The Vault (A Farm Novel) (15 page)

CARTER

“An
abductura
is only as strong as his convictions,” Sabrina said softly. “You’re no good to me if you believe I’m a monster. You must accept that I can help people. And I
can
help people.”

She looked like she genuinely believed it. Which was baffling. In the past hour, I’d seen her go from total nut job to nurturing sweetie to practically Joan of Arc. I didn’t know which Sabrina was the real one.

And, yeah, I got that she’d been testing me at first, but there was a kind of crazy that couldn’t be faked and she had it. Or did she?

“This isn’t going to be easy,” she said firmly.

“Well, if we have the cure, it’s going to be a lot easier than if we don’t.”

“True, but we still have an uphill battle. One that could take years to fight. First you’ll have to get Sebastian’s research about the cure from Genexome. We’ll have to manufacture the cure and then find ways to distribute it. And if you don’t agree to help me, more and more of my people will die in that time. Since we retrieved the cure, we’ve been working around the clock, but if I don’t have anyone left to do the work, the cure will simply never get made.”

I didn’t have the right to control other people. That was a no-brainer.

But what choice did I have? If I didn’t help Sabrina, I had no way of getting the cure for Lily. For all of humanity.

If I was honest with myself, I hadn’t thought as far ahead as Sabrina had. I’d spent so much of the past nine months just staying alive, I hadn’t thought about the big picture.

Hell, I had no idea—literally no idea at all—what went into producing a drug. If I hadn’t seen it in
The Bourne Legacy
, it didn’t exist in my bank of knowledge. Lily was way smarter about science and chemistry than I was, but she was lost to me right now. Tech Taylor was smart enough to figure out damn near anything he put his mind to. And Dawn at least had some medical training. But when it came down to it: we were all still just kids. Even Dawn, who was twenty-one, I’m pretty sure didn’t know off the top of her head how to manufacture a drug that we could distribute to however many millions of Ticks were out there.

That’s what it came down to: no matter how good our intentions were, we couldn’t do this on our own. There was just no fucking way a bunch of kids were going to save the world.

We needed help. And maybe the help we needed had to come from a vampire.

I made myself look at Sabrina. Made myself study her face in hopes that some hint of what she was really feeling would come through.

She must have sensed I was waffling, because relief flickered across her face. Not the satisfaction I’d been expecting, but relief. Like she really would have been screwed if I’d refused.

She reached out and took my hand in hers. “I know you don’t want to trust me. That after the way Sebastian treated you, you never want to trust a vampire again. But not all vampires are as bad as he is.”

And that’s where she was wrong. Because I did want to trust her. Desperately. So bad I could taste it. And I was pretty sure it tasted like chocolate chip cookies.

But how could I truly trust a vampire, especially this one?

After her performance as the Most Wicked Vampire Queen of the Damned when we first arrived, I knew she could act. Either that or she was actually psychotic. Neither possibility was reassuring.

And she’d said it herself. A vampire didn’t need to be an
abductura
. The extended life of a vampire was one long course in how to win friends and influence people. She clearly excelled at it.

I took a step back, putting some distance between us. Trying to wedge some head space between me and Workman’s influence. I needed to think. Not just about what I would want for the people I cared about, but about what they would choose. What would Lily want? What about Joe and Zeke? Even if I could trust Sabrina, even if she turned out to be the kindest, most benevolent vampire of them all, would anyone I knew want the safety she was offering?

I didn’t even have to think about it very long.

“I’m gonna have to pass.”

“Excuse me?”

“On your offer. I’m going to have to turn it down.”

Her lips curved down at the corners just slightly. Not quite a frown yet. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s a generous offer, but I can’t turn people into kine. No one I know wants to live like a cow.”

“But you’d be protecting them!”

“I’d be controlling them. There’s a difference.”

Her expression hardened. “You don’t understand what you’re—”

“I understand exactly what I’m saying no to.”

“The chance to save humanity.”

“Or the chance to enslave humanity. All depending on how you look at it.”

Her expression twisted, and for an instant, she looked like a child who’d had her favorite toy smashed. “Even if I handed you the cure right now, you’d never be able to reproduce and distribute it. Not on your own. Not without my resources. You are damning yourself and everyone you care about. You will all die.”

“We were all going to die eventually. And the people I know, we’d rather die free than die like cattle.”

Her mouth settled into a hard frown. “No. I refuse to accept this. You’ll change your mind.”

