The Fangs of Bloodhaven (9 page)

Great gashes tore from the boy’s shoulders to his stomach, and one of his legs had been mangled as if chewed on by a huge mouth.

At that moment, the teenager’s eyes opened. His eyes moved from Everett’s teeth to his face.

“Please don’t let me die,” he whispered, his brown eyes filled with pain. “I don’t want to die.” He closed his eyes again and his head lolled back in unconsciousness.

Everett’s heart began to race. He had two choices. He could drink the blood that was dripping from the boy’s wounds and that his body demanded he take, or he could try to save the teenager. No hospital would let a vampire inside, and if he tried, they would no doubt pin the teen’s injuries on him.

Everett gritted his teeth. His jaw ached with the urge to open his mouth and take a drink. He had never taken human blood. He wasn’t about to start. He took a steeling breath and put one foot in front of the other, determined to save the boy’s life no matter the cost.

Chapter Eight

“Let me in!” Everett yelled.

He hadn’t had time to see if Adrielle was in her apartment. By the sound of the teenager’s heart, there wasn’t enough time for even that detour.

“What’s the password?” Xander’s voice rumbled from the other side of the door.

“I don’t know,” Everett replied tightly. “But this boy is going to die if he doesn’t get help, and his death will be on your shoulders if you don’t let me in.”

Silence followed, then the door creaked open. Everett shoved past Xander into the hallway.

“Thanks,” he said, hurrying to the elevator. He pushed the button with his shoulder.

The elevator door closed. The scent of blood was confined, swirling around Everett in a tight whirlwind that beckoned and teased, pleaded and persuaded. He hated what he was more at that moment than ever before, because he wanted, so badly wanted, to bite the teen’s throat and drink the blood that called to him with the force of a thousand sirens. He should never be around humans. He didn’t know how his mother trusted him.

The elevator rose at an excruciatingly slow speed. Each of the boy’s heartbeats pulsed in Everett’s ears. Time was drawing to a close for the chance at fresh human blood, something Everett had never had. He couldn’t pass up the chance. His lips curled back, revealed his pointed canine teeth.

“Annie,” he whispered, using the last of his self-control to shape the word. “Bran.” He pictured his brother in his wheelchair, smiling despite the circumstances life had put him in. He was strong; Everett was sure Bran was far stronger than him. “Celeste.” It was easy to picture her smiling face. Celeste was never angry or frustrated. She would have known what to do about the boy’s blood dripping to the floor. She always knew what to do. Bran wished he was more like her.

“Donavan,” he said a bit more easily. “Finch, Gabe.” They passed the fifth floor. “Hadley, and Izzy.” The thought of the little girl’s frizzy brown hair and huge smile held his heart.

The door dinged and the number for the sixth floor lit up.

“Oh thank goodness,” Everett breathed.

He stumbled out as soon as the doors opened and took a deep breath of the open air away from the confines of the elevator.

Dr. Transton immediately rose from a chair at one of the tables. His eyes narrowed in anger when he recognized Everett. He stalked toward them.

“I told you to leave and never return,” the tall, slender man said in a tone that left Everett no doubt the doctor was about to pull either a gun or stake from his pocket and end his life.

Everett crossed the tiles toward him. The sound of the teenager’s blood hitting the floor echoed in his ears.

“I need you to help him.”

Dr. Transton’s steps slowed and he truly seemed to notice that Everett was carrying someone in his arms.

“Did you bite him?” the doctor demanded, closing the last few steps between them.

“No,” Everett replied tightly. He turned his head away as the wake of Dr. Transton’s movements pushed the scent of blood back against him.

Dr. Transton lifted the boy’s shirt and his eyes widened.

“We’ve got to get him to the tenth floor,” he said, motioning to the elevator.

Everett’s stomach twisted and he shook his head. “I can’t go back in there.”

“We don’t have time to argue,” the doctor replied. He pushed Everett back inside and hit the button for number ten.

Everett breathed through his mouth, but the motion made him feel that much closer to biting the human. He tried to keep his mind occupied.

