Forbidden (35 page)

From what Roc could tell, the rooms upstairs were vacant, the silence deafening, before a scream from downstairs shot through Roc and rattled him to the core.

Barreling back down the upstairs hallway, he felt as if it took half a century to cross the length of the house. He was aware of each second, footstep, heartbeat. When he reached the stair railing, he leapt down half a flight, took the midturn, crashing his shoulder into the wall, then threw himself down the last half of the stairs. He landed on his feet in a low crouch, his gun poised at the ready. His gaze sought Rachel first.

She was still sitting in the same chair, her whole body quivering, her features colorless. But Roberto stood battle ready.

“What is it? What happened?” Roc demanded.

“I don't know.” Roberto's gaze darted about the room. “She just started screaming.”

Roc looked back at Rachel. Was she having another labor pain? Or was it something else? Her gaze slid slowly toward the window, as if she expected something or someone to come crashing through the glass.

“Outside,” she whispered. “I saw him.”

“Akiva?”

She shook her head.

“Samuel?”

Another shake of the head. She licked her dry lips. “Your friend. The one you k…killed. Brody.”

The shock plunged into his gut. How had Brody not died? Was he now seeking revenge too? If Brody was here, then the odds changed. “You're sure?”

She nodded, her eyes wide with fear and panic.

Then from outside came a blood-curdling cry. “Help me! Roc…help me!”

It was Samuel.

Roc lunged toward the door, but Roberto held him back.

“They're toying with us.”

Roc shook off the priest's hold, but he remained where he stood. “How can you be sure?”

“They don't want Samuel. Or me. Or even you. They want us out of the way. So they can get to Rachel. And her baby.”

Roc stalked across the room, listening to more cries from Samuel. Was Akiva torturing the kid or faking Samuel's voice? He remembered when Ferris had died, how the cries had gone on and on. Yet from the remains Roc had seen, he doubted Ferris had lived long enough to utter much of a sound at all. Maybe Roberto was right. But Rachel's gaze pinned him, begging him to do something.

“Help me!” came the pitiful voice again.

“Akiva!” Roc bellowed, his voice shaking the foundation. He looked up at the ceiling and around the room at the different doorways. “Let's talk about this. Let's—”

The back door swung open, and a blast of warm air entered the living area. Roc stepped in front of Rachel.

A man walked into the house as if he owned the place. He was of medium build with dark hair. But those black eyes told Roc immediately what he was dealing with.

This vampire had a different look about him, one of authority and no compromising demeanor. He carried his head erect, his chin slightly lifted, and he glanced around the room with disdain.

Roc aimed his Glock, but the vampire waved his hand, and the gun went flying out of Roc's hand, clattering against the table, then the floor.

“Really,” the vampire said, “please don't insult me with such barbarism.” He walked into the room, giving each object and person a contemptuous glance before moving on.

“Who are you?” Roc asked.

“I am known as Giovanni. But who I am…that is not your concern.”

Roc snatched the wooden stake out of Roberto's hand and raised it toward Giovanni. But the more experienced vampire lashed out with the back of his hand and smacked Roc fiercely, sending him soaring backward.

Roc slammed into the wall with a dull thud of body and limbs. He slid downward to the floor, where he collapsed into a heap, unmoving.

Pain slammed into Rachel all at once. Her belly tightened, and what felt like screws drove into her back. But her heart experienced the harshest, deadliest blow. A wailing seemed to go on and on, but no one else noticed. Was it Samuel? Or her own desperate cry?

Roberto lunged toward this new vampire, but Giovanni stopped Roberto with an outstretched hand. The confident vampire lifted his chin, tilted his head, and yet managed to glower at them all.

All Rachel could do was stare at Roc's still frame. Was he unconscious? Or dead? Raw emotions seized her throat, and her muscles constricted, making any screams or cries or even breathing impossible. All she could think was:
Not
again. Please, God, not again.

She'd lost a husband, and she had mourned him over the past few months. And yet, she had never felt like this for anyone. Not Jacob. Not Josef. Roc had become as solid as a boulder to her.