“I’m pretty sure I won’t.”

She ignored me, and instead looked up toward one of the corners of the room, and gave a nod. I followed her gaze to the line of faux-wood cabinets near the ceiling. There, in the far corner, was a security camera. The lens—the only visible part—was no bigger than a dime and blended almost seamlessly into a cabinet. I realized then that although it had seemed like we were alone, she had known all along that there was a security camera watching our entire conversation. An instant later, Marek and his twin appeared.

“Mr. Marek, please show Mr. Olson to the guest room adjoining that of his travel companions. He needs some time to consider his options.”

As I followed Marek back through the underground tunnels of Smart Com, I thought about what Sabrina had said about how not all vampires were as bad as Sebastian. I thought about Roberto and the instruments of torture he’d collected over the centuries. And I thought about Paul Workman being kept alive just barely—despite his obvious physical pain. I didn’t care whether he wanted her to do it. The obvious affection between them made it more horrific, not less.

No. Not all vampires were as bad as Sebastian. Some of them were worse.

LILY

The pull is stronger with every step. We are almost there. It’s so close.

We had to stop to sleep when the sun got too bright. But we are moving again. Toward . . .

Toward what?

Safety.

I have to remind myself, over and over, we are moving toward safety. Safety and food and warmth and hope and food and peace.

And we’ll find it at a Farm. It’s all there.

They will take care of us. Though I can’t quite remember why we need them.

I feel fine. Great. Faster. Stronger. Hungrier than ever before.

But the Farm will have doctors and I know we need doctors. I just can’t remember why.

So we keep running.

Then it’s morning and the too-bright sun casts flares across the world. I can’t see anymore, but we can
be
seen. We are too vulnerable and the open makes fear crawl across our skin.

We stop running and search for hiding instead. I can smell food in the deep distance and other things more near. The grassy dirt in the now, the other pack that passed here in the near now. And the moist smell of animals from the deep past. That’s the smell that pulls me. The smell of hay and heat and wood and sleepy animals. It pulls me past the road, the grass, the field, to the barn where animals slept and where we sleep now.

Then the too-bright sun is gone and we wake to catch what food doesn’t scurry away. It is as dirty and moist as the hay, but at least it’s warm and it keeps us. Another scent pulls us forward. Marcus at my side keeps me moving, because I’m in charge. Without me, he’d dart off to the other pack. And I have to keep him safe. That’s important. Keeping Marcus safe. And getting to a Farm. Where there’s food and safety and . . . food and safety . . . and . . .

And then we’re there. At the Farm, with its tiny suns and its heavenly food. So much food the air is thick with it. Only there’s another pack already there. Marcus runs for the food, but I pull him down to the ground and shush him with a growl. The others are dangerous. They were here first and must eat first. Our two can’t fight their ten.

So we wait, whimpering, hoping for scraps left when they’re done.

They eat and eat and hunger burns in us. We could fight them. Maybe. If they are slow and stupid. They are only ten and we are such a hungry two.

We creep closer. Wanting more. Just breathing in the food.

I watch the pack for our chance and count their ten over and over. The big male—we can’t fight him, but males are easy. He won’t hurt me and Marcus is too young to challenge him. The female—like me, she is strong and fast. I can’t fight her. But there are other, weaker ones. And they are only ten. Maybe we don’t have to fight, maybe there is food enough for twelve.

We creep closer still, low to the ground, ready to bow down to join.

Then there’s a noise, loud and crunching and metal moving. And a food smell so much better and fresher than this food. The others smell it, too. They turn—noses up and leading—and run for the food. The male is smart and the female cautious. They howl a no, but the others don’t hear. The male and female move as one to save who they can. But the others go down in an endless blur of noise and angry metal. I throw myself on Marcus and cower. The roar goes on and on—blat, blat, blat, blat, blat, blat.

When it finally stops, we look up. The pack is small now.

The fresh food is moving toward us, their angry metal is hot with death and hungry for us. We slink away before they find us. We follow the scent of the pack. Far away at first, until the female smells us.

More pack?
she yelps to the male.

He waits.
Come out
, he growls.

We want to hide, but can’t disobey. So out we come. We are new and hungry and untried, but he doesn’t swat us away, and when the pack moves on to hunt again, we follow.

We are his now.

The Farm was not food and safety. It was blood and death and we choose life.

