Bloodline (8 page)

By the time I realized that my angry thoughts had reached Ethan's mind, projected by my rage, I was already in flight. I'd yanked the plush white blanket, lined in thick buff-tinted fur, from the sofa, and pulled it around my shoulders and over my head, like a hooded cloak, to hide my face and my long hair from that woman or anyone else who might be looking. Then I headed out the back door, racing through the night at the speed I'd discovered was a common thing among my kind.

The Undead.

Vampires.

Were they—were
we
—all hunted, as Ethan seemed to believe
he
was? As I apparently was? Were we all in danger? Or was there something special about the two of us that made us targets? Maybe he was lying about that, as well, telling me he was a target for reasons of his own.
He'd certainly shown no compunction about lying to me about plenty of other things. Like the fact that he'd known me before. And left me behind to save himself.

To save us both, a small voice in my mind argued. But I was too angry to listen.

I
raced around the perimeter of the yard, keeping to the shadows, moving too fast to be seen—except by him. He would have seen me, had he looked. I tried to imagine that the cloak covered any sense of my presence, tried to keep him from feeling me as I dashed from the house to the stable, giving him a wide berth.

And then I kept going, to the back of the stable. A fence blocked the meadow, but I leapt it with barely a thought or an effort. He saw me then, just before I moved beyond his line of sight. He saw me, and he shouted my name.

“Lilith! Wait!”

But he'd lied to me. And that meant I couldn't trust him.

I came to a stop in the meadow, looking left and right and ahead of me at the forest and mountains beyond. And then my eyes met those of the mare. Buff and huge, she shook her shaggy cream-colored mane at me. Ethan hadn't yet put the horses inside for the night.

“Please,” I whispered. “Help me?”

I
know
it makes no sense to believe that the animal
heard me, much less understood my words and the emotion behind them. But she responded. She trotted eagerly right up to me. I gripped a handful of her mane and launched myself onto her back, swung a leg over, clutched my fur-trimmed cloak around me and held on. I kicked her sides lightly, and she responded as if reading my mind, twirling fully around and then exploding into a gallop even as Ethan came running toward us, shouting at me to wait.

I didn't wait.

The mare didn't, either. She never even slowed her pace as she approached the pristine white fence. If anything, she ran faster, stretching her long neck, giant hooves pounding the ground beneath us. And then we were airborne, sailing over the fence as if the big draft mare had sprouted wings. As if she were Pegasus. I held on, leaned forward, braced for the landing, and then we kept right on going.

* * *

He couldn't believe she'd fled like that. Obviously, she'd seen the car, overheard at least some of his conversation with the stranger. God, if she had no memory, what the hell had her so afraid? Or maybe that was just it. She didn't know who she was, who she could trust or who was after her. But she knew someone was.

And she knew something else, too. She knew that he had been with her at The Farm, and that he had escaped and left her behind. He should have told her, but his guilt had suffocated his ability to do so. But there was no point in keeping the truth from her any longer.

He hesitated only briefly, because something caught in his chest at the sight of her. She'd wrapped the fur-lined
blanket from his sofa around her head and shoulders, but it had blown back, and her hair flew behind her as Scylla ran full out. Lilith's body moved with the mare's, instinctively, as if they were one being. And then they leapt, like a pair of goddesses, and were gone.

Her thrall over him broken, he shook himself and whistled for Charybdis. The stallion trotted to him, and Ethan gripped his halter and led him back into the stable for a saddle, blanket and bridle. He added extra blankets to a pack, and took time to fill a Thermos from the house, because God only knew what kind of a chase she would lead him on. And if the woman in the car had been telling the truth…Hell, it might be a while before either of them could return.

His home, his haven, was no longer a safe place. And yet, he had no desire to return to it without her. For so long, he'd believed he would never see her again. To have her show up here, of all places, even without her memory—it had to be fate. It
had
to be.

With the saddlebags packed, he rode out after her, knowing he would catch up. It was inevitable. She'd been led to him. He was meant to be with her, to help her survive, if he could. And though he felt the weight of the odds against them like leaden blocks on his shoulders, he knew he had to try.

For both their sakes.

He scanned for her with his senses, tried to pick up her essence on the night's very breath. He hadn't taught her to block her thoughts or to shield her presence from another of their kind. Hell, he hadn't taught her anything yet. She couldn't possibly survive on her own, even without the dark forces hunting her down.

That thought skidded to a halt in his brain as he asked himself just who he was kidding? He'd made it on his own since leaving the compound. She was ten times as strong, as resilient, as clever.

He and Charybdis picked their way over trails and around pines, deeper and deeper into the woods. There was no point in driving the stallion into a full gallop. They were huge horses, bred for working, for battle, not for racing. Scylla would tire before long and slow to a walk herself. He would catch up.

Eventually he did. All at once, Ethan
felt
Lilith. He felt her essence wrapping around him and drawing him in like a siren's call. He didn't speed up. He didn't call out to her mentally. He blocked his essence and thoughts so she wouldn't feel him coming, and he kept Charybdis to his slow, steady gait as they moved, patiently, ever closer.

For the better part of two hours, he rode, and then, finally, he saw Scylla a dozen yards ahead, among the trees. She was riderless and leaning down, stretching her long neck to sip cool water from a bubbling stream.

He scanned the area around her, and in moments he spotted Lilith. She was seated on a flat rock, staring contemplatively at the rushing water, deep in thought, waiting for the horse to drink, compassionate and wise enough, he thought, to know Scylla needed a rest.

He smoothed a hand over Charybdis's warm neck and patted him gently. Then he eased down to the ground and walked silently to where Lilith sat.

