Demon Night (21 page)

It was the same ploy Charlie had suggested—just showing up outside the window—but given a demon's touch. She and Jake hadn't had a chance.

But there might still be time to get to her. Sammael wouldn't want to force the transformation on her, but wait until he'd been able to manipulate and convince her to accept it—whatever it took to convince her.

Most likely, that would be Jane.

Less than ten seconds after arriving at the house, Ethan was in the air again, flying over the northbound road and mentally testing the occupants of each car, forcing his rising panic into cold determination, sending his probes in an ever-widening search. If her mind was open, he'd find her quick. And if she was projecting…

He prayed it wouldn't be pain.

 

Charlie couldn't tell if Dylan's glowing eyes watched her in the rearview mirror—there were no irises or pupils to judge the direction of his gaze.

The vampire sat next to her, blocking every attempt she'd made for the door or Dylan's head. The demon was driving fast, but she'd have risked jumping out at speed to avoid what Henderson had in store for her.

His hunger was almost palpable, and when he wasn't avoiding her fists and elbows, he stared at her hand, her neck.

“Mr. Henderson,” Dylan said. “Heal her. There's no need to torture yourself before it's time to transform her.”

Henderson's cold hand clamped around her wrist. She kicked and pulled when he opened his own thumb against his fang, but couldn't stop him from spreading his blood across the cut Jake had made on her finger.

She frantically wiped it off on her pants the second he let her go.

Dylan looked over his shoulder, flashed an affable smile. Then the blood disappeared from her clothes, Jake's blood from her hands and face. “That won't do anything to you, Charlotte, except heal it. Take a look.”

Charlie set her jaw, stared straight through the front window.

“Vampire blood can heal just about any injury. It can't cure naturally occurring diseases or cancers, but it can give anyone suffering them some strength, take away some of the pain…so you can see why Jane might have such a vested interest in re-creating it, modifying it for medical use.” A hard note slipped under Dylan's friendly tone. “Of course, maybe you
can't
see why, considering that while she was caring for your father as he wasted away, you were knitting him a scarf from prison. Didn't even get to the funeral, did you? But I bet that bright red yarn looked great in the casket.”

Bastard.
Her lungs drew in tight on themselves, her throat closed.

“And Jane worries about you, Charlotte. A lot. She's told me several times how she wondered if you'd pull your life together. Do you know how much pain you've caused your sister?”

She met Dylan's eyes in the mirror. She'd already beaten herself up for all of this; she wouldn't let him do it again. “Yes.”

His brows shot up. “Well, that's good. And you should know how happy she is with what you've done in the last two years, though—” Dylan's lips pursed, and he bobbed his head as if he was agreeing with himself. “No, I simply can't see why she's so pleased. And I think that if she's going to worry, it should be about something worthwhile, not whether you'll get your little degree and go on to live a little life.”

Charlie swallowed the hurt and betrayal ripping at her chest.
Of course
Jane had spoken about her to Dylan. The betrayal here wasn't Jane's, but the demon's.

“Don't you want to be a part of something great? You and Jane, working together? Initially, Jane may not agree with the way I've gone about it—but once she sees the big picture, I think she'll come around, too.” Dylan's voice softened, and a whimsical smile curved his lips. “She's a visionary. She's what humans
should
be: intelligent, modest, kind…and dedicated to improving the world. She's perfect.”

“Jane, perfect?” Charlie echoed wryly, trying not to expose her disgust. He really did love her sister—but it was so corrupted, ugly. “I don't think so. Live with her a few more years, Dylan.”

“I intend to.”

He slowed for a red light and Charlie jumped for the door again, but Henderson yanked her back against his side. They were nearing the bridge that would take them back to Seattle. Once they were in the city, it would be more difficult for Ethan to track them down.

Did Ethan even know that she was gone? He had those psychic abilities, and had said she projected…Could he feel her terror now?

And he'd also told her he could get images if she thought them hard enough and wanted him to see them.

Charlie closed her eyes, pictured the bridge, and focused on him seeing it with everything in her.

“That's a good idea, Charlotte. It'll bring him right to us. I'll add my own to it.”

Henderson stiffened beside her, and Dylan laughed softly.

“Mr. Henderson is a vampire, so he can't see what I'm sending, but he gets the
feel
of it. And I'm afraid it's making his bloodlust worse. Isn't that true, Mr. Henderson?”

