Embrace the Darkness (Darkness Series) (35 page)

“Reid? Megan?” she said, her voice strained and weak.

“It's about time you woke up." Weldon stepped into her line of vision. “Your friends are safe—for now. The seal’s broken on the door so they won’t freeze, but they’ll be pretty damn cold when they wake up.”

“What did you do to them?” Amber asked, straining against the straps binding her to the table.

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “Mortals are just weak. The other cop was out cold. I gave Megan a little tap and knocked her out. I’d never hurt her. She’s much too important to my research. Don’t you see?”

Amber glared and didn’t respond. Her mind was furiously searching for a means of escape.

“I saw you snooping around Lifeblood after the murders. My vampire tried to capture you when he went after Megan. But she was gone and another vampire saved you. Who is he?”

Amber held her tongue. She’d learn more keeping silent than by antagonizing him. And anything she had to say would most likely piss him off.

“You are a quiet one. Aren’t you, detective?” He smiled. “Yes, I know you’re a detective. I know all about you and your partner. But what I don’t know is who that vampire was that saved you.”

Had her arms been free, she would have folded them across her chest. Instead, she turned her head toward the walk-in freezer.

His bony fingers pinched her chin. He jerked her head around, forcing eye contact. “Who is he? Why was he interested in saving a mortal?”

Imagining a brick wall, she blocked his efforts to read her mind.

“How are you doing that?”He leaned forward and sniffed. “Why don’t you smell mortal? Why didn't you taste mortal?” Fear briefly flashed behind his eyes. “What are you?”

She bared her teeth—her normal, mortal teeth. He hadn’t converted her.
Thank God.
“I told you. I’m your worst nightmare.”

Ha! A bound dhampir was a threat to no one, especially a vampire.

A demonic light flashed behind his eyes, turning them from brown to red. “Then I guess I’ll just have to experiment on you and find out. Won’t I?”

Dear God. What have I done?

She swallowed against a paralyzing fear, working frantically at the leather straps binding her to the table. She twisted and turned her hands until sweat rolled over her wrists. Miraculously, one hand slipped free.

She cast a terrified glance behind her. Weldon had stepped out of the room. Had he returned to the morgue to get his tools? The bone saw? Or a rib spreader?

Salty tears stung her eyes as she reached for the leather strap binding her left hand. Rusted metal buckles like those on a belt allowed the straps to be pulled through and tightened. The restraints were as old as the sanatorium.

Once her left arm was free, she sat up, frantically working the straps loose from her ankles. Before she could free her left leg, Weldon returned.

He dropped his supplies. Metal clattered to the floor. Glass shattered. His fingers curled around her shoulders, forcing her back down. “You bitch.”

“Let go.” She tried twisting free, but his grip was too strong—too powerful. It felt as if he were crushing her bones.

He pulled a strap up from the table leg and looped it around her neck. Then suddenly, the pressure eased. A roaring filled her head—a sound not unlike an enraged lion.

Heart pounding with a mixture of fear and hope, she sat up on the steel table. Gerard had Weldon in a chokehold, pulling him away from her. His face was a mask of rage. His beautiful eyes flashed blue fire before turning a flaming red.

Weldon snarled and tore free of Gerard’s grip. Gerard came at him with fists raised. Weldon evaded.

Where the hell is Vincent?

Before she’d completed the thought, the freezer door sailed across the room. “Megan!” Vincent stormed inside, rushing to his wife.

Amber freed her legs from the straps and jumped off the table. Megan’s bag lay on the floor where Weldon had dropped it. The bone saw lay beside it. Her hand hovered over it. The saw required electricity to work and she wasn’t likely to do much damage wielding it like a club. The shattered remains of a glass vial with a purple stopper lay beside a twenty-two gauge needle. An empty plastic syringe had skittered across the floor to land beneath the prep table.

It looked as if Weldon had planned to draw her blood first. And then what? Saw off an arm to see if it’d grow back like the appendage of a starfish?

Oh hell no. Weldon wasn’t going to experiment on her or anyone else ever again.

The rage returned, filling her with strength and purpose. She reached inside Megan’s medical bag and withdrew a pre-filled syringe. She lightly depressed the plunger, releasing a single drop of yellowish fluid that smelled faintly of garlic. Vampire sedative.

