Immortal Moon (20 page)

Jarrett’s entire body was on high alert, and
the same tension rolled off Fiona in waves. He rarely worked with a
partner these days, but when he did, he liked for it to be her.
They worked well together, and trusted each other implicitly.
Although they had been in situations much like this before, it had
never felt this dire.

Even last year, when Fiona had been
kidnapped and Jarrett had helped Ian rescue her, he hadn’t felt
anywhere near as scared as he did now. As much as he loved Fiona
like a sister, it was nothing to how he felt for Anya.

He also couldn’t deny that he had more faith
in Fiona’s ability to get out of bad situations. He knew Anya was a
tough, fierce fighter. But the fact that she was a norm negated all
of that. It would take little effort for Cora to kill Anya. Even if
Anya somehow managed to free herself from her bindings, she was no
match against the vampire.

“That’s far enough,” a female voice called
down from the platform when they were about ten yards away.

He stared up at the two women on top of the
airship loading dock, trying to gauge the situation. Even at this
distance, he could see that there was something wrong with Anya.
Instead of the rage or fear he would expect to see, her face was
slack and expressionless. No, not expressionless, dazed. He
couldn’t see her eyes, but he instantly knew they were glassy and
unfocused, the pupils dilated.

“Why isn’t she moving? Why isn’t she
fighting that bitch?” Fiona’s voice was shrill with fear and anger.
“Anya could easily take that knife from her, vampire strength or
not. Why isn’t she?”

“She’s drugged,” he ground out.

“That skank,” Fiona spat. “It makes sense
that the only way she could keep Anya from killing her is to get
her high. She probably bit her.”

Jarrett didn’t tell his friend that there
was more than the endorphin producing enzymes in vampire saliva
causing her sister’s lethargy. He had a feeling that she’d been
given a dose of whatever Python had been peddling at Wet Willy’s.
The same drug that had already killed two people. And Jarrett had
no doubt that, despite the lack of evidence, Python was the drug
supplier they’d been trying to catch.

The flickering firelight from the hot air
balloon revealed a sickly pallor to Anya’s skin that he knew Fiona
couldn’t see, and judging from her drooping shoulders and the way
Cora’s arm about her waist seemed to be the only thing holding her
up, Jarret knew the situation was much worse than he’d first
suspected. Her legs hung limply at a slightly odd angle. He
couldn’t be sure, but he suspected Cora broke them. If Anya weren’t
drugged right now, she would likely be in a great deal of pain.

Rage slammed through him, and the only thing
that kept him from charging the tower was the fact that he could
still see Anya’s chest moving. As long as she was breathing, he had
hope of getting her out of this alive.

“Cora, this is between you and me. Let Anya
go,” he raised his voice only slightly, knowing that even at this
distance Cora could hear him even if he whispered.

“You aren’t in charge here, Jarrett,” she
called down, raising her voice for effect and the benefit of
Fiona’s non-vampiric hearing. She placed the tip of the dagger
beneath Anya’s chin, pushing up so that her face lifted into the
moonlight. Jarrett didn’t have to see it to know that a thin
rivulet of blood trickled out of Anya’s pierced skin and down the
knife blade.

Fiona howled and started for the tower’s
stairs, but Jarrett grabbed her arm, jerking her back. She screamed
and fought against him as he held her tight. “Fiona, stop it!” he
ordered. “You can’t go after her. She will slit Anya’s throat
before you hit the bottom step.”

High above them, Cora cackled. “Listen to
him, girlie,” she taunted, bringing the knife to her lips and
running her tongue over the blade. “Mmm. It would be a shame to
waste all this delicious blood.”

Fiona kicked against Jarrett’s hold. “I’ll
show you just how girlie I am when I shove my boot up your ass,”
she screamed.

Jarrett tightened his grip. “Fiona, shut
up,” he growled in her ear. “Please, let me talk to Cora. I will
get Anya out of this, I promise.”

