Текст книги "Chosen"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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CHAPTER 15

No. It can’t be true.

I jump up, away from Lance, not wanting to look at him, not trusting myself to be close.

I feel everything he’s feeling. A hurricane of conflicting emotions.

It doesn’t matter.

Because mingled with the regret, the fear, the love, is everything he’s hidden from me.

The lie that it had been Culebra who sent him to me as a distractionall those months ago. That Underwood and Williams were working together. They wanted someone to get close to me. Someone supernatural. Someone who could be controlled. Someone I would be attracted to.

They sent me Lance.

Bile burns the back of my throat. I clutch my stomach to keep from gagging.

How could I have been so naive? I think back to conversations I had with Culebra about Lance—I never once broached the subject of how he knew Lance. I never thought to ask. I didn’t care. I was gullible and accepted Lance as eagerly as a bitch offered a pork chop.

Oh, and how that fucker Williams played me. He made fun of my relationship with Lance. Made me defend it. Knew if he mocked it, I’d most likely stay with Lance.

And I did.

God.

I want to howl with rage.

How could I have been so stupid?

I have to get out of here.

Where are my car keys?

I dart frantically around the room. My head and stomach—my blood—is on fire. I sweep thingsoff the nightstand, Lance’s mug, a book, a lamp. The sound of breaking pottery doesn’t quell the thirst for vengeance. I grab a chest at the end of the bed. Push it with so much force it slams into the wall.

Even the splintering of wood, the rain of broken plaster, is not enough. Fury makes the animal leap to the surface.

I feelLance, moving toward me. I whirl to face him.

He stops. He sees it in my face. Danger. The animal enraged, betrayed. The animal wounded.

He steps back.

Finally. I spy my keys and purse on a chair. Where I’d thrown them after finding Lance last night.

Last night.

I can’t think about it now.

I can’t think of anything except getting away from here.

Lance tries to reason with me. He holds out his arms. He uses words like danger and risk, caution and threat. Empty words from far away that ricochet around my head like leaves in a whirlwind. He wants to protect me.

I bare my teeth, laugh and snarl. “You can’t protect yourself.”

He lets his hands fall to his side. He has no answer to rebut the truth.

I’m done.

I don’t bother with shoes. I run downstairs, almost smacking into Adele. She jumps out of the way. She has a fresh pot of coffee in her hand. I smell the hot coffee as it spills, see her jerk as it scalds her. She yelps.

I don’t stop.

“Anna, what’s wrong?”

But I’m past her. Her voice trails behind me as I race through that cavernous house. Too much space that suddenly feels claustrophobic, I’m so anxious to get away.

From far off, I hear Lance pounding down the stairs, too. I have a wide lead. I hit the remote control on my way out the back door and by the time the garage door opens, I’ve got the Jag in gear and I’m screeching out of the driveway.

I’m at the gate when an explosion shakes the car.

A boom. Deafening. Painful. My hands clasp my ears.

Then silence. Nothing until the security guard is out of the guardhouse and pounding on my window. “Are you all right?”

I look up at him, ears ringing, head reeling, smell of blood in my nose. I open the door, stumble out. “What the hell was that?”

He’s looking over my shoulder, back the way I came. “I don’t know. Came from the direction of one of the houses.”

One of the houses? I follow his gaze. Black smoke roils up against the distant sky. There aren’t that many houses on this road. I can see half of them from here.

I can’t see Lance’s.

Jesus.

I start to run, oblivious to the guard’s pleading that I should stay with him, that I’m hurt.

Hurt? It isn’t until he says it that I realize the blood I smell is my own. I must have hit my forehead on the steering wheel or the dash. I don’t know. I don’t care. I wipe the blood out of my eyes with a forearm and keep going. The fastest way is over fences, through yards. Easy for me. Easy for vampire.

Follow the smell, the smoke. Acrid. Metal and rubber.

A car?

No one around. No one peering out windows or spilling from doors to see what happened. Where the hell is everyone? Are these all vacation homes? Are they all empty? No matter. The absence of mortals gives the vampire rein.

Two minutes and I’m at the scene.

The last house at the end of the road. A ball of flame surrounds a red MG.

Lance’s car.