Armed and ready, she jumped to her feet. Gerard and Weldon looked like mismatched wrestlers. A welterweight fighting a heavy weight. Weldon was faster, dodging Gerard’s inhumanly fast punches. But was he stronger? Could Gerard take him if he got in another blow? It didn’t matter. Amber wasn’t about to give Weldon a chance to hurt Gerard again. She’d knock his ass out first.

She took a step forward, waiting for the opportunity to attack, hoping Vincent would come out of the freezer and assist Gerard, thereby increasing both their odds. But Vincent was more worried about Megan than her…or Gerard.

Weldon whirled out of Gerard’s reach again. Amber stepped closer, syringe raised. A hand grabbed her wrist, jerking her back. The musty stench of mildew teased her nostrils as strong, bony fingers held her wrist in a vice-like grip. Turning her head, she faced her attacker.

“Surratt.”

Chapter 26

Amber stared into the hateful eyes of the vampire who'd created her mother’s killer. She waited for him to flash his fangs or snarl like the monster he was, but he did neither. Sympathy—and something akin to resignation shone in his dark eyes.

“Let go!” She twisted her arm in his vice-like grip. He didn’t release her.

“You mustn’t interfere,” he said in an accented, almost reverent voice as deep and smooth as honey.

Tension drained from her body. Her fears abated. For some reason, she just couldn’t work up the indignation the situation deserved. She was consciously aware of being under his control, but she felt emotionally detached as she watched Gerard and Weldon battle.

Her interest was piqued when the air around her stirred and Nicolas appeared as if from nowhere. Amber had a vague sense of seeing his blurred form rush in from the hall. When Gerard grabbed Weldon by the arm and spun him around, Nicolas stepped behind him, blocking his retreat when Weldon would have escaped.

Gerard slammed his fist into Weldon’s face. His head snapped back, hard enough to snap a mortal’s spine. He shook his head as if he’d bumped it. Blood flew from his mouth and nose, spattering the walls and floor. Nicolas jumped back, avoiding the spray.

Weldon was unable to evade Gerard’s next punch. Or the next. Gerard pummeled him until his face was nothing more than a pulpy mass of blood and bone.

Choking and gurgling, he slid to the ground in a boneless heap. Exposed brain matter sizzled before his body evaporated in a puff of ash and smoke.

Gerard rubbed his knuckles against his palm, smearing them with blood. Then he turned. His eyes went wide, the red draining away.

“Don’t hurt her,” he said, his voice tight with fear.

Surratt nodded once and let go. Released from his grip, Amber’s thoughts and feelings returned, relief the dominant emotion.

“Gerard!” She hurled herself against his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close as she rained kisses over his bruised face.

He kissed her back. Deeply. Thoroughly. Then without warning he broke free, staring into her face with his heart in his eyes.

Grazing her cheek with his abraded knuckles, he whispered. “Are you all right?’

She nodded, unable to speak. He tucked her under his arm, shifting his gaze from Surratt to Nicolas.

“I don’t know whether to thank you for blocking Weldon’s escape or beat the shit out of you for leading
him
to Amber.” He pointed to Surratt.

Nicolas arched his brows and looked at Amber. His gaze was so intense, she couldn’t hold it. “Amber’s my daughter. I wouldn’t let Surratt within a mile of her if I thought he posed a threat.”

Blood roared in her ears. Greg Buckley wasn’t her father.

She raised her chin, meeting Nicolas’ warm brown gaze. “Did you rape my mother?” she asked, knowing the answer before he gave it.

“No.” His answer lacked heat or anger, as if he’d expected the question and understood her need to ask. “I loved her. She was my wife.”

Amber felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from under her. The world tilted. Her knees buckled. Gerard pulled her closer.

“Wife?” How could her mother keep something like that a secret? Why had she never guessed Greg was her mother’s second husband?

She’d never seen any pictures of her mother with another man—just that one picture of her father—of Greg—with the mysterious soldier she now knew was Nicolas.

“We eloped right after graduation,” he said with love in his eyes. “I joined the army and we moved to Germany. I was stationed at Grafenwoehr. We lived in Eschenbach, and everything was going great until that explosion ripped open my gut. By the time I got to Landstuhl, I knew I wasn’t going to make it. My one desire was to see my wife one more time. Surratt granted me that wish on the condition that I erase her memory afterward. Neither of us knew until later that I’d gotten your mother pregnant.”

