In Blood We Trust (33 page)

Gabriel realized that he hadn't taken sustenance tonight, and he could do with some blood now. But not animal blood.

Were-blood, just like Mariah's old life water.

He crouched, then launched himself upward, his gaze red, his fangs out as he crashed through the door, arcing through the warm air.

It was as if Hana expected him, and she immediately threw the machete. It spiraled at him while he contorted his body away from the blade, then landed a few feet from her.

Hana hunched over, willingly changing as fast as she could, eyes glowing yellow, teeth bared, hair bristling from her skin, face still retaining some human qualities—the intelligence in her fiery gaze, the high cheekbones. She stayed on her hind limbs, even as they melted into a mule deer's, and she screeched at him, pawing in front of her with those powerful animal legs.

She was getting ready to switch her weight to the front so she could kick the innards out of Gabriel.

The oldster screamed something in back of him, and whatever he said forced Mariah into motion.

She zoomed into Gabriel with a bang. He felt himself grooving into the dirt, pinned.

“She's pregnant!” Mariah yelled down at him, her voice warping in the midst of her change—her mouth expanding, her daggered teeth lengthening, her eyes greener than eerie lights.

He hissed at her but she held him tight while the oldster—already in his own were-scorpion form—and Chaplin corralled Hana.

But she was going wild, kicking out at the pair with her back legs in rapid time, making that terrible screeching sound . . .

All the while, Gabriel locked gazes with Mariah, but without the full moon, they had no link right now, and he was ready to tear her throat out because she wasn't anything more to him than a barrier.

As Hana kept caterwauling, Gabriel detected a purring noise just over a hill, and he locked his senses onto it.

A zoom bike?

Mariah had gone stiff above him, her long teeth white.

Let me up,
Gabriel tried to think to her.

But it didn't take. She kept pinning him, even as the zoom bike appeared over the hill.

He strained against her, twisting with vampire ease so he could see an upside-down view of the vehicle coming at them, with a rider wearing black veils that flapped in the wind.

A shadow.

Taraline . . .

As she sped close, she jumped off the bike, skidding over the ground. The vehicle kept going, seething over the dirt, riderless, until it crashed into a small rise just ahead, crunching to the ground in a sparking mash of parts and gears.

All violence was forgotten as Taraline crawled to Mariah.

“Get inside!” she said, barely able to talk for lack of oxygen. “Witches—tracking you . . .”

The oldster had already scooped up Hana, speeding away, probably toward one of the other camouflaged doors that led to underground rooms that the Badlanders had lived in. Gabriel grabbed Taraline, going for Mariah's door.

He had just enough time to see Mariah and Chaplin looking at each other, long-toothed monster to dog, before the canine tore off with the were-creatures.

Gabriel had Taraline draped over his shoulder, and he was ready to close the door as Mariah stayed on hands and knees, looking after Chaplin, pain in her gaping, daggered mouth.

“Mariah!” Gabriel hissed.

She spared one more glance at Chaplin, then sprang toward Gabriel, who jumped the rest of the way down to the ground, landing and swinging Taraline to her feet.

“Witches?” Gabriel calmly asked as Mariah pulled the door closed behind her with clawed hands, following Gabriel's progress and standing just in back of him, panting. From the way she was doing it, he guessed that she was slipping back to humanlike form.

Under her veils, Taraline focused on Mariah but didn't seem afraid of her in this nonlunar state. She'd witnessed much worse on the night 562 had attacked.

“I saw Stamp and his friend Mags leaving GBVille, so I followed,” Taraline said, gasping for breath as Gabriel checked her over for injury. She brushed him off. “He headed for a shack where there were zoom bikes. The Witches were waiting for him there. I got on the roof and listened through the chimney the best I could, and I avoided the Witches when they started to chase something outside—I think it was Stamp's partner Mags. When they went back inside, I stole a zoom bike, then I waited for them to leave. When they did, with Stamp, I followed at a distance.”

“Why, Taraline . . . You're a regular spy.”

She stood still, as if wondering why he was being so removed and flippant. Then she went on. “They want to find 562, and Stamp told them that he'd track you and that finding you would lead them to the origin. But I'd heard him talking to his Shredder friends . . .” She took in more air. “Stamp's using the full moon, Gabriel. He brought the Witches here when the were-creatures would be at their strongest. He's setting up the Witches.”

“He brought them here because he wants to get to
me
. He doesn't care about anything else.”

“Even though he told the Witches he was going to use you as a lead to 562, I think he was going after Hana first, thinking
she'd
bring them to you. They spied her and the oldster a few hours ago.” Taraline was plucking at her veil, the most agitated he'd ever seen her. “They just climbed off their bikes far from the second homestead so nobody with good hearing would catch them, and then they watched Hana and the oldster make their way over here with long-range field glasses. They were so occupied that they never noticed me watching
them
. Then Stamp led them off because I'm sure he's on a timetable with this fullest moon.”

Gabriel was thinking of the bigger strategic picture here. “562 would be a real coup for the Witches. They'd probably already have information about the origin's importance and powers. Or they'd at least have an idea, from all the observations the medical staff did at the asylum. I'll bet they're working off the theory that 562 might extinguish Red preter abilities.”

“Aren't you worried?” Taraline asked, looking at Mariah again.

She was back to humanlike, her clothing torn, but she was slouched against a dirt-packed wall. Quiet.

Too quiet.

Was she feeling the night's deepest time inside her?

“I've come up against Witches before,” Gabriel said. They hadn't proven a problem. “Did they see you leave that shack with the bike?”

“I don't think so.”

“And they're all banded together?”