CHAPTER 16

A figure moves inside the car.

Lance.

A dry heave racks my body as a sickening flashback to another vampire caught by flames propels me back.

Ortiz in a warehouse. A burst of light as his body ignited.

The vampire retreats.

I couldn’t save Ortiz.

I can’t save Lance.

Can I?

Another flash. Williams face. Distorted. Angry. You could have saved Ortiz. Flames can’t hurt you.

Lance is pushing at the door, pounding on the window. Neither yields. He can’t seem to break free. His strength should be enough. Is it his terror of the fire? Fear that even if he gets out of the car, he has nowhere to go?

The floor of the garage is a sea of flame. Something in the garage exploded, not the car. The flames haven’t touched Lance yet. But they’re creeping toward the car. They could ignite the cloth top or the gas tank sitting in the undercarriage.

Adele at my side, screaming.

“Help him!”

Lance claws at the roof of the car, trying to rip it open.

He hears Adele, looks back, sees me. When our eyes meet, he stops fighting. He drops his hands, shakes his head. He resigns himself to death. Like Ortiz. He welcomes it because—

Reparation.

He doesn’t want me to risk my life for his. It’s there in his thoughts. Sorrow and regret.

No.

I won’t lose him.

The need to save him is stronger than the fear. The animal is stronger than the human. I need vampire. She is reluctant to come back. Flames are one of the ways we can die. She remembers Ortiz, too.

I force her to come. We have to try. She relinquishes control with a snarl and a cry.

I crouch, leap through the fire toward the car like a lioness through a burning hoop. I’m at the car. Hands grasp scorched metal, pull. Flames lick at my skin, my clothes. Pain rips into me. I hop on bare feet, first one then the other, to keep from howling with it.

The door is stuck. I gather all my strength, heave and pull it from the hinges. I toss it away, reach in, pull Lance out. I scoop him up, cradle him against me, leap again. One minute we’re in hell and the next, we’re lying in the grass at the side of the driveway.

Then a whoosh and another burst of light and heat as the gas tank of the MG catches. The car is consumed in a fiery ball.

Too close.

Sirens. From the highway.

I look over at Lance. “Are you all right?”

Adele looming over both of us. “My God, Anna. You saved him.” She reaches out a hand, stops herself, pulls it back, blanching.

What’s wrong with her?

Lance speaks then. You came back.

There is so much gratitude and surprise and puzzled astonishment in those three words that, in spite of the anger I felt—what, two minutes ago?—I now find myself smiling. I’m still mad at you.

He reaches out a hand. I can live with that.

Adele squats down. “The police are coming. What do you want to do?”

Lance climbs to his feet, reaches down, pulls me up with him.

Gently. For the first time, I see the way he’s looking at me, too. With great concern. “What?”

But he’s speaking to Adele. “We’ll answer their questions. Not much else we can do.” He looks at me. “But you. I’m not sure how we can explain . . .” His words trail off, his eyes sweep the length of my body.

I glance down. My clothes are scorched remnants. Tattered shorts and what’s left of a T-shirt. But my skin.

My skin.

I hold up a hand. Blackened skin is already flaking and beginning to peel away. My legs. My torso. The healing process has begun. But the realization that I’m burned over most of my body brings with it consciousness.

First, pain. The shock of it. Great debilitating waves of pain.

Blinding. Searing. It buckles my knees. Lance catches me, eases me to the ground.

Then. Comprehension.

Lance’s eyes, watching, reading.

He understands.

I went through fire.

Iwent through fire.

Ironically, I think Williams was right. In a way. Flames don’t kill me. But hurtme? You bet your ass.

Another siren joins the chorus.

“We have to get you away from here.”

Lance’s voice reaches out, pulls me back.

“If the police see you, they’ll insist you go to a hospital.”

Adele. “Take her to my room. They’d have no reason to go to the back of the house.”

The sirens grow louder. I glance at the garage. The flames burn themselves out. The MG is reduced to a charred metal hulk. But the garage itself, the structure, and the adjoining house are curiously untouched.

Lance picks me up and runs through the front door, Adele at his heels. Where his hands touch my skin, the pain is so great, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. He feels it. He trembles at the thought that he’s causing me so much agony.

