Blood Judgment (Judgment Series) (47 page)

He returned to the lower level and joined the others in a huge kitchen.

Dripping sweat, Ashton pulled off the backpack and placed it on the table. “I’ll set these,” he said, taking out bundled explosives. “Julian, if anyone comes in, kill them. Slade, back him up.”

Slade nodded.

Julian took up guard position with Slade on the opposite side. The minutes crawled by. Alert for the slightest sound, Julian waited with a predator’s intent to kill for any human unfortunate enough to enter the house.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ashton returned to the main floor and grabbed the backpack. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Outside, Ashton took the lead and headed for the trees. The moment they reached the cover of the woods, he stopped and pulled an electronic box from his jacket pocket. “Bye bye,” he said and hit the detonation switch.

The explosives went off with a roar and the house evaporated in a spectacular shower of debris. The pole-building went seconds later, sending shrapnel rocketing through the air.

“I’d say they’re closed until further notice,” Ashton said and shoved the detonator in his pocket.

Chapter Forty-seven

JULIAN PICKED up his violin case.

Slade had taken Vali and gone to the clinic to fetch Ashton. Saranna hadn’t left the bedroom, nor would she until he went out for the evening.

He went outside and the hot, damp air wrapped around him in a soggy blanket of humidity. Already sweating, he veered off the sidewalk onto freshly-clipped grass. At the side of the house, unchecked rose bushes in full bloom stretched thorny brambles out to snag at him. He circled around to the tiny square of backyard and placed the instrument case on the single wrought iron bench.

A night bird called in shrill protest from high in the branches of the ancient oak. It shrieked again and took flight, its wings beating the air above him.

He took out the bow and tightened the horse hair before unstrapping the violin. But instead of lifting out the instrument, he picked up a few small stones and pinged one at the rear bedroom window. It tinked against the glass.

No response. Determined to get her attention, he sailed a second pebble and a third before she came to the window.

He picked up the violin. If she didn’t open the window, she would barely hear him.

After a long moment, she slid the thick, reinforced glass open. The sadness in her face twisted his heart. “What are you doing?” she called down.

“Serenading you.”

“Julian, stop. Just stop this. Playing for me won’t fix things.”

“I can’t.” She was killing him as surely as if she were feeding him a slow diet of strychnine. “I want to play something beautiful for you. Just listen. Please.”

“Julian…”

“Please.”

She nodded, but she didn’t look happy.

“This is
Spiegel im Spiegel—Mirror in the Mirror
. It’s the most beautiful piece of music I know. I want to share it with you.” It was also a sad piece. One that ripped at the heart. His performance would be better with someone playing piano, but he would have to make do.

He tucked the violin under his jaw and drew a slow up-bow. Eyes closed, giving it everything he had, he guided the bow across the strings while his left hand found the sweet notes. He gave himself to the violin and the music, playing for the female who had infiltrated his life beyond repair.

The music consumed him with its soul-wrenching emotion. The piece was simple enough to play, but its spellbinding beauty wasn’t to be denied. It filled him with the same passion she stirred in him. He didn’t want the piece or the feeling to end.

When he drew the last bow, he opened his eyes.

She stood with her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. She was not immune to the power of the music and the raw emotions it generated.

“That was beautiful,” she choked out. “Hauntingly beautiful. But it changes nothing.”

“Please, listen to me. That music, that’s how you make me feel. I need you.”

“And you know what I need. I won’t be your whore.”

“You’re my mate!”

“In name, yes. But that’s all until you can face your feelings. If you can ever do that, we’ll have a chance. But not until then. You’re a wonderful violinist, but you have a ways to go in the honesty department.”

“Please, Saranna. You’re killing me. Don’t push me away.”

She wiped her eyes and said in a wavering voice, “This isn’t my fault.”

“Saranna…”

She closed the window and turned away.

Julian’s heart withered. He felt the life go out of it, and yet, he still stood, violin in one hand, bow in the other. Still breathing. How was it possible to live with a shattered heart? Without the female he needed to complete him?

