Mercy's Danger: Montgomery's Vampires Trilogy (Book #2) (Montgomery's Vampires Series) (22 page)

And then I’d die alone, an old brokenhearted woman.

“What are you thinking about over there?” Robert asked, startling me. “You look like somebody walked over your grave.”

I swallowed hard, realizing that I’d been on the verge of tears. The top of our sporty little convertible was down, so my hair, whipping against my face, helped camouflage my raw emotion. “Nothing,” I said. “Just letting my mind wander. How about you? You look pretty deep in thought yourself.”

“I’m not really deep in thought, but . . .”

“What’s that?”

He paused. “Don’t turn around, okay, but have you noticed that car tailing us?”

I gripped the edge of my seat and fought hard to avoid doing exactly what Robert had asked me not to do, which was to whip my head around and see for myself.

Robert addressed my worry before I had a chance to voice it. “Don’t worry. It’s not the VGO.”

“How do you know?”

“For one, the sun is out.”

“But Seraphim said they have those outfits—”

“And they aren’t covered.”

“You sure?”

Robert nodded. “They’ve been following us since we stopped for gas. They aren’t wearing hats. They are positively human.”

“Then who in the hell are they? Locals?”

“No, they look European—definitely not local.” Robert shrugged. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say they’re paparazzi. There are three of them in the car, and they all have cameras—even the guy driving. But if the VGO haven’t found us, I can’t see how they could have.”

“We have to ditch them,” I shrilled. “If they put your picture in the paper, the VGO will find us in no time!”

“I’m working on that,” Robert said with forced calm. It was his
I know I sound composed but I’m really quite ruffled and don’t want anyone to know it
voice.

We were foiled by a stoplight. Robert accelerated to run the red light at the last second, but I screamed for him to stop when a shiny mass caught my eye. Parked next to a palm tree on the side of the road was a motorcycle cop. Like the security men at the airport, he had a large firearm slung over his back. He was smirking, virtually
daring
foolish tourists to break the law.

The men following us screeched to a halt on the passenger side of the car—the left side, since we were Indonesia. Their positioning stupefied me. Robert was the one they were interested in and he was driving. To thwart their efforts, I leaned forward to block their view.

And then they started shouting . . .

At me.

“Malory, over here! Over here! Give us a smile, love!” they demanded. “You in Bali promoting a film?” Between the three of them, they’d snapped at least a dozen photos before I cottoned on to what was happening.

“I’m not Mallory!” I hollered. “I don’t even know who that is! You have the wrong woman!”

“Aw, don’t be like that, sweetheart,” the driver yelled. He was portly, balding, and badly sunburned. The lens on his camera was as wide as a damn dinner plate.

The light changed and Robert was off. Unfortunately, so were they. The driver continued clicking photos as he chased us. The three jerks were so focused on me—Mallory—that they didn’t notice that the two lanes of road were narrowing into one. Robert tried to speed up, but he would have rammed the back of the motorcycle in front of us, which was carrying a woman, man, and two very young boys.

We’d run out of room. We were down to one lane and the other car was parallel to ours. “Look out!” I screamed.

Panicked, the driver of the other car sped up to overtake us. Had Robert not swerved into the other lane, the photographers would have killed the family on the motorcycle. But now that the family was safe, Robert and I weren’t. In about three seconds, a dump truck was going to hit us head-on.

Thanks to his residual vamp reflexes, Robert was able to transport us to safety . . . Sort of. He cranked the wheel hard, pulling us off the road and out of the way of the trunk, jumping the curb. We spun out of control for a few seconds—it felt like an hour—and then the trunk of a palm tree intervened, crumpling the front end of our zippy little convertible like tinfoil.

Thankfully, we hadn’t been going that fast. We were both uninjured, nary a bruise or scrape between us. We got out of the car to examine the damage.

In a flash, the men descended upon us like a swarm of locusts. Only one of the three—the driver—had the decency to inquire if we were hurt. The other two kept snapping away.

“Hey! You’re not Mallory!” one of the photographers yelled with indignation, as if I’d gone out of my way to swindle them.

