Redemption (22 page)

He sucks in his paunch as Malachi lifts her into his arms and carries her into the dark.
 
It is blissfully cold inside. Roseline’s skin is shiny with sweat.
 
Her head lolls against Malachi’s arm as he rushes down the hall, taking the stairs in a single leap.
 
He lands on two feet, as silent as a whisper.

The red door looms ahead.
 
He hardly slows as he kicks through and carries her into the bar.
 
She opens her eyes, staring blurrily at the empty room about her.
 
It feels odd to not have the eardrum shattering music blaring in the background.
 
The cages are empty and vacant of their human fountains.

The bar is clean.
 
Each stool is propped up on the table, waiting for that night’s patrons to arrive.
 
The shifting blue light of the bar is off, leaving behind only the thick slab of dark ice.

“Through there,” the bouncer grunts, motioning Malachi to a room at the back of the bar.

Malachi turns, carefully lifting her over the bar top to fit through the narrow gap between it and the wall, and hurries beyond the taps and into the dark room beyond.
 

Roseline can smell the heady scent of human blood more strongly here.
 
The soft chatter of female voices instantly cut off as Malachi pushes through a door.
 
They enter into a room filled with cages, each lined along either side of the wall, like a kennel.

Frail girls cling to the bars, their clothes in no better shape than her own.
 
Their eyes are glossed with fear and their fingers tremble against their cages.
 
Malachi moves past with hardly a glance.
 
Roseline rolls her head back to stare at the girls, suddenly struck with a desire to help free them.
 
She vows that someday she will.

Malachi curls Roseline into his chest to keep her from hitting against the doorframe as he rounds the corner and heads for the staircase at the back.
 
 
He climbs three flights
 
and pauses to kick through a closed door at the top of the landing.
 
 

Roseline flinches away from the sunlight streaming in through small holes of the grimy apartment window.
 
Malachi crosses the room and gently sets her down on a dingy brown couch.
 
It smells of mold and mothballs. She stills her lungs as she pushes up against the fabric to sit.
 
Her gaze rises to glare at the hulking man filling the doorway.
 
Although large enough to scare any human who foolishly attempts to push their way into the club, Roseline knows him to be a pushover.
 

“What are you looking at, Castor?” she growls.

He stiffens, darting a worried glance at Malachi.
 
“Why is she here?
 
She’s supposed to be at your place.”

“Plans changed.”
 
Malachi shrugs indifferently as he stoops low to ease Roseline’s legs onto the couch.
 
She fights the urge to recoil from his touch.
 
“I felt it would be safer to keep her here.”

She can tell the man doesn’t agree but he lets it slide, obviously deciding Malachi is more in the know.
 
“The loo is in the back but it’s shot.
 
Radiator is crap, not that you’re gonna care about that.
 
Fridge is shoddy but should have something in it. I think I left some packets of AB in there for a rainy day.”
 

“Thank you.”
 
Malachi doesn’t turn to usher the man out, but the sharp edge to his voice leaves little doubt that the conversation is over.
 
Castor hesitates one final moment, his gaze flickering over Roseline before disappearing back down the stairs.
 

She waits until she hears him clomping past the cages before she speaks.
 
“What is this place?”

“It’s a safe house.
 
When people get into trouble they come here to hide.”

He rises and walks into the kitchenette, dipping low to look into the small fridge.
 
He grunts with disgust when he pulls out a half empty blood packet.
 
“Disgusting.”

Roseline’s stomach growls loudly and he casts a pointed glance in her direction.
 
She stares back, unashamed.
 
That fact should worry her.
 
She shouldn’t be craving blood, especially human blood, but her body speaks for itself.

Malachi’s boots shuffle along the hardwood floor.
 
He pauses before the stained sink and tips the blood down the drain.
 
A beetle skitters out of the rusted piping and across the yellowed laminate countertop before disappearing into the coils of the rusted stove.

Roseline closes her eyes and presses her hands against her stomach.
 
Although her thirst may have waned slightly, her need has not.
 
The pain is returning with a vengeance.
 
How long will she be able to withstand it this time?

“I’ll have the girls moved further away from your room,” Malachi mutters, as if checking off a to-do list.
 
“You should probably get cleaned up.
 
I’ll find something decent for you to change into.”

The thought of being clean is enough to get her moving.
 
She stumbles away from the couch, refusing Malachi’s aid as she reaches out for the wall with shaking hands.
 
Her legs are weak and her head is spinning.
 

She can feel the delirium returning.
 

“The shower doesn’t work,” Malachi calls from behind her.

“Figures,” she mutters as she uses the wall to keep her upright.

The floral wallpaper is horrid, peeling off like dead skin on a snake.
 
