. “Take a deep breath, Bastian. Take a moment to enjoy the fact that we’re alive. Then we’ll start worrying about the details again.”
“But—”
He shook Sebastian’s head. “No. You’re wound up and ready to explode. She’s alive. Accept it and move on. Remember this moment and use it for when you kill the sniper with the rifle, later.” Something flared deep in his eyes. “As I will.”
Sebastian pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a second or two, wiping them. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Fine. Okay, then.”
Nial released him. “So. They know about me. Nathaniel, I mean. They just tried to take the king off the board.” He rested his chin on the top of Winter’s head, thinking. “We still don’t know who ‘they’ are. But this anonymous attack is Pro Libertatis style. And Gunther, this morning, was human, and aimed for a human – Kate – which is League style.”
Sebastian gave an almighty sniff. “Are they both here? Libertatis and the League?”
“Maybe,” Nial said. “It just doesn’t make any sense. Not an open, in public shooting like that. The Libertatis want vampires to remain hidden. That’s their entire mandate. The League, too. Why shoot me in public where I’ll be exposed as not-human in front of six cinema quality cameras for the world to see?”
“The shot wasn’t for the head,” Winter pointed out. “They went for the gut. A human just might have survived it.”
Sebastian smiled at her. “My wife,” he said proudly.
Nial turned her face up to his and kissed her. “That’s it,” he said. “They were trying to get me off the set. If a human had survived the shot, they would have been bundled off to intensive care for weeks of treatment, neatly out of the Pro Libertatis’ way. Either way, if that shot had been noticed by any of the humans on the set, I would have had to leave, as either dead or critically wounded.”
“Thanks to Garrett’s quick reaction, you don’t have to do either,” Winter pointed out.
“Maybe he’s not the prick I took him for,” Sebastian mused.
Winter felt Nial breathe in deeply and let it out, relaxing. “He’s learning how to be human again, Bastian. You never forgot in the first place. Give him a break.”
“Besides,” Winter added. “I think he has huge potential.”
“Now, we just need to draw the Libertatis and the League out, instead of having them take pot shots at us from dark corners,” Nial said. “We need faces and names. The second part of the game begins.”
* * * * *
Feeding was a challenge on the set, but there were wandering homeless souls, even out here in these wastelands and although it took him some time, Garrett tracked down a campsite of men just north of the Mexican border, about five miles away from the shoot. They were heavily armed and had posted a guard. Garrett found them by their scent and the scent of their drugs, stashed in the side panels of the trucks they had parked too close to the fire, letting the flames and the metal panels bake the drugs into useless powder. They were destroying their profits as they slept, but they were amateurs. The lack of trouble he had dealing with the guard told him that much.
He fell on them and fed deeply, for his next feed would be uncertain.
He would have left them alive and free to tell their story to whomever would believe them, except that one tried to shoot him even after he had let them go and was walking away.
It had been a long day and an even longer night. Garrett turned to look back at the drunken fool, holding up his ripped and bleeding arm, feeling the tendon and muscle knit back together, a tired anger washing over him. The man had been such a shoddy shooter he’d missed the bone altogether.
The idiot tossed the revolver onto the ground and scrambled backwards, fear finally registering on his face.
“Too late,” Garrett told him and walked back towards him.
He made it quick, which he figured was considerate, under the circumstances. What he really wanted to do was roast them all over an open fire. But no one deserved that sort of death. Not even child prostitute mongering drug runners.
He made it back to the film location inside ten minutes and made a great circle around the lights, noise and bustle of the cast and crew, heading for the shower truck. He needed to clean up before anyone saw him.
The shower stalls were all empty and blessedly quiet when he stepped inside. He relaxed his guard and stripped off, moving fast. He checked his arm, twisting to look at the back of it in the badly lit mirror over the stainless steel sink. The mirror was too small and too high up for him to see enough.
“Your arm looks fine, Calum.”
He jerked in surprise, spinning to check the doorway.
Roman was leaning against the frame. He straightened up and moved toward him, his gaze on Garrett’s arm. “It looks the way it always did from here.” He stopped in front of him. “Turn around.”
“You slipped in silently on purpose.”
“Yes. Turn around.”
“Why?”
“I saw you wearing the latest design in blood splatters and trying to sneak passed everyone. So I followed you. Turn around, let me see the back of your arm. I assume it was a gunshot?”
Garrett turned around, abruptly aware of his nakedness. He fought to control his heartbeat. Roman would read far too much into a runaway heart.
Roman prodded at the back of his arm. “Perfectly normal,” he declared. “Did you choose the wrong dinner?”
“Something like that.” Garrett picked up his shirt from the floor, ran the cold water faucet and started washing the blood stains out. With luck, the denim shirt would end up looking damp and dirty, instead of blood splattered.
“Take a shirt from the costume department,” Roman said. “You’re never going to make that look like anything other than washed out blood. I’ll get it for you.”
Garrett hesitated, reluctant to accept a favour from him.
“Fuck, Calum, it’s me,” Roman breathed. “You’re going to get all sensitive about who owes what between us?”
