Redemption (The Penton Vampire Legacy) (4 page)

Mirren retrieved her medical case and purse and set them next to her, then paused and stared at his hands, which had gotten covered in Mark’s blood when he’d thrown the discarded bandages into the Dumpster.

Krys pulled a fresh wipe from her kit and held it out to him, but the blood had taken hold. Mirren swiped his tongue across one of his palms, closing his eyes for a moment and then fixing Krys with a slightly unfocused gaze.

Holy hell. The big guy’s eyes had lightened to silver and he was about a half step from losing it.

“Hey.” Aidan spoke sharply and squeezed his friend’s shoulder hard enough to break bones in a human.

Mirren blinked at Krys. “Sorry, darlin’.” He shook his head and stalked to the driver’s side door, climbing in with a rumble of cursing.

Krys sat openmouthed for a moment before whispering, “Is he, uh, OK to ride with?” She looked about a half second shy of bolting.

Aidan gave her the most reassuring smile he could manage. “You’ll be safe.”

K
rys stared out the side windows of the Bronco as Mirren pulled onto the two-lane road leading into Penton. They’d encountered a surprising amount of traffic in the downtown area. A lot of people on the streets, too.

She eyed them curiously, trying to imagine them as patients, colleagues, maybe even friends. She hadn’t had a lot of those, and maybe being the only doctor in a small town would make it easier to settle in and become part of a community. She glanced at her big, silent chauffeur, who certainly didn’t seem like friendship material.
Plus, he licked blood off his hands, and Aidan Murphy was giving off some intense vibes from that mouthwatering face of his. Don’t forget the weirdness.

At the main intersection, she looked out a side window at a massive black rectangle blocking the road that led west. “What’s that?” she asked Mirren, not holding out much hope that he’d answer. He’d been sullen so far, not to mention being the size of a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float.

“The old cotton mill,” he said, his voice a deep, scratchy rumble. Like Aidan, he had a trace of an accent. Scottish, maybe? Irish? Something-ish.

“Is it being used for anything?”

“No.”

Well, OK then. So much for conversation with Mirren Kincaid. She checked Mark again and settled back to finish the ride in silence.

The steady click of the truck’s turn signal drew Krys’s attention back to the issues at hand: a patient to treat, a semi-mute giant with questionable sanitary habits, and a man over whom she’d practically made a fool of herself. Aidan Murphy was too attractive to ever be interested in a plain Jane like her, and he might be too controlling to be the kind of boss she wanted—basically, one who’d leave her alone and let her run a clinic the way it needed to be run. She’d been controlled enough in her life.

She fought the urge to look out the back window of the Bronco’s hatch, where she knew he was trailing them in his muddy car.

Mirren turned the Bronco in to a parking lot and stopped in front of the double doors of a one-story, midcentury, redbrick building with a sign out front: Penton Medical Clinic. She was surprised. She’d been expecting a small converted house or Quonset hut—this looked more like a hospital, which might even be an omen in Penton’s favor.

Mark Calvert was one lucky guy. Krys applied the last bandage to his sutured abdomen and checked the CT scan of his head
one final time on the wall-mounted light table. Minor concussion. He’d regained consciousness before drifting to sleep, and, as she’d suspected, the cuts were mostly messy. They’d hurt like hell and leave some ugly scars, but his life hadn’t been in jeopardy.

No one—not even Mark’s wife, Melissa, who turned out to have a year of nursing school and a level head once she’d gotten over the shock of seeing her husband carved like a turkey—had commented on the strange word carved into his flesh. Krys decided to stitch it up and forget it. Not her concern. Her job was to treat his wounds, not figure why someone had turned him into a greeting card with legs.

She also didn’t comment on Mark’s inner arm full of needle tracks, uncovered when she’d cut off the remains of his shirt. None recent, but at one time the man had had one heck of a drug problem. It might be her concern if she decided to stay here, but it wasn’t now.

The inside of the Penton Clinic delighted her as much as the outside. Its equipment was state-of-the-art, better than Sumter Regional’s, where she had completed her residency. She could do almost any procedure here. Why would a town this small have such good facilities, she wondered. That, plus the salary they were offering, meant Penton wasn’t nearly as economically depressed as the rest of East Alabama and West Georgia.

Mark awoke while she was securing the last bandage, cracking open the blue eyes she’d glimpsed earlier. They were still glassy, but somebody was home this time.

“Where—?” His voice cracked, and Krys filled a plastic cup with water and offered him a sip through a straw. He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but slumped when he couldn’t gather enough strength. Pressing his shoulders onto the
bed, she punched the button to elevate his head and stuck the end of the bent straw into his mouth.

“I’m Dr. Krystal Harris, and you’re at the Penton Clinic. You need to be still, not move around much for a few hours. You’re going to be sore for a few days while you heal, but you’ll fully recover. Do you remember what happened?”

He blinked at her, face creased in a frown. “You’re already here? Where’s Aidan?” He swallowed hard and gathered his words. “Gotta talk to Aidan.”

Why the heck would he want to talk to the hospital administrator before he asked for his wife? “Let me get your wife.” Krys opened the door and Melissa Calvert pushed past, followed by Aidan and Mirren, all so focused on Mark that they didn’t give her a second glance. What did they think this was—a block party?