I try to smile. It hurts too much.

Adele’s room is off the sunroom in the back. Lance carries me inside, lays me on the bed.

Someone is pounding on the front door.

Adele shoos Lance out with a wave of her hand.

“I’ll take care of her. You go speak to the authorities.”

Lance leaves quickly. Adele moves to the side of the bed. “What can I do to help you?” she asks.

Open a vein and let me drink, the vampire inside me says.

“Nothing,” the human says. “I’ll heal. It may take a while. Go help Lance with the cops. Tell him to come when he’s finished. By then, maybe I can move up to his room. Give you yours back.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Adele says. “There are plenty of extra bedrooms in this house.”

She moves toward the door. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

She’s having a hard time looking at me. I’ve seen enough CSI programs to know what a burn victim looks like. If she didn’t know I wasn’t human before, she sure as hell knows it now. It must be awkward having to talk to a piece of charred meat.

“Maybe some water?” I reply.

She’s happy to run any errand that takes her away from me. When she returns with a bottle of water, she holds it out. “Do you need help drinking?”

“No. Thank you. Go see what’s going on outside. I’ll be fine.”

She leaves and I take a long drink. I’m not feeling nearly as confident as I let on. I hold up a hand, flex my arm. I don’t seem to have lost bone or muscle mass. Only skin. I touch my face. Not much damage there. At least not that I can feel. My hair? Dry on the ends, but I still have hair. That’s got to mean something.

My arms, legs and torso are burned the worst. And the balls of my feet.

The pain isn’t as bad.

I let my body relax, let my head drop against Adele’s pillow. The scents of lavender and baby powder tickle my nose.

Subtle undertones almost drowned out by the putrid smell of burned flesh.

My burned flesh.

I close my eyes. Weariness washes over me. I fight it. There are so many things I should think about. So many questions to ask. So much uncertainty to puzzle through.

But the need of the body to escape pain is stronger. I can’t fight it.

One moment I’m conscious, the next I’m not.

CHAPTER 17

I’m dreaming. At least, I thinkI’m dreaming.

I sense Adele standing over me.

“Is she asleep?”

A male voice from out of sight behind her. “Yes. She’ll be out for quite a while.”

“Is she in pain?”

“We’ve taken care of it. You can go back downstairs. She shouldn’t be disturbed.”

* * *

Adele again. This time, my eyes are open. Her hair is tied back from her face with her mother’s scarf. She raises my head, brings a glass to my lips. “Drink, Anna.”

I do. A sip of water.

The same male voice as before, “Be careful. Just a little.”

I know that voice. Who is it? I can’t turn my head. The effort to raise it is too much. I try to speak.

Adele holds a finger to her lips. “Not yet, Anna. Go back to sleep. It’s not time.”

As she steps back, I hear him say, “She’s not really awake. Her eyes may be open, but believe me, she’s still asleep.”

He’s wrong, I think as I drift back off.

* * *

This time, I struggle for consciousness, swim toward the surface against a strong current, determined to stay awake. Before I open my eyes, I listen.

A clock ticks. A bird sings. A dog barks. Under it all, the faraway hum of traffic.

Something else.

A heartbeat nearby. Soft breathing.

A human. Close.

Blood. I smell it.

Yet, it awakens no hunger.

Why?

I open my eyes.

Above me, tiled fresco.

Familiar. Lance’s room.

I turn my head toward the sound of the heartbeat.

A woman sitting on a chair near the bed. She’s asleep, I watch her chest rise and fall. I don’t recognize her. Why is she here?

I try to sit up. Something stops me. A glance down and I know why. A wide strap across my chest. It allows no movement.

Panic.

I pull at it and start to yell.

The woman jerks awake.

Her movement sends a sharp stab of pain into my right arm.

A flurry of footsteps from outside.

The door flies open.

“Lance?”

He’s at my side. He bends over, drapes his upper body over my chest to prevent me from moving. “Shhh,” he croons. “It’s all right. I’m here. Don’t try to move yet. Let me loosen the restraints.”

Restraints? Not comforting. I struggle harder.

He’s fumbling with something at the side of the bed. Another sharp twinge and my arm is free. Then he pulls at the strap and it falls to the side.

