Moon Shadow (Vampire for Hire Book 11) (24 page)

Chapter Fifty-four

Lichtenstein was on his feet. The brute holding me released his grip. I was up and out of my chair as quickly as I could move. Granted, not as fast as I wanted to, but I was pleased to feel my strength returning.

“Kingsley drank silver—” I began after dashing over to the butler’s side. Never had I been happier to see the big, gangly, irritable servant.

“I know,” said Franklin, cutting me off.

“Of course he knows,” said Lichtenstein. “He’s bonded with Kingsley. He knows all of his master’s moods, his happiness and his pains. Franklin would be highly aware that his
new
master is in grave danger. Like a homing pigeon, Franklin would know just where to find him, too.” The doctor completely ignored the one-sided battle that raged on in the arena below, a battle that, undoubtedly, would not end well for Kingsley. “And make no mistake, your new master is in the gravest of dangers.”

I hadn’t known Franklin could drive, and I hadn’t known he was in the area either. Kingsley and I had driven here together. Maybe the creepy butler had taken an Uber ride. I didn’t know.

“Stop him.” Franklin motioned with the bloody knife toward the big window.

Lichtenstein, who stood before us and mostly blocked the big window, shook his head. I think the bastard just wanted to be a dick. He wanted to be cool. He wanted to show that he was in control, but I saw otherwise. I saw a man who was thunderously hurt, a man who felt betrayed beyond words. A man who seemed very much in love with the awkward-looking butler standing next to me.

Not in love, I realized. He was bonded, perhaps permanently. Franklin had been bonded too, but the bond hadn’t held, and seemed to have easily transferred to Kingsley. Not so much for Lichtenstein, who seemed to have it bad for the gangly butler.

Lichtenstein said, “Indeed. No doubt, Franklin perked up as soon as Kingsley began to feel the first pangs of silver coursing through him.”

I looked at the butler. “But Yorba Linda is...” I shook my head. “More than an hour away.”

Now the butt-hurt doctor found some humor in the situation, and it was, of course, at my expense. “So says the dragon lady.”

I blinked, shot a glance at Franklin. “You can shift?”

Franklin hadn’t taken his eyes off Gunther, continuing to hold the long knife between them and us. Yes, us. I was squarely on the side of Franklin.

“Oh?” said Lichtenstein. “You are unaware of Franklin’s many gifts? There is a reason why I consider him one of my greatest achievements—”

“I am not an achievement,” said Franklin. “I am a man.”

“You
were
a man. Now you are something far, far greater.” Lichtenstein looked from him to me. “Franklin is a fellow shape-shifter, Samantha. Tell her, Franklin. Tell her what you can do. Tell her about the many gifts I have bestowed upon you. Gifts you scorn.”

“We’ll talk another time, Sam. Now is not—”

“Now is the perfect time to discuss all that I have given you, Franklin. Now is the perfect time to discuss your lack of appreciation for all that you are, thanks to me.”

Franklin suddenly gritted his teeth, looking truly pained, and I realized that he was, vicariously, experiencing Kingsley’s own suffering.

“You feel his pain, don’t you, Franklin? Good. Good. I was hoping you would. What I didn’t expect was to see the pain on your face. Good. Good. Now, maybe you can understand the pain you have caused—”

“Enough!” shouted Franklin. Gone was all trace of his tantalizingly mysterious European accent. “Sam, I do not change into anything. I can run quickly, so fast that I am often a blur to those around me.”

“The Wind, I used to call him,” said Lichtenstein proudly. “He ran like the wind, and I was so pleased. Never had we seen that tendency before. That particular trait. Yes, some of us can transform. Not all, Ms. Moon. One needs to be particularly evolved. And my Franklin was one such—”

Franklin gasped and stumbled, as if someone had suckered punch him. “Call him back,” said Franklin, standing once again, the sword held surprisingly steady.

Lichtenstein glanced out the window and down into the arena, where from my vantage point I could see some movement but no details. “I’m afraid it’s too late, my boy. You know how Nigel is once he gets the taste of blood. Like you, there’s no stopping him.”

Too late??

I was about to act, but Franklin beat me to it. He cried mightily and leaped forward, swinging the sword. I watched it plunge deep into the neck of Gunther. The guardsman didn’t blink or react. And he continued not blinking or reacting, even as his head rolled off his wide shoulders.

I was too stunned to notice Lichtenstein escaping through a side panel, but I saw the panel swing shut.