Yet, no matter how much he wanted and needed her, he wouldn’t lie. And he wouldn’t put his heart in a position to be hurt even worse. He couldn’t let himself love her, no matter what.

Shoulders slumped, he put the violin and bow back in the case and trudged to the front of the house to wait for Ashton. He had plenty of apologizing to do once they returned.

He’d fucked up. He hoped he hadn’t destroyed his shot at the Resistance. But in reality, his chances of acceptance were right up there with his odds of winning back Saranna.

FRAMER HUNG up the phone with relief. At least he’d had good news for Banks. He rubbed his temple in an effort to ward off the headache threatening to become a real blinder.

The young vampire Banks had sought lay heavily drugged in the holding room. He would be processed within the hour and turned over to the testing unit.

What the hell was so special about this one? Framer wasn’t a fool. Banks might deny it, but this one was on his radar. Why?

He pushed back from his desk.

Five minutes later, Framer stood before the cage holding the juvenile. He was small for a vampire, though many of the males didn’t bulk up until they matured. Dressed in jeans and a loud tie-dyed t-shirt, he was no more remarkable than any other kid. He lifted his head, pinning Framer with huge, frightened eyes.

Framer’s gut turned over.
Holy mother of God
. It couldn’t be. No. No way. What he was thinking was impossible.

Was it?

The juvenile bore an unmistakable resemblance to Ryan Banks. Framer hadn’t paid much attention when he’d received the photo of the kid, but there was no doubt. This youngster was related to Banks. Framer would bet his life on it. That would explain why Banks was so hot to get his hands on him and why he’d condemned the youngster to…

Jesus Christ!
Was Banks his father? “Oh, God.”

The youngster flinched as if Framer had hit him.

If Banks had sired a half-breed, it could ruin him. Framer squatted down on his heels.

How old was he? Fifteen? Sixteen? Though his lip had swollen from someone striking him, he looked way too much like Banks. Only instead of the hardness in Banks’ features, the juvenile was almost female pretty. “Were you a half-breed?”

The youngster pushed back against the rear bars of the cage and tried to sit up. “Please get me out of here,” he spoke in low tones. “I don’t belong here. I’m not like them.”

“You were, weren’t you?”

He nodded.

“What’s your name?”

“Alex.”

“When were you turned?”

“A year ago. My mother did it.”

“Do you know your father?”

“No.”

“Do you know who he is?”

He shook his head. “Please help me.” He leaned forward and grasped the bars. A spark of hope ignited in the drugged green eyes.

“I can do nothing for you.”

He shrank back to his former huddled position. A little sound, like fright vocalized, came out of him.

Framer swallowed hard. The fear in the youngster’s face was going to haunt him for a long time. A sour, sick queasiness knotted his stomach. At a year out, the juvenile hadn’t even had time to know what he was. He had no idea why he was there, other than he’d been an unprocessed vampire caught on the streets.

Framer’s hatred and fear of Banks escalated. The man was worse than a monster. This was his child. No matter who or what his mother was, Banks had sired him. But instead of protecting his son at all costs, Banks had issued his death warrant. Banks had ordered Alex’s capture and processing. Which was bad enough. But he’d also ordered the administration of an injection of live virus.

And Framer had to oversee it carried out. He stood as two men approached the cage.

Shrinking back tight against the bars, Bank’s son whimpered and tried to make eye contact with Framer. “Please, help me. Please.”

Framer wanted to shut out the fear in the kid’s voice. God, he needed a drink, or better, a lot to drink. “Get on with it,” he said to the technicians.

One of them opened the door and grabbed Ryan Banks’ son.

JULIAN SAT at the kitchen island nursing a glass of Jack Daniels. Already well past tipsy, he hoisted the glass and downed half the contents. The alcohol burned down his throat and hit his gut hard.

The front door opened and banged shut. Heavy footsteps tromped through the great room.
Shit
. Hopefully things weren’t going to get ugly. Not that he didn’t deserve it.