“Yes.” The response was strained.

Charlie turned her head, really looked at Henderson for the first time. A little pale, yes—but otherwise normal in just about every way. Khaki pants, an unbuttoned cotton shirt over a Henley, deck shoes. His light brown hair and soft green eyes might have been pretty if she'd seen them across the bar.

He glanced away from her, his mouth set in a thin line.

She hoped she wasn't mistaken that she read guilt in that avoidance. Maybe she'd been appealing to the wrong person; Dylan couldn't keep her here. Only this vampire did.

“Please don't do this, Henderson.”

Dylan sighed. “Charlotte, I told you there's a big picture. Healing people is only part of it; that will help bring order, because fear of death drives men to irrational acts. The rest of it, however, will have to be done by example. But it's difficult to be an example—or
make
examples—when you can't obstruct human free will. That's where vampires like Mr. Henderson come in.”

She tried to meet the vampire's gaze again. “So you're going to be his hired thug? Listen to him—he's an insane, twisted asshole. And you don't look like the type of guy—”

“What
you
don't understand is that Mr. Henderson and every other vampire has abilities and gifts that a normal human can't comprehend. It's a blessed existence. But there is a drawback: bloodlust. It's an affliction that forces them to…”

“Fuck,” Henderson said in a low growl.

“Mr. Henderson!” Dylan's eyes flared brightly, illuminating the steering wheel and dashboard with crimson. “Charlotte, it's better not to mention in polite company, but vampires, being forced to feed from each other, are forced to engage in other acts with their partners, as well. The bloodlust isn't always so powerful, but when a vampire is as hungry as Mr. Henderson is, it just takes the other vampire desiring him to leave Mr. Henderson absolutely no choice in whether there is consummation. And whether the bloodlust forces full consummation or not, he'll still experience…arousal.” Dylan's mouth curled with disgust. “No one should be forced into an intimacy that they'd rather experience with a loved one, should they?”

She didn't know what to say. Agreeing with anything he said seemed like surrendering to
all
of it.

“And vampires can only survive on blood from a living, non-animal source. But if Legion re-creates the property in living blood that nourishes them, and we can manufacture a substitute that they can drink from a bottle…that's
freedom
. And that's what Mr. Henderson here is looking for; that's what so many vampires need. And that's why Jane will continue her research even after she discovers the source of the blood…because she won't want to see you so dependent on it, and forced into intimacy every night by the one who feeds you. None of the other scientists have their relatives, that's for certain.”

Charlie touched Henderson's hand. It was clammy beneath her fingers, and she barely suppressed her shudder. “Do you really believe him? Any of this? He's a
demon
.”

“He has to, because the stakes have recently been upped. We aren't the only demons in town—we're just the only ones looking for a way back to Grace. Setting humanity on the right path will help us get there.” Dylan narrowed his eyes, his focus seeming to shift inward. “Well, I'll be damned. Your hero is on his way, Charlie. This should be fun.”

Ethan.
She closed her eyes and sent him the image of the SUV with all of her might.

 

The horrific visual of a nosferatu thrusting his huge body between Charlie's legs, his fangs tearing at her neck, had slammed into Ethan only an instant after he'd felt the faint brush of Charlie's mind—but the wavering image of the floating bridge had been enough to send him speeding toward it.

The traffic was heavy approaching the bridge; he spotted the black SUV at the same moment the image bloomed behind his eyes. Hope and relief lay beneath Charlie's fear, but they changed to horror a few seconds before Sammael's voice traveled the same distance:

“I guess we've no choice but to start now, Mr. Henderson. Just make certain not to touch her wrong.”

God Almighty,
no
. Ethan dove. He'd be seen, but it didn't matter much. Charlie's hoarse cry filled his ears—his name.

And then nothing.

He hit the SUV's roof, used the ski rack to pivot and kick at the windshield. His boot slid down the glass like it was buttered. His wings dragged with the speed of the vehicle—he vanished them, swung around and grabbed hold of the driver's door handle. His arm wrenched with the force of his pull, but he might as well have been trying to move a mountain.

The demon's eyes gleamed brightly inside. The symbols had been scratched into the dash next to him, and three drops of blood reflected the crimson light.