“He turned you into a vampire.” She glared at the musty-smelling old man who looked like a gaunt version of Christopher Lee’s Dracula. “He created the blood-sucking-bastard who killed my mother—your
wife
.”

The hurled accusations didn’t faze Surratt. He merely inclined his head as if in agreement. “Claus was a mistake. But he was a descendant of sorts. I thought he would be a benefit to the cause. He was an uncontrollable zealot. I’m sorry about your mother.”

Fury mixed with grief prevented Amber from speaking.

Gerard had no problem voicing his opinion. “I don’t know how the two of you found her or why you’re following her, but she doesn’t pose a threat to vampires. At least not to those who don’t pose a threat to humans.”

Again Surratt dipped his gaunt chin. “Precisely why I’m here.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Gerard’s fangs descended. His eyes blazed red.

Surratt smiled. “I had to see for myself that she isn’t a threat to our kind. It’s my job.”

“Your job?” Amber asked, her voice so tight it hurt to speak. “Who the hell hired you? And exactly what
is
your job?”

“I’m leader of the Shedu, a benevolent breed of what Mesopotamian folklore call the Utukku. Europeans call us Vampire.”

Amber’s pulse jumped. “How damn long have you been around?”

“Since 4000 B.C.”

The truth—if it was the truth—staggered her. Her knees buckled. Nicolas stepped forward but Gerard drew her closer. She felt pinned between the two immortals—drawn to both.

“Jesus!”

“Long before him,” Surratt said with a wan smile. “But not as long ago as some vampires believe. Neither Lilith nor Cain was a vampire, but fear of the wrath of Cain has kept many murderous vampires in line.”

“Is that your job too? Too keep vampires in line or destroy them?” She pulled away from Gerard, stepping in front of him as if she could protect him from the ancient vampire.

Gerard pulled her back, placing her beside him—not behind him. Her heart melted as their minds briefly connected. They were equal partners in the tenuous relationship they’d formed.

“Surratt protects mortals from the Ekimmu,” Nicolas said. “He’s been watching over you since you were born.”

“But I’m not mortal. And he knows it.” Amber looked from Nicolas to Surratt. She didn’t know what an Ekimmu was and she didn’t care. Surratt was the enemy.

But what about Nicolas? If Surratt wanted to destroy her, would he stand in the way? Or stand aside?

“I am not your enemy,” Surratt said. “I am a benevolent Utukku known as the Shedu. I lead the Brotherhood.”

Gerard stepped away from her like an earthbound spirit drawn to The Light.

“You have the answers I’ve been seeking for two centuries,” he said in a voice filled with awe.

Amber wanted to grab his arm and call him back but her feet wouldn’t obey her. She couldn’t move and she couldn’t speak. It was if her voice had frozen in her throat.

Surratt nodded as if granting Gerard permission to speak.

“Is there a cure for what I am? Am I damned?”

“I am not God,” Surratt said. “I can neither redeem nor damn you. But since you have chosen to follow the way of the Shedu, you are in no immediate danger of eternal damnation.”

“I don’t know the Shedu,” Gerard said, his voice as desperate as his desire for redemption. “But I need to know if I’m cursed, or if my condition is the result of a disease the way Megan says.”

Again Surratt nodded, speaking as if he were a sage who knew all the secrets of the universe. “It is no curse, though many see it as such. It is an ancient disease that originated in Mesopotamia.

“The ancient Sumerians ruled Mesopotamia. Their culture brought the earliest cities, civilization, and religions. But war, death and disease were rampant. Young men died suddenly and unexpectedly on the battlefield or from diseases caused by war and destruction. Legend claimed that by dying under such extreme circumstance, the spirits became conscious in the grave, their desire to live so strong they rose up, roaming the night seeking blood to maintain their existence. In truth, it was a deadly virus that killed the body but not the soul.

“The soul survived but the body suffered a wasting disease. Without the consumption of blood, those affected withered and died. They became known as the Utukku—a spirit or a demon that could be either benevolent or evil. They were still men—men afflicted with a disease. Some were good. Some were evil.