Was it simply because she owed him so much? Or because they understood each other? Because they shared so much? And now, if he were…if he had…how would he ever know or anyone understand how she felt? No one would know she had loved him. Not even Roc.

The fist in her belly began to relinquish its hold, and she slid to the floor. She had not the strength to walk, so she crawled toward Roc. Hand, knee, hand, knee brought her closer to his side. But then a foot blocked her path. She looked up, tasting the saltiness of tears streaming down her face.

Giovanni glared down at her. “Where's Akiva?”

“I don't know.” She shook her head. “Please—” She reached out toward Roc, but Giovanni knocked her hand away.

Something flashed in those dark eyes. “You're the one. The one Akiva was holding.” His gaze flicked down toward her belly. “He wants your baby.”

She placed a protective hand over her distended stomach. If only she could protect her baby.

“Please—” she repeated, looking toward Roc, knowing he needed someone to look after him. Roc would have scoffed at that. He wanted no help. He wanted to do everything on his own. But he needed her. Just like she needed him.

Giovanni knelt down beside her. His breath was cold on her cheek. “Do you know what Akiva wants to do? He wants to use your baby to commit the Forbidden Act.” He drew a finger along the curve of her jaw, and a shiver of revulsion coursed through her. “Did you know that?”

She was crying hard now. “Please.”

“Ah!” With a disgusted look, he jerked away from her. His fists tightened into hard balls. “I know he's here. He's a fool to think he can escape.”

“You're out of your district,” came a voice suddenly, resonating from overhead.

Giovanni laughed a deep, throaty laugh, but the caustic sound held no humor. “I can do whatever I please. I am stronger than you, Akiva.”

“We'll see, won't we?”

“Yes, we'll see.” Giovanni turned in a wide circle around the living room.

Roberto took the distraction as an opportunity. His gaze shifted toward the stake on the floor before he lunged. But Giovanni flicked the back of his wrist toward Roberto, who suddenly fell and rolled to the floor. The older man clasped his throat and gasped for air.

“What are you doing?” Rachel grabbed at Giovanni, snagging the hem of his jacket. “Stop it!”

Giovanni growled at her and pulled loose, circled around her, then focused his attention on her. Only her. He stalked toward her. “I'm going to kill this woman,” he said low and menacing but not to her, “so she can't have that baby, and then I'm going to kill—”

A fluttering movement beyond the stairs appeared, shifted, and changed, growing larger as it rushed forward in a bluster of wind, accompanied by a low, deep, growing roar. Suddenly, the two vampires, Akiva and Giovanni, were grappling on the floor, and Rachel scrambled to get out of their way. Roberto was freed from whatever strangled him, and he, too, staggered to his feet, swaying slightly.

The two vampires rolled over each other, knocking into a rocking chair and breaking one of the legs. Giovanni flipped Akiva over his head then leapt to his feet, crouching low.

“‘Hell is empty'”—Akiva grinned—“‘and all the devils are here.'”

He was in a womblike room, the walls pulsing around him. From far away, footsteps clunked, the sound growing louder as they neared. Then they stopped. Silence palpitated for several seconds before the voice came sharp, like the report of a gun: “Roc.”

He heard his name, recognized it, and yet he could do nothing to respond. Roc's face was pressed against a hard, unforgiving, cold surface. His limbs felt weighted and unable to move.

“Roc!”

He blinked slowly. The room was dark, the floor shiny and polished, but he could not see the walls surrounding him. Maybe he wasn't in a room. It was as if he floated somewhere in the universe, and yet at the same time was confined to a tight-fitting enclosure, something like a casket.

“Roc,” the voice said in a commanding tone, “what are you doing here?”

“Where is here?” he asked, pushing against the shiny floor and managing to sit upright. No pain restricted his motions. He felt only the cool air and hard floor beneath him. There was no smell, no other sounds, nothing. Even staring at the man standing in front of him—the polished shoes, a metal cane, the dark suit—gave him no feeling of surprise or shock. Even when he recognized the man as Remy Girouard, his own father. “Am I dead?”

