series of switchbacks, until it hit a dead end.
Lucien put his hands against the rock wall and closed his eyes.
“This is it.”
“Then let’s get it over with and get the hell out of here.” Jarod felt
cold but not on his skin. He was used to the presence and smell of
vampires, but this was different. The age of the place seemed to press
down on him, and he suddenly wondered how long people had been
using these caves. Since well before Lucien’s birth, he imagined, and
that had been twelve thousand years ago. It wasn’t the millennia of
occupation he was feeling, though. Blackness lurked around the edges
of the place, like shadows left by evil.
“Are you ready?” Lucien said.
“I guess.”
“Then let’s go.”
He felt Lucien’s hand on his elbow again, and in the next instant,
they’d blinked to the other side of the wall. He had less than a second
to register details hit by the beam of his flashlight—a small cave, bright
paintings on the walls, a stone table lurking altar-like in the middle of
the room . . . a pile of bones lying on it.
And that was as far as he got before he went to his knees, gasping
with the realization that there was no air whatsoever in the room.
He groped toward Lucien, managing to grab his sleeve as he went
down.
“Shit,” said Lucien, somehow, and they blipped out.
Back in the corridor, Jarod put his face in his hands and breathed.
“What the hell—”
“That was Aanu.” Lucien’s voice was thin.
Jarod sat up, his breathing still labored. “The bones? Then we’re
too late.”
“No. We have to get him out.”
“Lucien, he’s a pile of bones.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Apparently the lack of air had gone to Lucien’s head. Jarod fought
for patience. “He’s dead, Lucien. We’re too late.” He pushed himself
to his feet. “We should go before we get caught.”
Lucien was looking at the wall. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Lucien, no—”
The Demon cut him off with a glare from cool, ancient blue eyes.
His patience rapidly evaporating, Jarod repeated firmly, “He’s
dead.”
“Remind me to tell you sometime about the Great Flood. Or the
volcano,” Lucien said. “I’ve been dead, too. Couple of times.” He
touched the wall and disappeared.
Jarod sagged against the wall and rubbed his forehead. The few
seconds of oxygen deprivation had given him a headache. Or maybe
listening to Lucien had done it. Whatever the case, he’d reached his
limit. He needed a break.
Lucien reappeared, carrying the blankets, folded and bunched into
a makeshift bag. Judging by the bulges, Jarod assumed the bones were
inside.
“Let’s go,” Lucien said.
Outside the cave, Sasha had trussed up the guard with ropes from
her backpack and was kneeling next to him, her fingers on his forehead.
“We’re going,” Lucien told her.
“We’re bringing him,” Sasha said.
“Don’t give me any shit, girl. I said we’re going.”
Jarod had never seen Lucien so agitated.
Sasha just glared back at him. “They’ll kill him if we leave him
here.”
“Why should I care about that? He’s one of them.”
“So was Lilith,” Jarod put in gently. “I know it’s bad timing, but if
there’s a chance to save any of them ”
Lucien rolled his eyes. “Pansy-assed idiots, both of you.” He waved
them toward him.
Sasha pulled the guard half into her lap, then reached to take the
hand Jarod offered her. He felt Lucien’s hand on his shoulder, and they
blinked up the mountain, back to the helicopter.
Lilith, like William, lacked the ability to teleport, but they still made
good time. Even so, she had barely crawled back into the helicopter,
her head pounding so badly she could hardly see, when Lucien and the
others appeared only yards away. They half-ran to the helicopter and
Lilith was pretty sure she recognized.
“Oh, joy,” William muttered. “They brought company.”
“Rafael,” Lilith said.
Lucien looked at her. “You know him?”
“He’s Brigitte’s. I’d forgotten she likes to keep him here, out of
trouble.”
“Do we take him?”
Sasha started to protest, but Lucien silenced her with a gesture.
Lilith considered, studying Rafael’s quiet face. “Yes. He was Brigitte’s—
he’ll know things.”
Lucien nodded decisively. “Then let’s go.” He tapped the pilot on
the shoulder, and they rose into the air, heading toward Bucharest.
They had just touched down when a spear of pain stabbed through
Lilith’s head. “He’s here,” she managed, as flashes of red and black
filled her vision. “He’s waiting for us.”
Lucien stiffened, his head lifting, hands clenching on the bag of
Aanu’s bones. She was almost certain he sniffed the air and crinkled
his nose at whatever he smelled.
“Shit,” said William.
Lilith glanced at the accountant and saw raw fear in his eyes.
“All of you, stay in the chopper,” said Lucien, shoving the bag
toward Jarod. “Be ready to run for the plane.” He turned to the pilot.
“Can you fly that plane?”
The pilot nodded. “Sure.”
“Then you be ready, too.” He climbed out of the helicopter, leaving
the rest of them to plaster themselves against the windows.
