Demon Night (27 page)

She felt the flare of Jane's temper, saw it in the blood that rushed under her skin. “Yes. And he admitted that he's been approaching it in the wrong way. That we could—”

“And you believed him? I
told
you what he said to me. That you'd ‘come around.'” Her chest was heaving; the room was too warm. Jane was angry, but calm—in comparison, Charlie felt like a rabid bitch. She tried again. “He's playing you, Jane,” she said as evenly as possible. “And you're letting him.”

“I'm not blind. He fucked up, he admits it—but he's willing to change. And this is my work, Charlie. This is why he chose me in the first place. I can make a difference.”

Charlie's control dropped away. “This was my life,” she hissed. “His ‘fuck-up' was my
life
.”

“And you've already said that being a vampire isn't bad. That you are doing okay.” With agitated movements, Jane stood and pulled on her underwear, her shirt. “This is something I can do…for you, for a lot of people like you.”

“Like me?” Charlie echoed, sitting back on her heels.

Jane shot her a dirty look. “Don't take offense to that. You know I mean vampires. And you can't tell me you
like
the idea that you're dependent on someone supplying you blood. And what goes with it.”

No, Charlie couldn't. “It doesn't have to be that way for me, though. Drifter can—”

“And what about the others? Are Guardians feeding them, too?” Jane sighed, dragged her fingers through her hair. “Then there are the healing aspects of it. The research needs to go on.”

“Then do it somewhere else,” Charlie said, desperate. How had she ended up on the defensive? She was too far behind, or not understanding. Why the hell would Jane ever go back to Sammael after what he'd done? What wasn't Charlie
getting
? “Why does it have to be with Legion? Why can't it be with…with—” Oh, fuck fuck, she couldn't think. It started with “R.” From the hallway, she heard Ethan offer a name in a low voice, and she finished with “Ramsdell Pharmaceuticals? They're connected with the Guardians. I'm sure you could do the same work, but it wouldn't have to be with Sammael lying to you and using you.”

Jane yanked on her jeans. “He's not going to lie to me anymore. I've told him that I want to know everything that's going on with the research, and that if anyone is there against their will, it has to stop or I'd leave. And I told him if I catch him in a lie, I'll leave. It's that simple, Charlie.”

Charlie stared at her, and the boiling frustration and anxiety within her just seemed to vanish, leaving her cold, empty.

That was what Jane had told her, too: Stop, or I'll give up on you. And Charlie had quit, because the thought of not having Jane had hurt more than the pain of stopping had.

But did Jane really believe Sammael would be the same? “If it were ‘that simple,'” Charlie said quietly, “you wouldn't be going back to him.”

“Maybe not.” With another sigh, Jane slid on the bed next to her, wrapped her arms around Charlie's shoulders. “You know I love you.”

“Yes. And you love him.” That was why she wasn't getting through to Jane. Charlie couldn't fight that if her sister wouldn't fight it, too.

“And I love him.” Jane's arms tightened. “And I'm pissed, and I want to know what's going on, and I don't really have any idea what I'm doing. But I can't figure it out from here. It may be that once I get up there, I'll just kick him in the nuts and come back.”

Charlie couldn't respond, couldn't make a joke.

Jane said, “I'm trying not to be stupid about this—”

“Well, you're failing. This is the fucking stupidest thing I've ever heard.”

“Will you just listen to me? Jesus, Charlie.” Jane bounced up off the bed, began pacing. “First, I want to hear from your Drifter or Ethan or whatever his name is what he knows about the blood, and vampires, and what he thinks Legion is doing. So that if Dylan does try to pull something over on me, I'll have a better idea of it.”

Charlie banged her forehead repeatedly against the mattress. “You accept that he might try and you're
still going back
?”

Jane made a turn at the table and continued as if Charlie hadn't spoken. “Then I'll call you every night, and send an e-mail every day, letting you know what I'm finding. Because I don't want you to worry.”

“No, I won't do that at all.” Her sarcasm didn't carry well, so she added, “He can copy your voice, Jane. He can fake an e-mail.”

