Desire After Dark (23 page)

Vicki stared in horror as the other five surged to their feet and lumbered toward them.

“This one's mine!” Torch hollered. He fired twice and the second zombie hit the floor with a thud. “Like shooting fish in a barrel!” he crowed.

Vicki turned away, her hands pressed over her ears as Twist and his gang took out the other zombies. Her gaze settled on Antonio. Was he still alive? A distant part of her mind chuckled at her choice of words. Vampires weren't alive. They were Undead. She wondered if Falco had destroyed him, if he was now truly dead.

The vampire twitched as the coppery scent of blood filled the air.

She hurried to his side when all the zombies had been taken care of. “Antonio? Antonio, can you hear me?”

He didn't move, didn't speak.

“We have to get him out of here,” she said. “Hurry!”

“Who is this guy?” Twist asked.

“There's no time for that now.” Bile rose in her throat when she saw the burns on Antonio's body. She frowned as she realized the chains were bolted to the floor.

Twist jerked his head toward the door and Link ran outside.

“I think we're too late,” the Hammer remarked. “He looks dead.”

Link reappeared a couple of minutes later and after a good deal of swearing, he managed to cut the manacles at Antonio's hands and feet and neck.

“Let's go,” Vicki said. “Hurry!”

The Hammer hoisted Antonio onto one shoulder and headed for the door.

“Wait a minute!” Vicki cried.

“Something wrong?” Twist asked.

“Yes. Just stay here a minute. I'll be right back.”

Hurrying out to the Lexus, she opened the trunk and pulled out the plastic sheeting. She ran back to the shed, aware that the sun was already setting. They had to get out of here before Falco returned.

Inside once more, she wrapped the black plastic around Antonio from head to foot. When she was finished, he looked like a mummy.

“What the hell?” Link asked. “Why'd you do that?”

“I don't have time to explain. A very bad man will be here soon, and believe me, you don't want to be anywhere around when he gets here.”

“Worse than these guys?” the Torch asked, looking at the zombies that littered the floor.

“Much worse,” she said. “He made them.”

She had a feeling there wasn't much that scared Twist and his gang, but that did it.

The Hammer again hoisted Antonio onto his shoulder and headed for the door.

Following him, Vicki murmured a silent prayer of thanks for Twist and his gang. She had been so worried about Antonio, so anxious to find him, she hadn't stopped to wonder how she would get him out of the shed. On her own, she would never have been able to lift him, let alone carry him out of there.

“Where do you want him?” the Hammer asked.

“Here, in the trunk.”

Twist and his gang exchanged looks that clearly wondered how they'd gotten mixed up with a woman who was insane.

“You want us to follow you?” Twist asked.

“No, that won't be necessary.” She covered Antonio with the blankets and closed the trunk. “I don't know how I can ever thank you.”

Twist shrugged. “We didn't have anything better to do today. So long, lady.”

“Good-bye.”

Aware that the sun was setting way too fast, she got into the Lexus, locked the door, and drove as though all the devils in hell were at her heels. The sun had set by the time she reached the road to the castle.

Once inside the garage, with the door closed, she switched off the ignition, then leaned forward and rested her forehead on the steering wheel.

She had him safely home. But had he survived the trip? After taking several deep breaths, she got out of the car, took several more deep breaths, and opened the trunk.

“Antonio?” She tossed the blankets out of the trunk and removed the plastic sheeting that covered him. “Antonio!”

He lay as still as death. And he looked pale, so pale. The burns on his neck, wrists, and ankles were a dull ugly red. His cheeks looked hollow, the skin drawn tight across his cheekbones. His whole body was covered with burns that looked like tiny cuts. What had Falco done to him?

Biting down on her lower lip, she leaned forward and touched his shoulder. “Antonio?”

With a savage growl, his hand closed around her wrist, his fingers squeezing until she thought the bones might break.

His eyes opened, glowing red in the overhead light of the garage. He stared at her and there was no recognition in his gaze, only a burning hunger.

Fear seized her. Fighting down the urge to pull away, she said, quietly. “Antonio, it's me. Victoria. I've brought you home.”

She looked down at his hand. His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, back and forth, back and forth. He licked his lips and she caught a glimpse of his fangs, a telltale sign that he was hurting and weak from the blood he had lost.

She fought down a rising sense of panic. Did he know who she was? In his current state, would it make any difference?

“Antonio, listen to me. You're safe now. You're home. Falco can't hurt you anymore.” His hand tightened on her wrist at the mention of Falco's name, his nails digging into her flesh. “Antonio, you're hurting me.”

His eyes narrowed as his gaze focused on her face. “Victoria?” His voice was low and edged with pain.

