All That Bleeds (36 page)

Grant knows. He knows who took me…

Why wouldn’t he tell me?

She hurried toward the door that led outside, her mind reeling back through her relationship with Grant. He’d never acted angry or suspicious, but he had become distant.
When was that?

If he’d found out about her letters to Merrick, wouldn’t he have confronted her?

The power of the Wreath buzzed through her, and her thoughts raced along as she started to run. No, Grant wouldn’t have exposed her. He would have wanted to save face—his face. He wouldn’t have wanted it widely known that a muse
had chosen a ventala over him. He also wouldn’t have wanted a woman he considered tainted to be crowned Wreath Muse.

Her whole body throbbed, and she knew Grant was the one, felt it to the marrow of her bones. She pictured Grant leaving her with the Jacobis. She saw her own unconscious body lying on the ground as he drove away, secure in the fact that he could alter the logs and that he had ES officers loyal enough to cover for him if he confided in them and perhaps showed them proof of her betrayal.

He’d left her for dead in the Varden, in the hands of his enemies. That was how much he hated her for even writing to Merrick.

Outside, she ran along the path. If Tobin had found out about Grant’s involvement with the Jacobis, Tobin would have flaunted that knowledge. Secrets were only fun for Tobin if he could taunt someone with them. Grant wouldn’t have tolerated that.

She ran up the stairs of the path, breathless when she reached the spot where they’d found Tobin’s body. She looked around wildly. There was no sign of Grant or her father. She heard voices and lost her footing as she was pulled down into the bushes.

“Quiet,” Merrick whispered.

She saw bobbing beams of light as security officers rushed out of the glass house toward the Wreath building. When they were gone, she whispered, “I think Grant Easton is afraid my dad witnessed him killing Tobin. We have to find them!”

Merrick was silent for a moment, his gaze flicking to the Wreath. “You think he’s the one who betrayed you?”

She nodded. “He crosses into the Sliver and the Varden a lot. He’d have more access, know his way around.”

“If Easton wants to get rid of Richard, he’ll try to make it look like an accident. He won’t want to be seen by the other ES officers who are crawling over the center’s campus. You know the site better than I do, Alissa. Where would he take him? Someplace secluded, but not so far away that Easton would be gone too long for it to escape notice.”

Alissa closed her eyes and let Merrick’s words wash over her. The Wreath tingled against her skin, its inspiration
soaking into her mind. She imagined Grant and her father tramping through the snow toward the ridge. One small push is all it would take.

“Northeast. Half a mile from the edge of the retreat, there’s a cliff.”

Merrick grabbed her hand and pulled her up. He led them over the rough sloping landscape. Once they reached the edge of the property, they ran through the snow with only moonlight to guide them. The ground was uneven under her feet, but the Wreath’s magic coursed through her body, and her legs moved as sure as an animal’s, as sure as Merrick’s.

She slammed to a stop against him when they reached a downslope just before the drop-off. At first, she heard nothing except her pulse pounding in her ears and Merrick’s harsh breathing. Then she heard her father’s voice. Her head whipped to the side, and she saw a dot of light.

“This is good. Right here is good!” her dad said, his body lost among a thick group of evergreens.

“This isn’t the spot. You need to see this view, Richard,” Grant said. “Come this way.”

Merrick let go of Alissa’s hand and bolted toward the trees. She couldn’t keep pace with him, but followed at a sprint, running toward the light.

When she was among the trees, she saw her dad and Grant, first spotting her father’s red scarf through the snow-dusted green fringe. Grant didn’t have a weapon in his hand, but they were very near the edge. Her heart pounded and her stomach churned. Grant could push him at any second.

“Richard North,” she called, infusing her voice with power. “Break away from Grant and come to me.”

Her father shoved Grant aside and started toward her, but Grant whipped out a gun and grabbed her dad from behind, one arm across her father’s throat, the other pressing the gun to his temple.

“Stop!” she cried, and her father stopped trying to hit Grant with his flashlight. She strode toward them. “Grant, you don’t want to do this.”

“Take that Wreath off!” Grant shouted. “What did you do? Break in to the case?”

“Yes,” she said. “I did.”

Grant dragged her dad farther away, inching toward the ledge.

“Grant—”

“Take off the Wreath right now, or I will shoot him in the head.”

