Chapter Forty-Two
The sun must have risen in the sky, but the storm and tall trees blocked any light it could have offered. Rain poured too heavy for the forest canopy to shield the ground. And Benic.
Leather worked well to ward off teeth and claws but was terrible to wear when soaking wet. He discarded his travel cloak, the weight a burden he didn’t need if attacked. Cool water dripped from his hair, the cold not touching him like warm-blooded creatures. Something in vampires kept them from freezing, yet they all loved the heat.
Winds whipped through the forest, making the underbrush sway to its song. It masked most sounds. A predator would be upon him before he heard them coming.
The Temple, a distant blur between the trees, would provide shelter. They must be hidden inside. A flash of lightning lit the area for a second and then thunder rolled over the sky. Benic’s prey wouldn’t hear him either. He needed to get to Susan and inject her before anyone could tear him apart. If she survived there was still a chance she’d become a vampire.
He’d considered explaining the situation to the shifters but they could be so thickheaded and paranoid. What if they refused to listen?
Ahote didn’t lack in vampire hatred. He’d likely eat Benic before he could utter a word. He wasn’t a fool. In hand-to-hand combat, shifters were the best. Even with his sword, he didn’t have much of a chance. He slipped it from its sheath, the steel singing, and held it ready.
Staring at the Temple, he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He could do this. The storm would help hide him. He would climb through a break in the ancient walls and figure out a plan from there. One step at a time.
He eased his way through the brush, keeping the trees between him and the Temple as much as possible. He was downwind so they wouldn’t catch his scent. Crouched low, he concentrated on listening while he continued to move. A hunter could always become prey.
The wind swayed the foliage back and forth, and back and forth. Focusing on the noise of the storm, he made it fade in his mind. An old hunting trick his father had taught him.
Leaves moved out of cadence to his right. He swung around, sword pointed toward the sound. His slow heart pounded thrice in his tight chest. He tried to quiet his breathing and trembled with the effort. Lightning cracked across the sky. He crouched among the ferns, waiting for an attack.
A whisper to his left had him changing in that direction. He should have brought warriors—him and his damn honor. Step by measured step, he crept through the brush. Nothing. Yet his instincts still rang with danger. Adrenaline pumped into his system, heightening his senses further.
Something stalked him. “Ahote?” The question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it. “Ahote?” He repeated louder.
He caught movement in the corner of his vision and swung around, sword extended. Nothing again. Sweat mixed with rain, trickling along his face. Panting, he searched the area.
They had him surrounded and were playing games. He clutched the bag containing the syringe. He could retreat to the castle. They wouldn’t dare follow. The Temple came into his line of sight. If Susan survived and became vampire, would Sorin let her live?
Without a backward glance, he raced toward the building. He might not stand a chance in a fight but he sure could run. Dodging plants and branches, he moved swift and sure. A log blocked his path so he leaped. The mud puddle he landed in sent his feet sliding in opposite directions, and he planted face first in the muck. Scrambling on all fours, he finally found purchase, then continued his forward momentum.
Paws hit the wet ground behind him. His imagination had not been playing with his mind after all. A roar shattered through the thundering gales. Claws grazed his back, brushing the leather of his jacket. It spurred extra speed into his legs. The stairs to the Temple entrance were in front of him. He leaped, taking them in great strides.
Set ablaze by Benic’s flight, Sorin’s feral side took control. He wanted to taste vampire flesh, crack his bones between his teeth and suck them clean of marrow. How dare Benic take his mate?
The bloodsucker dodged through the forest toward the Temple, faster than Sorin thought possible. Benic moved between the foliage like a creature of the wild and not of the city.
He had almost missed the vampire as he patrolled around the Temple. The whisper of his sword being drawn, between the peals of thunder, had caught his attention, and stalking him had been easy.
Benic reached the Temple stairs.
Sorin wouldn’t let him hurt his Susan. She had suffered enough.
With a roar, he leaped, tackling Benic. They tumbled in a knot to the forest floor at the base of the stone staircase.
The rain fell in a torrent, beating down on his head and making it difficult to see. A flash of metal had him rolling to the side before Benic could pierce him with the sword.
It was unnatural to fight with tools. Both races were born with natural weapons but the vampires had to corrupt the system by overextending themselves and inventing new ways to kill.
With the momentum of his roll, Sorin rose to his feet and blocked the next downswing using his claws. The shock rang along his nerves and his arm went numb. It dropped to his side. He leaped back to avoid another possible attack but the vampire took the opportunity to climb the stairs and enter the Temple.
Snarling at his stupidity, Sorin gave chase. He never lost prey. He charged through the entrance and found Benic confronting Ahote.
“How did—who have I been fighting?” Benic twisted so his back faced the wall. “Sorin? I should have known you were behind her rescue and not Ahote. You wrecked everything.” He altered the sword’s aim between them.
“Stand down.” Sorin gestured to his fellow shifter. “Benic is mine.” Using all his strength, he ran and hurdled over the bloodsucking warrior. There were only three ways to kill a vampire—decapitation, fire and cutting out their heart. All other wounds healed with time. Sorin swiped his extended claws at the back of Benic’s neck.
Moving with a warrior’s instinct, the vampire ducked.
Sorin growled as he missed his mark. Crouching, he stalked toward his prey; he wouldn’t allow him room to use his weapon. With an up-swing, he knocked Benic’s fighting arm at the elbow, and the force sent the sword flying in an arc. They both watched it land next to the shelter housing Susan.
Benic retreated from him, his eyes wide and hands ready to defend. “You need to listen.”