“Not yet. It's not your time. You have work to do.”

“But I can't.”

“You must have faith, Roc. You must believe.”

“In what? In God?”

Those blue eyes softened but remained filled with an indescribable light. “Yes. But also in yourself, in His ability to work through you.”

“I can't move.” In defiance, he fisted his hand. “I don't know how or what to do.”

“Rachel needs you, Roc. Go now. Do you hear me?”

The sound of her name gave him a jolt. Suddenly his heart thudded in his chest. He staggered to his feet, hands fisted, searching for the way out of this room, the way to Rachel's side. He ran a couple of steps in one direction, stopped, turned back, turned around.

“Go back, Roc.”

“How?” He squeezed his eyes closed as he hunched over. “I don't know—”

“Yes, you do, Son.”

Roc jerked upright and glared at the man. “Are you my father? Really, my father?”

Suddenly, those blue eyes blazed, and everything else about the man transformed, shattering and altering and blinding Roc momentarily with a flash of light. Then a creature taller than he, at least seven feet tall if not more so, stood before him. He held a burnished sword, tip down and hands fisted over the hilt. His skin glimmered like marble. Behind him, two wings unfurled.

“You see what you want to see. Now go, Roc, while you still have time.”

Then the room ignited with a flash, and every feeble inch of his body throbbed in protest. His hand moved, and beneath it was the cool smoothness of a wooden floor.

Then he heard Akiva's voice, soaring and victorious.

The two vampires circled each other, testing each other, searching for a weakness. The minutes stretched outward. Even the room seemed to be holding its breath.

Then Akiva pounced. The force of his charge sent both of them stumbling, and they went headlong through the big window. Glass flew out across the porch and lawn, and the two vampires came down hard on the boards.

In that moment several things happened at once, and Rachel tried to make sense of it all and yet couldn't. Crouching over Roc, she wasn't sure any of this would ever make sense to her. Roberto grabbed a wooden stake off the floor and raced for the back door.

This was their one chance. While the vampires were occupied, maybe they could escape. She shook Roc's shoulder. But he didn't move. “Roc!” she tried again. This time he gave a heavy grown. “Roc, please!”

Struggling to push upward, he couldn't seem to raise his head. But when he looked at her, he looked right through her.

“Roc?” Relief stalled beneath a heavy dose of fear.

Like a quail rising into the air, Roc suddenly surged off the floor in a flurry of limbs and motion. Her heart jumped and clamored against her breastbone as she moved out of the way. He bounded across the living room toward the broken window, the glint of a blade flashing in his hand.

Rachel clamored to her feet, slower because of her bulk, and watched the fight from the window. The vampires had already broken the porch railing and were battling on the lawn. Without hesitation, Roc threw himself off the porch at the two snarling, snapping vampires and slammed the knife down between Giovanni's shoulders, jerking it out as he was thrown off and hurled to the ground.

The vampire reared backward with a howl of alarm and anger. He lashed out, but Roc scrambled out of the way. Akiva easily dodged the latest assault and took the advantage. But Roc sliced a nylon rope off the laundry line, hooked it around Giovanni's neck like a noose, and jerked him off his feet. Roc dragged the kicking, struggling, weakening vampire several feet and tied the rope to the porch railing.

Akiva staggered to his feet, breathing raggedly, his clothes torn. He stared down at Giovanni, this time circling the wounded vampire and laughed heartily, the deep sound filling up the air and sky. “You were wrong. You are the one who will not kill anymore. ‘I'll follow thee!'” He raised an arm in a threatening manner. “‘Like an avenging spirit; I'll follow thee.'” His lips pulled back from his white teeth. “‘Even unto death!'”

“You're going to die, all right.”

Akiva whirled toward the other male voice. “Brydon.”

A shot rang out. Then another. And another.