MEL

The door closes, encasing us in total darkness.

“Okay,” I mutter. “I know vampires are nocturnal, so we’re supposed to be able to see in the dark, but this is ridiculous.”

Almost before I can finish the sentence, a flame flickers to life. Sebastian is holding a lighter. He’s just a few feet away, leaning against a support column. “I’ll trade you the lighter for the head. I think you’ll have better luck finding a light switch.”

Handing over the head is not a problem. I thrust it out in front of me. “By all means.”

“Careful there,” he says, flicking the lighter off. “Let’s not singe the hair, shall we? I have no interest in having burned hair be the last thing I smell before I starve to death.”

I feel Sebastian weave his fingers into Roberto’s hair and I let go of my repulsive prize. I keep my hand out in front of me. “Lighter?”

“Hang on a second.” He must be reaching around, because his fingers graze mine before finally latching on. His hand is nearly as cold as Roberto’s and his grasp is weak. I have a strange compulsion to grab his hand. To cling to him. To beg him not to leave me alone in the dark.

I know I’ll feel better when we have the lights on. When I can see his face. Not to mention get him some food. I fumble with the lighter. I’ve never even held one before. Let alone used one. Sebastian must hear my ineptitude because he tells me what to do. It takes several tries before the tiny bright flame flickers steadily.

I give the room a quick survey. Sebastian is standing against the column, his eyes closed. I don’t look at him too long. It’s scary how weak he appears. I turn my attention to the walls on either side of the door. I find a panel with too many buttons to be just lights. I push them all with the flat of my hand. Lights blaze on. On the opposite wall, a TV comes to life, and somewhere a stereo blares, playing “Boléro,” in midsong.

I click buttons more judiciously this time until the TV and the stereo are silenced, but most of the lights stay on, then I turn to survey the room. Roberto’s vault reminds me of a New York bachelor pad from one of the 1960s Doris Day movies I used to watch with Nanna. There’s a fireplace tucked into one wall right beside an expansive entertainment system. There’s a bar with enough alcohol to outfit a nightclub. In the center of the room, there’s a sectional sofa big enough to seat a basketball team. There’s even . . .

“Is that a hot tub?”

“Apparently.” Sebastian’s eyes flicker open. “Being a vampire is very stressful.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I mutter. “Like where the damn blood is.”

“Try checking the refrigerator.”

“Duh.” But other than the minifridge in the bar, I don’t see one. There’s a doorway in the wall behind the fireplace/TV extravaganza. It leads to a hallway, which splits off in two directions. I find the lights and turn them on. I see a bedroom and ignore it for now. Unless Roberto was a midnight snacker, I don’t think that’s what I’m looking for. The other direction leads to a kitchen with—hallelujah!—a walk-in refrigerator, the kind you see in restaurants. Except instead of fresh produce, it’s filled with bags of blood. I don’t bother selecting a vintage, but grab an armful of bags and haul them out to the living area.

Sebastian is sitting on the sofa, looking wan, head tipped back, a lock of dark hair draped over his eyes. His breathing is so shallow his chest barely rises and falls. Chuy is at his feet, looking up at me balefully. Almost accusingly. Like he’s chiding me for taking so long.

I drop all but one bag on the occasional table and sit next to him. “Sebastian?”

He groans, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“Come on, wake up. I found it.”

Again, there’s almost no response. I shake his arm hard enough to jostle him and his head lolls over, the hair dropping away from his eyes. They aren’t closed, like I’d thought, but open and glazed to senselessness.

Shit.

I’m out of time. I have nothing with which to open the bag. I’d been counting on him biting it. I look around for a knife. A toothpick. Anything. In the end, I bring the bag to my own mouth and sink my incisors through the polyurethane. Blood pours into my mouth, it’s sweet and rich against my tongue. Like chocolate mousse. A shudder of pure pleasure skips across my skin as saliva coats my mouth. I suck in a deep desperate gulp. Desire floods me. Disarming me. Crippling me. I fall to my knees, crumpling over, almost insensible with the need to devour. A need that is stronger than everything else. Everything except . . .

Except what?

I gulp again and feel the bag empty, feel it collapse and run dry. The bag falls away and it’s not until I’ve dropped it that I realize what I’ve done. That I’ve drunk the whole pint of blood that was meant for Sebastian. He is starving. Dying. And I ate first.