“No shit, Sherlock!” I snarled. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Robert roared. “You could have killed someone!”

“Hey, man, we’re just doing our job,” said the driver, no longer too concerned with our condition.

Robert took a threatening step towards the man. “Well, your job—”

“Robert Bramson!” the men yelled in unison. “It’s Robert Bramson!”

Robert balled his hands into fists and prepared to strike. I stepped in and pulled him back, right as he bared his teeth and hissed like the vampire he used to be. The men were startled, and for a moment they stopped taking photos. Robert had a crazed look in his eyes. He probably would have inflicted some real damage, even as a human, and not just to their cameras.

We fled the scene because it was the only thing we could do. Now we had to hold our breath and wait for the backlash that was sure to come.

19

I had the strangest dream that night.

I was dozing naked on a shoreline, the sun above baking my skin. I awakened to find that a goliath leech had slithered out of the water and had coiled itself around my neck like a scarf. It was sucking on my neck, though it didn’t hurt. It was almost pleasant, familiar. Its smooth tail was curled over my breasts. I stopped enjoying myself when it started to bite.

I jolted upright in a mass of damp sheets and groped for the light. I discovered Robert nestled up next to me, his brow dripping with sweat and his mouth open wide. His hand tensed over my breast as the light touched his face.

I stroked my neck, finding it slick. “Robert, honey, wake up.” I gave his shoulder a shake.

“What’s going on?” He sat up and studied me, his eyes unfocused and confused.

“Are you sick?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Why?”

“For starters, you’re all sweaty,” I said, touching his forehead. It was so fiery that I could have fried an egg on it. “And you were just biting on my neck.”

He bit his lip. “I was? Did I hurt you?”

“No, but it’s weird, no?”

“Once a vampire, always a vampire.”

“Not funny,” I scolded. “I’m worried about you. You look terrible. Your skin is greenish, and you definitely have a fever.”

“My stomach hurts a little.”

“How bad is it? Do you think you’ll be up for travelling?”

After our run-in with the paparazzi, Robert and I agreed that we’d have to flee Bali. We’d tried to fly out immediately after the incident, but the next available flight wasn’t for over twenty-four hours. We’d assumed that we were moderately safe, anyway, since the photographers would probably need a minimum of a day to get the photos of Robert into whatever sleazy tabloid newspaper they worked for.

At Jerry’s suggestion, we were heading to Russia. By the time the world learned of Robert’s car-wrecking escapades in Bali, we’d be far away in St. Petersburg. We were hoping the VGO might be thrown off our scent because of the vast geographical difference of the two countries.

“I’ll be okay,” Robert said, trying to sound glib. “It’s just something I ate.”

“I don’t see how. We ate the same thing for dinner.”

“I’m burned, too.”

“Burned?”

“Yes, sunburned. Nothing to worry about. My skin is sensitive to sun after being a night dweller for all those years.”

“You never mentioned it before,” I said. “How long has it been bothering you?”

“Not that long. A couple of days.” Robert squished a pillow under his head and pulled me down next to him. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be fine. No more questions. I think we both need more sleep.”

Robert slept through the next morning and most of the day. I checked on him frequently. He remained ashen and continued sweating, but his condition didn’t seem to be worsening. Our flight was at 10:30PM, so I decided that I’d rouse him at six if he didn’t get up on his own beforehand. We didn’t have much to pack, but I wanted to be sure that Robert was well enough to board a plane. If need be, we’d stay another night in Bali. It was dangerous, but so was the possibility of Robert requiring serious medical attention while we were midair.

Around five, Robert came shuffling up behind me and planted a kiss on top of my head. He took a seat opposite me on the patio, where I sat zoning out on the crashing jade waves.

I opened my mouth and he said, “I’m fine.” He put his hands up. “Okay, not a hundred percent, but I’ll live. I think it’s just some tropical flu. As a human, I’ve got to get used to these things, right? No point in getting hysterical every time I sneeze.”

Reluctantly I said, “I suppose.” Though I’d never heard of a flu that made people suck on another person’s neck.