“Forget him, Sam,” gasped Franklin. “Can you teleport us down into the arena?”

Chapter Fifty-five

I told him I didn’t know, and just as the words came tumbling out of my mouth, Franklin grunted and doubled over. I shot a desperate glance down into the arena...

The beast, Nigel, stepped away from Kingsley, who had dropped to his knees, holding his stomach. At one point, the creature had retrieved a sword, I didn’t know when, but he held one in his hand now. Blood poured through Kingsley’s fingers. The creature circled Kingsley, and I suspected I knew what was next.

I happened to like my boyfriend’s head right where it belonged, thank you very much.

“Please, Sam,” grunted Franklin, clearly suffering. How great his pain was in comparison to Kingsley’s, I didn’t know.

I forced myself to calm down—damn hard to do with Rufus’s own severed head staring up at me. I turned away, breathed, and summoned the single flame... or tried to. Only a flickering of light appeared in my thoughts. I tried again, and managed the same result, a formless flicker. No flame, not really. It was the colloidal silver still in me, making the flame nearly impossible to form.

I opened my eyes in time to see Kingsley reach feebly for the bastard’s leg, but miss. Blood poured from his broken nose and bloodied mouth, pumped from his stomach and over his hands. The sword, I realized had traces of silver in it. The wound wasn’t healing.

“Sam, please...” grunted Franklin.

Again I tried, and again nothing. On my fifth or sixth attempt, I was able to form the flame, but it winked out almost as quickly as it appeared. Shit, shit, shit. I opened my eyes one more time, and saw Nigel standing behind Kingsley. He lowered the weapon, taking aim like a golfer before a big swing.

“Sam...” moaned Franklin.

I summoned the flame again, held it, lost it. Tried again. Held it longer, lost it again. Tried again, held it... held it... and saw within it the dusty arena... my target landing place.

I didn’t waste another second. My hand shot out, grabbed Franklin’s wrist, and we vanished.

Chapter Fifty-six

Only to reappear in the arena.

I’d learned the technique on a special flight to the moon. Yes, the moon. It is a wondrous, jolting, life-altering thing to be in one place... and then find oneself in another. I see my destination first in the flame... and then I am there, in a blink. These days, the sensation of “jumping” is less and less jolting, but the experience was obviously new to Franklin. He stumbled to his knees and landed on his hands, his long knife skittering out of his grip. He shook his head like a wet dog and looked up... but I was already moving on wobbly legs. I tripped, caught myself on the palms of my hands, and, like a cornered hellcat, hurled myself at the thing called Nigel. In particular, at his cleaving sword arm.

I caught his wrist as my momentum carried me up and around the brute, much like a stripper circling a brass pole. Except, in this case, the pole was a thickly muscular arm that might as well have been dipped in cement. My prying fingers found no success. Sword and hand might as well have been glued together.

The thing called Nigel shook me loose, and I went tumbling head over rear, skidding to a stop in the dirt. Most of the skidding had been done on my face. As I snapped my head around, blood from my wounded chin flung to one side—

The sword blade came slashing down to Kingsley’s exposed neck. But that was as far as it got...
toward
the neck. It was met by an explosion of sparks and a steel blade that held firm.

Franklin’s own long knife was the only thing separating Kingsley from, well, having his head separated from his shoulders.

“Get him out of here, Sam,” grunted Franklin.

I scrabbled over the dirt and grabbed hold of Kingsley’s boot. “What about you, Franklin?”

“I... have... some... unfinished... business... here,” he grunted, straining. “Hurry!”

I nodded, summoned the single flame.

This time, it came quicker, steadier. Except, for the briefest of moments, I didn’t know where to go. As the flame wavered in my thoughts, empty, waiting, I cast my thoughts out around us, pushing beyond the walls of the arena, beyond the ceiling, and even the floor, too.

The floor...

Beneath us was a tunnel, perhaps manmade, perhaps natural. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. But there it was, clear as day. At least, to my inner eyes.

And then, we promptly disappeared. Or jumped. Or teleported.

Whichever way it happened, when I opened my eyes again, we were alone in the darkness of the tunnel, safe.

At least, for now.

Chapter Fifty-seven

I projected my thoughts up, and directly above us, I saw Franklin and Nigel engaging in an old-school grudge match. Swords clashed and punches were thrown. Kicks, too. It looked like a knock-down, drag-out fight that I wanted no part of. Indeed, whatever was going on up there was personal. And what was going on down here, in the tunnel, was personal, too.