Garrett turned the water off with a wrench of his wrist and turned to face Roman. “Tonight I watched Winter take an armour-piercing rifle round in the gut and nearly die, while Bastian and Nial agonized over her as she healed. It was your people who did that, Roman. The sniper bullet went straight through Nial and straight through Winter. Who else might it have gone through if they’d happen to have been standing in the way? Which humans, who couldn’t heal themselves? What about Kate? Would she be considered collateral damage?”
Roman’s eyes widened just a fraction and Garrett knew he’d made his point. Disgust touched him. “You and I both know that circumstances have dumped you on the wrong side of the war in the past. But you’ve never deliberately chosen to lie down with the devil. What’s happened to you? What’s going on?”
Roman’s jaw rippled. “What makes you think I’m with them?”
Garrett shook his head. “There is no neutral space in this. There’s no Switzerland. If you’re not with us, they’ll use you. You’re not even pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about, so they have you already. The Libertatis, most likely. How are they holding you?”
Roman shook his head. “Don’t do this. You won’t like where it goes.” His face was giving away nothing. His eyes were the same pair Garrett had gazed into decades ago. Nothing to see. Nothing revealed. Roman had closed up and walked away on him. Mentally, anyway.
Garrett shook his head. “No wonder I thought diving into the deep end of a long Fettercairn was a good idea. You taught me well. Too well.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Roman half-laughed, but Garret saw the touch of unease in his eyes. Finally, something other than indifference was to be seen.
Garrett walked over to the nearest shower stall and turned on the hot water. It always took a few minutes for the water to start running warm. He put his hand under the spray to test it and looked back over his shoulder at Roman. “Your punch to the gut was about three days too late. If you’d timed it better you could have happily witnessed my downfall and saved yourself the jealous boyfriend routine.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed. “The Fettercairn,” he breathed. “You really did drink it. You stupid son of a bitch.” His arms dropped. “Why is it you’re still even standing?” Then he rolled his eyes. “Winter, of course.”
Garrett stepped under the water. It was marvellously hot and refreshing. “I didn’t know it would kill me.”
“Then why did you drink it?” Roman asked, lifting his voice to be heard above the water.
Garrett turned his back so it would get wet. “You taught me well, but not that well. Some things still get through.”
He was actually surprised when Roman grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the water. Their shoulders rammed together almost painfully. Roman stared into his eyes, his gaze drilling into him. They stood locked together for ten of the longest seconds of Garrett’s long life.
Roman was breathing hard. “You didn’t kiss her to piss me off.” His voice was quiet. So soft, Garrett couldn’t tell if he was angry, upset or something else entirely.
He was starting to tremble. The day had held too many shocks already and this on top of it wasn’t icing, it was the back-breaker. He pulled his arm out of Roman’s grip. “It wasn’t about you. You stopped being the centre of my world a long time ago.”
Roman swayed closer. Garrett couldn’t tear his gaze away from Roman’s mouth, the sensual lips that curved so unexpected thick and full, as he leaned toward him. His heart escaped his control and slammed against his chest in a furious staccato.
He was helpless against the surge of rising hope building in his body. Naked, his arousal exposed him utterly.
Garrett relaxed and let the truth be exposed. There was no point in denying it when he was so vulnerable. Roman was right. Garrett was weak where he was concerned.
“Liar,” Roman breathed, his lips hovering a fraction of an inch away from Garrett’s.
His heart was labouring like a steam train. Garrett hadn’t felt this exposed in…centuries. Not since…
He swallowed as the memories flipped through his mind. He looked into Roman’s eyes and spoke the flat, undeniable truth. “She’s the first human since Mary that has stirred anything in me. It wasn’t just a kiss, Roman. It was such a strong reaction I was…” He hesitated, fighting to find the exact word.
“Terrified,” Roman supplied. He straightened up slowly, studying Garrett. “Panicked enough to dive into a bottle of the Bruce clan’s finest single malt.” He let go of Garrett’s arm and turned away. He gave a dry, short laugh and leaned against the sinks, his arms outstretched his head down. The tattoos bunched and crawled as his shoulder muscles flexed. “Fuckin’ ironic…” he muttered.
“Why?” Garrett demanded. “You don’t love her. You’re in her bed for other reasons. You said so.”
Roman turned and leaned against the sinks, crossing his arms. He wore a strange little half smile. “That’s right. No one is who they say they are. Not in our world, not in Hollywood.”
Garrett frowned, struggling to grasp all the cryptic double-meanings Roman had loaded that single sentence with.
Roman didn’t give him a chance to unravel it all. He got to his feet once more. “Welcome back to the human race, Calum. Thank Nathaniel for me. He’s a fucking miracle worker. It took him a few short weeks to achieve what I couldn’t pull off in decades of trying.” He pointed to the ruined shirt in the sink. “I’ll get that shirt for you.”
He strode to the door of the trailer and looked back. “And stay away from Kate, asshole. I don’t care how human you feel, now.” He left before Garrett could formulate a question out of the dozens that Roman’s bitter comment about Nial raised.