Redemption (The Penton Vampire Legacy) (28 page)

“I’m beginning to think you aren’t worth the trouble, love.” Owen jerked her against himself again. “I first thought I’d keep you for leverage, or for a more leisurely feed, or at least a good lay. But not if I have to enthrall you every five minutes.”

She struggled to get out of his grasp, and got out a scream before he clamped a hand over her mouth again. “But I’m very hungry, and you’re a pain in the arse,” he said. “Your heart is sending all that sweet blood dancing through your veins, and I want it.”

Krys couldn’t gain purchase. He was too strong, one arm around her waist, the other forcing her head to the side and exposing her neck. All those veins and arteries. If he hit her carotid, she’d be dead in two minutes.

As he laid a line of kisses along her jawbone, tears mingled with the mist on her face and she cursed God and wondered why he’d even bothered to put her on this earth. She’d always been fighting to get away from something. From her dad, her hometown, and now from vampires, for pity’s sake. She’d never found a place just to
be
. Maybe that’s all life was, in the end—a struggle to run somewhere better until time ran out. But damn it, she wasn’t ready to stop running.

Owen pulled back and caught her gaze, and she felt that familiar falling motion. “See, I’m being generous, love. I could’ve let you suffer,” he whispered. “This way you’ll enjoy it. Well, most of it.”

He replaced his lips with his tongue, licking a long swath from ear to shoulder, and then he bit.

Krys’s eyes watered at the sharp stab of pain. Then she felt waves of pleasure that caused her knees to buckle.
Oh my God.
She’d never felt anything like this mindless, blinding ecstasy. She didn’t want it to stop. She hoped it never would.

She felt the pull of his mouth at her neck as if from a distance, and time became irrelevant. No past, no future. Only now, and him.

She didn’t know how much time passed before alertness began seeping back in, before the pleasure morphed into pain, gradual at first, and then sharp. She felt her skin tear, felt teeth and tongue and sticky wetness. A rich smell laced with iron...then blackness.

“W
e have thirty scathe members ready to search. You need more, we got more.” Mirren paced the same square of sidewalk back and forth, one big study in walking anger.

“Should be enough,” Aidan said. “Take half of them and comb the woods behind the mill. Make sure everyone’s armed. Kill any of Owen’s people you see. If you find him, bring him to me.” He’d snap Owen’s neck with his bare hands—shooting him would be too kind. Then he’d rip out his black heart, and the Tribunal could screw itself.

He turned to Will as Mirren headed out. “You take the other half and scatter them around town. Same instructions. I’m not worried about you being recognized because you’re going to take out anyone who sees you. I want to talk to Hannah, and then I’m going to search the mill itself. What about our injured?”

“Fifteen humans dead. Only three of the scathe besides you were in the restaurant when it blew,” Will said, wiping grime off his face with his sleeve. “I’ve got them on ice in one of the
subrooms. Couple of days, they’ll be fine. Your girl Krystal took care of the humans. She’s still over—”

He looked down the block to where Clyde’s old pickup was parked, across the street from the restaurant. “She was down there not long ago. Don’t see her now.”

“Shit.” Aidan turned, scanning both sides of the street for any sign of Krys. He’d been frantic when the ceiling collapsed, torn between finding her, getting everybody out, and going after Owen. As soon as he’d seen Will push her out of the building, he’d decided to see how many he could rescue. His soon-to-be-dead brother had escaped.

He flipped open his cell, spoke quietly, closed it again.

“She’s not at the clinic. How long since you saw her?”

“No more than ten minutes,” Will said. “Think she ran?”

Would Krys leave? Hell, probably. Aidan was torn between fear for her and anger. He’d told her how dangerous it was. She’d seen what Owen had done to Mark. And she knew his brother was out there tonight. Even his own scathe members were pissed-off jumpy—they didn’t know her yet and would assume that any unbonded female was Owen’s.

“Get some feet on the streets,” he told Will, checking the ammunition in the Colt that Mark had brought from the house. “I’ll find Krys.”

Damn it, he should have bonded her from the beginning. He’d been so consumed by his own guilt and lust that he had put her in danger.

He strode to Clyde’s truck and stopped to see if he could scent which way she’d gone, but the wet streets and overwhelming odor of charred wood drowned out any clues. Where would she go?

Away from you
. He looked back to where he’d been standing with Will and Mirren, and imagined her watching them,
thinking about running. She’d head in the opposite direction. Toward the mill. Probably straight toward Owen.

He set out walking, but broke into a run as he rounded the corner and raced toward the mill. He thought he scented her once, but lost the trail. A cursory search of the mill’s interior turned up nothing, and he walked out the back door. He stopped when he heard a noise. A scream? The sound had come from the woods, back in the area where Mirren had encountered the buckshot.

Halfway across the parking lot, he began seeing scraps of soggy paper on the ground. A line of them, leading toward the woods.
Good girl
.

He scented the blood, and began to run again. A rage he hadn’t felt in centuries—since Abby—almost blinded him when he saw them. Owen feeding, Krys hanging in his arms like a bundle of rags.

A growl built in Aidan’s throat and Owen raised his head, eyes at half-mast, blood covering his mouth and chin. His voice was raspy with it. “Want to share, Brother? There’s still a bit left.”

Aidan took a step closer, and Owen let Krys go. She crumpled in a heap on the ground, and Owen shoved her out of the way with his boot. “You want to fight over an unbonded human, Áodhán?” He unsheathed a short-handled knife from his belt.

“I don’t have time for your shit.” As much as he’d have liked the satisfaction of hearing Owen’s neck snap, Krys had to come first. Aidan pulled the Colt from its shoulder holster and fired, aiming for Owen’s heart.