“What’s on the tenth floor?” he asked, his words thick through his tight throat.

“It’s the medical level,” Dr. Transton answered. He put a hand on the boy’s neck. “His heartbeat is faint.”

“I know,” Everett said.

The doctor gave him a searching look. Everett turned his head away to avoid the doctor’s close scrutiny.

The door opened and Everett practically jumped out. The doctor rushed past him.

“In here,” Dr. Transton called over his shoulder, disappearing into a room on the right. “Harold, Jeraldine, we need your help.”

“Horace saw you on the security cameras and called us up,” a male voice said.

“He told us someone was in trouble,” a scratchy, female one seconded.

Everett stepped into the room. He paused at the sight of a man in scrubs with what looked like a beard of tentacles in one corner. In the other, a nurse with bright red hair and tattoos of wailing faces up her arms and down her legs set instruments on a tray near the sink.

“Everett, you can set him on the table,” Dr. Transton said.

Everett did as he was told. When he pulled his arms out from beneath the human, his legs buckled.

Harold grabbed him, holding him up. “Easy, now.” His voice was muffled by the tentacles.

“What’s going on?” Dr. Transton demanded from the other side of the table.

The doctor’s voice was distant to Everett’s ears. He allowed himself to be led to a chair and sat down with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“I believe your vampire friend channeled what remained of his strength to carry this human here,” Harold said.

At the strange sliding sound, Everett cracked his eyes open just enough to see. He realized Harold wasn’t walking so much as pulling himself forward using tentacles in the place of feet. He closed his eyes and wished his headache would go away. The tentacled man’s guess had been right, even though he hadn’t realized it until Harold said it. His stomach began to cramp. He gritted his teeth and kept quiet about the pain.

“We’re losing him,” Jeraldine told them. Her scratchy voice grated against Everett’s senses.

“Let me wash and staple these gashes. You can sing after that,” Dr. Transton replied.

Everett kept in his seat. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know blood dripped from the table. The sound of each drop was intensified until they felt like gongs ringing in his head. He clenched his hands over the top of his head so tight it felt like his skull would break. The pain in his stomach increased until it was agony to even breathe.

He could hear the chink of metal instruments, the scuff of feet, the slide of tentacles, and the muffled voices, but nothing mattered to him above the sound of blood on tile. Even after it was gone, the ghost of the sound continued to echo in his head.

“Drink.”

The voice sounded close, but Everett didn’t dare look up for fear that the sight of the wounded human would undermine everything he had tried to accomplish. He was a demon, a savage, brutal beast that didn’t deserve to hold a place in society. He was truly a monster.

A hand touched his shoulder. “Everett, drink.”

He realized it was the doctor speaking. Taking a tight, painful breath, Everett lowered his hands and dared to lift his head. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the doctor holding out a bag of blood. ‘Porcine’ was written in bold letters across the container.

“Come on,” Dr. Transton said. “I know you need it. Take it.”

Everett accepted the bag with a shaking hand. He wished he had more control, but just holding the blood chased away all thought. He sunk his fangs through the plastic. With one swallow, blood began to surge through his sharp, hollow teeth. He fought back a moan of relief when the blood flowed through his veins, soothing the pain. Each gulp made him feel stronger and more like himself. The beast-like mentality that urged him to go after the human’s blood faded until he was able to push the demand to the background.

When he finished the blood, he realized the doctor was still standing in front of him, watching with an unreadable expression. Everett ducked his head and wiped a few drops of blood from his chin with the back of his hand. As much as he wanted to lick the blood off, he pushed down the urge and wiped his hand on his pants.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Watch,” the doctor replied.

Caught off-guard, Everett looked up. Dr. Transton’s attention was on the nurse with the red hair. Relief washed over Everett at the sight of the bandages across the teen’s naked torso. All the blood had been cleaned away. Everett’s tense muscles begin to relax.

Jeraldine, tattooed nurse, started to sing.

“She’s a banshee,” Dr. Transton whispered.

Everett stared at him. “Don’t banshees sing if someone is about to die?” He rose from the chair, intent on stopping her.