Lilith tried to, but her legs faltered under her. Jarod caught her
before she hit the floor and helped her to the window. She looked out
and trembled as he held her. “My God, no,” she whispered. “Don’t do
it, Lucien.”
Jarod heard Lilith’s warning, but he doubted anyone else had. In
any case, Lucien seemed to have made up his mind already. He was
striding purposefully across the field toward the plane, which stood
only a handful of yards away. Between him and the plane stood a lone
figure. A man.
Not a man, Jarod realized. Not a vampire, either. One of Lucien’s
kind. A First Demon.
“Ialdaboth?” he asked, and Lilith nodded.
Jarod had heard, second- and third-hand, about the confrontation
between Lucien and Ialdaboth that had led to Lilith’s arrival in the New
York Underground. It had sounded decidedly unpleasant. Lucien had
emerged victorious, but barely. If Lucien couldn’t pull it off again, they
were all dead.
Ialdaboth straightened, squaring his shoulders, as Lucien approached.
He seemed ready to talk, perhaps to launch into some preliminary
ritual, but Lucien gave him no chance. He lifted his hands and
Ialdaboth flew backwards, nearly slamming into the plane.
“What was that?” Jarod said. He’d seen nothing pass between
the two men, and they certainly hadn’t made physical contact. But
Lilith, still shaking in his arms, didn’t answer.
He looked at her. She was staring out the window,
pupils dilated,
her breathing fast and ragged. Outside, Lucien advanced on Ialdaboth,
fists raised in front of him. Jarod knew he could do nothing to help
Lucien, so he focused instead on Lilith.
Carefully, he shook her, but she continued to stare out the window
as if ensorcelled. “Lilith?” No response. He pushed at her shoulders,
trying to turn her away from the window.
“He’s got her,” William said. “There’s no way she’ll ever be able
to break free. You should let her go. Or better yet, kill her. She’s too
much of a danger.”
“Shut up, William,” Jarod snapped. “Why the hell are you here,
anyway?”
The accountant shrugged. “I really have no idea.” He returned
his attention to the preternatural wrestling match on the landing field.
Gently, Jarod ran his hand over Lilith’s hair. “Lilith.” Nothing. He
pressed his lips against her throat. “Lilith.”
Her lips strained for words, finally produced a raspy sound. He
lowered his ear to her mouth.
“William’s right,” she breathed. “Kill me. He’ll have you all, through
me.”
“No. This connection you have could be important. We just have
to figure out how to use it to our advantage.” His reassurance was
more than unbridled optimism, more than whispered hope born of his
affection for her. It was, he was almost completely certain, based on
scientific fact.
At least he hoped it was.
“There’s a way to save you,” he said, “and we both know what
that is.”
“If I take you now, I’ll kill you.”
“No, you won’t.”
Her eyes had widened, desperate and wild, like a trapped animal.
“I will. I need it so much ”
“Then take it.”
Vaguely, he realized both Sasha and William were looking at him
now, instead of out the window at Lucien. The pilot, too, had taken an
inordinate interest in what should have been a private conversation.
There was no help for it. Voyeuristic onlookers or not, he wasn’t
going to let Lilith fall to her fate. Clenching his teeth, he broke the
scabs on his wrist and held the wound to her lips. The blood reddened
her mouth and her pupils contracted, just a little
She turned away from the window, grabbed him, and sank her
teeth into his throat.
Her fangs stung sinking in, tiny scalpels puncturing skin and vein.
His hands went up involuntarily, but when he grasped her arms, he
could neither push her away nor pull her closer. She was immovable.
He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.
Vaguely, he heard Sasha say, “What should we do?”
William answered, “Nothing, yet. He’s the doctor—I assume he
knows what he’s doing.”
Well, partially right. He thought he knew what he was doing,
but with vampires you could never be a hundred percent sure.
Then William said, “Holy shit, Lucien’s knocking the living hell out
of this guy,” and Jarod felt all eyes turn back toward the landing field.
Lilith’s mouth pulled at his throat, drawing mouthful after mouthful
of blood. The pain, though, had stopped, leaving behind only the
rhythm. It matched his heartbeat. She shifted, and he felt her body
against his, her breasts pressing softly against his chest, her hands
spread on his back.
Let go, he thought. That’s enough. I can’t take anymore.
I can’t, her answer came. I can’t stop.
He would have called for help if he could, but his voice stopped in
his throat behind her penetrating teeth. His heartbeat filled his head,
pounding, pounding . . . how long until it stopped?
Then, abruptly, Lucien’s voice broke through his trance. “Grab
the bones, Doc . . . shit . . . Lilith, let him go!”
She responded not at all. Jarod pushed weakly with his hands on
her arms, but to no effect.