A hand slapped soundlessly against the window behind Sammael, grasping and frantically searching for something to hold on to.

Charlie.
The vampire's fangs were in her throat. She was still fighting.

Taking unwilling blood was painful for a vampire, and judging by the tightness of the skin, the strain around his mouth, Charlie was resisting awful hard. But the bastard was trying to overcome it, using the pleasure of the feeding against her, trying to make her succumb. His hand moved beneath her shirt, covered her breast.

She couldn't have heard Ethan shouting her name, or the horns honking around him. He blasted his Gift at the spell, felt the lock
there
but nothing to move, no magnetic connection to break, no tumblers to push.

He didn't know how it worked.
He had to know how it worked.

Still, he pushed harder.
Harder
, until his Gift was erupting through his mind and darkness edged the center of his consciousness. Around them, doors and trunks unlocked and popped open, spilling items across the road. Brakes screeched and cars swerved, tires squealing. A crash of metal, then another. Blood dripped from his nose; he'd busted something in his brain pushing so hard, but the Gift was still there and he kept at it.

The spell protected the wheels, but he called in his guns and scrambled across the roof, firing two clips at each tire, praying for any hole in the shield, that his Gift had weakened it, that
something
would give.

His prayer wasn't answered. The bridge stretched out ahead of them. Sirens sounded in the distance.

His chest heaving, Ethan hung over the side and looked in through the window. Charlie was laid out on the seat, kicking weakly at the opposite door. The vampire was on her, his hand slipping beneath her waistband, his mouth at her neck forcing her chin back, and she was looking at Ethan upside down.

Her eyes locked with Ethan's, pleading.

“Charlie.” His throat was raw from shouting her name, salted and scraped by fear. “Charlie, please hold on.”

Her eyelids drifted shut.

“Mr. Henderson, I told you not to…”

It faded. She couldn't really hear Dylan now, just that awful sucking sound, the slow throb of her heart in her ears. Her legs and arms were heavy; her body had forsaken her. Weak…and reacting to the vampire's frigid touch as if he was a lover.

But Ethan was out there. His face pale and tormented when he'd looked in at her, his eyes feral, desperate.

Jane, smiling and her ponytails swinging, a unicorn rearing in her outstretched palm…

Charlie didn't realize she'd had any breath until Henderson jarred back, then fell heavily against her, knocking it from her lungs.

“He's going to push us over the edge!” Dylan's laughter was a rollicking study in sharps. “He must care for you, Charlie. This just gets better and better.”

“Charlotte, you will never improve if you do not practice.” Her mother runs the scale on the piano, a key to each syllable. “You cannot rely on your voice, no more than a woman can rely on beauty or health. It can go at any time.”

Her father, grinning over the top of his paper. “Jane's brains won't go.”

Jane, rolling her eyes and making a face behind their parents' backs.

The seat rose up beneath her, tipping her upright before she fell against the ceiling, her legs tangling with Henderson's. She slammed back down to the seat. Lights flashed, red and white. Rolling again.

Spinning. Going too fast. The scream of metal. The broken windshield, the broken window with its iron bars. Glass in her throat. Blood. So much blood.

“It's unfortunate that you didn't listen to me, Mr. Henderson, and you touched her, because I could have helped you. When I lower this shield, he'll have an instant to decide which one of us to go after—but he'll be in such a tear to save her, he won't even look at me. His choice is already made, and I'll let him make it.”

Staggering into the apartment she shared with Jane, finding the contents of her bedroom stacked by the door in boxes and trash bags. Her fingers clenching on the arm of a grunge musician whose name she could barely remember. But Jane's face still so clear
—
tormented, and as white as the powder in the little plastic bag on the table next to her.

“I can't do this anymore, Charlie. You're going to have to make a choice.”

Sound slowly filtered in: the lap of water. A male's panicked plea, a demon's cold reply.

And Ethan, calling her name.

 

Ethan had lifted objects heavier than the SUV, but not moving as fast as the vehicle had been…and he'd never caught one midair.

Even quadrupling the size of his wings and the burning rage that possessed him couldn't stop it from falling to the embankment alongside the head of the bridge, but he slowed it enough that the impact against the ground wouldn't rattle Charlie around too much inside.

The vehicle wasn't damaged, and Ethan quickly rolled it upright.