She assumed her best I’m-a-doctor-and-I’m-in-charge expression, the one she and every other resident had practiced since first-year med school. “Everybody but Melissa—out. Mark needs to rest tonight. You can talk to him tomorrow.”

They ignored her, so she walked to the opposite side of the bed, glared at Aidan, and raised her voice: “Now.”

Her brain stalled when he raised his gaze to meet hers. This was the first time she’d gotten a look at him in decent lighting, and it only confirmed her earlier impression. When God was handing out looks, Aidan Murphy had gotten a double dose. Dark hair with a hint of curl, light stubble, and a small scar on one cheek kept him from being too pretty. He’d ditched the black wool coat and wore a navy sweater that accentuated the blue eyes that were narrowing at her above a frown.

And he shouldn’t be in this room. Her brain finally gave her libido a kick in the butt, and she found her voice. “I’m sorry, but
you gentlemen need to take it outside and let Mark get some rest.” That sounded about as authoritative as a Muppet.

Aidan stared at her for a couple of seconds longer before giving her a tight smile. “No problem, Dr. Harris. Come to the office when you’re finished with Mark, and we’ll talk about how to keep you here.” He gestured to Mirren and the big man followed him into the hallway, the door closing behind them with a click.

He wanted to keep her here—did that mean he already knew he was going to offer her the job? What in the world was she going to tell him?

F
rom the shadowed alley beside Penton Hardware, Owen Murphy had a direct view of the clinic entrance. He smiled as a dark blue sedan whipped into the parking lot behind a big SUV.

“There you are, Brother.”

Nice feckin’ ride. Aidan had done well for himself. Of course, Saint Aidan would have done it the hard way, learning how to invest and play the stock markets. No way he’d stoop to enthralling rich humans to take what he wanted the way Owen would.

The man had no idea how to be a decent vampire, which was why he’d never be able to protect this little empire he’d created.

After sitting in the car for a few moments, Aidan climbed out, spoke to the driver of the SUV, and walked up the front steps of the clinic. His broad back in its fancy black coat made a tempting target. Owen raised his shotgun, caught Aidan in his sights, and whispered, “Bang.” Too bad a bullet wouldn’t get the job done.

“You gonna let him know you’re here?” Anders moved alongside Owen, waiting like a dog for his master to bark out instructions. The
eejit’s
ability to follow orders without overtaxing his brain had earned him the job as Owen’s second-in-command.

But what a bloody nuisance. “Not yet. This has to be done right.”
My life depends on it.

He needed to make sure his message had arrived safely—tucked in the back of that SUV, he guessed. Owen lowered the shotgun and settled back to wait, resting against the side of the building. Its brick façade spread cold into his shoulder blades even through his coat.

“What if the human kicks it before he can tell your brother about the meeting?” Anders asked.

“Didn’t cut him bad enough to kill him.” Owen leaned his head back and took in the sprinkling of stars. Damned air was too heavy and humid here, even in the cold. Too quiet. Too dull. Perfect for his farm-boy brother, but not him. He missed the noise of Dublin, the music, the women. But he bet Aidan didn’t. The fool tended a greenhouse full of plants in the dead of winter, for the love of all that was holy.

But Dublin, like most of Europe, was full of the hunger now, and from what Owen had seen in the last month, America wasn’t far behind. Couldn’t walk a block without tripping over starving vampires fighting over the same unvaccinated humans. Except for Aidan and his little u-frickin’-topia free of the pandemic vaccine. Whole vampire world went hungry while Aidan and his cronies drank like kings.

“Here we go.” At the sound of the SUV door opening, Owen edged toward the mouth of the alley again. He frowned and stepped closer to the street for a better look as the driver climbed out. “Bloody hell. Wouldja look at that?”

Anders sidled alongside him and swore. “Only one vamp I ever heard of that big, but I thought the Slayer was dead. Maybe it’s a human.”

“No, it’s him. I’ve seen the bastard before. Seems the rumors of Mirren Kincaid’s death have been a wee bit exaggerated. He’s a game-changer.” Owen believed he could best his brother in a fight. Aidan might be physically stronger but he’d get tripped up following the rules. Not that bloody mercenary Kincaid. The Slayer had no rules. And if that damned Matthias Ludlam knew he was here and hadn’t warned Owen...well, the price for killing Aidan just went higher.

“And there’s my message.” Owen grunted in satisfaction as Mirren pulled Aidan’s human from the truck and carried him inside. A woman climbed out of the truck as well, and he studied her. Tall, slender. Maybe the Slayer’s mate? She might be leverage. God knew Aidan wouldn’t have taken another woman. Probably still flogging himself over his dead wife.

“Mission won and done. Let’s go.” Owen led Anders through the alley, taking a dark shortcut to the old mill village, a dead-end street lined with small houses originally intended to keep workers in debt to the Man while they inhaled cotton dust till their lungs collapsed. Now the houses sat abandoned, the woods behind them dense and the hills full of caves. All convenient hiding spots for the small scathe he’d pulled together after Matthias called, and the few humans they’d been able to scrape up for food.