“I'll put something in there he won't know. Something from when we were kids that I've never told him.”

“And what if I don't hear from you one day? What do I do?”

Through the door, she heard Ethan softly tell her, “We come and rescue her, Charlie.”

Charlie whirled in his direction, her fist clenching. “But you said you weren't a hero.”

Jane frowned in confusion. Ethan didn't speak for a long moment, and when he finally answered, it was with laughter in his voice.

“Well, hell, Charlie—I sure wish I'd been a hero to you last night. And so the notion of being one must be growing on me.”

Jane pointed at the entrance. “Is he listening?” At Charlie's nod, she pulled the door open, made a sweeping gesture to wave Ethan in. When he stepped into the room, she examined him with narrowed eyes and her hands on her hips. “So you're going to make sure my sister gets the blood she needs?”

Ethan's brows rose, and he darted a glance at Charlie before looking at Jane again. Amusement lurked at the corners of his eyes. “Yes'm.”

“For how long?”

“I reckon as long as she needs me, I'll be happy to oblige her.”

Charlie closed her eyes, hung her head, and hoped they thought she was laughing.

Ethan couldn't figure Charlie at all.

During the two hours he'd spoken with Jane, explaining the Rules and answering the questions she'd thrown at him, Charlie had withdrawn into herself. Not numb, as she had been after the attack in the phone booth, just quiet. Her only strong reaction had come when he'd taken Jane's blood to have as an anchor, should Selah, Michael, or Jake ever need one. Unless Jane was behind the spell or shielding, they'd be able to teleport to her.

When the crimson drops had welled on Jane's finger, Charlie had risen from her seat on the bed. She'd closed the door to the bathroom behind her, her bloodlust licking tongues of fire over his skin.

She must have been feeling it bad, but she wasn't showing it—though her body was. She'd lost weight already; a hell of a lot more than he'd have expected in one day of not feeding.

But she'd returned to the room with a smile on her face—a smile that had remained through the good-byes and embraces that she and Jane exchanged in the parking lot. She waited until her sister had driven out of sight.

Then she turned, and he'd had barely a moment to brace himself for the quick series of punches she aimed at his chest. Not landing them hard—just working out whatever had been simmering in her. And then she was leaning on him, her cheek pressed over his heart and the heel of her left hand weakly thumping the other side of his chest.

He laid his lips against the top of her apple-scented hair, held her tight.

When she stopped beating on him, she asked in a tired voice, “What time is it?”

He'd given his cell phone to Jane, and had to look around and peer in through the window of the motel's office to see. “About ten thirty.”

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” She pulled away and was on her phone a second later, turning her back to him as she coughed and told Cole she might be in tomorrow, that some medication had put her to sleep so she was late calling.

She didn't face Ethan again when she finished, but stared down the road with a haunted expression deepening the hollows in her cheeks.

“Charlie,” he began, but she shook her head.

She looked up at him before gazing down the road again. “I'll tell him tomorrow that I'm not coming back. I can't do it today.” Her breath hitched, but her expression didn't change. “Hell, maybe tomorrow he'll just realize I've been lying and fire me. You still have my laptop, right?”

He frowned, but nodded. “Yes.”

“I guess I can finish my classes, then.” She rubbed her forehead. Her fingers were trembling. Ethan watched them shake, wished she'd lean on him or hit him again, and make him good for something while she was hurting. “I'm sorry about what she called you,” she said quietly.

The bit about being a murderer? “It's true enough.”

She whipped around to face him. “That's not the point—”

“Easy, Charlie.” He held his hands up in surrender, grinning. “You already defended me real well. And Sammael must have put that particular concern into her—I ain't about to fret over a demon's opinion of my character.”

She sighed. “He must have said a lot to her.”

“I reckon. But it may be once she returns home, she'll start looking instead of just listening.”

“I hope so.” She paused, and her eyes searched his. “Was there anything different
I
could have said?”