The woman in the chair is watching wide-eyed. Suddenly, Adele is at her side. She pulls something from the woman’s arm and slaps a piece of gauze where a small bubble of blood is blossoming.

“Hold your arm straight up for a minute,” she tells her. “And then you can go downstairs.”

I watch uncomprehending. “Lance, what’s happening?”

He is smiling and stroking my hair. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” he says. “How do you feel?”

How do I feel? I don’t know. I press my fingers against my eyes. How am I supposed to feel?

Suddenly, the touch of my fingers against my eyelids trips the memory.

My skin. On fire. The pain.

I hold up my hand, turn it back and forth, amazed at what I see.

The ravaged skin is gone. My hand is undamaged. I trail my fingers up my arm. Throw back the covers. I’m wearing a large T-shirt. Under it, the skin of my torso is smooth, flushed. Normal.

I choke out the words. “I’m healed.”

He nods. “You’re healed. And it only took two days.” He laughs. “And a dozen or so hosts.”

I glance again toward the woman. She has a Band-Aid at the crook of her elbow. Adele is walking her out.

“How did you do it?”

“Took a page out of a medieval text. You couldn’t feed, but you needed blood to heal. We set up an intravenous line between you and the donors. Worked like a charm, though we had to keep you doped up. Couldn’t have you thrashing about and pulling out the needle.”

I shake my head. “How did you come up with that idea?”

A voice from behind him, the voice I remember from a dream, spoke up. “It was my idea, actually.”

Of course it was. If I thought I could pull it off without falling flat on my face, I’d jump out of bed and hug the guy stepping around to join Lance at the side of the bed. But I can’t trust my legs, so I do the only thing I feel capable of. I hold out my arms and beam a smile. “I should have known. Who else would have the guts to tie me to a bed and force-feed me?”

Daniel Frey grins back. “Who else indeed.”

CHAPTER 18

Two hours later I’ve had a shower. With Lance’s help. A déjà vu moment, only this time, he’s supporting me. Two days flat on your back and even a vamp’s legs become wobbly. Then, dressed in shorts and one of Lance’s tank tops, I’m sitting by the pool on a chaise between Lance and my friend Daniel Frey.

Frey has shorts on, no shirt, no shoes, and is as unaffected by the blistering desert heat as Lance and I. It’s late afternoon, but the sun is still strong enough to bounce shimmers of heat off the pool deck in flickering waves. I tip my head back and soak it in. My arms and legs tingle with the kiss of sun on new skin.

Now if I could just get the smell of burned flesh out of my nose.

Adele placed a pitcher of iced tea on the table in front of us before disappearing back into the house. Lance told me she took charge of the women who donated blood to me: fed them, watched until she was sure they were strong enough to leave, and sent them home in a car with money and a certificate to the Armani shop. The hosts seemed pleased with the attention and the gifts. It freed Lance to stay by my bedside.

I don’t know how I’m going to repay her kindness—or her discretion. If she didn’t know what I was before, there is no doubt she does now.

My thoughts and attention shift to Lance. I reach for his hand. “What made you think to call Frey?”

“He was the obvious choice,” Lance answers. “After what happened a few months ago in Mexico. Frey saved Culebra’s life. I never thought your life was in danger, but I didn’t know what to do to speed the healing process.” He raises his glass to Frey. “He not only knew but came here and took charge. I owe him.”

“ Weowe him.” I raise my glass, too.

Frey gives a modest little smile, returns the toast.

He’s a handsome man, forty-something, dark hair touched on the sides with gray, a terrific build. He’s also a shape-shifter and a friend. We were lovers once, it happened not long after I was turned, when he came to my aid in a different way.

He’s watching me and the smile broadens, as though he senses what I’m thinking.

Lance doespick up on it. He skewers me with a raised eyebrow. Should I be jealous?

Frey, who is privy to Lance’s thoughts but not mine, answers before I can. “No. That was a while ago. Anna was just learning what it meant to be vampire then. She’s come a long way.”