Fiona stilled, letting her body relax in his
hold. He warily let go.

She turned on him, growling. “I’ll let you
do the talking, for now. But if my sister doesn’t make it, neither
will you.”

“Knife in heart. I remember,” he said, and
briefly flashed back to the conversation they’d had almost two
weeks ago, before Anya had become more important to him than any
other human ever had been. Two weeks before he’d put her life in
peril. He should have turned and walked out of the bar, and her
life, that night.

“Are you two finished gossiping down there?”
Cora called. “I’d like to get on with this, I’ve got places to be,
people to slaughter.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jarrett saw
Fiona’s fists clench, but she remained quiet.

He took a step forward and yelled, “What do
you want Cora? Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Just
let Anya go.”

“I can’t do that. You see, I want you to
suffer like you made me suffer. That means taking from you what you
took from me. Your love, your world.” She ran the back of the knife
up and down Anya’s throat as if in a caress.

“Well then you’ve got the wrong woman,”
Jarrett lied. “You know there isn’t ever going to be anyone that
means that much to me. Not after you.”

“Liar. You’ve been with her every night this
week,” Cora screeched.

“She’s just a fuck, Cora. That’s all.” He
was surprised he didn’t choke on the words. “Killing her will do
nothing to me, but it will piss off the Nash City Blades. She has
family in high places.”

“It’s true,” Fiona called up. “She’s my
sister and the Commander of Nash City considers her his niece. Let
her go now, and we won’t hunt you down and cut you into a million
tiny pieces.”

“Ha, the Nash City Commander. How is old
Sam? Or should I say, how are you, Sam? I know you’re lurking out
there somewhere.” Cora lifted her voice so that it rang out in the
night.

Sam stepped from behind a building about
twenty yards away. “I’m here, Cora. What they say is true. Let the
girl go, and you will go unchallenged. As a matter of fact, I have
the authority to guarantee you immunity from all Blade
pursuit.”

“You and I both know you only have that
power for this crime, no other. But it doesn’t matter, my old
friend. This girl is the answer to all I’ve yearned for over the
past eight months. Jarrett Campbell’s destruction.” She opened the
small door in the side of the hot air balloon’s basket and stepped
inside, dragging Anya with her.

“Cora, I’m telling you, she means nothing to
me. No more than any other innocent person. Take me, and leave her
here.” Jarrett was careful to keep his voice steady, pleading, but
not desperate.

Cora let out a screech. “You can lie to me
all you want, Jarrett, but I know the truth. I’ve watched you this
past week. I’ve seen the way you look at her. She is your entire
world, and I’m going to take her away from you, just like you took
my world, my love, my heart.”

She turned and nodded to Python, who cut the
tether and triggered the crystal-heating element in the center of
the basket. The balloon began to slowly drift away from the
platform.

Fiona burst into a sprint towards a nearby
platform. Jarrett knew it was with the intention of taking the
balloon and pursuing Cora, but something told him it was futile.
Something kept him still, his eyes glued to Cora and Anya in the
basket.

Cora palmed the knife, putting her fingers
to her mouth and blew a kiss to him. A loud buzzing started in his
ears and the entire world went into slow-motion as she grasped the
knife, put the blade to Anya’s throat, and pulled it across in one
long slicing motion. Blood bloomed from the wound. Then, as if she
were a rag doll, Cora lifted Anya and tossed her over the side of
the basket.

Jarrett’s feet started moving before he even
knew he meant to. He streaked across the lot, jumping the remaining
distance. He caught Anya in his arms, but the momentum of her fall
took them both to the ground. He pulled her close and rolled so
that his body took the brunt of the contact. He immediately, and as
gently as possible, rolled her off him and onto her back.

Through the buzzing in his brain, he could
hear chaos around him. Fiona ran towards him, her feet pounding in
rhythm to her screams. “No, no, no, no.”