“Okay, Mercy, I know that look. What is it? I told you that I’m fine.”

“I believe you. It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

I stood and walked to the edge of the balcony. The sun felt amazing on my shoulders, like a warm blanket. I turned back around to face Robert, who was leaning forward in the lounge chair and waiting for me to elaborate.

“This may sound strange, but I had the weirdest feeling at the accident yesterday. Not quite déjà vu, but the sense that the scene was familiar. And I think I’ve figured out why.”

“Okay?”

“Remember that email from Mathew?” I shuddered and made a sour face. “
Blech!
I can hardly stand saying his name.”

“I feel the same way about hearing it,” Robert said dryly. “But please go on.”

“During one of his crazy-ass rants, he wrote about you getting into a car wreck.”

“Coincidence.”

“I’d think the same thing, but remember how specific it was? He’d hoped that you
wrapped your car around a tree
, which was exactly what happened.”

“That
is
odd,” Robert admitted. “But that is a fairly common thing, isn’t it? For humans to hit trees with their cars?”

“I guess . . . Sure. But then he also hoped that there were witnesses to your humiliation. He hoped that millions could see it, remember? Kind of strange, don’t you think, because those guys took photos of you? The paparazzi?”

Robert ran a hand through his hair, matted from fitful sleep. “I don’t know, Mercy . . .” He looked stressed, which made me regret saying anything. Robert had enough to worry about already.

“You know what, forget I said anything. It was dumb. Who cares about Mathew? I think I’ve been out of touch with reality for too long, inventing conspiracies and whatnot to keep myself entertained.” I did my best to sound convincing. “If you’re up for it, how about we take one last walk along the beach? Then we’ll come back and pack.”

“Perfect. And you don’t have to keep worrying about me, Mercy. I’m starting to feel better. I bet I’ll be tiptop by sundown.”

Robert
did
look better, like his fever had dropped five degrees while we were out there on the patio. Although, the sun did still seem to be aggravating his skin. He was twice as red as I was, and I’d spent hours more in the sun than he had. He was back inside before I got to question him about it.

We walked hand-in-hand on the beach, discussing what we were going to do in Russia. We didn’t have a lot to say on the subject, since our plans had been made a short time ago. Mostly we talked about getting new clothes. Our outfits in Bali consisted mainly of tropical staples: sandals, swimwear, floppy hats, sunglasses. It would be a lot colder in St. Petersburg.

“I’m going to miss this place,” I said.

“Me too. But we’re ending our stay right. Look, we’re the only ones on the beach. We couldn’t ask for a more perfect sendoff.”

When we turned around to make our way back towards the hotel, I tilted my chin toward the horizon. “What a beautiful sunset.”

“Hmm?” He sounded distracted.

I looked over at him and saw that Robert was gazing off into the distance.

I cupped a hand over my brow and squinted. “What
is
that? A flying animal? It’s . . .
sparkling
.”

“I can’t tell. Whatever it is, it’s moving fa—”

“Oh my God!” I screamed. “They’ve found us!”

Robert shoved me so roughly that I tumbled down onto the sand behind him. To an onlooker it would look as if he had assaulted me, but that was the very opposite of what was happening. He was trying to shield me from the approaching danger.

When the danger reached us, she sneered, “You’ve made a valiant effort at hiding, but I’m afraid the chase is over. Step aside, Robert Bramson.”

The vampire’s speech was smooth and heavily accented with Spanish origins. She was wearing one of Seraphim’s Smokescreen body suits and a full-face mask with reflective glass around the eyes. Both were metallic silver—now I got why Oliver had believed that his attackers at the lab were wearing spacesuits.

The woman looked like a complete lunatic, like she was running around on the beach swathed in tin foil. She carried a fat bowie knife, though her hands were weapons enough. Maybe she didn’t like getting blood under her nails. She appeared collected, her voice steady. This was no novice killer.

It was peculiar, the things people immediately thought to say when confronted with danger. For Robert it was, “How did you find us?” It wasn’t what I personally would have gone for, which would have been something more along the lines:
Please don’t stab me!