“You okay, big guy?” I asked the groaning hulk—or husk—of a man presently kneeling at my feet. The same position he had been in.

“I hurt, Sam.”

“Don’t be such a wuss.”

I thought of the escaping Lichtenstein, and the boy, Luke, who had to be somewhere here in the castle. I needed to move. “You’ll be safe down here, I think. Rest up, you big wimp.”

“Where you going?”

“I have a boy to save.”

I scanned my surroundings. My ability to see beyond me—through walls and fish guts even—was handy as hell, but it only went so far. I gave Kingsley a loving pat on his head—good doggy—and dashed off.

***

I found myself in a storage room, completely abandoned and forgotten. I frowned, hands on hips, knowing there was a young boy in this castle being bled dry.

Running through the castle, searching room by room would take too long. I thought about what I had to do, nodded to myself, and got to work. To jump, I always needed a target place to land, something I had seen before and could clearly imagine. In this case, Lichtenstein’s lab of horrors.

I stumbled into a corpse, steadied myself by grabbing a cold shoulder. Once settled, I saw that I was alone. At least, no one living was here. I closed my eyes and scanned my surroundings, up, down and all around. Nothing of note, other than more rooms... and more monsters. No boy or Lichtenstein. So, I picked a long hallway, summoned the flame, and jumped.

And appeared in the hallway. I scanned again, searching room by room, or as far as I could mentally see. Nothing. I leaped into the furthest, empty room. Scanned, leaped again. In this way, I popped in and out of rooms throughout the castle. The structure was immense, with many hidden rooms, corridors, and storage rooms. Many bedrooms and a great ballroom. I saw many, many lurching monsters. I also saw many of them lying seemingly comatose on cots and beds. Dozens of them. Precious few of them seemed truly alive. Most, if not all, were abominations, a testament to one man’s out-of-control ego. Many of these creatures should be put out of their misery, allowed to rot away as nature intended.

I knew it was his successes that continued to drive Lichtenstein. Franklin was such a success. And there were, no doubt, others. But for every one success, there seemed to be a dozen who turned out mindless zombies.

Few noticed me or gave me much mind. Most sat or lurched or lay. The smell of decay was everywhere.

In and out I jumped. Room after room: back rooms, balconies, living rooms, even the kitchen. Grand rooms, not so grand rooms. I jumped and jumped, growing dizzier and dizzier with each flame I summoned, each new room, I appeared in.

One thing was certain, Lichtenstein was nowhere to be found. And neither was the boy.

In the master bedroom, as I stood next to what I assumed was Lichtenstein’s rumpled bed, holding a bedpost to steady myself, I scanned the surrounding closets and hallways, and there, just behind a bookcase was a small, dark, hidden room, a room with a single bed inside. Tubes were attached to an elaborate machine of some sort. Refrigeration, I realized. The blood was going from the warm body of a young boy, straight to a cold-storage unit.

The boy. Luke. I held the image of the secret room, saw it in the flame, and jumped.

***

I stumbled, crashing over the small, occupied bed. I braced myself, gasping. One thing was certain, with each jump I was growing weaker... and hungrier. Indeed, I was only now discovering that I seemed to have only so many jumps in me.

Now, as I steadied myself, I found myself highly aware of the sweet scent of fresh blood. Blood that I knew was special and rich, pure and fresh. Magical blood.

The room was small and completely enclosed. No windows, no obvious doors, no light. No doubt, soundproof. A true torture chamber, of sorts.

Yes, I was hungry, but my heart broke for the little boy who had been forced to lay here, bleeding into a refrigeration-storage system, a boy who, upon checking for a pulse was alive, if barely.

I paced the small room, fighting myself, fighting the demon within, too. I knew I was surrounded by rarefied blood, but was it not also the blood of a distant ancestor, too? Were we not all related to the same ancient alchemist?

We were. The boy, however distant, was related to me.

That made him a relative, of sorts.

It did, dammit. It did.

I paced and fought my hunger. I needed to feed. I needed to wash the poison out of me, so to speak. Waves of dizziness washed over me. I quit pacing the small room, to conserve my energy.

Never, never had I been so hungry, so weak, so in obvious need of blood.

Wouldn’t the blood go to waste?
I reasoned.

Perhaps. But it was the blood of a relative, however distant. But didn’t relatives give each other their kidneys? Maybe... but they are given. They are not taken.

I pushed my fingers through my hair—and made a decision.

I reached down to his arm. Gripped the tube leading into the vein just inside his elbow... and pulled.