“Mostly, but I lost account of Stamp's friend, Mags, at the shack—”

He couldn't care less about Mags, no matter what Taraline might know about her. “Those Witches must be loaded to the hilt with their weapons. Even with a full moon, they think they've got a shot, but they haven't seen Mariah. I wonder if Stamp has told them what she'll become.”

Taraline went still again, as if she couldn't believe that he'd said it with such blankness.

“Gabriel?” she asked.

He cocked his head.

“It happened, didn't it?” She sat on the ground, her skirts a dark pond around her. “Your gloaming ended.”

He didn't know why she seemed so sad about that. Apparently, nobody understood that maturation was natural, and it wasn't as bad as he'd feared.

“Yeah, it ended,” he said. “The last time I felt anything on my own was when I realized that I'd killed the Civil.”

At his casual mention of it, Taraline's voice became wobblier than usual. “I didn't know you were the killer. I only suspected, but I tried to keep suspicion off you. I tried to distract Neelan and the oldster from your trail because I kept telling myself that you
couldn't
have been the one.”

“But I was.”

“I still don't believe it.”

He almost felt sorry for her. Kidding yourself was a waste of time. He knew that now.

Behind him, he heard a sound from Mariah, yet he knew it wasn't because of her beast's approach. He couldn't feel the link yet. Couldn't feel anything from or for her.

Taraline crumpled her skirt in a fist. “I had faith in you because I believed that vampires can do good. You and Mariah saved my life from 562 not all that long ago.”

“Is that why you came out here after us, because you're repaying a life debt?”

“I . . .”

Her veiled focus strayed to Mariah, and Gabriel understood.

When Mariah had saved Taraline from 562, she'd given the dymorrdian her blood—her 562, Red, vampire-tik-tik-gremlin-were-birthing blood. It had taken root in Taraline, making her stronger, faster, more alive than she'd been in years.

And where Gabriel went, Mariah went, so Taraline had come, just as Renfield had longed to be with Dracula in the old story McKellan had told Gabriel back when he'd first come to GBVille.

He heard Mariah breathing heavily in back of him.

“I'm going to leave you with her now,” he said. “You need a weapon, and I aim to get you one.”

And he departed, going to Mariah's old quarters, where he wandered around. If things went south with the Witches anytime soon, Taraline would have to defend herself because the monsters might be otherwise occupied, maybe even with fighting each other.

After dismantling Mariah's bed so the mattress crashed to the floor, he fashioned spears by scraping metal against metal in fast motion. It took a while, too, but then again, he was waiting for that full moon to come, so he had some time.

Then he waited.

Waited.

When he heard a sound of distress from the living area, he brought out the spears, set them by Taraline's side, and watched the viszes with her.

A streak of white smudged across the lens, then revealed the landscape again.

Witches? Were they here?

“That's the second time I saw it,” Taraline said. “Are they setting up some kind of ambush?”

“Probably. Stamp knows where the entrances are. He's had some experience with attacking us here.” Gabriel glanced at the locked common tunnel door. He had more to think about than just Stamp. “I'm betting that Hana and the oldster are in one of their former quarters right now, and they've restrained themselves. They know that if they come over here and attack me, Mariah will tear them apart. The only reason I'm not going over there to take care of Hana first is because Mariah would never forgive me for it.”

And right now, he needed Mariah in that full-moon form to ensure his safety against Hana, the oldster, and Chaplin.

Mariah panted even more heavily than before, as if she were holding back the change. Gabriel went to her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

He removed it quickly, as if burned.

With just a touch, his link to Mariah began to throb, and he knew that the moon and night were about to collide. When he touched her again, his blood rushed to her, and she drew in a long breath just as he did.

Alive. He was coming alive just as much as she was.

The emotion—the all-consuming love for her—bolted back into him. Here . . . It was here again, just as if it'd never gone.

As he tightened his grip on her shoulder—it felt so good to have his pulse beat in time with hers, to feel a part of her—he realized that he would do anything for Mariah. He'd even hold off any Witches who might have it in mind to breach the homestead, hold them off until Mariah was at her most powerful.

Could he lure the enemy away and lead them on a chase until Mariah turned all the way into her full-moon form?

“I'm going to keep them busy until you're ready,” he whispered to her, stroking his knuckles over her cheek.

At first, she merely seemed gratified that he was back, and she rubbed against his hand. His mind was so muddled by his overwhelming feelings for her that, before she could protest, he zoomed toward the door, banged it open, shut it, and greeted the moonlight.

Up in the sky, clouds threaded over the round yellowed orb, as if getting ready to roll away and reveal its worst side.

Gabriel then waited until someone saw him.

He scented them first—the aroma of skin that had rubbed against clothing before being rendered odorless by something like Shredder scent killer.

Then he heard the rustle of a chest puncher being cradled and aimed from a hidden foe, and Gabriel hunched over, ready to buy Mariah the time she needed.

O
n the visz screens, the full moon hovered, close to its peak, but not close enough.

“Gabriel?” I asked, so swamped in my oncoming change that I'd barely noticed him flying upward and out the ceiling door a moment ago. I'd felt our link go live, and it still tugged at me, as if I needed to go to him.

Taraline was in front of those viszes, and she gasped as one of the lenses locked onto Gabriel, who was just standing there as casual as you please, testing the air with his senses.

“What is he doing?” Taraline asked, angry and afraid. “He's going to get himself killed.”

“Cocky,” I whispered, clutching my midsection. “That's a vampire for you.”

I looked at him on those screens and compared him with the guy I'd first met—the wounded stranger who'd peered into these very same visz lenses and begged me and Chaplin to take him in. Then there was this vampire, who was just about daring anyone and everyone to come and get us now. He was glancing round the Badlands scape, his arms curved at his sides and—

Something white flitted across the visz screen and, as the lenses tracked the movement, they lost sight of Gabriel.