“No,” Drake gasped as a cramp gripped her insides. “Told Sophia what medicines to try. Don’t know…if it will work.”
“Do you want to turn?” Sylvan pushed her fingers into Drake’s hair, forced Drake’s eyes to meet hers. “Will you accept being Were?”
“Yes,” Drake groaned, gripping Sylvan’s arm. “The fever might be fatal.”
“I won’t let you die.” Sylvan had only seen a few humans afflicted by Were fever, and most died from some kind of toxic shock within a matter of a few hours. A few survived, their cells carrying altered mitochondrial genetic material, mutated during the course of the fever.
Turned Weres. All but one, rabid. She had not been Alpha then, and it had not been her responsibility to order the executions. She would not do it now.
Drake shivered. “Don’t let me hurt anyone.”
“I won’t.”
“Can’t fight.”
Sylvan didn’t know how she knew, but she knew. She could sense the wolf straining to emerge. She cupped the back of Drake’s neck and leaned close to her. “Don’t fight.”
Drake’s eyes were closing, her body beginning to shake.
Convulsions.
“Drake,” Sylvan shouted, gripping her neck harder. “Don’t fight. Let her come. Let her come.”
Drake screamed and thrashed, blood-tinged saliva collecting at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes rolled back and her jaws snapped violently, mere millimeters from Sylvan’s arm. The door burst open and Niki charged into the room. She grabbed Sylvan and jerked her away from the bed.
“No,” Sylvan roared, lashing out, her claws catching Niki across the shoulder. Only the smell of Niki’s blood, the one wolf she trusted above all others, prevented her from ripping Niki’s throat out.
Niki shoved Sylvan against the wall, rivulets of blood painting her chest crimson. “She’s not worth it!”
“Get away from me,” Sylvan warned, her eyes wolf-gold.
Niki dropped to her knees, wrapped her arms around Sylvan’s hips, and pressed her face against Sylvan’s abdomen. “No.” Across the room, Drake writhed, screaming.
“Elena,” Sylvan shouted.
The Pack medic rushed into the room.
“Help her,” Sylvan demanded.
Niki, driven to submit after challenging her Alpha, licked Sylvan’s stomach, her fingers opening the buttons on Sylvan’s fly. Her canines grazed Sylvan’s belly as she dragged her mouth lower.
“Don’t.” Sylvan threaded her fingers through Niki’s hair and guided her upright. “Go outside. Calm the others. I’ll be all right.”
“Please, Alpha,” Niki implored. “There’s nothing anyone can do. Let me kill her.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, but if you touch her, I will.” Sylvan gently kissed her on the mouth. “I need you. I need you by my side.” Niki trembled, torn between her need to obey and her need to protect. Caught between love and duty. “When the time comes to be merciful, call on me. Let me do this for you.” Sylvan shook her head. “I will do what needs be done.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Detective Gates, please,” Becca said when Jody’s cell phone rang through to the dispatcher.
“I’m sorry,” a bored voice replied. “Detective Gates is not on duty tonight. Would you like to leave a message?”
“No, thank you.” Becca hung up. She’d promised Gates she would contact her if something popped in the Were investigation. She’d called her, she’d kept her promise.
She hastily dressed in a sleeveless green silk blouse, black slacks, and low heels. After double-checking her bag to be sure she had her phone, her recorder, and a digital camera, she grabbed her car keys off the small table inside her front door, hurried into the foyer, and jabbed the elevator down button.
Impatiently, she watched the lighted numerals as the elevator climbed toward the eighth floor of her waterfront condo building.
Her watch read 3:05 a.m. Ten minutes had passed since she’d been awakened by a call from the man—at least she thought the muffled voice was male—she had dubbed Mr. X. He’d told her to check the hospital for a victim of Were fever. He’d disconnected before she could ask him for a name.
Fifteen minutes later she was in the ER at Albany General.
“Hi, Charlie, how’s it going?” she said to the admissions clerk, an implacable thin bald man with wire-rimmed glasses who always wore a white dress shirt and creased khaki trousers. He sat at the counter in a cubicle separated from the patient admitting area by a sliding glass barrier. Becca knew the night crew in the ER better than the daytime staff because crime picked up at night, and crime was her beat. When she couldn’t get a doctor to even see her, let alone talk to her—which was pretty much one hundred percent of the time—she could usually find a nurse or tech who would give her a little bit of information.
Charlie pointed to the rows of orange plastic bucket seats bolted to the floor, most of which were filled with patients waiting to be seen.
“Night’s been crazy and it isn’t even a full moon,” he said in a low voice. “Who you looking for?”
Becca checked behind her to make sure no one was in hearing distance and leaned through the window for a little more privacy. “Did you sign in any Weres tonight?”
Charlie’s brows drew down, three perfect rows of horizontal lines appearing in his smooth forehead. “Most of the time that’s not something they put on their admission forms.”
“I know.” Becca thought of the photograph in the morning paper.
If a Were had been brought in with something serious, wouldn’t the Alpha be contacted? “How about Sylvan Mir? Was she here?”
“You see any news vans out in the parking lot?” Charlie groused.
“Anywhere she goes, the press follows like a little gaggle of geese.” Becca laughed. “I resent that.”
Charlie looked over his shoulder and bent forward, lowering his voice. “The Were medic—Sophia—she came in a couple of hours ago. I’ve been so busy up here, I didn’t have a chance to find out who she was seeing.”
“Is she still here?” Becca asked.
“I think I saw her leave. Like I said, it’s been a zoo.”
“Who would know?” Becca asked eagerly.
“The charge nurse—Harry Fitzpatrick. Good luck getting him to give you any information.”
Becca knew Harry. He was an ex-army corpsman who’d gotten his nursing degree after serving two tours in Iraq. He ran the ER like he was still there, and he wasn’t going to give her anything. What she needed was a little official weight if she wanted to ferret out details about a patient. What she needed was a cop. “Thanks anyhow, Charlie.”
“Sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“No problem.” Becca walked outside to use her cell phone. She called Jody Gates’s number again and got the same dispatcher. She hung up. Since Vampires didn’t sleep at night, Becca figured the detective was out somewhere.
So where would a Vampire be at four a.m. on her night off? Only one place came to mind.
Niki returned to her post on the porch to guard the door to the infirmary. Leaving Sylvan in danger was physically painful. Her skin beaded with sweat as her wolf savaged her, demanding to return to the Alpha’s side. It took every bit of her control to stay outside, and she was barely able to restrain her aggression. Snarling, ready to fight, she whirled toward the sound of someone approaching.
Sophia stepped into a circle of starlight at the bottom of the stairs.
Unlike Niki, who was still shirtless and barefoot in leather pants, Sophia wore a scooped-neck tee and low-rider jeans. A swath of smooth skin glimmered between the bottom of her tee and the waistband of her pants.