Ashton entered the kitchen. At least he was alone. Though Julian wasn’t sure if that was good or bad as far as the browbeating he was in for.

“Ashton.” He gripped the glass in both hands and met the larger male’s eyes.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here.” Ashton approached the island. He didn’t sit.

“Because I fucked up. It was stupid of me.”

“It was worse than being stupid. You disobeyed a direct order. That is not the action of a fighter.”

Ashton planted his fists on the island. “It takes discipline and commitment to work for the Resistance. I believe you have the commitment, but you have no discipline whatsoever. And I can’t have that. Not in someone who’s going to work for me.”

Julian stared down into his glass. His face flushed with heat. He wanted to defend himself, but Ashton was right.

“Slade wants me to reject you as a candidate.”

Of course Slade did. Slade hated him.

“And I would, if you were a little older and pulled a stunt like that.”

“You mean—”

Ashton held up his hand. “What I mean is this: I’m not going to refuse you. Not yet. But you are on probation with me.”

“Ashton—”

“Let me finish,” he snapped.

Julian clammed up.

“One mistake. One fuck up. Even partially disobey a direct order and you’re done. I won’t give you another chance.”

Relief filled him. “Thanks. I won’t screw this up.”

“I’m not done. I’ll be accessing everything you do. I will not tolerate rash actions or anything remotely cowboy. Got it?”

“I won’t fuck up again.”

“See that you don’t. It’s time to grow up, Julian.”

BANKS TOOK in the city lights below him. Before the night was over, Alex would be processed and the virus injected into him.

The little bastard would die at the facility within the week. Too bad Calilla wouldn’t witness Alex’s last days before the final stage of rabies ended his miserable existence.

Bridger had finally controlled the virus until it went through the stages perfectly. The only remaining glitch was that most of the subjects died quicker than expected. Bridger had assured him he knew why this was happening and the next generation of the virus would correct itself.

Banks went to the bar and poured himself a shot of bourbon. He downed the burning liquid. It was almost time to set things into motion. If the goddamned vampires thought they had it bad now, they were about to find out just how bad things could get.

Chapter Forty-eight

VALI GATHERED up his courage and grabbed the crutches.

He had to see Nissa.

What if she was just being nice when they talked on the phone? What if she acted differently when he showed up at her door? The little voice of doubt ate at him. A simple reality check told him nice was all it was. He wasn’t exactly mate material.

He bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
Shit
. He would have to chance a kick in his pride. His legs were never going to be anything other than paralyzed. Nissa wouldn’t want him. But not making an effort was worse than giving up. If he gave up, he might succumb to the urge that had been consuming him for the last four or five weeks.

He had nothing to live for. If he died, he would join his parents and maybe be at peace. And if there was nothing else, nothing beyond the eternal sleep of death, it would still be better than what he had.

Besides, it went deeper than the loss of his legs. Maybe he could learn to deal with being a cripple, but every day the sickness inside him took a little firmer hold. He was tired of feeling sick most of the time and tired of fearing his mind might be teetering on the edge of reality.

Sometimes, the fear was so bad and lasted so long that he wished one of them would put him down. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Now the fear had a companion.

Anger.

And when that little demon visited him, he wanted to hurt someone.

He pulled on a light jacket, hoisted himself up with the crutches, and made his way outside.

Balancing on the crutches, he pulled his jacket tighter against the night chill. He had a long way to go, thirty-three blocks.

BY THE time Vali knocked on Nissa’s door, he was done in.

The door opened a crack.

“Can I come in?” Vali thought he might pass out and he must have looked it because she yanked the door open and in a second stood at his side.

“What are you doing here? Are you all right?” Nissa took his arm and guided him inside.

Her apartment was smaller than Saranna’s had been and the furniture was old and shabby, but it was spotless and neat.

She led him to the sofa and he sank into the ancient cushion.

“Let me get you a drink.” She vanished around the corner and returned seconds later with a can of cola. She sat beside him and warmth spread through him.