I search the ground, find another bag. I can’t even tell if Sebastian is still breathing. If he’s still alive. I don’t trust myself not to drain this one, too, even now that my hunger is slaked. Instead, I dash for the bar. I yank open first one drawer and then the next until I find a corkscrew. Back at the sofa, I jab it into the bag. The precious blood beads at the hole. I kneel over Sebastian and let it dribble into his mouth. At first there’s no reaction. I squeeze the bag. More dribbles out, but I fear it’s not enough. I jab a second hole in the bag, at the other end, and hold it tilted up, so air can flow into the bag as blood flows out of it. Finally, I see him swallow. See him suck in a shuddering breath and then swallow again. Then, suddenly, his eyes fly open. He tenses. And pounces.

He launches himself at me and we both fly back off the sofa and onto the plush carpet. The bag of blood slips out of my hand, landing on my chest. He is on top of me, cradled between my legs, his teeth in the bag, sucking on it, feeding off my chest. I push up onto my elbows, relishing the feel of him, suddenly warm and bristling with life.

He gives one more pull on the bag and then it’s empty. But some of the blood sprayed out across my shoulder and neck. His lips follow the trail of blood. I sweep a hand across his forehead, pushing his hair out of his face, fascinated by the sight of his darker skin against the paleness of my chest, of his inky lashes against his cheeks. His tongue brushes my skin, lapping up the blood in long, luxurious swipes that send shivers coursing through me almost as powerful as the blood lust I felt just a moment ago. My whole body trembles as need floods me. Not just hunger but something else. Something rooted even more deeply inside of me. Something I’ve never felt before.

Then his mouth is on my neck, nipping with painful tenderness at my flesh, tracing the line of my jaw, capturing my lips. This kiss—my first kiss ever—is achingly beautiful. It’s as soft as it is relentless. Just his lips on mine, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth and then dipping gently inside. His kiss is full of tender hope.

I shiver uncontrollably and wrap myself around him, pulling him even closer to me, wanting to absorb him into me. Except for the bandage, his chest is still bare and I can’t stop running my hands across his shoulders, down his back. Suddenly I can’t stop kissing him and I don’t want to. I want this to go on. Forever.

But it can’t.

We both know it, even though he’s the first to pull away.

He wrenches himself away from me, leaving me lying on the floor, feeling exposed and abandoned. My heart is pounding, but it’s not desire pushing through my veins. It’s not even hunger. It’s shame.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. I know that.

I scramble to my feet, turning away so he doesn’t see me wiping at the last tendrils of blood that mark my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I say clumsily.

“Don’t apologize.” His voice is hard and strained. Probably from hunger, which still burns inside of me as well.

“But I shouldn’t have—”

“I said don’t.”

“But—”

“If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I”—he laughs harshly—“should be old enough to know better. If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me.”

I turn, just enough to glance over at him, trying to get a read on his expression, but it’s impossible. “No,” I protest. “I don’t blame you. You’re . . .” I struggle for words.

“Right,” he snaps. “I’m the immoral vampire. The master manipulator. The one with no boundaries at all. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

For once, there’s no suave cunning to his words. Only raw emotion. Anger tinged with self-hatred. I’ve never heard him like this and it unsettles me.

I’m drawn back over to him. I put my hand on his arm, a gesture that’s supposed to be comforting but that stirs decidedly uncomfortable feelings in me.

“I was going to say that I don’t blame you, because you’re hungry. Our control isn’t particularly strong right now. Not for either of us.”

His lips twist bitterly. “Exactly.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say the easy out I’ve given him wasn’t what he wanted.

I drop my hand and the subject. I cast around for something to do and see Chuy, whom I’d forgotten about entirely. Chuy is pacing circles from the door to the sofa. I’m not sure if he’s nervous because of the Ticks on the other side or if he’s upset about the fight between Sebastian and me.

But he’s got to be hungry—I do know that much. He hasn’t eaten a lot in the time he’s been with me. Carter had fed him some granola bars in the car and I had done the same, but he needs more than that. I open a can of the stew and the canned chicken and dump both into a bowl I find in the wet bar. Chuy laps up the food eagerly. When he’s done, I give the bowl a quick rinse in the sink and then fill it with water. Suddenly tired, I sit down beside Chuy, taking comfort in the dog’s warmth. His fur is soft and running my hands through it calms me, much like I used to calm myself with my Slinky when I was a human girl. At some point I fall asleep.