Not.
Five large, stone-faced guards had arrived minutes after she did and kept watch on her in the house. How many outside, she didn’t venture to guess.
“If you were so worried about my safety,” she asked Robertson, “why did you all let me leave? And how did you just happen to show up in the nick of time? How do I know this isn’t some elaborate hoax?”
Robertson smiled kindly. “Matthias had a security team check the house before you got home. We were outside the whole time. We thought it best to give you space tonight. You were rather upset when you left.”
“Understatement of the year.”
When Robertson’s BlackBerry buzzed, he glanced at it before racing from the room. “Keep her here,” he told the guards. She tried to follow, but one stepped in front of her and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, miss. Please, don’t.” Taz sensed she could wave her gun in his face, probably shoot him, and the other guards would keep her in the room instead of getting him help. They were under orders to protect her and keep her there, and they would to the exclusion of their own lives, if she knew Robertson.
Taz heard a commotion through the garage door. One of the guards left to help, and a few moments later, the group returned. She went to the doorway, and when another guard tried to keep her from leaving, Albert said, “It’s okay. Let her through.”
They carried Matthias. Unconscious and bloody, his clothes shredded. Albert’s clothes were stained with dark smears she instinctively knew were Matthias’ blood.
Her anger fell away as she ran to him. “Oh my God! Is he—”
“He’s hurt very badly,” Albert confirmed. They reached his room at the far end of the upstairs hall, and two guards helped get him into bed.
“We have to get him to the hospital!”
Robertson grabbed her hand as she reached for the phone and pulled her into the bathroom. “Taz, you don’t understand. He can’t go to the hospital.”
“We can’t let him die.” The irony that she wanted to kill Matthias hours earlier was not lost on her, even under the circumstances.
“There’s nothing they can do that we can’t do for him here.” Robertson still had her firmly by the hand, apparently not about to let go until he knew he made his point. “Taz,” he said softly, “he’s not human. If they pull blood work, he’ll end up in isolation and the CDC will get involved. His blood looks nothing like normal blood under the microscope. It doesn’t react like normal blood. It’ll cause a lot of problems. If you can’t be objective, I’ll have to take you out of here. Please, trust me.”
She looked into his eyes. He’d never talked to her like this before. He obviously cared about Matthias, and she couldn’t imagine he would deliberately jeopardize his life.
She nodded.
Robertson touched her cheek. “That’s my girl.”
Albert stood alone at Matthias’ bedside after the guards left. She watched as he cut off Matthias’ blood-soaked shirt. Disgust, fear, and rage battled for control of her emotions. She couldn’t lie to herself anymore and say she didn’t have feelings for Matthias, especially when he lay there, near death, after having saved her life.
Across his chest several deep gashes still oozed blood. There was nothing fake about those. She could see the white of his ribs through one, even smell the blood. The men cut his pants off, and the soaked and shredded fabric gave way to more deep rips in his flesh. His face was bruised and battered. He struggled for each breath.
“Did he…?” Robertson asked Albert.
Albert nodded. “The head’s in the Hummer. And the sword. I barely got him in before more showed up. I’ve already phoned Rafael. He’s flying in to the executive airport. He’ll be here in about two hours.”
“Will he last that long?” Robertson asked.
Albert looked at Matthias. “He has to.”
“What? What’s going on?” Taz tried to stay out of their way but wanted to help.
Robertson used a wet washcloth to swab blood off Matthias as best he could. “His cousin, Rafael, lives south of Atlanta. If Matthias feeds from him, it will help him heal. Rafael has enough of the line in him.”
“Feed?” Her head was spinning. “What? He said he doesn’t drink blood?”
“We don’t, usually,” Albert said, now with large paramedic kit. “But in an extreme case like this, if Matthias feeds from someone strong of the line, it’s like a blood transfusion. Tim and I don’t have enough of the line in us to be any use. Rafael is much more powerful than us.”
She stared at them and tried to process what they said. She looked at Matthias’ battered body. He was dying, every ragged breath weaker than the last. She could feel it.
“I’m of the line. You said so.”
“No!” they both yelled, making her jump.
Robertson stood and went to her. “Yes, you’re of the Clan, and you have the line in you, but you’ve never done anything like this before. This isn’t like the movies. You have to know what you’re doing. It could kill you, and we can’t let you do that. Matthias wouldn’t want you to risk your life. We can’t even guarantee you’ve got enough of the line in you to help.”
“You can’t just let him die. The DNA report said I had a lot of the markers. Can’t you draw my blood and give it to him?”
The men exchanged looks. “It doesn’t work that way,” Albert said. “It has to be direct from the donor. There’s a ritual—I can’t get into it right now.” He turned to Robertson. “I’ll start an IV. That might help get his BP up until Rafael gets here. I’ll need your help to carry everything.”
Robertson nodded and handed Taz the washcloth before following Albert, leaving her alone with Matthias.
Obviously, this was no hoax. No one was crazy enough to rip themselves to shreds. Were they?
She touched his arm where an ugly gash ran from his shoulder to his elbow. This was real. This wasn’t her imagination. She wanted to take it back, take it all back. The angry words, everything. He’d saved her life.
Again. Twice in less than twenty-four hours.
The least she could do was repay the favor.
She quietly locked the bedroom door. Racing to the bathroom, she opened his medicine cabinet and found what she needed. She dropped the disposable razor and stomped it with the heel of her shoe, grinding it against the tile floor. Then she fished out the blade. She used a bottle of alcohol to sterilize the blade.
Carrying the blade, alcohol, and a towel into the bedroom, she wondered the best way to do this. Matthias groaned and moved his head.
She sat on the bed next to him, trying to make herself do it before she lost her nerve. In the movies it was always the neck, but she didn’t feel like slicing through her jugular or carotid artery and bleeding to death in minutes in case she was wrong. The wrist would be safer. With the towel in her lap, she splashed alcohol on her left wrist and tried to keep herself steady.
“Matthias,” she whispered. His eyes fluttered open and tried to focus on her before closing again. She pressed the blade against her wrist and gritted her teeth. This wasn’t going to be easy. She made a lengthwise cut along her arm inside the wrist, about two inches long, trying not to cut through the tendons and hoping it was enough.
It hurt like hell. Blood immediately oozed from the wound, and she fought the urge to throw up. She put the alcohol and blade on the bedside table. Unable to believe she was doing it, she pressed her wrist to his mouth, cupping the back of his head with her other hand.
“Come on, you son of a bitch,” she urged, gently shaking him when he didn’t do anything. “Come on, damn it. Drink. Do it. You have to do this before they get back.” She thought she heard voices at the bottom of the stairs.
Then his mouth opened. His tongue swiped across her flesh, and he latched on.