Vampire Mine (3 page)

He teleported away before Angus could finish.

A
strong wind whistled through the forest, rustling the trees and welcoming Connor with an unmistakable odor—the scent of death. Connor swore silently as he weaved among the trees.

How many mortals would have to die at this campground before the place was permanently closed? Sean Whelan of the CIA had covered up the last massacre by telling the media that a flu virus was to blame. No doubt the owners had cleaned the place up and invited more happy campers. More victims for Casimir and his minions to terrorize and kill.

Connor stood in the shadow of a large tree while he scanned the surroundings. Casimir could be long gone, or he might be hiding in the nearby caves.

A storm was brewing, building pressure and moisture in the air. Thick gray clouds swept across the three-quarter-full moon and blotted out the stars. A banging noise echoed through the campground, an unlatched door or shutter abused by the wind.

A sudden gust flipped his kilt up in the back, and he winced at the chilly air on his bare arse. He twisted at the waist to push his kilt down, and the wind ripped another lock of hair free from the leather tie at the nape of his neck. He hooked it behind his ear and continued his silent surveillance. Far off in the distance, he could spot the carved presidential heads of Mount Rushmore, the granite gleaming white among the dark hills. No doubt Casimir enjoyed the irony of mentally enslaving and murdering Americans so close to a monument of their strength and freedom.

In the clearing, the wooden cabins were dark. Connor couldn‟t hear any sound coming from them, no moans from dying mortals, no heartbeats. He would check them later, but for now, he assumed they were empty.

The banging noise and odor seemed to emanate from the main lodge, a rustic building made of stone and varnished logs. He sprinted toward the lodge, positioned himself next to a window, then peered inside. A large leather couch, several wooden rocking chairs, a table with a half-played game of checkers. Glowing coals in the hearth of a large stone fireplace. A homey, friendly-looking place if you didn‟t count the lifeless bodies on the braided rug.

Anger and disgust roiled in his gut. There was nothing he could do. Casimir and his minions were probably gone. The bloody bastards had already done their worst.

Still, he didn‟t want to be caught unprepared, so he drew his sword before teleporting inside. He checked the entire building. Empty. He latched the banging door, then returned to pay his respect to the bodies left in a neat row on the braided rug. Seven bodies. Throats slit to conceal bite marks, but not a drop of blood to stain the rug. They‟d all been drained dry. Rigor mortis had not set in, so they‟d died this evening, probably soon after sunset.

His anger grew, threatening to erupt. His grip tightened knuckle-white on the hilt of his sword. The Malcontents would have used vampire mind control on the campers to force them to submit. Two families, he assumed, since there were two sets of parents. Two lovely mothers.

Three beautiful, innocent, young children. The controlled fathers would have watched helplessly while the Malcontents murdered their wives and children.

Rage flooded him, making his heart race. Emotion this intense made the blue of his irises glow, tinting his vision with an ice-cold blue. His fists clenched with the need to kill.
Please, let
them still be in the caves.

He teleported outside, his claymore raised and ready for battle. He would kill them.

Every last one of them.

He stormed down the dirt path that led to the nearby caves. The wind blew stronger, tossing the trees and littering the path with small branches and pinecones. Loose locks of hair whipped across his face. He shoved the strands back and glanced up at the moon. It was an eerie blue, almost completely enshrouded with thick clouds. Good. The darkness would conceal his attack. They‟d never know he was coming until his sharp blade plunged through their black hearts.

Kill them. Kill them all.

He halted with a sudden slap of clarity. Déjà vu. The same cold rage. The same black night. The same icy-blue vision. The same storm-tossed trees and scent of pine.
Kill them all.

His extra-sensitive, glowing eyes stung with the biting wind. What a fool he was. Did he have no more control over his rage than he‟d had centuries ago? What if Casimir had fifty minions with him? A hundred? Was he so damned bloodthirsty that he would walk into a trap?

He slipped into the woods, leaned back against a tree trunk, closed his eyes, and took deep breaths.
Control yerself.
His heartbeat slowed. The rage dimmed.