“No, I think my people have listened too much to your kind.” Sorin paced around him, inhaling the thick, rich scent of fear.
“Susan’s sick. I have medicine—”
Sorin pounced on Benic, pinning him to the stone floor. He savored the sensation of his teeth around the vampire’s throat. This was for more than just stealing his mate. It was empty retribution for oppressing his people.
“Wait!” Benic cried as he struggled under his body. “I—I can save her.”
“We already have medicine on the way.” Ahote crept closer as he spoke. He met Sorin’s gaze, his ears bent forward. “Do it.”
“It won’t work.” The vampire seemed out of breath. “P-please, let me speak.”
Another trick—they always talked themselves out of trouble. Sorin folded his ears even tighter against his head, trying to block his voice. He squeezed his jaw but didn’t break skin.
What if he spoke the truth? The rain was washing away most scents. A lie would be hard to detect.
Tremors ran through his shoulders and jaw as he resisted the urge to chomp. He pressed his hands to Benic’s chest, over his heart, and Sorin extended his claws to pierce. Only then did he relax his bite.
Benic drew a gasping breath.
“Make me believe you.”
“In my bag, there’s a syringe of medicine that will help Susan fight the illness.” He pointed to his shoulder pack.
Sorin cut the strap with a claw and passed the bag to Ahote. “Check it.” The rain eased into a drizzle.
“I came here with the intention of helping her. Not to fight. Look—” He waved his arms around. “No warriors with me.”
“Still not believing you.” He tapped his claw on Benic’s chest. Vampires usually lied yet Sorin couldn’t smell one. The rain must be washing the scent away.
Ahote held a metal cylinder in his hand. “This?”
“Yes, I need to inject Susan with the contents. It will improve her chances. The longer we wait, the less time she has.”
“Sorin, just kill him. Peder’s bringing medicine.”
Conflicted, Sorin’s gaze traveled from the two males. “True.” He leaned his weight onto his claws so he could tear out Benic’s heart.
“Wait.” Benic shoved Sorin’s shoulders. “I don’t know what medicine you have but I doubt it will work.”
“It saved my people and Susan made it—a more reliable source if you ask me.”
“She doesn’t have the same illness. Trust me.”
Sorin barked a surprised laugh. “Trust? Are you insane?”
“Poor choice of words, but doesn’t change what I said. She’s transforming, Sorin. She’s becoming one of us.”
“What?” The question came out as if he’d been kicked in the balls.
“If she survives she won’t be human anymore.” Benic stared at him with intense focus.
Sorin tried to breathe but his lungs forgot how to work. “What will she be?” The vampire tempted him with hope. The bastard.
“I don’t know. That’s the problem, you big oaf. You bit her, and I didn’t know before I infected her with my blood.”
“You did what?” Sorin’s grip on Benic’s chest deepened. Blood seeped around his claws.
Benic grimaced. “I wanted to change her into a vampire.” Pain laced his words.
“You knew she was my mate when you stole her. There’s no excuse.”
“There’s not but if you kill me I won’t tell you how to give her the medicine.” Benic’s voice cracked.
The decision was easy. Retracting his claws, Sorin sat on his haunches. “Pass me his sword, Ahote.” He outstretched his hand without taking his glare off Benic. The hilt slid heavily into his grip.
“You’re making a grave mistake. It wasn’t my intention to kill her. I was trying to save my—”
Sorin plunged the sword into Benic’s stomach. The force of his anger drove the point through stone.
He screamed and the sound fed Sorin’s hatred.
“There. That will keep you from escaping.” It wasn’t a killing blow. Benic would survive. For now. Sorin could always finish the job later. “How do I give it?” He took the syringe from Ahote.
Panting, Benic grasped the sword in feeble hands. “Bastard.”
“I’m becoming fond of ‘dog’.” Sorin twisted the sword a little.
The vampire screeched. “There’s a needle—” He gasped. “In the bag, there’s a needle. Attach it to the—the side—”
Sorin turned the cylinder in his hand as Ahote passed him the needle.
“Oh by all that’s sacred, give it to me so I can attach it right.” Benic held out his hands.
Sorin gave him the contraption and watched him attach the needle. Where would he have to shove that thing? “Will this hurt her?” His stomach went flat. It was one thing to stab a vampire but Susan—well, he cared about her.
“Does it matter?” Benic handed back the syringe. “Expose her thigh and stab the needle into the front of the large muscle then decompress the plunger. The—the thing on the opposite end of the needle.”
Sorin pointed to a rounded knob at the end of the stick protruding from the syringe. “This?”
“Yes—yes.”
He glanced at Ahote. “Watch him.”
Susan’s breathing was labored as he sat next to her. “If she dies, Benic, so do you.” He pulled the cloak from her hip and ran his hand over her thigh. She didn’t even stir. He jabbed the needle into her soft flesh and pushed the plunger as instructed.
She bled a little when he withdrew the needle.
He wiped it with the hem of the cloak. “How long does it take to work?”
“Hours for improvements, but I’ve never given it to her race so I’m taking a guess.” Benic set his head onto the floor and stared at the sky. “There’s a flask of willow bark tea in the bag too, if you didn’t break it in your attack. It will help her fever.”
Ahote reached over to hand Sorin the flask.
He settled Susan against his legs and pulled the cork with his teeth.
She swallowed reflexively as he poured small drips in her mouth.
“Can you remove the sword now? It—it’s quite uncomfortable.”
Sorin chuckled. “No escape for you. Not until she’s better.”