The vampires retribution, p.15
The Vampire's Retribution, page 15
He sighed. The look Celia wore made him feel very, very guilty—for the moment. But the Kendricks adored the empath. He had hoped Thorn would go to them. At least one part of the plan worked like a charm.
“Hello—I’m talking to you, Mister I-don’t-care-who-I-hurt-or-how-I-hurt-them! You drugged Thorn. You deliberately wounded a Servant of Souls. You yelled at him, embarrassed him, and sent him away!”
Celia positively shook with anger, and he shot her a furious look. “I didn’t want him anywhere near me! The sorcerers would have destroyed him.”
“He’s been so devastated by what you did to him, that he… he hasn’t eaten in days! Thorn’s a loyal soul, Michael, a really sweet creature. What you did is a-a sin. He’s been worried sick about you! There had to be another way.”
But his expression stayed stone-cold. “You’re wrong, Celia,” he replied in a low rumble. “They would have read his empathic mind scrambling his brains in the process. I did what I had to do. I kept him off Clayton’s radar. The demon wannabe would’ve killed Thorn and would’ve had a smile on his face while he twisted the knife in his ample belly. It was a decision I had to make—a hard decision. You know the kind, right?”
Celia stared at him. He knew about her secret visits to the brownstone, spending hours with the empath. Yes. She kept him ever aware of Alana and where her mission led her. Had Celia sensed trouble for his Guardian, Celia would alert Thorn in a heartbeat.
But there was something else. The way Celia had looked at Miles when he mentioned NWT’s brightest rising star. Only obnoxious Clayton stood between him and the sorcerers in their secret society of evil-doers. He hated the little weasel. He looked from father to daughter. Then his gaze slid to the drapes.
“What are the two of you not telling me? Why are we not letting the cool, fresh night air blow gently through the fucking tension in this room?” His gaze came to rest on Miles. “Give it up and give it to me straight.”
Celia blurted out, “I’m so disgusted with how you treated Thorn—and now Clayton Mails is MIA! Wanna guess who’s coming to end this little smackdown?”
Over on the leather sofa, Miles folded his hands in his lap. “Now do you understand the importance of our “macabre creature feature” as you most arrogantly put it?” The dry tone cut like a knife. “It should have dawned on me when Lukas told us he saw the ex-Guardian’s bodies. He did not see a third, which means Clayton is alive. You exposed the liaison for the incompetent fool he is. This “treason” happened on his watch, Michael. He will want to minimize the damage to his ego. That we thwarted his plan to capture you? It appears to have bloodied his nose.”
No. Oh dear God. No-no-no… “I’ve signed your death warrants. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, unable to look at anyone in the room.
Alana came to his side. “Nobody’s going to die. Not while I’m around.” Her hazel eyes sparked with grit and purpose. “Your strength is in our blood. We’ll step up the feeding schedule. We’ll be ready for the little devil. You’ll be ready—and I’ll be standing right beside you, my love.”
Michael turned inside himself. No, there’s no way in Hell I’ll allow you to be anywhere near the devious man when he comes for me. Fury gripped his unbeating heart.
Chapter 21
More Change
Michael sat quiet, stunned by the revelation and lost in the defeat of his current physical state. When the healer came to the table with an aromatic Italian feast, he studied her, now more interested in her familiar appearance, which shocked him once more. Short and robust. Her eyes a shade of gray smoke, no doubt a mystical attribute, her silvery hair pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck. She more than resembles Helena. He was absolutely speechless and remained so throughout the meal listening to sporadic yet typical family table-talk.
Everyone appeared tired with a dose of tension to boot. Alana had served him a second bowl of the extraordinary soup, which he was grateful for. Each spasm and pang lessened while more sensation returned to his beaten and bruised limbs. Rosa sat beside his son, who had arrived ashen and visibly shaky for family dinner. Now he had healthy color.
“You can really cook,” his son announced after devouring a second helping with Rosa’s grand-motherly encouragement.