“Not Jeraldine,” Dr. Transton replied, grabbing his arm.

The man was either surprisingly strong, or Everett hadn’t gotten back his strength because he couldn’t break free.

“I didn’t carry him all the way here for her to kill him,” Everett protested.

Dr. Transton actually cracked a smile. “Have a little patience, Everett, and a little trust.”

“Ironic that you’re the one saying that,” Everett muttered, falling back into his seat more out of necessity than want. He squeezed the empty bag of blood and watched helplessly as the banshee’s song lifted.

It swirled through the air around them in waves that were actually visible. Everett stared at the shimmering whirls of sound that flowed from Jeraldine and wound around the boy on the table. As Everett watched, the boy’s muscles relaxed, his shallow breaths began to deepen, and the beat of his faint pulse that caught Everett’s ears strengthened. It felt as if he was watching the healing process actually take place.

A few tendrils of the song broke free and drifted to Everett. He ducked, but they wouldn’t be avoided. The waves slipped around his neck and down his back, causing chills to run along his skin. The chills weren’t from cold, but from the warmth that spread through his limbs. Every place the waves touched eased, muscles relaxed, and even the lingering shards of pain in his stomach vanished. He was left sitting in the chair as though he was made of putty. He could no longer remember what he had been tense about and he didn’t care.

A small chuckle sounded from Dr. Transton. “Not bad, right?”

Everett leaned his head against the back of the chair and looked up at the man. “Getting him here almost killed me.”

He didn’t know why he admitted it. It wasn’t like him to tell a stranger such a personal thing. The banshee’s song must have eased his inhibitions as much as his pain.

Dr. Transton nodded. “I noticed.” He hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. “Come with me.”

Everett wasn’t sure he would be able to rise out of the chair, but the moment he put his mind to it, he was up and walking at the doctor’s side without another thought. It felt as if every pain from the lack of blood had vanished completely and his strength was back to one hundred percent. If he needed to channel his strength to tear open the door, he could have.

It wasn’t required. Dr. Transton pushed the button on the elevator and it carried them down to the tiled floor without incident. Everett felt his walls return the further they got from the banshee. Their footsteps echoed in the silence of the doctor’s floor.

“Jeraldine has a strange gift,” he said quietly.

“And a powerful one,” Dr. Transton noted without looking at him. “You were right when you said banshees usually sing to herald someone’s death. Their gift, as you put it, is to ease someone into accepting the inevitable, to help them welcome their passing.”

He sat down at a desk and motioned for Everett to take the seat on the other side. “Jeraldine, however, found out at a young age that those she sang to didn’t die, they became stronger. She tried to teach her gift to the other banshees, but they were afraid of her differences and they cast her out.”

“Is that why she’s here?” Everett asked. A thought occurred to him. “Is that why all of them are here? Chirit and Kai, Sonia and Xander, are they outcasts?”

Dr. Transton linked his fingers together on top of the smooth burgundy desk. “It’s a good hypothesis considering what you’ve learned here, but not entirely correct. While some of our inhabitants are, indeed, outcasts from their species for some reason or other, most are here because of deeper circumstances known only to themselves and to me. It’s up to each individual whether or not they tell you their story.”

“Whether or not they tell me their story,” Everett repeated, his tone guarded. “So you’re not kicking me out again?”

“That’s left to be seen,” the doctor replied, watching him closely.

Everett’s voice was quiet when he asked, “Why trust me now?”

Dr. Transton sat back in his chair. He looked past Everett at something beyond his shoulder, but his gaze was unfocused as though he saw memories instead. “Life isn’t always fair, Everett,” he replied, his words soft.

“Tell me about it,” Everett replied dryly.

Dr. Transton’s gaze focused back on him, and the corner of his mouth lifted in what could have been a smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared. “You surprised me today. That doesn’t happen often. Usually I’m a good judge of character, but in regards to your species, my judgment is a bit, shall we say, clouded.”

“When Adrielle said you would run me through with a stake, I thought she was kidding,” Everett told him. “Then you realized what I was and I think it almost happened.”