Sophia Page 21

  He shot another glance over his shoulder and saw Robbie scoop Leighton up like she weighed nothing. Bullets were whizzing through the air, carving into the dirt parking lot and gouging chunks out of the trees. Someone got lucky and shot out all the windows on the Tahoe, spidering the safety glass. Robbie curved his body around Leighton and kept moving, crawling into the backseat and staying low.

  Colin reached over and slammed the back door. Lying almost flat on the front seat, he shoved the keys into the ignition and jammed the truck into gear. He started to sit up, his foot reaching for the gas, when he heard a voice shouting orders, a voice almost as familiar to him as his own. His stomach clenched in denial. That was impossible. The gunfire died abruptly and he heard his name called. He closed his eyes against a wave of sick betrayal.

  He slammed his truck door and hit the gas, his tires spitting dirt before catching on the asphalt with a scream of burning rubber.

  Colin didn’t think about anything for the first few miles. The windshield was cracked, but he could still see, so he concentrated on driving, on getting Leighton some help, on putting distance between them and goddamn Babe’s. The Benelli sat on the passenger seat, along with Robbie’s Uzi, the .9 mm was in his hand. His attention veered from the road in front to his rear view mirror and back again, over and over until he was convinced no one was following.

  “How bad is it?” he asked Robbie, risking a quick look over his shoulder.

  “You got a first aid kit or something in this truck?” Robbie asked tightly.

  “Yeah, it’s in the back, but it might be better if we—”

  “Pull over, goddammit,” Robbie demanded. “I need something besides my hands to stop this bleeding,” he added more quietly, his voice rough with emotion.

  “Fuck.” Colin checked the mirror quickly and turned down an old logging road, not stopping until the highway had disappeared into the trees behind him. He threw himself out of the truck, raced around back, lifted the cargo hatch and grabbed the first aid kid, slamming the hatch down.

  Hurrying back, he yanked the back door open and swore viciously at what he found there.

  Blood. Too much blood for one person to lose. Her pants were black with it, the gray carpet splotched with bright red. Robbie was cradling Leighton in his arms, one big hand stroking her hair back off her face over and over again. “Cyn, baby,” he begged softly. “Hang on for me, sweetheart. Hang on.”

  “How bad is it?” Colin asked grimly.

  Robbie looked up and met Colin’s gaze. He didn’t need to say anything. The grief was written all over his face.

  “We’re not giving up,” Colin said in a hard voice. “The hospital’s a good sixty miles, but I can make it in—”

  “No.” Leighton’s voice was unexpected, terrifying in its frailty. Her eyes opened, fogged with pain as she searched Robbie’s face. She fumbled for his hand with bloodless fingers. “Raphael. Robbie, you’ve got to get me to—” She groaned, vomited to one side, and then screamed with pain.

  Colin automatically grabbed a wet wipe from the first aid kit, staring at it in his hand before throwing it onto the floor. What the fuck did it matter if her face was dirty?

  Leighton’s cries subsided into soft moans, and she sobbed suddenly, her hand falling away where she’d been clinging to Robbie’s arm. “It hurts so bad, Robbie.” Tears were flowing down her cheeks, choking her words. “Promise me, Rob,” she said in a barely there whisper.

  “I promise, sweetheart. I will. You know I will. Just take it easy now.”

  Colin was grabbing packages almost at random from the first aid kit, tearing them open, shoving the contents into Robbie’s hand and ripping open some more. Bandages, wraps, gauze, anything he thought might help. The floor was littered with paper wrappings on top of the blood and vomit. Robbie was holding the makeshift compress over Leighton’s bloody gut, keeping it in place even when she cried out, whispering apologies to her over and over again.

  He looked up, suddenly intent. “Let’s go,” he said tersely. “She’s right. We’ve got to get her to the compound before sunset.”

  “The compound?” Colin said. “Man, what the fuck’s that—”

  “Just do it,” Robbie said in a hard voice. “Or I’ll shoot you and drive the damn truck myself.”

  “Shit. I’ll fucking drive. You take care of her.”

  Colin slammed back into the driver’s seat and reversed into a three-point turn. He headed back to the highway, stopping only to check the road carefully before pulling out and starting back toward Cooper’s Rest and the vampire compound. He crushed the gas pedal beneath his boot, demanding every bit of speed the Tahoe had to give him.

  “Stay with me, Cyn,” he heard Robbie plead softly. Colin glanced in the rear view mirror. The big man’s face was streaked with tears, his eyes closed as his mouth moved in a silent prayer.

  “Ten minutes,” Colin called over his shoulder what seemed like a lifetime later. He made a sharp turn onto the narrow road where the vamps had their compound. “Maybe less.”

  “You got a cell phone?” Robbie asked tautly. “Mine got fried back there.”

  “You shot?” Colin demanded, risking a backward glance.

  “Nothing that won’t hold. Cell phone,” he repeated.

  “Yeah, yeah. Here.” Colin fished it out of his pocket and held it back over his shoulder, but Robbie didn’t take it.

  “Call this number,” he said instead, rattling off an L.A. area code and phone number.

  Colin punched it in, heard it ring. “It’s ringing. What now?”