“This was delicious, Zia,” Alana added as she rose from the table to pile the plates. He felt a sense of pride when Lukas suddenly sprang to his feet with an offer to help. He easily heard Alana preparing coffee in the kitchen, also aware of Lukas loading the dishwasher with some guidance. The distance was inconsequential, his astute hearing had returned.
“You look restless,” she was saying to his son.
“Why are the shutters locked?”
“It’s better this way. Safer. If you could go outside, what would you be doing after dinner?”
“I don’t know. Probably shooting hoops with my friends who don’t exist anymore.”
The comment saddened him. His son was changed forever, in so many ways. “And what about doing homework,” she was asking.
“Stuff comes easy for me. I was, like, on the Honor Roll this whole freshman year. Teachers always call on me. I think they like me. Can I go watch some movies in the den?”
He heard Alana’s soft laugh. “Sure. If you can figure out the system, Celia has some video games."
"Cool. How do I, uh, turn this thing on?”
Michael heard the dishwasher start to cycle. His son came back in with a small smile on his face. They made eye contact. He gave a thin grin and a nod. Full of pride he watched his son walk down the hall to the den.
****
Coffee had been served and obviously enjoyed by all. Michael did not partake, although his one human pleasure of a strong, fragrant cup of black coffee remained a constant temptation. The mood around the dining room table changed without his son present. And tension bloomed.
“I’ve contacted Giovanni about an emergency meeting with members of the Sovereign Council,” Rosa began softly. “He agrees. It is best to share all your information with them, Miles. I’m certain they will offer assistance.” She folded her napkin carefully, laid it next to the saucer. Even her mannerisms reminded him of Helena. He looked up to see the healer focus on him as if they were the only two at the table. “Many council members believe this is to be my final existence on this good earth, but I’m not yet ready to take such a momentous journey.”
It was uncanny, having more than one individual who could hijack his thoughts so quickly—without any effort. He felt the deepest gratitude for her abilities, which had initiated the healing in his seriously wounded body. Her expression exuded gentle warmth with the reply, “Ah, prego, prego, campione. I strongly suggest Miles takes your son on a short trip to Pisa tomorrow, Alana and Celia will accompany them. The child needs to be out and about during daylight while it’s safe. There are many shops he might enjoy… and some of the finest stores in Italy. Casual clothes and a sturdy pair of boots for you, Signore, would be a wise investment at this time.”
Careful and full of respect, he softly offered, “I don’t think I’m ready to rumble yet.”
As if she could probe his very guilty soul, she answered, “Love is a powerful healer, Signore. Savor it. Let it prepare you.”
Locked to her gaze, Michael acquiesced with a slow nod, because if he could stand and bow to her, he certainly would. Her strength is pure goodness. Just like Helena’s…
“Miles, l will call you with a meeting time. Once the Georgians decide how to proceed, we must do so very quickly.” Conversation came to an end and Rosa stood, kissing Alana’s cheek with the whisper, “Love heals, cara, and passion often accomplishes the impossible.”
Of course, he heard every word. But instead of going to the apartment door, the healer slipped into Alana’s kitchen. The refrigerator door opened for a brief second and then closed.
Of course, he heard her every word as she whispered a blessing. The connection came as if it were specifically telegraphed to his brain. Donations given by Miles, Celia; given by his son and the woman he would always love. Blessed blood?
****
Mary Kendrick pulled up to the International Departure Terminal at Newark Airport in New Jersey. Thorn had barely spoken during the drive in such heavy traffic. Her silent passenger got out of the rental SUV like a timid snail, lifted a travel bag out of the trunk.
“Okay, let’s go through the list one more time.” Her voice was full of worry. “Passport, driver’s license, birth certificate, cash… All here?” He gave slow nods of confirmation producing each item except the wad of Euros. Her connections as an art gallery owner had its perks. The forged documents were exquisite. “Great job—let’s hear the story.”