“You two were all over the Internet.” The vampire snorted. “A car wreck? Really? You should be a lot more careful.”

Damn, the blasted Internet! Robert and I had been so fixated on newspapers
that the possibility of our photos going viral hadn’t occurred to us.

The vampire peered around Robert and stared me down. “I don’t see the resemblance. You’re much prettier than Mallory Speck.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. How sick is that? I actually
thanked
the vampire who’d come to kill me.

She directed her attention back to Robert. “You used to be one of us, human, isn’t that right? If you give me the girl, I won’t kill you.”

“Never!” Robert growled. “If you go anywhere near her,
I
will be the one who kills
you
.”

The assassin shrugged. “Have it your way.”

She pounced. I screeched when a sizable chunk of seaweed tripped her up. Though the vamp righted herself in a millisecond, Robert seized the opportunity and ripped off her mask. She shrieked and turned away from the sun, shielding her face with her arms.

Unfortunately, it was at that precise moment that the sun went down.

The hitwoman was unharmed. Without the crazy face covering (and murderous intent aside), she was one beautiful
senorita
: wavy black hair to the center of her back, huge brown eyes, long lashes, pouty red lips. I wondered how old she was in immortal years and what she used to do before she started murdering for the VGO. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to imagine her flamenco dancing a century or so prior.

The follow-up action happened within seconds, which was how it usually went with vampires. As the struggle between Robert and the hitwoman ensued, I felt like I was observing the violence on a stage far, far away. I wouldn’t allow myself to accept the reality—that Robert was no match for the lethal vampire. This was a fight he was going to lose.

I had to confront the truth, however, as a bloody figure fell limp and heavy beside me. It was Robert. Protruding from his heart was the assassin’s knife.

Stuck in a surreal nightmare from which I couldn’t wake, I watched in horror as Robert began to die. I wouldn’t have to watch long, because now the assassin had her sights on me.

I was going to beg her to spare me . . . But then she lost her head.

Literally.

Standing behind the assassin was none other than my would-be vampire daddy, Jerome Bellamy. Held in his beefy hands was her head. Her eyes focused on me as her headless body groped out for my legs. Blood was spurting from the stump between her shoulders, covering my legs in gore. I yelped when her clawed fingers clamped around my calf and pulled.

Jerry pressed his hands together until her skull crushed and then jellified. The assassin let go of me when her body exploded into thousands of gooey little pieces.

The only thing that remained of the vampire was an imprint in the sand of her feet, a mound of jelly, and a set of fangs. The next wave that came in took care of the mess, sweeping it out all to sea. Jerry washed his hands off in the whitewash.

The aftermath happened swiftly. There was no anguished crying over Robert’s body, no screams directed towards the sky, no sirens, no violins playing, and no gathering crowd. All of those things—and more—probably would have happened, but then something miraculous transpired.

I nearly fainted when Robert sat up next to me. I gasped, and Jerry let out a few dry squawks of his own, as Robert extracted the knife from his healing body.

He gazed down at the bloody knife in confusion. “I’m dead?” he confirmed—or asked. It was hard to tell. He tossed the knife aside and probed the hole in his chest. The slit was now less than an inch long and closing.

I was too scared to move, worried that any motion I made would reverse whatever change was happening. Jerry, frozen as a block of ice, appeared to be thinking the same thing.

Robert poked a finger up under his upper lip. “Fangs,” he said, opening his mouth to show us.

“I think you
are
dead,” Jerry whispered. “
Un
dead.”

Robert was in a daze. “I need blood.” His head bobbed woozily. The hole in his chest began to seep thick, cloudy plasma. It seemed to be lengthening, opening back up to its original size.

Jerry crouched next to Robert and pulled one of his arms over his shoulder. “Quick, Mercy, grab him! I have some blood back in my room.”

We didn’t have time to discuss the semantics of why Robert was spared from permanent death, or how he’d suddenly turned vampire. I knew from stories Robert had told me that a vampire could only heal from major injury if they consumed blood immediately after being hurt. If they didn’t, they’d die just like a human would.