“Yes. Yes, it's me.”

He let go of her arm and his hand fell to his side. “Sorry…if I hurt you.”

“We need to get inside, quickly.”

He nodded and she helped him out of the trunk, her stomach churning with revulsion when she got a good look at him. The words
death warmed over
flitted through the back of her mind.

He moved as if every step caused him pain. She recalled that he had told her once that vampires felt things more intensely.

Combating a sense of urgency, she helped him up the stairs, constantly glancing over her shoulder for fear she would see Falco or more of his zombies advancing toward them. It was obvious that Dimitri Falco had no conscience, no sense of pity or compassion for those he so callously enslaved.

She breathed a sigh of relief when they were safely inside, the heavy front door closed and locked behind them.

She guided Antonio to the front parlor and then to the sofa. He sat down heavily. Resting his head against the back of the sofa, he closed his eyes.

She stood looking down at him, wondering what she should do, wondering how he could survive when he looked so ghastly pale. She moved toward him, needing to touch him.

“Go away from me, Victoria.”

“No. You need help. What can I do?”

“Go away.” He spoke between gritted teeth. “You cannot give me what I need.”

“Why not? I've done it before?”

“I need more than a mere taste.”

She swallowed hard.

“Go, my sweet, you are far too tempting and too near and I am too weak to long resist.”

“You can't mean to go out,” she said. “Not tonight.”

“I must.” A muscle worked in his jaw; she saw his hands clench into tight fists.

He was hurting beyond anything she could imagine. She backed slowly toward the staircase, wondering how safe she would be in her room if he changed his mind. It was his house, after all. There was no protection for her here, no threshold to keep him out.

Her heel hit the bottom step and she stopped. She couldn't let him go hunting tonight. Falco could be out there, waiting, knowing that Antonio would need blood to ease the pain, to heal his wounds. She didn't know how Falco had managed to catch Antonio off guard before, but she knew he would be an easy mark now.

She took a deep breath. She would be dead now if not for Antonio. He had warned her against Battista, rescued her from a fate worse than death. She could not abandon him now, when he needed her more than ever.

Squaring her shoulders, she went back into the living room and sat down on the sofa beside him.

His nostrils flared. He opened his eyes. Eyes that glowed with the lust for blood. “Go.” The word sounded as if it had been torn from his throat. “Go. Now.”

“Take what you need, Antonio. But please don't hurt me.”

He shook his head. “I cannot promise that. Not now. Please, Victoria, sweeting, go while you can.”

“I'm not leaving you.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “This is madness. You do not know what you are saying.”

She thought so, too, but she couldn't leave him, couldn't bear to see him suffering.

Battista closed his eyes again. He didn't trust himself to drink from her, not now, when his thirst was nearly out of control, when he was weak with pain. The burns from the silver throbbed relentlessly. They would not heal overnight. Without blood, they would not heal at all. Though it had been years since he had killed anyone, he knew that, should he hunt tonight, the poor unsuspecting mortal who crossed his path would not live to see the dawn of another day. When he drank tonight, he would take it all.

He opened his eyes, noting for the first time the silver crucifix on a chain around Victoria's throat. Perhaps there was a way to take what he needed without taking a life.

“Victoria, you cannot give me all I need.”

“Why not?”

“Because I would have to take it all.”

She stared at him, her eyes widening as his meaning sank in.

“But I want to take a little, enough to dull the pain.”

“But you said that wouldn't be enough.”

“If I can take some from you, I can take the rest from someone else.” He would probably need to drink from at least two, perhaps three, but if he was in control, no one would die. “Do you understand?”

She nodded, her eyes shining with trust. He only hoped he could live up to it, that he would not spend the rest of his existence regretting his weakness.

“Hold on to your crucifix.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “If you begin to feel light-headed, press it against my face.”

“But…”

“It will make me stop.”

“All right.” She clutched the cross tightly in her hand.

“You are a very brave woman,” he murmured as he lowered his head. “I can think of no other who would bare her throat to me at a time like this, when there is no one here to help you.”

Vicki closed her eyes. She didn't feel very brave. Her hand tightened around the crucifix as she felt his breath on her neck, the sharp sting of his fangs, the mind-blowing pleasure as he drank from her. It always astonished her, the pure delight, the sense of blissful contentment…

Pleasure turned to fear as she felt suddenly dizzy. “Antonio? Antonio, stop!”

For a moment, she was afraid he was beyond hearing, beyond stopping. She lifted her hand, the cross bared on her palm. “Antonio, stop, please!” He was already hurting. She didn't want to cause him more pain.

With a low groan, he drew away.