“I’m Theo Thornwell, a thirty-five-year-old social studies teacher from Jersey who is going to the Amalfi Coast to study its architecture. I live with my mother and sister. I like soft music and shopping for antique books, but I can’t afford to buy any of them on my salary even though I’m tenured, and whatever I do, don’t read the people sitting next to me on the plane or talk about what I sense about them,” he said with a gentle smile.
“And?”
He rolled his eyes on purpose as she brushed a lock of his curly red hair out of the way. “And I’ve been saving for this trip all year. Always wanted to fly first class… It’s not only because I need more room.”
“Hmm… I don’t know how believable that last part is any more.” Mary gave a nervous smile. He could no longer be considered extra-extra-large—losing at least ten pounds a day. She assumed concern for Michael lessened his enormous appetite.
Thorn had kept to himself in the basement bedroom, going up to the kitchen, but only for pitchers of spring water. In addition, the extra weight he retained had sculpted into healthy muscle. He was still quite large but gone were the double chin and flabby paunch. Most humans would kill for such a mystical ability. He decided to fly casual. And some travelers preferred comfortable, really loose clothing for long flights, although his T-shirt and elastic waist, bargain basement shorts had seen better days.
Reading the good witch’s mind, he hugged her. “Don’t worry, Mare. I promise to dress better when I go to Michael. I’ll be fine. I know what I have to do. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, for everything the three of you have done.”
Mary hugged him again, tighter than he expected. “Take care of yourself, Thorn. Remember, we’re only a thought away. Stay close to Celia. She loves you; you know.”
Keeping his gait lumbering and slow, he entered the terminal’s sliding door. Helena wouldn’t expect any less than a perfect performance. He had spent years with Michael, as per her orders. He’d fix things and the Champion would be back on track.
Arriving at the boarding gate, he threw the thick glasses he’d always worn into the trash bin; his vision 20/20 or better. Another twelve hours and he’d be ready—mentally and physically.
****
It was after eleven. Celia checked all the windows, which were locked tight, while Alana prepared Michael’s sustenance. Miles required Lukas’s aid in getting him settled in bed. Although it appeared the vampire’s legs were still unusable, he was able to steady himself with shaky arms and looser hands. He noted the new range of motion as well as less winces of pain. But healing wasn’t happening fast enough. Not fast enough at all, he thought.
Miles waited until Lukas parked the wheelchair out of the way and left the bedroom to whisper low in Michael’s ear, “Drink it all, and don’t give my daughter any problems. Because more than just your life depends on it now.”
But no reaction came to good advice, his arrogance in the way once again.
The living room was empty, so he met Alana in the kitchen. Worry came off her when she gave a small smile. A glass carafe was quite full. “I blended together all of our blood types, got the chill out of it in the microwave.” She kissed his cheek with a soft “good night.”
“I’ll close the bedroom door behind you,” he offered, to which she replied, “Thanks.” He walked with her, carafe and crystal mug in her hands, across the quiet living room. After she entered her bedroom, he closed the door like he said he would.
Another long, hard day was behind them. It had been one of many changes.
But change wasn’t enough. They needed help.
****
Michael pushed himself up to a better sitting position and watched Alana place two items on the nightstand—a glass carafe and a crystal mug. “Please,” he asked, pointing to the heavy drapes, “Open them. I want to see the night sky.”
Without hesitation, she crossed the room, lifted the two windows to unlock the outer wood shutters and push them to the bricks. Without a word, she went into her private bathroom. Seconds later, he heard the shower.
Awaiting her return, he focused on the bright moon-light, the clear night sky. Stars lit the darkness like flickering candles. The air was salty and warm, the breeze a graceful one. He breathed in and out wondering how close danger was to these good people this beautiful night.
The sound of running water stopped, and when she came into the bedroom, she wore a sleeveless white nightgown. It didn’t resemble sexy, but looked functional, comfortable. Her long brown hair scented with lavender and jasmine glistened in its dampness. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She poured the scarlet liquid into the crystal mug; placed it firmly in his right hand. “Drink,” she simply said.
“Alana—” he protested, knowing whose blood was offered.