“You didn't need to—”

She sprang to her feet and spun all in one fluid motion, one leg rising and sweeping his own legs out from under him before he finished the sentence. He hit the ground
hard, and the impact knocked him nearly senseless. Shaking himself, he blinked his vision back into focus, holding up one hand in defense. She stood over him, fists clenched, ready to pummel him if he tried to get back up.

“It's only me.”

Her eyes boiled with agitation and fear, and the flight-or-fight—or, perhaps more accurately, just plain fight—reaction held her rigid. But then recognition eased the fear from her eyes. She relaxed her stance and stood just watching him, still wary, cautious. The mistrust in her expression and in her aura made his stomach ache.

“You didn't have to run.”

“That woman was looking for me.”

“Yes, but I meant you didn't have to run from
me.
”

“She had a photo of me. I saw it.”

“I know. But I don't think she was DPI.”

“What's DPI?”

He licked his lips. “It's…it's some kind of government agency. They operate the place I'm pretty sure you ran away from.” The lie came automatically, before he could remind himself that she already knew the truth.

She lifted her brows. “You're
pretty
sure? You know damn well where I ran from, Ethan, since you ran away before me.”

He hesitated, looked away. “You do remember,” he whispered.

“I barely remember a thing. But I remember
me,
Ethan. I remember who I am—and
how
I am. And I remember you. The rest, you're going to tell me. All of it.”

He nodded. “Can I get up without you kicking my ass again?”

She glared at him for a moment longer, then sighed
and nodded. “I didn't even know I could do that. It was automatic. As if I've had…training.”

He got to his feet, brushed off his jeans, said nothing.

“I have, haven't I?” she asked.

Lifting his gaze slowly, he met her eyes. Green fire danced in them, reminding him that he'd decided to tell her the truth. Also reminding him that she wouldn't accept anything less. “Yes, you've had training. In martial arts, in weapons, in hand-to-hand combat. We both have. It was part of the program at the place where we were raised.”

“The Farm, right? What is it, Ethan?”

He took hold of her forearm, intending to lead her back to that flat stone so they could both sit down. But she jerked away as soon as he touched her, and that stung. “The Farm is…well, it's sort of like an orphanage and a military school all rolled into one.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, possibly so he wouldn't touch her again. “Why would people who run an orphanage want to chase after the orphans who leave?”

“We're not ordinary orphans, Lilith. We were born with a very rare antigen in our blood, called Belladonna. And it makes us special. It makes us…the only humans who can become vampires. And you and I, and the other Chosen at The Farm, we're members of a very special bloodline. That's what they call us there—Bloodliners.”

She frowned. “I remember there being a lot of us there. How is it so many of us become orphans?”

“I'm not so sure we do. It's just as likely we're taken, kidnapped, our families murdered. I do know that we're never supposed to leave, at least not on our own. We're prisoners. We're expected to grow up there, get our training there, become utterly devoted, unquestionably
loyal there, and then, when we reach adulthood, they turn us into vampires and we work for them.”

“Doing what?” she asked.

“I don't know. I do know that when someone runs away, vampire assassins, graduates of The Farm, are sent to hunt them down and kill them. So that would be one job.”

She frowned. “How many…how many vampires do you suppose have been made there?”

“I don't know.”

“Why not?” she asked. Her tone was impatient. “You have
your
memory. You grew up there. So how many children, older than you, were there and then…weren't there anymore?”

He thought hard, never having considered the question that way before. “Perhaps…fifty. In the early days there weren't nearly as many there as there were more recently. Now there are far more in training.”

“In captivity, you mean.”

Nodding, he held out a hand. “I know I should have told you all of it from the beginning, Lilith, but I just didn't know if I could trust you or not. I thought you might have been sent to kill me.”

Sighing, she took his hand, and he pulled her closer. She never took her eyes from his as she came to him and said, “I can see that's not the only reason you lied to me. There's more.”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me?”

They walked along the edge of the stream, with him still holding her hand. It was small inside his, but strong.

“What were we, before they ‘turned' us? I mean, did we have any special powers or abilities?” she asked.

“We were just humans, but special ones. The keepers tell us that they take children like us to live at The Farm for our own protection.”

“Protection?” She tipped her head sideways, staring up at him with her green eyes wide and curious. “From what?”

“From other vampires. The Wildborns. Vampires who make each other. But the keepers say if they find one of the Chosen—that's us, before we're made over—they'll kill us on sight. And that if they knew the Bloodliners existed, they would kill us even more eagerly—even those of us who are already undead—because we're
so
different from them.”

She blinked and stopped walking, sinking instead to the grassy ground beneath her. “If only the Chosen can become vampires, and if the Wildborns still make new vampires, then they must not kill
all
the Chosen.”

He smiled, because he remembered her making that exact same argument in class—during their indoctrination. “I agree. It makes no sense. There must be some system they use to decide who to kill and who to bring over to the dark side.”

“So you don't really know if they kill
any
of them.”

He lowered his head. “They're savage, the Wildborns. It's their nature. They're hunters, predators. They feed off innocent humans, kill people. They have no rules, no inhibitions, no restraint. While we Bloodliners are civilized, educated, more evolved. They would see us as a threat to them and hunt us down if they knew about us.”

Studying him, she waited a long moment and then said, “And who told you all that?”

“Everybody knows these things.”

“
Do
they? And who told
them?
”

Shaking his head slowly, he said, “You have a point. It could all be lies, but it's not something I'm willing to risk my life to find out for sure.”

“So you knew me there? At The Farm?”

“We never spoke. But I knew you.”

“How?”

He smiled a little. “Everyone knew who you were. You were the rebel. You argued, refused to obey, disagreed with every lesson you were taught, questioned authority at every juncture. You couldn't be tamed.”