Nice that he said that out loud. Shape-shifters and vampires can read each other’s thoughts. Unless you do something stupid like I did. Months ago, I bit Frey in a pique of childish frustration and concern over what I perceived as a threat to my niece, Trish. Frey was helping her. At the time, I hadn’t been sure. Once a vampire feeds from a shape-shifter, the psychic link between them is broken. It’s a wonder Frey still thinks of me as a friend.

A wonder and my very good luck. Which calls to mind the second question. Frey doesn’t drive. Something about having feline sight as his other form is panther. Cats see on the blue side of the spectrum. Gives them great night vision, but makes it difficult to distinguish a broad range of colors. Red, yellow and green, for instance.

“How did you get here?”

Another tip of the glass to Lance. “He provided transportation. Sent a helicopter.”

I grin at Lance. Of course you did.

Lance grins back.

Frey leans toward me, his expression turns serious. “Lance filled me in on what happened. Anna, do you realize the implication of this? You went into a burning garage and came out unscathed.”

“Unscathed? Hardly. You saw what I looked like.”

He shakes his head. “Okay, not exactly unscathed. But you survived when you should have gone up like a Roman candle. Vampires don’t walk through flame and live. You know that. You saw what happened to—”

He stops, maybe because he sees my shoulders tense, maybe because he realizes that by saying it, I’ll have to face the truth.

“Ortiz,” I say it for him. “I saw what happened to Ortiz.” I rub my eyes with the heel of my palms, trying to shut out the image and push away the guilt. “So Williams was right when he said I could have saved Ortiz. But how could I have known? Williams certainly didn’t tell me, and the bastard had a thousand opportunities.”

Frey glances at Lance. “There’s something else we think you should know.”

The muscles across my shoulders grow even tighter. “What?”

“The garage fire.”

“What about it?”

Lance picks up the story. “My first thought was that it was an accident.” He reaches out a hand and places it on my arm. “But now, I’m not so sure.”

And I’m not sure I understand. I frown. “Then what?”

“I think it was deliberately set. A device rigged to go off ten seconds after the back door closed.”

“Wait a minute.” I’m remembering Saturday morning. How mad I was at Lance. How all I wanted to do was get away from him. “I went out that door. Why didn’t I trip it?”

“You didn’t closethe door,” Lance replies. “You left it open. Probably didn’t even realize it. I came out after you were already gone, and I did close the door. Ten seconds later, the garage blew. The fire investigators say it was a gas leak from a water heater. Fueled by a spark when the garage door was raised. They’re writing it off as an accident. And I’m going to let them.”

He looks over at Frey, then back to me. “But that was a new water heater, and you had raised the garage door minutes, not seconds, before. Someone poured propane on the floor of the garage to make sure there would be fire. Lots of it. And set a device to go off when the back door closed.”

“So we were both targets?”

Frey and Lance exchange looks.

“What?” Irritation is bunching my shoulders even tighter. “Stop fucking around. Tell me.”

Lance says, “We think it was a test.”

“A test of what?”

As soon as I ask it, the answer pops into my head. I stare at Lance. “Someone wanted to see if I could survive fire.” Doesn’t take a genius to figure out who that someone is. Especially knowing that he and Williams were working together. “Julian Underwood.”

I’m right. I see confirmation in the eyes looking back at me. That Julian Underwood would risk Lance’s life, the life of someone he has known for decades, sparks such rage that I find only one way to express it. I hurl the glass in my hand across the patio with such force it shatters against the far wall, pulverizes, rains bits of glass on the flagstone.

My hands are shaking. I interlock my fingers. When I can at least control the anger in my voice, I raise my eyes to Lance. “He thought you and I would walk out that back door together. The fire would ignite. Either we’d both be dead, or only you’d be. Either way, he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he killed you. He only wanted to see if he could kill me.”

Frey leans forward. “And now he knows,” he says. “He knows what Williams has been saying is true. You are indestructible. The Chosen One.”

That stupid expression brings simmering anger boiling again to the surface. “Why does everyone always throw that at me? The Chosen One. Sounds like bad Buffy. There’s nothing special about me. I’d know if there were.”

“Then think.” Frey’s voice is hard, insistent. “How do you explain what you did? How do you explain pulling Lance out of those flames? Vampires can’t do that. Williams couldn’t do that. From the beginning, he recognized it.”