“I don’t want to hear it. Drink, I said.” She tapped the mug, and then went back into the bathroom. The whir of her hair dryer faded away as he breathed in the mixture.
Like ambrosia and richly fragrant, his thirst heightened allowing the vampiric need to be in charge. He finished the unique blend of blood types quickly. It was warm. Went down easy, coursing through his veins. His body begged for more.
Alana was at his side, taking the mug from his hand, refilling it. His gaze slid to her as he drank. She brought the carafe to the mug for the refill. This time, he reached for it, trying to control his dependence on the heady elixir. A low growl began.. He drank deeply, the power of the blended blood a pure shot of adrenaline. He couldn’t speak.
She filled it again, and then with the final mugful, holding the crystal mug tight, insatiable need hammered inside him. He drained it in his greed. He licked the tiny droplets on his lips letting them swirl over his tongue. He eased his head back and closed his eyes.
Keen vision along with all other senses heightened beyond his recall. Prickly points of pain tingled down his injured leg and then stopped as the throbbing wound through his thigh reduced to a dull ache. She was closer now, sitting on the bed’s edge and taking the mug from his hand. Her scent was hypnotizing, and he opened his eyes to take in her beauty.
“Your bruises are fading. The dark-purple around your eyes is barely noticeable.” Her stunning hazel eyes opened wider. “And your skin… it’s not chalky white. My God, it’s as if the waves in your hair are shimmering in the moonlight.” She placed the mug on the nightstand and next to the empty carafe. But she looked hesitant, worried, when she faced him again.
“My Guardian. My love,” he whispered, taking her wrist to pull her close to him. He kissed her palm, her scent echoing through his senses like never before.
“I…I hope I did the right thing. What if our blood awakens—” His answer was to place her lovely hand on his opposite shoulder, which brought her to his chest. Their lips were a mere inch apart. “We shouldn’t do this,” she whispered.
“I ache for you, my Guardian, body and soul,” he answered, closing the gap between their lips. He kissed her deeply, and she responded as he hoped she would. His arm closed around her waist guiding her and settling her where he wanted her. Her breath hitched, as he nudged the night gown higher. His fingers ran up and down her thighs, and when this most alluring woman moaned, his need to love her grew stronger.
Emotions collided in his brain like fireworks against a darkened sky. “We’ll take it slow,” he whispered, knowing she would respond to his sensual tone. He’d show her his devotion, his eternal love, positive the beast-within was buried, perhaps never to be seen again.
He tugged at her nightgown. She sat up and straddled him. He pulled it up and over her head revealing a true vision of loveliness. Her full breasts, her soft as satin skin glowing in the moonlight. Her hands rubbed down his chest, unbuttoning the black silk pajama top. When she came off him, he thought to pull her back at once, then realizing why she’d left him. The bed covers slid down his legs. She flung her nightgown off the bed, and lay beside him kissing his chest, inching her hand lower to tug his pajama bottoms lower, lower until he managed to get them off his good leg and she peeled them off his wounded one.
Skin touched skin and he scented her arousal. His was already visible. He pulled her over his body, and she gasped. One hand cupped her left breast. The other sought the edge of her warmth. Her legs eased open, her back arched as he touched her, easing his fingers to the center of her core. He sucked at a swollen nipple, pleasuring her until she wriggled, capturing her gasp with a heated kiss, plunging his fingers in and out, building a rhythm of passion.
Her hands ran through his hair, then eased down, circling across his abdomen until she touched him. He groaned and their lips unlocked. Her gaze slid down, watching his response as her hand slid up and down the length of his erection. Her body radiated heat as her legs opened wider. It made him groan again, the moisture preparing her, inviting him. Gently guiding her hand off him, he slid his body lower down the bed kissing her flushed skin until he was where he wanted to be. When his hair brushed her thigh, she let out a small cry. His tongue traced her core and she gasped as he maneuvered her flat on the bed, all the while tasting her. One hand pressed her belly, holding her where he wanted her. She wriggled, then pushed against him, quivering against the pressure of his tongue as she orgasmed.