He opened his eyes, and his sight was back to normal. He retrieved his cell phone from his sporran. No signal.
Bugger.
He didn‟t want to leave the area unguarded while he teleported to Romatech. He headed back toward the lodge. Still no signal. He couldn‟t risk sending Angus a telepathic message since any Malcontents nearby would be able to hear it.

His gaze fell on the gleaming granite heads in the distance. Mount Rushmore. He could probably get a signal there. And he‟d have a bird‟s-eye view of the entire area. If anyone ventured from the caves, he‟d spot them.

The world went black for a second, then he was there, his feet making contact with solid rock. Before he could gain his bearings, a hard wind slammed into his back and shoved him forward.
Damn.
He‟d landed too close to the edge of Washington‟s forehead. He skidded to a stop as a few loose rocks skittered over the precipice.

With his feet more firmly planted, he gazed down the mountain. Pinging noises echoed in the wind as the rocks bounced their way to the bottom. He‟d come close to plummeting, but it probably wouldn‟t have killed him. He would have simply teleported to a safe place before hitting the ground.

On the hill in front of him, rows of aluminum benches climbed the slope like a giant staircase, forming an outdoor theater. The hill was topped with a visitor center and parking lots.

All empty. A good thing since he didn‟t want an audience to witness him teleporting about. Or see his cold arse every time the wind tossed his kilt up.

With an annoyed growl, he shoved his kilt down again, then focused on the nearby hills.

His superior vision zeroed in on the campground. No movement there. He spotted the rocky outcropping nearby that housed the caves. Quiet for now.

He punched in Angus‟s number, and the call went through.

“The devil take it,” Angus growled. “I told you no‟ to go alone. Do ye have a bloody death wish?”

“I have a report if ye care to hear it.”

“I care about following orders,” Angus shouted. “Maybe ye doona value yer own sorry hide, but—”

“Seven dead in the main lodge,” Connor interrupted. That should put a stop to the annoying lecture. He was awarded by a moment of silence.

“Seven?” Angus asked quietly.

“Aye. Casimir‟s usual MO. The victims were drained dry, throats cut.” His jaw clenched.

“Three children.”

Angus cursed in Gaelic. “That bloody bastard. Any sign of him? Nay, forget that! Doona do a damned thing until we get there.”

A strong gust of wind pummeled Connor, and he raised his voice. “The murders occurred earlier this evening. Casimir could be long gone.”

“Or he could be holed up in those bloody caves,” Angus said. “I‟ll gather some men. Stay out of sight until we get there. Do ye hear me? Doona investigate on yer own. That‟s an order.”

Connor‟s gaze flickered south, distracted by a bolt of lightning. “Bugger.” There he was, standing on top of a mountain with a sword in his hand during a lightning storm.

“What?” Angus demanded. “Did ye see something?”

A vision of himself fried to a crisp. Connor tossed his sword into the forest behind the carved heads. The sky flickered again, and he whirled around to catch the end of another lightning flash. Strange. The lightning had hit in the same place twice.

“Connor!” Angus yelled. “What‟s going on?”

“Something . . . wrong.” He narrowed his eyes. “A few miles south of the campground.”

Another flash lit up the dark sky.

His breath caught. It wasn‟t coming from the sky. “I‟ll call ye back.”

“Connor, doona—”

He hung up and dropped the phone into his sporran. He debated fetching his sword, but decided to leave it behind. Instead, he retrieved a wooden stake from his sporran. No sense in drawing the lightning to him. Although he wasn‟t quite sure it was lightning.

A drop of rain plopped onto the top of his head, and he glanced up. Another raindrop splattered on his nose, then rolled a chilly path across his cheek. He wiped his face, then focused on the area where he‟d seen the flash of light. Everything went black.

He materialized in the dark shadow of trees, his feet landing on the soft cushion of pine needles. The light patter of raindrops sounded overhead, not yet heavy enough to filter through the thick canopy of treetops. He moved silently through the forest, tracing the scent of burnt wood and smoke.

When he heard a man‟s voice, he edged close enough to hear the words but remained hidden behind a large tree trunk.

“You left them still alive!” the man yelled. “I had to go back to finish your job.”

