The flames were spreading; he did not like their closeness to what he cherished. But sweet Simone’s shoulders drew back, herchin lifting proudly, so he trailed in his leman’s wake, keeping a wary eye upon the spreading fire. Tiny snippets of memory gnawed at him, were ruthlessly shelved. This was no time to brood upon the past.
Fire could not harm him, but a tender fledgling? She had suffered enough.
When she dropped, he twitched as if to catch her again. But it was a controlled movement, exquisitely graceful even as the betraying hitch near the end spoke of pain. Every instinct but one shouted to simply drag her away, no matter any struggle; the single still, small voice which had led him through the madness, the fractures, through centuries of insanity to finally find the greatest gift of all existence made a different demand.
That voice was hers alone. It spoke again, this time outside his head. “You could have just let me walk away,” she said, softly.
The wreckage here was comparatively small, though no less deadly to a fragile mortal frame. A broken form lay speared and crumpled, wheezing as it stared at her. Two additional corpses twisted among sprays of shattered glass and polished steel, smooth surfaces reflecting flickering flameglow and weak fluorescents.
Jonathan peered closer, to discern what held his leman’s interest so. Steel bars and crumpled metal had gouged unmercifully at a mortal male with goggle-eyes and a thin, cruel mouth. He had been flung, with some force, into a collection of thin spears and strange sharp instruments. The scent of cold mortal blood from storage was very strong as well, painted in great splashes near a twisted, fallen pole.
Had they thought to feed her? Jonathan’s lip lifted at the thought. That washisduty, as well as his pleasure and prerogative.
“You bitch,” the male mortal wheezed. The voice was familiar from the hotel ballroom as well, though this broken whisperbore little relation to the arrogant, glad-handing tone of before. “You weren’t… weren’t supposed to…”
“What are you going to do?” A note of genuine interest to her hoarse, supremely soft purr. A thrill slipped through Jonathan, crown to soles; he could, he discovered, listen to her speak so for hours, months, mortal years. “Fire me?”
“Please.” The mortal’s lungs were either punctured or filling with fluid; he gave another gurgling wheeze. “You… don’t understand… I’m supposed to live… forever.”
“You really do remind me of him,” she murmured, almost too quietly to be heard even with sanguinant acuity. Yet the tension in her was not soft at all. Her strained, strenuous control finally cracked with a thin sound, as a crystal wineglass trod under a careless heel, and she struck.
Like an uncoiling viper, like a stooping hawk. The movement was breathtaking, and she buried her fangs in the mortal’s throat so deep it would have been an incapacitating blow even without his various other injuries. Swift and sure she drank, her slim back rippling with each pull, and though Jonathan was glad to finally see her feeding naturally, he disliked the thought of her mouth upon another’s skin.
Yes, he disliked itintensely. The roar of possessive rage rose within his ribs, was denied for the moment.
Even this, he would gift unto her.
The mortal’s heart stuttered, laboring under a triple burden of shock, pressure loss, and a soup of chemical substances wholly unlike that sweet Simone had been subjected to. Perhaps this fellow was some manner of drug addict? Jonathan was about to utter a warning when his leman retreated, springing up and away from her prey almost as if startled, scrubbing at her mouth with the back of her hand, blundering into him and freezing.
Not nearly enough feeding to repair the damage. Still, the air had warmed alarmingly inside this confined space. “Shh,” he soothed. “All’s well, darlin’. Done?”
She shook her head, a nervous toss, as a thoroughbred scenting fire. The rawness down her left arm was far less glistening now. He longed to know what had happened—if she would speak of it, if she needed or wanted to—but there was one small matter remaining.
“Are y’ done?” he persisted. “Tell me, an’…”Speak as she likes, fool.He sought the proper cadence, the accent she found pleasing. “Then we shall leave.”
A tiny nod, her hair brushing the front of his torn, spattered shirt. “I… didn’t kill him.” As if expecting her sanguinant to argue.
“No,” Jonathan agreed.But your fangs were in another, and that I will not abide. “You did not. Stay still. Understand? Stand, right here.”
Another small dip of her chin. “Everything’s burning.” Had she just noticed?
“One moment.” His claws were already out. Crack of bone, tearing of gristle, no spray of blood—for she had, after all, drunk deep—he reduced the prey she had touched to anonymous pieces.
As any sanguinant lucky enough to have a leman would.
Through the twisting passageways and strange, stutter-lit rooms he shepherded his reeling, exhausted fledgling, pausing only to gather her into his arms when she stumbled for the second time. The madness retreated swiftly, fractures healing with every deep spice-laden breath, though her glorious scent was now alsofreighted with smoke. His senses sharpened afresh with each moment, her sweet lithe softness held close as he chose the swiftest path to the parking level.
No few of the vehicles were missing, gaps in their serried ranks. She stirred as he slowed to contemplate the remainder, and shook her head.
“They’ll have trackers,” she whispered. Pale save for two hectic spots high on her cheeks, heavy-lidded, she trembled now with fatigue and quite possibly shock. Careful care, a place of rest, feeding to repletion—those were her requirements now. “Transponders, probably. Not a good idea.”
“Ah, you are a wonderful teacher,” he murmured in reply, and arrowed for the hidden entrance.
A cold, clear burst of freshness swallowed them both. He plunged down the slope he had traced her upward so laboriously, and found the guardhouses at the bottom empty, their windows shining with golden electric light.
No doubt they, like other animals, had sensed a paroxysm of vengeance. He followed the road for some short while before veering away, soundlessly leaping the yawning slash of a ravine, landing feather-soft and halting, turning to regard the mountain.
Halfway up its frowning bulk a sullen red glare was visible, peering through heavy summer foliage. A faraway detonation rippled the fabric of darkness; disinterested stars gleamed through a pall of smoke before a fresh gout of black vapor rose. He did not like thinking of his Simone trapped in such a place.