  “Hand it over.”

  Robbie’s hand was covered with blood as he took the phone. “Doc Saephan, it’s Cyn. She’s—” His voice broke and Colin heard him draw a deep breath. “Yeah,” he continued. “It’s bad. Gut shot. She’s bleeding . . . She’s bleeding a lot, man. Murphy says ten minutes tops.” He paused a moment, then said, “Fuck me, you think I don’t know that? Right, sorry. Okay. See you there.”

  Colin watched in his rearview mirror as Robbie wiped a bloody forearm across his brow. The big Ranger looked up and met his gaze. “You want this back?” he asked, holding out the phone.

  Colin reached for the phone which was sticky with blood. He dropped it in the center console. “Who was that?”

  “Doc Saephan. He’s a trauma surgeon, one of the best in the country. His partner is one of Raphael’s soldiers and he travels with us a lot, especially if Cyn’s along. How long ‘til sunset?”

  It took Colin a minute to process the shift in subject. “Uh,” he glanced around at the darkening trees. “I don’t know exactly. Half hour, maybe? The light’s deceptive around here.”

  “That’s good,” Robbie breathed. “You hear that, Cyn sweetheart. It’s almost sunset.”

  Colin was pretty sure Leighton wasn’t hearing much of anything. But she was still alive and that was something. And if this surgeon was as good as Robbie claimed, maybe he could save her life. And, okay, so it was nearly sunset and Raphael and the other vamps would be awake soon.

  But other than Raphael holding her hand while she suffered, what the hell difference would that make?

  He looked up as the compound came into sight. The guards were ready for them and had the big gate rolling out of the way before they got there. Colin barely slowed as he made the turn, hitting the brakes all the way around the curve of the driveway and up to the big building.

  He’d never been here in daylight before. Every window in the place was shuttered on the inside, presenting a nearly uniform gray façade with the concrete front. The shutter over one of the big glass doors was rolling upward as he skidded to a stop by the broad stairs. The door flew open and a slender, dark-haired man rushed out, carrying a folded, portable stretcher. He hurried down the stairs and yanked open the back door before the Tahoe had stopped moving.

  He took one look at Leighton in Robbie’s arms, cursed fluently and snapped into doctor mode, which told Colin this was the Doc Saephan Robbie had talke
d about. Two of the gate guards had followed the truck up to the house and one of them was already deploying the stretcher, snapping it rigid as his buddy grabbed the other end.

  “You,” Saephan ordered Colin, “get around here and give them a hand. I don’t want that dressing disturbed anymore than necessary right now. Robbie, we’ve got maybe twenty minutes before the shit hits the fan. I can’t do much in that time, but I can make her look better than this. You ready?” he asked over his shoulder.

  The two gate guards nodded. “Ready, Doc.”

  “All right, let’s go.”

  Robbie scooted across the seat, holding Leighton to his chest, using his legs to control the slide. When he reached the door, he turned slightly and Colin was there with Saephan, taking her weight and transferring her to the stretcher. Leighton cried out as they moved her, but she didn’t regain consciousness. Her face was deathly pale beneath the dirt and sweat, her hands lying limply over her chest where Saephan had put them.

  The guards were already moving up the stairs, the stretcher held carefully between them, Saephan running alongside. A woman stood at the top of the stairs, holding the door open, her eyes wide with shock.

  “Who the fuck is that?” Robbie demanded.

  Saephan glanced over hurriedly. “She works here.” He turned back, drawing Robbie’s attention. “You’ve got to get out of here, Rob. Just for the night. I’ll call you.”

  Robbie opened his mouth to protest, but Saephan held up a hand, his gaze following Leighton’s stretcher through the doors.

  “I don’t have time to argue and you know I’m right. I don’t need two patients. I’m sure this gentleman will let you sleep on his couch. Now I’ve got to help Cyn.”

  Saephan spun around, taking the last few steps and dashing through the open door, shouting orders as he went. The woman appeared again. She pushed the door closed, her fingers resting on the handle for a moment as she studied Colin and Robbie through the glass. Then she stepped back and the heavy shutter rolled down, closing them off completely.

  Colin turned on Robbie, his anger a fire in his gut. He’d been forced to wait more times than he could count while his buddies fought for their lives, but he’d never been shut out like this. “What the fuck? Look, I get it, Raphael’s gonna be pissed. But why can’t we go in there with her? What kind of—”

  “He’s right,” Robbie said dully, his gaze still riveted on the now-shuttered door. He lowered his head, sighing deeply. “Doc’s trying to save my life. Yours, too.”

  Colin stared at him. “You know, somebody better start talking and I don’t see anyone here but you. You got a trauma surgeon here, fantastic. So why aren’t we life flighting the doc and Leighton to a hospital? And who the fuck cares if Raphael’s awake yet or not? The woman needs medical care, not handholding. And why the hell are we standing out here like yesterday’s trash?”

  Robbie met his stare wearily, despite Colin’s anger. “You’ve seen wounds like that before, Murphy. You know the odds. But you don’t know much about vampires, so you’ll have to trust me when I say her best chance of surviving is asleep in that building. That’s why she’s here and that’s why I care what time the damn sun goes down, all right? As for the other—”

  His words chopped off, his eyes going wide with shock as a huge roar thundered through the air, shaking the ground beneath their feet and sending dust flying everywhere as the concrete building trembled on its foundation.