She removed the Wreath and set it in the snow next to her. She couldn’t see Grant’s face. His head and body were completely blocked by her father’s. She knew Merrick must be nearby, but he wouldn’t be able to approach them without Grant seeing him.

“What’s this about?” her father asked.

“It’s about your daughter fucking a monster. Flirting and lying with a filthy criminal.”

She winced, but found that the words didn’t really hurt the way he’d intended. The only thing she felt was fear and dread that her dad would be shot or shoved off the cliff.

“What criminal?” her dad asked.

“He means Perseus,” she said.

“Perseus is a hero,” Richard said, dismissing the accusation. Her dad dug in his heels so that Grant had to drag him. “And he’s quite a handyman, which is surprising. You can’t win, Easton, by going to war with him. I’ve seen the sword he wields. Love is never conquered by insults…or gunpowder. Love is immortal.”

Her dad surged forward, making them lurch. Grant’s gun hand swung out and then back against her dad’s body. The gun’s report shattered the night.

Alissa’s breath caught, her body frozen.

No!

Her dad fell forward with a cry, the flashlight dropping to their feet, but Grant yanked him back by the throat, replacing the gun’s muzzle against his temple. Her dad wobbled but held his ground.

“I don’t care if Merrick’s in love. He’ll die screaming, and so will she. Maybe I’ll take him her head before I kill him.” Grant moved his face out from behind her dad’s to look Alissa in the eye.

The crack of another gunshot pierced the quiet. Grant’s
head jerked back as the bullet entered his skull. He crumpled into the snow, her dad falling on top of him. Then their bodies began to slide toward the abyss.

She screamed and ran toward them, but Merrick flew past her from the left. His body sailed through the air, grabbing her father’s coat. All three men disappeared over the slope.

She gasped, racing to the edge. She nearly lost her footing and had to drop and scramble for purchase. Digging her feet into the incline, she waited until her body was perfectly still to look over her shoulder. She squinted and spotted her father’s ankle. She reached for it, inching down until she could grip it. She turned her shoulders slowly, getting her other hand around his calf, anchoring him. She couldn’t see Merrick, and the stabbing fear that he’d fallen almost left her speechless.

“James?” She waited, holding her breath.

“Yeah,” he said with strain in his voice.

“I have my dad’s leg.”

“Hold on to him,” he said.

Suddenly her dad became much heavier. She tightened her muscles and held on, pressing her body hard against the incline. She slid a couple of inches down the slope and fought gravity, digging her toes into the frozen mountain as best she could.

It felt like hours before she saw Merrick’s scuffed hands claw the ridge of rock and snow. As he pressed himself up like a swimmer coming out of a pool, she saw his torn shirt and the gash on the left side of his chest. He steadied himself, crouching down at the edge and grabbing her dad’s leg.

“I’ve got him.”

Her half-frozen fingers didn’t move.

“It’s okay, baby. Let go.”

She bit her lip and nodded, uncurling her fingers slowly. She turned back toward the mountain and crawled slowly up the incline. When she was on level ground, she turned to find Merrick hauling her dad over the ridge. He bent and positioned her dad over his shoulder, then turned.

Merrick licked his pale lips, his breathing labored. She stretched out a hand to him, and he took it with one that shook.

He’s weak!

She held his hand with both of hers and leaned her entire weight backward, using her body as a lever. Merrick got onto the flat ground and dropped to his knees, letting her dad slide from his shoulder.

“He’s bleeding,” Merrick said, his voice weary.

“You’re not well either,” she said, bending over her dad. His down coat was heavy and soaked on one side. “Oh,” she murmured, wincing.

Merrick staggered away from them, dropping to hands and knees and inhaling deeply.

Alissa yanked her dad’s shirt up and found a bullet wound in his side where blood flowed out in a steady stream. She pressed down hard to stanch it. Her dad groaned, and his lids fluttered open.

“Hey,” she said.

He tried to push her hand from his wound, but she pressed down harder.

“Be still. I need to hold pressure.”

“They’re coming for you,” he mumbled. “Go now, Moonbeam.”

Her instincts flared, echoing her dad’s warning. She wasn’t safe.

