She squatted next to him and felt for a pulse. Michael was right; it was sluggish. She frowned and touched his face. His skin burned. He's sick, she thought, and wondered if he'd had a stroke or something.
She pinched his cheek. "Mr. Rodeman? Can you hear me?"
He didn't stir. Didn't bat an eyelid. Great, she thought. What in the hell was she going to do now? The man had indulged in too much of the good life, and there was no way on this Earth she could lift his rotund figure.
She could lift him kinetically, but even then, she probably wouldn't get far. The pain would be incapacitating long before she reached the stairs.
First things first, she thought. She untied his hands then moved down to the foot of the bed and untied his feet. The flame imp skimmed past her hand, its color bright red and movements suddenly frantic.
Fear surged. She looked around wildly. Nothing stirred the shadows, and yet a chill crawled across her skin. The flame imp skimmed past her hand again, then whisked toward the door. Almost as if it was telling her to get out.
Why? Did it want to lead her away from a trap or into one? She had no way of knowing if this flame imp was under Cordell's control or not.
Frowning, she half rose, then stopped, staring. In the far corner, yellow-tinged smoke billowed, curling through the darkness with unnatural heaviness.
Horror filled her. This wasn't fog or smoke or anything as simple as that.
This was the second devil spawn.
Michael limped through the shallows, following the strong breeze and hoping that it actually led somewhere. The darkness was veil-heavy and the air dank, rich with the smell of decay and things long dead. It was the sort of smell usually associated with city sewers, not a natural spring system like this.
Unless, of course, this is where Cordell and Elizabeth had been dumping the remains of their meals.
Elizabeth wouldn't have worried about polluting the local streams. She'd never been particularly interested in environmental considerations.
Ahead, water dripped steadily, echoing through the silence. The lake around him had dropped from his hips to his knees and was steadily falling. Walking was at least easier. He just wished he knew where he was going.
He spun his senses through the darkness, searching for some hint, some sound, of life. No vampires nor humans anywhere in the near vicinity. Although that didn't mean there wasn't anything near. Cordell would have prepared for guests, of that much he was certain.
He splashed on. The mud under his feet gave way to rock, and the path began to climb upwards.
Ahead, several mounds became visible, casting a palish-green light through the red of his vampire vision.
Bodies, he thought with distaste, and wondered if perhaps he'd found the final resting place of Vance
Hutton and the other missing abductees.
Their bloated, decaying smell hit him. He held his breath and hurried past. True death was never attractive at the best of times. When it had been left to rot like this, even the strongest stomach would revolt.
Just as well Nikki wasn't with him—she'd have lost her breakfast for sure. She might have lived on the streets and had a tougher life than some, but in many ways, she was still innocent when it came to the true horrors of life. Jasper had shown her some of that, but he was far from the worst.
He had to protect her from that. She was the one truly good thing that had happened to him since he'd turned. Somehow, he had to keep her from the horror that was such a major part of his life. And that was not going to be an easy thing to do.
The path continued to climb. In the distance, a heart thumped. Just a solitary beat, then silence. Vampire, he thought, flexing his fingers. Magic tingled across his skin, so close and sharp it burned. He stopped abruptly.
Heat of a different kind hit his senses. Vampires. Six of them, moving in fast from in front and behind, their bodies little more than red blurs in the night. Wind whistled. Swearing softly, he ducked. A baseball bat swished over his head. He clenched his fist and swung hard. His hand sank deep into flesh, and there was a cough of pain.
Movement behind him. He kicked backward, connecting with bone, then dodged sideways as one of the vamps lashed at him with a knife. Kicked out again and heard a thump as someone fell. Another blur of red heat, this time to his left. Metal gleamed, flashing downwards. Hands grabbed his arms, fingers digging deep into his flesh. Teeth tore at him. Fledglings, he thought. Fledglings desperate for someone, anyone, to eat. Which made his situation a whole lot more dangerous. Fledglings this hungry couldn't be reasoned with and wouldn't know fear like Rachel had.
He dropped, making them support his weight, and kicked away the descending knife. The fledgling didn't seem to notice, his hand hitting Michael's chest, his eyes wide and filled with desperation and blood lust. Michael head-butted him, knocking him away, then twisted, dislodging the two vampires holding his arms.
They fell like ninepins, scattering their companions. He leapt over the nearest vampire and ran back down the cavern. Past the bloated pile of bodies and into the water. There'd been a ledge around the last bend—a semicircular jutting of rock protected on two sides. An ideal place to make a stand.
The fledglings followed, their desperation reaching across the night and stirring the darkness within him.
He knew the taste of that desperation only too well.
He climbed onto the ledge and backed against the wall. They swarmed after him and attacked. Hands grabbed him. Teeth tore at his clothes and his flesh. He punched one in the face then grabbed her hair, twisting her around and pulling her against him. Her companions tore at her instead, and the smell of blood stung the air. She mewed, fighting him, fighting them. Her distress was sharp and sweet and filled his soul with the need to taste her. His canines lengthened, and the darkness rose sharply, threatening to overwhelm his control.
He swallowed heavily, then shifted his hold and shattered the fledgling's neck. He thrust her away. Two of her companions followed, tearing at her like rabid dogs. At least she was dead. They would not be so kind to him.
Teeth tore into his arms, his legs. He punched in the face of the one on his arm, knocking him away. He then bent and picked up the two gnawing at his legs, knocking their heads together and thrusting them back into the water. Metal knifed into his side, and pain fired through his body. Heat flashed, followed sharply by a wash of cold sweat. He gritted his teeth against the agony and grabbed the hand holding the knife, squeezing hard. The fledgling screamed—a high pitched, prepubescent sound.
Kids, he thought in horror, they were only damn kids . Elizabeth's doing, surely. Anger rose swift and sharp, washing away the knife-edged pain. Nikki was right. Elizabeth had to be stopped.
He pulled the knife from his flesh then stabbed at the kid approaching from the right. The point went straight through the fledgling's eye and buried deep in his brain. He fell in a heap at Michael's feet and was immediately set upon by one of the other fledglings. Michael kicked her away, then turned back to the vamp whose arm he still held. He was kicking and screaming, his need for blood so intense Michael could almost taste it. Twisting him around, he wrapped an arm around his neck and gave him final release.
Three down, three to go. Better odds by far. Two fledglings attacked as one. He ducked under their blows, punching one in the balls and knifing the other through the gut. Both dropped. He finished them quickly, then turned to the fledgling still suckling on the body of one of her companions. Swallowing the rise of bile, he walked over and broke her neck. She fell backwards, her blue eyes wide, face still so young and pretty despite the ravages of turning. He felt like crying.