“Recognized what?” The volume of my voice escalates with frustration. “He’s done nothing but fuck with me. If he’s trying to win me over to some great cause, he sure as hell has a strange way of doing it.”

Lance looks at Frey. His expression makes me think they’ve spent the last two days discussing me. It’s pissing me off. “Okay. Will you stop acting like conspirators in a spy movie? What is it you’re not telling me?”

This time, Lance takes point. “I told Daniel about what happened in San Diego. How you were attacked. We think there’s a connection between that attack and the fire.”

“What connection? Williams wouldn’t be dumb enough to send a vamp to attack me unless he was damned sure that vamp was strong enough to kill me. He didn’t. And after I killed it, how could Williams know I’d bury it in the desert and come here with Lance? He couldn’t. No one knew. We made the decision on the spot.”

Lance’s gaze slides away. A wave of guilt emanates from him making me realize the reason for his remorse and regret. “I can’t be sure that Julian didn’t know. We have a powerful connection. Remember, Adele said he called the afternoon we arrived. That he was in town, too. It’s a pretty big coincidence.”

“No.” A vehement shake of my head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Well, there could be a simpler explanation.” Frey lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “You could have been followed.”

Lance and I exchange glances. Now that’s an explanation I can accept. An explanation so obvious I can’t believe we didn’t think of it ourselves. “I didn’t pay much attention on the drive,” I admit. “There wasn’t a lot of traffic, but I wasn’t looking for a tail.”

“Neither was I.” Lance is visibly and emotionally relieved at the possibility that he hadn’t led Julian to us.

So am I. Until I realize the implication. Williams is here? Lance picks up the thread of my thought.

Williams and Underwood working together.

Again.

His face flushes. “It is my fault.”

“Christ, Lance.” I grab his arm and give it a shake. “It is not your fault.”

Frey looks from Lance to me. “I don’t understand.”

Lance is reluctant to admit to Frey how we came to be together, so I do. Briefly, unemotionally. Frey’s eyes never leave Lance’s face as I tell the story of how Lance and I met. Of the lie that it was Culebra who brought us together when in reality, it had been Underwood and Williams.

I wish I could read what Frey is thinking. I can’t. I see only a subtle shift in his attitude toward Lance. Not so trusting. A shadow of suspicion in his eyes, a tensed jaw muscle.

“Frey.”

He turns to me, eyebrow raised.

“I trust Lance with my life.”

Simple words I’ve never meant more seriously.

Frey is still and quiet. He looks at me for a long moment. Then he nods. “All right. Your instincts have always been good. I respect them.” He turns to Lance. “Maybe we should pay this guy a visit. Get some answers.”

Lance tries to hide his alarm at the suggestion. He manages to shield his actual thoughts from him, but Frey isn’t stupid. He senses Lance’s anxiety. Suspicion once again tightens the lines around his mouth. “Unless there’s a reason you’d rather not have us meet with him.”

Lance’s face mirrors his distress. But it’s not fear for himself I’m picking up. Frey has no idea how powerful and cruel Lance’s sire can be. Lance is afraid for Frey and me.

“No, not yet.” I draw Frey’s attention with a wave of my hand. “I’ll take care of Underwood when the time is right.”

“Anna, I don’t think you can wait too long.” A sense of urgency creeps into Frey’s voice. “In a few days, you will have been vampire for a full year. You may not want to accept it, but if what Williams and Julian suspect is true, you will come into your full powers on the anniversary of your becoming. That marks a transitional period for the Chosen One. They’ve tested you. They know you are the one. They are going to do everything they can to influence you. To channel your power to forward their agenda.”

I manage a wry smile, though the grimness of his expression sends an icy finger sliding along my spine. “They’re going to try to control me? Is that what you’re saying? How the hell are they going to do that? You’re being melodramatic, my friend.”

“I don’t think so.” Frey leans forward, his eyes devoid of all humor. “I have never known a Chosen One,” he says. “But I have known ofthem. They are charged with shaping the destiny of the vampire race. It’s a tremendous responsibility affecting not only vampires but all of mankind. There are likely to be more tests. You will be tried in ways you can’t imagine. But the end result will be the same. The fate of the world is literally in your hands.”