The sticky texture makes her nauseous but she pushes on, trying not to think of what coats it.

Cracked bits of porcelain slice through the soles of her feet as she nears the bathroom.
 
The once powder blue tile has been mutilated in places, leaving only a fine dust behind.
 
Large shards of glass from the window over the shower litter the floor and tub.
 
She winces as she steps into the confining room, feeling several splinters from the mirror bury deep into her heel.

Blood squashes out from around her wounds as she leans heavily on the sink.
 
The aged grime cracks beneath her grip, pattering in chunks onto the porcelain sink basin.
 
The mirror is mostly gone, cracked and littering the floor, but a few large chunks remain.
 

She leans forward, staring at herself in the mirror.
 
Her eyes are sunken and her cheeks waxed.
 
Dark circles ring her eyes and her lips are nearly transparent.
 
Her right shoulder sticks out of her threadbare dress, revealing nothing but pale skin stretched taut over bone.
 
The dip in her collarbone is pronounced and her shoulder blades are jutting out of her back.

Roseline closes her eyes, fighting against the tears that threaten to fall.
 
She is literally wasting away.
 
Will there even be anything left for Gabriel to find when he does come for her?

It’s a struggle to unstick the faucet because the corrosion is extensive.
 
Gritting her teeth, Roseline yanks against the knob until it releases with a squeal.
 
The piping in the wall shifts and thunks loudly.
 
   

She can hear gurgling as the water winds its way toward the third floor.
 
She waits, leaning heavily against the medicine cabinet on the wall for support.
 
Brown bubbles splatter from the faucet first but is eventually followed by a small trickle of dark sludge.
 

Tears slip from Roseline’s eyes as she silently begs for clean water.
 
When the water begins to shift from dark brown to something resembling clear, she cups her hands beneath the tap and brings them to her lips.
 
The metallic taste is horrible but she gulps it down all the same.

Roseline wriggles out of her clothes, gasping as each muscle group threatens to lock down on her.
 
Finally, she drops the cloth to the floor and gingerly steps on it, leaving bloody footprints.

A growl rumbles from her stomach, echoing off the tiled walls in the small space.
 
She lifts her face, observing the hollow of her neck as she wipes a handful of water over her skin.
 
Discolored water drips back into the basin as she washes away weeks of filth.

She takes her time, bathing each part of her body with more care than she has energy to spend.
 
Her entire body trembles as she slowly works her way down her stomach and legs, scraping off the sludge from Lucien’s pit.
 
Some of her wounds have scabbed over while others look angry and swollen with infection.

The cold water only eases the burning of her skin temporarily.
 
Her temperature continues to climb and her thoughts become as fractured as the mirror before her.

It’s hard to think or focus on anything beyond the feel of the water against her skin.
 
She closes her eyes, savoring the feel of the droplets inching down her waist and onto her hip.
 

A bold scent hits her.
 
Her eyes pop open as she bares her teeth and spins around to find a gawking Malachi standing in the doorway.

“I uh…I didn’t mean to stare.”

A growl rolls deep in her chest, rising into her throat as her fingers curl into claws.
 
She doesn’t see him.
 
Her other senses are dulled by his scent.
 

Mouthwatering.
 
Maddening.
 
Irresistible.

Roseline lets out a blood-curdling shriek and launches herself at him.

***

Fane watches Sadie and Nicolae from a distance.
 
The strain on their relationship hasn’t gone unnoticed.
 
William has begun to spend far more time at Sadie’s side, trying to cheer her up but each time fails miserably.
 
Nicolae huddles with his men at mealtimes, somber and silent unless spoken to, and even then he only answers in short bursts of emotionless conversation.

Grigori meets Fane’s gaze from across the meal hall.
 
Fane mirrors his concern.
 

Fifteen more immortals arrived today and none of them appear to be very happy with the living arrangements.
 
Although Fane has done his best to keep the two groups separated, space is limited in the compound and a couple of the new arrivals are bunking next door to Enoch and Theus.
 
Already, Fane has had to break up one minor scuffle.
 
They might not be so lucky the next time around.

Grigori jerks his head toward the door.
 
Fane nods and gathers his metal bowl, still nearly full with the soup Claudia prepared for the group.
 
He doesn’t have the stomach for food.
 
There is too much on his mind.
 

Between the ongoing stress at the compound, the rise in global killings and his ever growing fear for Roseline’s safety, his patience has grown dangerously thin.
 
One more outburst from the hunter’s table and he might be the next one to snap.

“Where are you going?” William asks as Fane rises.
 
He can tell the boy doesn’t want to be left alone with his sister.
 
Glancing over at the unshed tears dampening her lower lashes, he doesn’t blame him.
 
“I have things to attend to.
 
I will return when I can.”