He studied her for a long second. Was she feeling she'd done an inadequate job of convincing her sister? Even when she'd been angry, every point Charlie made had been sensible; Jane just hadn't been in the same place.

“I figure there was one thing you might have done,” he said slowly. “And that was if you'd gone for her heart, and given her the same choice she gave Sammael: telling her that if she didn't come around, you'd be writing her off as lost.”

Her dark brows drew together. “But I couldn't say that, let alone do it.”

He'd known that; he thought Jane did, too. “Then there was nothing short of tying her down.”

Charlie pursed her lips, tilted her head as if considering it, and cast a speculative glance down the road.

He felt the grin sliding over his mouth and turned to conceal it. She really was something. “You have anything in the room you want to take?” He'd already retrieved all of his weapons.

“No.”

“You want to feed before we check out?” She'd spent the day sleeping; her scent would be all over the bed. She could crawl right up onto him and he'd be surrounded by her, the soft mattress beneath and Charlie firm and aroused all over the front of him.

He stopped walking, pulled his coat forward before looking around for her answer.

She had her hands tucked into her sweater pocket again. “I don't want to feed in there. Where are we going?”

“San Francisco.”

He felt her hesitation before she said hoarsely, “How long will that take? I don't know if I can…” She trailed off, and her jaw firmed, her pink lips thinning to white.

She sure didn't like needing something so bad. He'd have to make certain it didn't get to this point again.

“A little over an hour and a half, if I fly quick.”

She blinked. “Really? All the way down in an hour and half?”

“Yes,” he replied, smiling when eagerness projected briefly from her psychic scent, cutting through the now-constant heat of her bloodlust. “And if you need to, you can drink a bit on the way.”

Her gaze lowered to his neck. The hunger flaring in her brown eyes brought out the green as well as the sun had, and within an instant he was hardening again.

God Almighty. She'd have him falling out of the air, laid out moaning on the ground like a dying horse. And he suspected he'd just lay there grinning as she worked herself over him.

Her mouth softened into a tiny smile. “That doesn't sound like a good idea.”

“No,” he said, and took her hand, pulled her toward the office. “I reckon it's not.”

Though the more he considered it, the more he thought it sounded just fine.

And when she was in his arms and the wind preventing easy conversation, her bloodlust eating through him like a thousand fire ants, there wasn't much to do but consider it. By the time he flew down low over the Golden Gate Bridge, giving her a view that made her sigh in pleasure, he'd imagined taking her in just about every way a man could take a woman, and in his mind she'd sucked the blood from his body a hundred times over.

He figured she'd imagined the latter, as well. She'd touched his throat twice, each time jerking her fingers away from his skin. And he didn't know if the physical scent of her need was caused by the bloodlust or by her wanting him—but if he slipped his hand low, he reckoned he'd find her wet enough that he wouldn't need to put his mouth on her in order to ease his way.

Wouldn't need to, but he'd still have taken real good care of her.

Her brows pulled together in a frown as they flew over Hunter's Point, banked toward SI, and dropped in quick.

“It ain't much to look at,” he said as he set her feet on the ground. His nerves began jumping as her gaze lifted and ran over the building. It wasn't much at all; even her inexpensive little apartment had appeared better maintained, and had more space than her room in the warehouse did. “But it'll do until we can find a place for you. And it ain't so bad inside.”

She nodded and turned in a slow circle, taking in the empty parking lot and the high fencing without expression. “Okay.”

He figured if he'd been human, his palms would have been sweaty as he clasped her hand, led her up the stairs.

“You'll get a card to use here. Jake likely has already made it up.” He pulled in his identification and swiped it. “And Jeeves up there, he'll be checking to make sure you are who you say.”

“Okay.” Her whisper was strained as they stepped into the blank white corridor.

Maybe he ought to have given Jake her things, so her room would be comforting, not just cleaned and ready. Or thought of setting her up in a hotel. He glanced at her; she looked away from Jeeves, her lips curving into a pretty smile, and some of his tension eased.

“You'll be safe, Charlie. The security is awful tight.”