Brydon's body flinched, and yet he did not stagger or fall. All eyes shifted toward Roc, but he no longer had a gun. Then to the old priest, who lay on the ground, a jagged rip across his chest. And finally to Akiva, who glanced down at his own white shirt. Three red spots bloomed across his chest. He hadn't felt the shots. He still felt no pain. But suddenly his legs weakened. He staggered back a step then another.

His vision wavered, but he finally caught sight of the weapon held by Samuel. His own brother.

Recognition lit the younger one's eyes. Samuel's face paled. His jaw went slack. He dropped the twenty-two. Akiva tried to walk forward to reach Samuel, but his footsteps went askew.

“Roc!” Rachel screamed. Her voice shattered and splintered the quiet into a thousand shards and disintegrated, grinding down into a pained silence.

Every eye turned, and it seemed as if time slowed. Akiva blinked rapidly, trying to focus, trying to remain standing. But it was Giovanni who rose to his feet, jerked on the material restraining him, which came loose. In his other hand, he held a jagged piece of glass about the size of a book. His arm cocked back to throw the glass as if it were a dagger. His glare bore into Rachel.

Akiva saw the look in Giovanni's eyes. And then, something inside Akiva shifted or opened, as if a buried part of himself rose out of darkness.

Without thinking, he hurled himself toward the porch to block Rachel. He never felt the cut. Sharp as a razor, the glass bit deep, slicing skin, muscle, arteries, and bone. The warmth of blood slid down his neck and the inside of his shirt. He landed hard on the ground, his body skidding several feet before coming to a halt.

He stared up at the blue sky. There were no clouds, just an ocean of blue, which wavered and undulated. The edges of his vision pinched inward, like gray clouds forming on all horizons. Forcefully, he shifted his gaze toward Roc, managed to hold onto him. Roc would finish him off. He knew it. At one time, he'd wanted to kill that man, but now he figured it didn't matter so much.

“I told you, Akiva,” Giovanni bellowed, “I would destroy—” But his boast was cut off. His eyes widened, and his mouth twisted in a silent scream.

Roc had slammed a wooden stake into Giovanni's back. Before Giovanni could react, the glint of a blade flashed as Roc slit the older vampire's throat. Roc drove the stake in the ground and tied the rope still around Giovanni's neck to it. His limbs flailed, then twitched, and he grew still.

Tears sprang to Akiva's eyes, stung him with their potency. If only they could wipe away all he had done. So this is how it would end. “I didn't want this—”

Blood gurgled up, choking him, but he swallowed hard, gritted his teeth. “‘Long since my heart has been breaking…'” He coughed, and blood spurted out of him, speckling his chin. “‘Its pain is past…'” He tried to roll to the side but he couldn't seem to move. “‘A time has been set…to its aching. Peace…comes at last.'”

“Roc?”

Akiva heard her voice, saw her reach for her protector. “Rachel.”

“Jacob?” she called in return.

By the time she reached him, his vision was darkening. But he could make out the blue of her eyes, which blended with the sky. She reached out to touch him, but Roc pulled her back.

“Careful,” Roc warned.

Rightfully so. He could not be trusted. Even now. Especially now when every fiber of his being cried out for survival. He resisted, restrained, digging his fingers into the ground. Samuel stood over him, his face blanched and stricken.

But she knelt beside him, her eyes filling with unshed tears. He'd caused too many tears.

“Tell…” Akiva gasped. “Han—”

“Hannah,” she said for him.

He nodded. “‘I loved with a love—'”

Above him, Roc Girouard held a blade. His time was short. It was better this way.

He'd meant revenge. He'd wanted to die. Now he would, without causing harm to someone else. It was better this way. Better. He deserved death. And worse.

He gazed up at the heavens. “Oh, God.” He choked again, spluttering and spewing blood. He deserved it. He deserved hell. Or worse. But his lips formed almost involuntarily, although it must have been a cry from his heart—“Please…”

Out of the depths of his heart came the words of a song—
All
the
vain
things
that
charm
me
most, I sacrifice them to His blood.

Then the knife flashed in front of him, the blade catching the light. Those before him faded and folded into darkness.

His heart stilled. And Jacob died, as he should have died three years before.