  “What the fuck?” Colin breathed.

  “Raphael,” Robbie whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Raphael came awake with a howl of rage. Cyn’s pain was like a knife in his belly. He could smell her blood, could feel the weakening beat of her heart, her lungs struggling to breathe. For the first time in centuries, true terror struck him at the thought of losing her.

  He didn’t bother with clothes, striding across the room, cursing at the time it took to open the vault door, then the elevator door, waiting for the doors to close, for the elevator to rise the short distance to where she lay dying without him.

  The doors opened and he sprang down the hallway and into the great room, snarling at the two human guards who stood huddled near the front doors.

  “They carried her from the car, my lord,” a man’s familiar voice said. “They can’t leave until the shutters open for the night.”

  Raphael’s head swung to the human kneeling next to his Cyn. He growled, but the human had already turned away and was leaning over her, doing something that Raphael couldn’t see. Raphael reached out, intending to pick the man up and throw him across the room for daring to touch her. But the human looked up at the last moment and Raphael had just enough presence of mind left to recognize Peter Saephan.

  “Move,” Raphael ground out.

  Saephan did so, rolling away without standing.

  Raphael sank to his knees in front of her and ripped open his wrist. He touched it to her mouth, but she was too weak to drink. He howled and raked a fang over his lip instead, bending over to press his lips to her unresponsive mouth, sliding his tongue between her teeth. Her breath hitched and then eased, as if she’d been waiting for him, as if she knew he was finally here.

  Raphael closed his eyes and lifted his mouth away from hers, nearly crushed by the pain rolling off her in waves. He fisted his hands and rolled his head back on his shoulders, letting out an anguished roar that filled the building, shattering glass behind the heavy shutters.

  Gathering Cyn into his arms, he stood and, holding her tightly against his chest, he moved with lightning speed back to the elevator.

  Footsteps clattered behind him and he could hear Saephan speaking quickly. “She needs blood, my lord. Human blood to replace what she’s lost.”

  Raphael ignored him. He knew only one thing. He was taking her down to his lair where no one could touch her, where she was safe. With him.

  Raphael leaned against the back of the elevator, his head next to Cyn’s, whispering words of reassurance, of love, of entreaty, begging her to stay alive. He barely noticed the doors opening downstairs, barely registered his own movement as he crossed the room and laid her on the bed with exquisite care. He sank his fangs into his wrist, tearing open the vein which had already begun to close. Blood poured out and he held it over her mouth, urging her to drink. He reached out to her mind, but she was too weak, too far gone. He felt a wave of despair and shoved it ruthlessly aside.

  Dragging his fingers through his own blood, he rubbed it over her lips, sliding his fingers into her mouth and massaging her gums. Her tongue touched his fingers instinctively, taking in even more of his blood. She swallowed at last, feebly, then coughed, and cried out in pain, tears leaking from beneath her closed eyelids.

  Raphael felt his own face wet with tears. “A little more, lubimaya,” he whispered encouragingly. He widened the tear in his wrist, letting a few drops fall into her mouth and rubbing her throat gently. She swallowed again, more easily, her mouth opening eagerly as if some part of her understood, even in her unconscious state, that his blood would save her.

  She swallowed once more, strongly this time, and he fed her a few more drops, murmuring to her the whole time, slipping into the fluid rhythms of his native Russian. Her chest rose in a deep breath and his heart soared . . . only to crash again when he began to remove her clothing and saw the true extent of her injuries.

  Her ribs were broken along her right side, her chest black and blue where the vest had protected her. But the vest could do only so much, and its protection had not extended below her waist. The assassin’s bullets had torn into her stomach and belly, ripping apart her intestines, damaging so many vital organs. Saephan had been worried about blood loss, but Raphael knew that was the least of it. Infection was already spreading through her damaged body, its heat like a malicious beacon taunting him.

  Anyone else would have been dead already. Only her connection to him, fortified by the blood she took from him almost daily, had given her the strength to su
rvive this long.

  But his Cyn was not immortal. The blood they shared made her seem so to those who didn’t understand. But for all their closeness, for all that she was life itself to him, the reality was they had not been together for long—less than a year, which was not long enough for her to have more than a minimal healing ability. A hundred years from now, she would be virtually immortal, but even then she would still need his assistance to heal something this devastating.

  A spike of pristine fury stabbed him in the gut. He wanted to tear down the walls of his so-called civilized existence, to destroy every human who had dared to harm her, to lay waste to their foolish little town and leave every one of them bleeding and broken for the buzzards to feast upon.

  Cyn moaned softly and Raphael jerked back to awareness, cursing himself. She had felt the strength of his anger and reacted to it. It had hurt her. He had hurt her. He wiped the tears from her eyes and lay down next to her, pulling her gently into the curve of his body, tugging the covers up around them. Ignoring everything else, everyone else, he sank into the depths of his power and pulled Cyn in with him. He would heal her. She would survive. Or they would die together.