Sam, still on the other side of the lot
screamed into a scry-crystal. “Shoot to kill. Take that balloon
down. And where are the damned medics? Get the med-mages here
now!”

Boots pounded the ground, arrows shrieked
through the air, voices yelled orders, but as Fiona dropped to her
knees next to Anya’s body, his world narrowed to only the three of
them.

He pulled his shirt off and pressed it over
Anya’s throat, but the blood soaked through instantly. “Help me.
Put pressure on the wound.”

Fiona’s hands covered his, but it didn’t
help. The blood was oozing out, and Anya was getting paler by the
second. Her breath was so faint he could barely hear it.

“It’s too much blood. The med-mages aren’t
going to make it in time,” he said nearly choking on the words.

“Campbell, don’t you fucking let her die,”
Fiona screamed at him, her voice harsh and ragged.

He could save Anya, but she would hate him.
He could save her, but lose her forever. He could save her and
condemn her to a life of loneliness, of watching everyone she ever
loved die. But the alternative was losing her and living an
eternity knowing he could have saved her.

He looked up at Fiona through dry, burning
eyes. “It’s too much blood. The only way…”

“Do it,” She choked out, blood and tears
streaking her face.

Wordlessly, his eyes never leaving Fiona’s,
Jarrett grabbed the dagger from his waist and in one swift motion,
slit his own wrist.

At first the blood oozed out slowly. Then it
began to stream down his arm, mingling with Anya’s. He pulled his
shirt away from her neck and lowered his arm so the blood flowed
directly into her wound. It wasn’t doing anything. It wasn’t
working fast enough, she was too weak.

“I need more blood,” he said, holding his
other wrist out to Fiona, the dagger in his palm. “Cut this
one.”

“Jarrett, that’s dangerous. If you lose too
much blood…” she said, hesitating.

“Do it,” he repeated, using her earlier
words and tone.

She grasped the blade and slid it across his
wrist.

He held that wrist over Anya’s mouth, hoping
that drinking the blood would help strengthen her so the virus
would have time to take hold and heal her.

“Come on, Ginger. Don’t you go out like
this. You fight, you hard-headed little thing. You fight like a
demon. I know you can do it,” he choked the words out, fear and
blood loss slurring his speech.

After what seemed like hours, but could have
only been seconds, he heard Fiona let out a whoop. He looked up to
see Anya’s wrist between her fingers.

“It’s working Jarrett,” she said, her voice
jubilant. “Her heart is still beating. It’s slow, and weak, but
it’s beating. And look, the wound is closing.”

He looked down and saw she was right. Part
of the gash on Anya’s neck was knit together and looked like it was
several days old, instead of minutes. It was a start, but she was
so weak. He had to keep giving her blood until the entire wound
closed. It was the only way to insure the virus had taken hold.

“Jarrett,” Fiona’s voice sounded far away.
“That’s enough, the healers are here. They’ll take care of her. You
saved her. She’s going to be okay.”

“No, I have to make sure.” His throat was
dry, and his head ached, but he had to make sure Anya survived. If
she didn’t get enough of his blood into her body through the wound,
she would still die.

“Damn it! Sam, help me!”

Jarrett heard Fiona whisper to Sam, and he
wondered why she was talking so softly. Then he felt strong hands
pulling him back and pushing him onto the ground. He tried to fight
them, tried to get back to Anya, but they overpowered him.

“Damn it, boy, be still.” Now Sam was
whispering. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Put his wrist in his mouth. The saliva will
help seal the wound and stop the blood flow,” someone else said,
from far away.

“Anya,” he gasped. “Anya.”

“She’s right here, Jarrett. She’s going to
be okay.” He felt someone put something in his hand, and he knew it
was Anya’s hand. It was limp, but warm. She was warm, she was
alive. She may hate him forever for what he’d done to her, the fate
he’d forced upon her to make sure she survived, but she would live
and that was all that mattered.

He let the darkness hovering around the
edges of his vision take over.

THE END