“So I see.”

From behind his glass shield, Jeeves ran his gaze over Charlie with open curiosity—as open as Jeeves's sour face could manage, that was. “Good evening, Miss Newcomb. Mr. Drifter.”

Charlie's brows lifted a little, and her smile deepened. “Good evening.”

“You have her ID, Jeeves?”

“Indeed, sir. I have only to record her measurements first. Miss, if you will step up to—”

Ethan shook his head. “Just prints and retinal, Jeeves. The rest tomorrow.” Charlie wouldn't be so thin, and it was best to get her features in when she looked as she normally would.

And he didn't want to have to tell her why she was being scanned for the same record twice. He figured calling her too skinny at this moment would be much worse than saying a woman was plump.

Jeeves frowned and opened his mouth; Ethan laid his hand on the narrow ledge in front of the window and leaned in.

“Tomorrow, Becca,” he repeated softly, but the novice couldn't miss the edge in it.

“Very well, sir.” The stiff tone told Ethan he'd soon have to be letting her win a poker hand or two, or she'd be sore at him for a week.

Ethan talked Charlie through the scans, then submitted his own before leading her past the door. Fortunately, Becca was upset enough that she didn't come out and introduce herself.

Most of the offices they passed were dark, though a few vampires and Guardians were working on computers or talking on phones. Past the hall and offices was a large room that opened to the practice areas and the metal staircase that led to the second floor. The clash of swords sounded from the gymnasium, but the majority of the noise in the warehouse was coming from upstairs.

He looked over at her; she was examining the ID card, a tiny line between her brows. “You all right?”

“Yes.” She tucked the ID in her pouch, and he heard the slide of her fingers over the feather. “Just feeling a little processed.” Her smile wasn't quite steady; she glanced away from him and added quickly, “But you're right, it's much nicer inside. And I like the…the…
that
.”

She pointed at the zodiac painted on the ceiling, but Ethan continued to study her face, fighting the impulse to dig under her shields and discover what lay beneath the bloodlust.

Laughter rolled down from the second floor, and she eyed the stairs, her fingers practically sawing across the feather.

Ethan clenched his jaw as his name was added to the conversation above. “You stay here a minute, Miss Charlie.”

He cleared the stairs in a single bound. Cards lay over the table in the common room, the game in full swing; the sofas were filled with novices chatting and reading and watching a film on the giant television. Eleven young Guardians and three vampires—and fourteen pairs of eyes swung toward Ethan, then searched the space behind him.

Ethan shook his head and gestured for them to pay attention.
She's feeling uneasy, and she's awful hungry. I don't want anyone rushing at her,
he signed.
No questioning, no staring. You just sit where you are now and say your greetings polite.

He ignored the surprised glances that were exchanged, and turned back to the stairs. At the head, he paused.

And her privacy's real important to her. If I see one wink or one wrong smile, any little indication that you think you know what's going to happen in that room, then I'll be rolling a few novices over pretty damn hard.

Silence followed him back down, but he assumed they were furiously signing back and forth—likely making wagers about who would be the first to smirk and how many teeth they'd have to regrow.

Charlie was standing in the same place he'd left her, but no longer alone. Jake and Mackenzie had come in from the gymnasium, and Jake was turning his head to the side so Charlie could see how well he'd healed up. She rose up on her toes to look close.

Mackenzie frowned at them as he slid his sword into the scabbard on his back, then met Ethan's gaze. The vampire pushed his flop of dark hair from his forehead, then signed,
Drifter, would you like me to feed
—

Mackenzie's pale hand closed tight when Ethan narrowed his eyes.

Never mind,
the vampire quickly gestured.
And I wouldn't have taken any from her
—
Becca is it for me. I was just offering because she's in bad shape.

Ethan nodded sharply, then slid his thumbs beneath his suspenders and studied his boots until he was certain he wasn't going to say something he'd regret later. The thought of Charlie letting anyone else provide for her about tore him up and got jealousy roiling hot in his gut.