Chapter Seven
The light through the windows dimmed and disappeared, leaving me in darkness. Although my jaw continued to hurt and my bruises ached, the worst devil I faced now was thirst. It didn’t help to remember the desiccated corpses of Buckley’s previous victims.
Since my situation wouldn’t sustain life for long, I assumed Buckley would return soon to finish draining me. The thought of going through that pain again almost made me retch, but I fought it back and struggled not to choke. Then I wondered why I bothered. Not only would choking be a gentler death than what awaited me, but in my last moments I’d have the grim satisfaction of knowing I’d cheated Buckley out of some of his plunder. Of course that meant he’d probably kidnap his next victim sooner. Some innocent kid who had done nothing wrong and had plenty to live for.
Dammit, I was no innocent, I’d done of plenty of wrong, and my life amounted to nothing much. But I wanted to keep it anyway. I wanted to live.
The door clicked open, but this time the lights stayed off. The space beyond the door was dim, but I recognized Marek’s tall, slim outline and then his rapid, light tread. He carried something, but I couldn’t see what.
When he reached me, he set down his burden without a sound and pulled something from a pocket. “We don’t have long,” he said as he moved behind me. A slight rasp of metal, and the chains at my wrists were gone. They clanked as he set them aside. My muscles and joints had locked up during my captivity, and I groaned as I tried to move my arms forward. As Marek worked on the other chains that still held me upright, I managed to lift my hands and fumble the damned gag out of my mouth. Closing my jaw, at last, was a sweet relief. I didn’t yet try to speak—and my tongue might have been too dry to manage it anyway.
Marek, however, talked fast and low while he worked. “I’m sorry. You won’t believe me but I am. I didn’t mean for this to happen to you. I thought… I thought I might find a way to defeat him if I let him lure me close and I pretended to befriend him. He thinks a vampire minion is a lovely idea. But I led him to you. I’m so sorry.” He kept on like that, but I couldn’t make sense of his words. I was too confused, too sore, too drained. I’d lost track of whether I trusted him.
After he unlocked the last of the chains, I crumpled, but he caught me and held me up. “Clothes,” he said. “Not yours. Sorry.” Hurriedly, despite considerable fumbling, he helped me into a pair of sweatpants. Once on, the legs reached only to midshin. We couldn’t get the T-shirt on at all and just gave up.
With what were likely expletives in his native language, Marek supported me as we shuffled out of the room and into the adjacent one. That space had a more traditional basement appearance—fewer chained captives and more household detritus—although it was still clean and neat. Just crossing that expanse of floor exhausted me, and I looked up at the stairway in defeat. “I can’t. Just kill me and be done with it. Feed from me, break my neck, I don’t care, as long as you don’t let that fucker near me again.”
“I’ll carry you.”
But as he attempted to reposition me, likely to heave me over his shoulder, a crash resounded above.
Marek swore again. “He’s home already.”
“Why don’t you kill him?”
“I can’t even touch him.”
Another bang, this time accompanied by shouting. Marek looked puzzled, but the ruckus above wasn’t my immediate focus. “Shoot him. There was a gun in my boot. The bullets—”
“Are harmless to him. He showed me. He held your gun a few inches from his skull and pulled the trigger. The bullet just bounced off. And that was before he… fed from you.”
Shit. Even in top condition I’d have been no match for someone who could resist a vampire and withstand bullets. And right now I was far from my top condition. I could barely stand on my own.
Marek grunted. “When we get upstairs, I’m going to take us to the front door. It’s not far. If Buckley sees us, I’ll distract him while you get out as fast as you can. I’m not sure how long I can keep him occupied.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“I’ve been dead a long time. Let me have a small chance to be a hero.” He kissed me then, very sweet and gentle, careful not to let descended fangs nick me. Then, as the tumult above continued, he lifted me and hauled me up the stairs.
We emerged into a vast kitchen, dark except for a small light over the stove. Marek set me down and, with some support from the counters, I was able to walk unaided. I wondered how many rich and famous people had eaten food from this this place, perhaps even while a young man was bound and dying beneath them.
Unfortunately our route appeared to be taking us closer to the noises. “A back door?” I whispered to Marek.
“Leads into a walled garden. You’d never get out. If you go out the front, you’ll be right on the street. Turn either way and there are neighbors. Get one of them to call the police.”
I continued to follow him, but I doubted the success of his plan. Even if I did make it to another house and convinced someone to call 911, it would be too late to save Marek. I wasn’t even confident the police would stop Buckley from preying on others in the future. With his connections and preternatural charm, he would undoubtedly find a way to convince them he was innocent. And why should they listen to the claims of a disgraced former agent?
We passed through a narrow passageway lined with cupboards—a butler’s pantry—and into a dining room with a table long enough to seat at least twenty. Thick rugs cushioned our footfalls and large paintings hung on the walls, but it was too dark to discern any details. When Marek pushed on the double doors at the end of the dining room, the noises of a fight grew louder. And I thought I recognized the voices.
“Fuck,” I said, stepping into a short hallway.
“What?”
I never got a chance to answer. We rounded the corner and there were the front doors, one of them slightly ajar. But Buckley stood in the center of the grand foyer with his phone in one upraised hand, his teeth bared in a furious snarl. Grimes faced him, his expression a mask of fury. A handgun lay at his feet, but he held a knife in one hand. A short distance away, Tenrael sprawled prone and motionless, his arms reaching toward the other two and his wings sickeningly mangled.
“Run!” Marek shouted, pushing me toward the door. It was foolish of him. With Marek’s speed and with Buckley otherwise engaged, Marek could easily have made his escape. But instead he rushed at Buckley with a roar. When Buckley waved his phone, Marek jerked as if he’d been shocked, and then he crumpled to the floor. He staggered to his feet and attacked again. He got a little closer this time, and Grimes was able to advance nearer Buckley with his blade. But another hand wave sent them both staggering back. Marek appeared to have taken the worst of the assault, because when he fell again, his body convulsed and blood flowed from his mouth.
I was weak, I had no weapons, and there was no way I could harm a man who so easily felled Marek. But damn me if I was just going to stand there and let Buckley destroy… my friends.
I threw myself at him.
All things considered, it wasn’t much of a throw. More a lumbering followed by a collapse. But I’m a big man, and my weight was enough to bring Buckley down beneath me. Pinning him in place, I tried to choke him. My hands found their way comfortably around his neck, but nothing was working properly and my grip was unsteady. Buckley screeched a string of noises that sounded entirely inhuman.
Excruciating pain racked me as he began drawing energy from me again.
Even unbound, there was nothing I could do to fight him. I couldn’t even manage to scream. I just lay atop him, paralyzed, and felt my self—my psyche, my soul, my life essence—pour out of me like blood geysering from a severed artery.
Not a bad death despite the agony, I thought dimly. At least I’d tried to do what was right. At least I had allies. And oddly enough, as I slipped away I felt at peace with myself. In the end I’d acted with honor.