The shield around it vanished.

A tug at the rear passenger door sent it flying behind him to crash against a concrete support post. His crossbow was instantly in his hand, and the bolt through the vampire's forehead less than a second later. He tumbled out to lie motionless on the rocks at Ethan's feet.

Sammael scrabbled his way on top of the vehicle, perching in his human form, his dark eyes alight with interest.

Ethan paid him no mind. He softly repeated Charlie's name as he leaned in and slid his palms up the length of her legs, over her torso, pulling her clothes back into place. Her only injury seemed to be the bite at her neck, but he could hear the struggle of her heart trying to pump too little blood through her body.

Even a Healer couldn't repair that.

Ethan's breath shuddered painfully from his chest. No choice then, but the one she had left to make.

He held her against him, sitting her up as best he could at the edge of the seat, then bent to haul the vampire from the ground, shoving him to the floorboard between the seats. A slice of Ethan's knife on the vampire's wrist got the blood flowing, and he smeared it over the punctures on her neck.

“Charlie.” A gentle shake got little response. “I need you to wake up, Miss Charlie.”

“Look how her toes are twitching,” Sammael said. “She's still trying to kick.”

Only knowing that if he didn't do this soon he couldn't finish it at all kept Ethan in that spot, hanging on to Charlie rather than tearing the demon apart.

His stomach twisted as he laid her down and reopened the slash across the vampire's vein. The blood dripped into her mouth, and he watched the convulsive swallowing of her throat with his heart pounding a sickening beat.

Humans shouted on the bridge above, sirens wailing over them.

Ethan sat her up, cupped her face in his hands, put his nose to hers. His voice was hard, loud. “Charlie,
wake up
. You got a decision to make.”

A ragged inhalation passed her lips. Her eyes opened.

“That's good, Charlie, that's just fine.” He curled his fingers, rhythmically stroking her cheeks. “Listen: you've got vampire blood in you. It's what's keeping you alive, but it's not much. I need to know if you want me to complete the transformation, or if you want me to let you go.”

Ethan felt the bewilderment in her psychic scent and closed his eyes so she wouldn't see his own uncertainty. A woman shouldn't have to make this decision, not like this; and if her choice wasn't the answer he needed to hear, a man shouldn't have to make the decision whether to honor it.

He fought down the roar of denial that was pushing its way up from his gut, then he looked at her and laid it out straight. “Charlie, if you don't become a vampire, you'll die. And I need you to choose, because if I force this on you, it'll go wrong. But you got to choose quick.”

Her lips trembled, and terror chased the confusion from her eyes. “Ethan…I don't want to be…” Her fingers pressed weakly into his forearms. “Please.” Her gaze searched his, frantic, beseeching. “
Please.
”

She wanted another option, but there wasn't one. “You'll be alive.” He brushed her hair back, traced her jaw with the side of his thumb. “You'll be strong. Or you'll be dead.”

A harsh, broken sound ripped from her, and she slapped her hands over her mouth. His throat aching, Ethan wrapped his arms around her, held her in. Her feet beat his shins, but she wasn't trying to get away. She was fighting something different now—but she couldn't much longer.

“Your brother kicked like that,” Sammael said quietly, his voice sliding lower, deeper.

“Charlie, you have to—” Ethan's lungs seized up. He jerked back to look up at the demon, but didn't
see
the sheriff. No…no, but Ethan heard him. Samuel Danvers. He hadn't forgotten that slimy, self-righteous voice, not in one hundred and twenty years.

Sammael was pursing his lips, his gaze turned inward as if in remembrance. “They made the rope short because he was so tall. But he was heavy, so they thought it might break his neck anyway. It didn't, and he just hung there, struggling, his feet kicking. Until all they did was twitch. Just like Charlotte's.”

Charlie. She was quiet in his arms now, her head tilting back. Ethan met her eyes; beneath the sheen of horror and pain, realization swam to the surface. “Caleb?” she whispered.

His nod was abrupt. His breath was rough. “It's past, Charlie, it don't matter now. I need to know—do you want to live?”

Her mouth pressed into a wavering line. After a long moment, she nodded.

Relief hollowed his chest, but that small gesture wasn't enough. “You sure? There ain't no going back.”