“Fu—” Owen reacted quickly, the first bullet plowing into his shoulder as he dived for the ground, the second hitting a tree. He rolled to his feet and blended into the woods.

Aidan kept the gun aimed at the shadows, but the sounds of his brother’s retreating footsteps had already grown faint.

He holstered the gun and knelt next to Krys, gathering her in his arms. When he stood, the sight of her ravaged neck and the scent of blood threw him off balance, and he swayed. He knew what he needed to do. Question was, did he have the strength?

“Owen has two fewer scathe members, thanks to...shite.” Mirren emerged from the direction of the parking lot, a cut on one cheek starting to heal and knuckles that looked as if they’d just beaten the hell out of somebody who probably wasn’t alive to tell about it. “Need help?”

Aidan had to choke out the words, his throat was so tight. “Have to stop the bleeding, but you’ve got to make sure I don’t finish what Owen started.” He had to lick the wound to close it, and do it without feeding. Otherwise she’d bleed out before they could get her to the clinic.

“I’ve got you. Do it.”

He sat cross-legged on the ground, holding Krys in his arms. He tried not to look at her face as he turned her head to expose the neck and tried to find the source of the heaviest bleeding. God, the pig had
chewed
on her.

“Move faster. Here.” Mirren handed him a fistful of balled-up flannel—his shirt.

Aidan nodded, took the soft fabric, and pressed it against Krys’s neck, blotting away the heaviest blood. He could see the wounds better, the original punctures and then the vertical gashes.

He closed his eyes and prayed for strength. He didn’t know if vampires were damned, as the legends claimed, or if they
were just a peculiar abomination of God’s greatest creation.
But if there’s anyone listening, I could use some help here.

He lowered his mouth to the wounds, and began to lap at them lightly with his tongue, hoping his saliva would stanch the bleeding and buy her some time. He shuddered at the sweetness of it, of her, and fought the desire to drink. His head ached with the hunger it awakened.

“Aidan.” Mirren touched his shoulder after a few moments too long. Then he grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head back. “Aidan!”

He closed his eyes and rolled his head to face the night sky. “Take her.”

M
elissa had been pacing the clinic lobby for forty-five minutes, since Aidan’s call. Krys had run. Melissa wasn’t surprised; she’d watched Krys’s face earlier tonight as Aidan fed, and had seen the shock register as the woman acknowledged her own jealousy.

Krys wasn’t running from them, or even from Aidan. She was running from her own feelings. Melissa recognized the symptoms; she’d trotted down that road a few times herself.

Mirren’s big Bronco lurched to a halt outside the front entrance, and Melissa pulled the door open as he barreled through, carrying Krys. Aidan trailed close behind, looking pale and shaky.

“We need blood,” Aidan said as they passed her. “At least a couple of pints, to start. Bring it to the small office.”

Melissa hurried for the blood and IV equipment, and ran into Mark leaving one of the patient rooms. He joined her as they rushed back to the smaller clinic office where Krys had watched Aidan feed a few hours earlier.

By the time they got there, Mirren had laid Krys on the sofa, and both he and Aidan were staring at her, immobile.

“Make yourselves useful,” Melissa snapped. “Mirren, bring me some blankets from the supply room—she’s freezing. Aidan, go down to her suite and bring up dry clothes. Something loose and warm.” She turned to Mark. “Run to the house, heat up some soup or broth, and bring it back. We’ve got to warm her up.”

Melissa readied the IV with the first pint of O negative and inserted the needle into Krys’s vein. The tube from bag to arm streaked from clear to red as the transfusion began. The guys remained planted where they were, watching like oafs. She didn’t think she’d ever seen the vampires look more human.

“Go!” she shouted, and their paralysis finally broke. Aidan headed toward the stairs to the sub-suites, and Mark and Mirren disappeared into the hallway.

Checking on Krys every few seconds, Melissa went into the office bathroom, got the hand towel off the rack, and soaked it with water as hot as the old plumbing could manage. When she went back into the office, Mirren stood next to the sofa with an armload of blankets. If he piled all those on Krys, she’d suffocate.

“Let’s start with a couple of the thermals,” Melissa said, pulling two gold waffle-weaves from the stack. Mirren set the others on the desk as Aidan’s head poked through the hatch and he climbed out with an enormous pile of clothing.

Honestly—men. Especially vampire males. Useless except when it came to political maneuvering and muscle. Well, and sex, or so she’d heard.

“OK, thanks. Now, get out of here,” she said. “Go catch whoever caused this.”

Mirren grunted and went for the door, looking relieved.

Aidan folded his arms and gave her an obstinate glare. His pigheaded Irish farmer stare, as she called it behind his back. He couldn’t be bullied when he got that look on his face, but he could be managed.

“Aidan,” she said calmly, resting the hot towel on Krys’s face and being rewarded with a moan and a stirring of limbs. Krys should be coming around soon, which meant they’d gotten to her in time. “I’m about to take the scissors on that desk and cut off her wet clothes. Do you want me to tell her you refused to leave the room and give her even that much privacy?”

Pigheaded and practical battled on his face for a few moments before practical won—as she had known it would.

He stopped to look down at Krys on his way to the door. She could read his face: anger, sadness, and—to her satisfaction—longing. If she could bring Krys around to admitting her feelings and keep Aidan from drowning in guilt, those two might have a chance. He’d deny it, but she knew that Aidan was lonely and she sensed the same from Krys. Plus, she’d seen them together, and Melissa wasn’t above a little matchmaking.