For a moment, she saw him as he truly was, his eyes red, his fangs lowered. And then he was her Antonio again, his eyes dark with concern. “Victoria?”

“I'm all right. Are you?”

“Better now.” Drawing her closer, he brushed a kiss across her lips. “I must go out for a while.” He stroked her cheek, his eyes filled with such tenderness it made her heart ache. “Do not wait up for me,” he said, and he was gone.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered. “Like I'm gonna get any sleep until you get home.” She sat there a moment, thinking that she must be getting used to being bitten, since she hadn't passed out this time. She was, however, famished.

But food could wait. She went through the house, turning on all the lights and making sure all the doors and windows were locked. She wished she had some of Mrs. Heath's garlic to spread around. Suddenly, the old lady's quirks all made sense. Well, if Mrs. Heath could outsmart Falco and live to be ninety, so could she!

In the kitchen, she fixed a huge ham and cheese sandwich and poured a big glass of milk. She added an apple, a banana, and a few cookies to the plate and carried everything upstairs to the back parlor. Sitting in Antonio's chair, she turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, settling on an old comedy starring Rock Hudson and Doris Day. No dark dramas tonight! No sci-fi movies about aliens. Tonight she needed laughter.

But she couldn't concentrate on the movie. Where was Antonio? Where had he gone to look for prey? How long did it take him to feed? Would he come back to the castle tonight? Did he rest here during the day? And most troubling of all, where was Falco? They had escaped him this time, but what about next time? Would they ever be free of him? Did he take his rest in that old shed? If so, she needed Tom Duncan's help. She would call Bobbie Sue tomorrow.

The end credits were running on the TV when Antonio returned. One minute she was alone in the room and the next he was there, beside her.

Sometime between the time he'd left the castle and his return, he had changed into a pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt. The burns at his throat, wrists, and ankles were still visible, still painful looking, though the burn on his cheek was nearly gone.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked.

He nodded.

She gestured at the burn mark on his neck. “Does it still hurt?”

“Like the very devil.”

“Well, that's not surprising, since the devil did it.”

Antonio looked at her, sadness reflected in his eyes. “We are the same, he and I.”

“No!”

“We are both vampires, sweeting. Both killers who prey on others to survive.”

“No! I refuse to accept that. You are nothing like him! Nothing, do you hear me?”

“Perhaps not now, but—”

“No buts. People make mistakes, but they can change. You've changed. You're not like him anymore and I won't have you saying you are! Do you hear me, Antonio Battista?”

He laughed softly. “What a warrior you would have made. You would not have stayed behind while your man went out to fight. No, you would have taken up a sword and ridden beside him.”

“I don't know how to ride.”

He laughed again. “Ah, Victoria, what will I do when you are gone?”

“I'm not going anywhere,” she said, but in the back of her mind she heard his voice telling her that, when it was safe, he would leave her so she could return to her old life. Well, he could think that for now if it made him feel better, but he was stuck with her whether he liked it or not. Life with Antonio. He made her feel wonderful, beautiful, and more desirable than any other woman on the planet…life with a vampire…What would it be like to never see him during the day, to eat all her meals alone, to sleep alone, to age while he did not? And what about children?

She looked at him, mute, and knew by his expression that he had divined her thoughts. “I'm sorry…”

“There is nothing to be sorry about, my sweet. You only want what every woman wants. I wish I could give you everything you want, everything you need, but I cannot.”

She stared at him. How could he talk about it so lightly? He had come into her life like a whirlwind, made her love him, made her need him. Did it mean nothing to him? He was like no one else she had ever known. No man alive could compare to him.

His expression told her he knew what she was thinking.

“I can't believe you really mean to leave me when this is over.”

“It is for—”

“Don't you dare tell me that it's for the best!” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I thought you loved me. You said you loved me.”

“Do not doubt it. If I did not love you, I would have seduced you long ago, Victoria Cavendish. I would have taken your love and your blood and left you with nothing.”

Tears dampened her cheeks. She made no move to wipe them away, only stood there looking up at him, her expression filled with anguish. She was hurting, and it was his fault.

“Victoria…”

“Kiss me.”

He yearned to take her in his arms, to feel her hands on his flesh, her body writhing in ecstasy beneath his. Had he thought he could stop with one kiss, he would gladly have obliged, but he was hurting and weak. Taking blood had eased the pain somewhat, but in his weakened state, he did not trust himself to make love to her without taking more of her blood as well. And if he tasted her again, he did not trust himself to stop.

“I cannot, sweeting. I must go.”

“But it's still early.”

“Yes, but I need to rest.” Rising, he moved away from her, away from the temptation of warm flesh and pouting lips. “It will help me heal faster.”