“We’re all leaving here as soon as we’ve had a minute to catch our breath.” She glanced over at Merrick. His sweat-dampened hair curled at his collar. He dragged the Ovid Medallion over his head with a shaky hand and smashed it with his fist. Light shimmered, and he returned to himself. He tossed the fragments over the cliff.

As he drew in a breath, his fangs glinted in the moonlight.

“What’s wrong, Merrick? Do you need blood?”

He didn’t answer, but he panted like he’d just run a marathon.

“James,” she said sharply. “Answer me. Do you need blood?”

His head, hanging a few inches from the snow, nodded.

She held out her arm toward him. “Then take some.”

“You’ve been bled almost dry once this week. A second deep bite this soon could kill you.”

“You won’t drink enough to hurt me.”

He made no move toward her.

“My dad is too weak to stand. I can’t carry him to the car. Think, James. If one of us has to be weak and dizzy, it has to be me, not you.”

“I might not stop in time.” He sucked in air, swaying. “The hunger is bad. I’d be too rough.”

She put her dad’s hand over the wound and pressed down. “You hold that, Dad.”

“Yesterday…all my troubles seemed so far away,” her dad sang softly.

Alissa walked to Merrick and crouched next to him. She put her wrist near his mouth. “Don’t make me slit my wrist open with your knife.”

“Alissa, don’t.”

Alissa grabbed the back of Merrick’s hair and pulled his head up with her right hand, dragging her left wrist across his fangs. Before she even felt the sting, his mouth clamped down, his fangs sinking into her flesh. She gasped at the sharp pain. His body lurched forward, knocking her back into the snow and trapping her beneath him.

Her heart banged in her chest, panic threatening to take hold. The merciless suction of his mouth drained away her adrenaline-spiked blood, making her heart race faster. Her wrist burned, the flesh bruising under the crushing force of his mouth.

She groaned and closed her eyes, thinking frantically,
You have to help him control this!

“Easy,” she said, her voice breathy. “Slow down.” She tightened her fingers in his hair and tried to tug his head back, but it didn’t give. She felt the corded muscles of his neck against her arm, solid and strong. She pushed power into her voice. “James…stop.”

He groaned, grinding his body into hers. Attraction tightened her insides. Even dying, a woman could be smothered in lust under a feeding ventala.

“Merrick, stop!” she snapped.

Merrick’s hand clamped on her left forearm and dragged it away from his mouth. He jerked his head to the side,
breathing hard. The world swirled like she was on a carnival ride, moments melting away. She fought the urge to faint, digging her fingernails into her palms, focusing on her aching wrist. Focusing on the pain. On anything real.

“I know I hurt you,” he whispered.

Her hammering heart finally slowed, the dizzying spin over. He licked his lips and eased his body off hers, finally looking down at her.

“I was too hungry to even try to roll your mind into wanting the bite. A muse’s mind is unlikely to fall. I never wanted you to feel that pain,” he rasped, examining her wrist. It hurt for him to handle it, but she didn’t allow herself to wince. Her arm rested in his hands. “I tore the skin. It’ll scar,” he said and clenched his jaws. “I’m sorry.”

She raised her other hand, laying her palm against his neck. “We’re both all right. That’s what matters.”

He ripped a strip of fabric from his shirt and wrapped her wrist, cinching it tight enough to stop the blood from oozing. His gaze slid to her face again. “I love you.”

She smiled, resting her palm against his cheek. “I know. I love you, too.”

Her father’s Beatles rendition stopped, and he said, “They were coming. Now, they’re here.”

Alissa heard the sound of helicopter blades chopping the air.

Cerise straightened her tank top and untwisted herself from the sheets. Ileana sat up as Cerise climbed off the couch.

“Why the hell are all the lights on?” Cerise mumbled.

“And where is everyone?” Ileana asked.

Cerise strode into the hallway. A thumping sound drew her to an interrogation-room door. Had someone left Richard North alone in the room? She tried to yank the door open, but it didn’t budge. The light on the security pad blazed red.

“Hello,” a man said.

Cerise jumped, scowling. “Damn, you scared—” As she turned her head toward him, the words died on her tongue. She had to look up to see his face, which almost never happened. Dark blond hair spilled over broad shoulders. His bare chest was scarred but wicked beautiful. Incredibly, inexplicably, the light seemed to fracture around him, as though he were made of crystal instead of flesh.