Tears slipped over her cheeks, but she nodded again, harder, determination filling her psychic scent. “Yes.”

He didn't give her time to reconsider. She gagged on the first taste, but he held the vampire's bleeding wrist against her lips, urged another swallow. Used his left palm to rub her back, trying to soothe the shuddering revulsion that was tearing through her.

Sammael dropped to the ground, looking in but staying a safe distance away. Ethan eyed him warily, but didn't take his hands from Charlie.

The demon smiled again. “I don't intend to stop you. She's drinking fast. By the time the rescue crews make their way down, we should be finished.” He tilted his head, as if to get a better angle. “It took a long time for your brother. The poison would have been faster—I remember how you squirmed as it tore out your guts. You should have let him drink it, too. It'd have been kinder than the hanging.”

Ethan sliced open the vampire's wrist again, his jaw set, but when Charlie was back to drinking he couldn't hold it in. A man could only take so much, and fierce pleasure rose up in him. “You didn't keep up your end of the bargain.”

Which meant that as soon as Ethan killed the demon—slow—Sammael's soul and face would be frozen in Hell, his body dangling in Chaos and eternally devoured by dragons.

That suited Ethan just fine.

“No, I didn't renege. We let him ride out, gave him a month's worth of supplies, and not a single one of my deputies or I went after him. But you didn't say anything about my flying to the next town and alerting the law there, telling them he was running off west. Of course, once he realized they were after him, he tried to throw them off by going back the other way.” Sammael chuckled, shaking his head with amusement. “Didn't get far, did he?”

He'd gone west.
The demon couldn't know how welcome that was. Ethan held back his smile, bent his head to rest his cheek against Charlie's temple. Pressed a kiss to her hair.

Her fingers flexed on his arm—stronger now. Then a hard, painful clench as the first wave of the transformation hit her.

Sammael formed his wings. “Well, that's done. You've still got to pay for Eden, McCabe…but I'll give you time to ruminate over this failure.”

“I'm much obliged,” Ethan said. He let the vampire's arm drop away from Charlie's mouth and called in the crossbow, but Sammael was already flying high, quickly moving out of range.

Astonished human shouts rent the air.

Damnation.

He laid Charlie back on the seat; she immediately turned and curled in on herself, her eyes closed and her hands over her ears, her body shaking. The vampire he'd stuffed between the seats was jerking around a little now.

Charlie had likely experienced enough violence for one night, and her daysleep—the dreams—would be coming soon. As it was, it'd be plenty difficult getting her stable before she fell into them.

“You are one lucky son of a bitch,” Ethan muttered as he hauled the vampire out of the SUV, then flung him as far as he could over the water. A splash told Ethan he'd got three hundred yards; if the vampire went down deep and avoided the sun, and if the humans didn't think to drag him up, he might just live through the next day.

He returned to the vehicle and pulled Charlie against his chest, frowning. Convulsions were hitting her hard—he'd never seen them this hard. Most transformations were smooth.

The change was obviously taking hold—her skin was cooling, and the points of her fangs were visible between her open lips—but she was panting, whimpering, her palms tight to her ears, her eyes squeezed shut.

He vanished the SUV into his cache, and walked beneath the bridge's expanse so they wouldn't be seen. Cold water crept up to his knees.

“You all right, Charlie?”

She flinched, and it struck him: she wasn't yet accustomed to her hearing. The sirens, the shouts, even his voice must have been like a jackhammer, a jet engine in her head.

She'd been projecting despair, confusion; now that sank into absolute devastation.

He dropped his words below a whisper; just as well, because his throat felt so swollen he could hardly speak. “It won't always be like this. You'll adjust quick.” A body had to adapt; no one could function with the senses always on full. “We're going under the water. Don't be afraid, because you don't need to breathe, and you can't drown. But it'll cut out some of the sound until we're away from the noise up above. Until then, just think of your favorite song, and you think it hard.”

“Okay,” she replied, her teeth chattering. But then a second later: “I need Jane.”

He took off his jacket, wrapped it around her before picking her up again. She couldn't be cold, but it might offer her some comfort.

“All right. We'll go to her tonight, do whatever it takes to see her.” No reason not to. Sammael had accomplished what he'd intended, and Charlie had little to fear from the demon now.

But Ethan was looking forward to bringing a hell of a lot of fear down on the demon.