Then, suddenly, she was off him, sprawling on the floor of the
helicopter, blood dripping from her mouth. Jarod went to his knees,
gasping, pressing his hand against the wound at his throat. Blood seeped
between his fingers. Lucien’s hand tore his away, then pressed against
the wound. Heat filled Jarod’s veins, and the pain faded.
He looked up at Lucien and flinched. One side of the proto-
vampire’s face was sheeted in blood. White bone showed through a
wide gash across his forehead. His clothing was ripped and blood-
drenched.
“You’ll be okay,” said Lucien. “I hope.”
And you? Jarod thought. Though Lucien was on his feet, he looked
as if he’d been thrashed within an inch of his life.
In clipped, economical tones, he said, “William, grab the bones.
I’ll take Lilith.”
Only then did Jarod realize that Lilith still lay motionless on the
floor, her eyes closed. “Is she all right?”
“You’re the doctor,” said Lucien, pushing him toward the door.
“How the hell should I know?”
Jarod could smell his blood now, an odd, earthy reek unlike human
blood. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, hesitant.
Lucien bent to lift Lilith’s limp body into his arms. “Just get the
hell out of my way.”
William grabbed the bag of bones, and Jarod was left with no
choice but to trail after the rest as they ran for the plane. He pressed a
hand against his neck. The blood there felt thick and sticky, and he
could tell the wound had partially closed.
Ialdaboth’s body lay crumpled not far from the plane, blood all
over his face and shirt. Without thinking, Jarod reacted, stopping to
check the Demon’s pulse. He found none under the thick mess of
blood.
“He’s dead,” said Lucien, “at least for the moment. We need to
get the hell out of here.”
Jarod, reminding himself that his Hippocratic oath had no provisions
for creatures who could be dead one minute and alive the next,
climbed into the plane in time to see Lucien stagger down the aisle, set
Lilith gently in a seat, then collapse.
Jarod rushed to his side. “Lucien!” He couldn’t see the other
man’s face very well through its coating of blood, but Lucien’s eyes
were open.
“Give me . . . a minute,” he managed.
Jarod automatically felt for a pulse; it was there, but faint. Unfortunately,
he wasn’t sure how strong it was under normal circumstances.
“Are you all right?” he ventured.
“Better than the other guy,” Lucien grunted. He straightened a
little in the seat. “Lucky Ialdaboth depleted himself kidnapping Lorelei
and trespassing in the Underground, or I’d have gotten my ass kicked.”
He touched the side of his face and looked at the blood that came back
on his fingers. “I mean, worse than this. He’ll be down for the count. I
just need a nap. For about a year and a half.” He pushed to his feet and
walked unsteadily to his seat.
Wishing he could do more for him, Jarod turned his attention to
Lilith. She half-lay, still limp and unconscious, in the seat where Lucien
had left her. He could
do nothing for her, either. So he sat down, across
the aisle from Lilith, and felt helpless. His wrists and throat ached.
To think, the fate of the world rested on this bedraggled lot. This
could not possibly be a good thing.
Jarod managed to stay awake for the flight from Bucharest to
Paris, but the minute he took a seat on the still-waiting SST, he fell
headlong into sleep. He did have time to wonder how Lilith was, but
the thought lasted only a moment.
At first, his sleep was deep, dark, and bottomless. Then dreams
rose out of it.
He was with Lilith, holding her close, her heart and his beating in
synchrony, the sound like a separate entity between them. He bent his
head to kiss her gently, but the kiss became passionate almost immediately.
She clutched at him, her mouth frantic on his.
You have to save me. The words rose from the place where her
breasts pressed against his chest, from the rhythm of their joined heartbeats.
Save me from him.
I will.
She pulled back and looked at him, eyes drenched with despair.
You can’t. You don’t know what I am.
Then she opened her mouth and blackness poured out of it, a
thick, ugly river of terror and filth. She was choking on it, dying, but she
couldn’t stop the flow—
Jarod jerked awake to see Lucien standing over him.
“I was just about to wake you up,” Lucien said.
He was still carrying the bag of bones. He’d cleaned himself up,
washed off the blood, but the gashes were still there, wide parallel lines
like claw marks across his right cheek, as well as the deep forehead
wound. His hands were shaking. Jarod wondered if stitches would do
the Demon any good.
“How’s Lilith?” he asked.
Lucien shook his head. “Hard to tell right now. You’ll have to
check her when we get back. How are you?”
“Still breathing. You?”
Lucien snorted. “I’ll live. That’s a given. Come on—let’s go.”
Jarod followed Lucien out of the plane. It came as a shock to see
that it was full morning. The others were nowhere to be seen.
“Where—” Jarod started, and Lucien pointed. Three large wooden
crates were being rolled out of the plane’s baggage compartment and
loaded into a waiting truck by three men wearing airport security uniforms.