Connor stiffened. Either these were Malcontents, or he‟d stumbled across some mortals on a murdering rampage.

“We received our orders,” the man continued. “The humans were all supposed to die.”

Malcontents.
A mortal never referred to his own kind as
humans
. Connor tamped down on the rage that seethed within. He needed to stay calm and controlled. His grip tightened on the wooden stake. He had four more in his sporran and the dagger in his knee sock. But before he attacked he needed to know how many bastards he was up against.

A female whispered a response, too faint for him to hear. Even so, the timbre of her voice lifted the hairs on the back on his neck. It brushed his skin like a caress.
Bugger
. This was no way to react to a bloody Malcontent.

Her voice grew stronger as she made her final declaration. “I can no longer do this.”

Was she rebelling? Connor‟s heart lurched. If he could capture her alive, she could tell them all sorts of information.

“You must follow orders,” the man snapped.

“There was no reason for them all to die,” she argued. “I only wished to spare the children.”

“You have failed to follow orders, Marielle,” he growled. “You must pay the consequences.”

“No.” Her whisper trembled. “Zack,
please
.”

The fear in her lovely voice made Connor‟s gut clench, and he was seized with an overwhelming need to protect her. Bah, protect a Malcontent? She deserved to die.

“This is your third act of disobedience,” the man announced in a booming voice. “The decision has been made. You will be banished.”

“No!
”

The anguish in her voice was more than Connor could bear.
Bloody hell
. He would save her.

He slid the dagger from his knee sock. As far as he could tell, there were only the two Malcontents: the male called Zack and the female, Marielle. He‟d take the male by surprise, turn him to dust, then grab the female and teleport her to Romatech where he could thoroughly question her.

A dagger in one hand, a stake in the other, he zoomed toward their voices.

An intense flash of light stunned him, and he halted, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. Bugger, how could he save her when he couldn‟t see?

Her scream tore through him.

“Nay,” he growled. He fought through the pain and forced his eyes open. His vision sparkled with stars so badly, he stumbled over a fallen branch and bumped against a tree trunk.

Still, he could discern a glowing fire ahead, and he headed toward it. The scent of burnt flesh wafted toward him, and a sick feeling coiled in his gut. Had the bastard set her on fire?

She screamed again. To hell with this. He ran toward her, shoving branches out of the way.

A ball of fire exploded with another searing, blinding light. He turned his head, eyes squeezed shut.

Boom.
A blast of air whooshed against him, tossing him through the air and slamming him against a tree. His head hit hard, and he collapsed onto the ground.

He lay there dazed, pain thrumming in his head. What the hell was that? Some kind of bomb? Even with his eyes shut, stars twinkled with painful brilliance against his closed eyelids.

He rubbed his eyes, willing the stars and pain to go away. Somewhere in his confused mind, he realized his weapons were gone. And the rain had stopped. How much time had passed while he lay there helpless?

He pried his eyes open. The glimmering lights faded away, and he was once again surrounded by a dark forest. The scent of charred wood and scorched earth tainted his nostrils. In the distance, he spotted the red glow of dying embers.

Could she still be alive?

A memory flitted across his mind. His beloved‟s dead body. And their wee babe. He‟d cradled them in his arms and cried. The last tears he‟d ever shed.

He shoved that mental picture away and looked instead for his weapons. His dagger glinted a dull gray in the moonlight. He grasped it and rose wearily to his feet.

Please let her be alive.

He stumbled toward the glowing ember. It was a branch, hit by a fire that was dying instead of spreading. Strange. There was a line of trees, alive and green on one side, and charred black on the other. The half-burnt trees formed a circle around a large clearing that was void of vegetation. A foot of smoke hovered just above the ground. The air stank with charred earth and flesh. The two Malcontents appeared to be gone.

He walked into the clearing, the smoke thick around his ankles. Burned grass crunched beneath his shoes.

A roll of thunder rumbled overhead, and a strong wind blew into the clearing. The smoke began to move, agitated by the wind, whirling around the circumference of the circle like a hurricane, dark clouds spinning around a black center. The smoke rose higher, past his knees, up to his waist.