Not Quite Dead (A NightHunter Novel) (40 page)

The master vampire lunged violently to the left, throwing Eric off balance. Jordyn shouted a warning, and then Eric felt her stake sink into his stomach. There was a flash of blinding pain, and suddenly his mind seemed to shatter into a thousand fragments. His entire body went numb, and he fell, catapulting out of the sky.

Above him, Cicatrice grinned down at him, and Jordyn hung in his arms, staring down at Eric with a look of absolute horror on her face. Numbly, Eric touched his belly, and his fingers closed around the stake that was buried in his gut. Son of a bitch. Cicatrice had made Jordyn stab him instead.
Fuck.
His hand burned the moment he touched it, but he grabbed it anyway. His arm went numb, and he tore it out of his body, flinging it aside.

It clattered to the ground, landing point-down in the earth just as he crashed beside it.

The impact jarred every bone in his body, and he lay there, unable to move as the sun poured over his unprotected flesh. Smoke rose in tendrils from his body, as Cicatrice spun around and flew back toward the second floor of the mansion, Jordyn still in his arms.

"No." Eric managed a gasp, and tried to summon magic...but there was nothing. His body was empty of power. The spirits had abandoned him, as there was no life left in his dying body for them to prey upon. He tried to roll over, and he managed to get himself on his side. With agonizing slowness, he began to drag himself toward the mansion, inch by inch, ignoring the burning of his flesh, and the blackened smoke emanating from his stomach wound. His blood mixed with the dirt, leaving a dark, muddy trail behind him, but he didn't stop.

He would never stop.

He would get to her.

He would not fail.

Eric.
Tristan's gravelly voice brushed through his mind.

Cicatrice has her.
Eric dragged himself another six inches, but the pain in his body was excruciating. His muscles were beginning to burn up inside his flesh, and his organs were searing hot, moments from bursting into flames. He didn't even know if it was from the sun or the stake, or some combination.
You have to stop him.

Tristan's pain cut through him before his brother rebuilt the shields between them, but it was enough to let Eric know that his brother was in the same condition he was in.

Can't move.
Tristan shared an image with Eric, and Eric saw his brother staked down on the roof deck of the mansion. Cicatrice had driven a rune-carved stake through each limb, with three more of them forming a triangle in his belly. Tristan's skin was blackened, and smoke was rising from his body. Contaminated, open wounds oozed across his torso, as if Cicatrice had clawed him for pure pleasure before staking him. His brother's chest was barely moving, his breath stuttering through the broken ribs that Eric had suffered with him.

Son of a bitch.
Fresh urgency roused Eric, and he surged forward another two feet toward the mansion that was still a hundred yards away.
You gotta do better than that, bro. How are you going to save the girl?

Just so you know,
Tristan wheezed,
if you die, I don't think I can resurrect you right now. Feeling a little under the weather. Chicken pox, maybe. I never did have that as a kid, you know.

Eric managed to lift his head to inspect the distance to the roof. The mansion was three stories high, and it looked like an impossible feat to get up there.
You're such a pansy. You get hit with a few stakes, and then you're too weak to withstand the sun? Did I teach you nothing about survival?
He rolled over, too exhausted to move, as he stared up at the roof, reaching out to try to find his brother, willing every last bit of energy into his fading body.
I'm not going to make it to the mansion, bro.

I know you're not. You got stabbed by the one stake that can kill you. What the hell kind of plan is that?
Tristan's energy surged toward him, and Eric suddenly pinpointed the location of his brother. He thrust his life force toward Tristan, and the brothers met in midair, their energy combining to hold them together.

What now?
Tristan gritted out, the effort of sustaining the connection ruthlessly draining his last reserves.

I'll come up there.
Eric's mind was almost non-functioning, the pain was so great. He could barely think, barely hold onto his mind, and he shoved himself to his hands and knees, rocking back and forth as he tried to keep his balance. The numbness pervading his body was devastating, and he felt his entire system shutting down.

Leap up here? That's your plan? This is the worst idea you've ever had. It will never work.
Even as he said it, Eric felt Tristan summon what little strength he had left. Both brothers locked more tightly upon each other, and the invisible cord between them became stronger.

You have a shitty attitude, little brother. Go!
Eric thrust all his remaining energy into his body and leapt straight up into the air, latching onto the metaphysical link between them, dragging himself closer inch by inch.

Tristan held the connection, and Eric raced along it, using the bond they'd built over so many years. He was almost at the top of the mansion, and then he was over the roofline. He could see Tristan staked out on the roof, his skin burning with violent flames. The moment he made visual contact, the connection between the brothers surged. It latched onto Eric and jerked him forward, dragging him violently across the battered roof toward Tristan.

His brother turned his head, his eyes mere slits. They made eye contact, and Eric felt fresh energy rush through him. He collided with his brother, and the impact tore the stakes from the roof, ripping Tristan free. Eric grabbed his brother and let the momentum carry them toward the shadows from the massive chimney.

They crashed into the brick and collapsed in the small shaded area. For a long moment, neither brother moved. The flames had stopped, but Eric could feel his flesh melting from his body, and his heart was shriveling inside him. He turned his head, and saw Tristan lying beside him with his eyes closed. His body was covered in far more wounds than Eric had realized, and his chest was barely moving.
Tristan.

His brother opened his eyes a crack, turning his head just enough to look at Eric. "I missed you, bro."

"You're a dumb shit to cut me off like you did." Eric closed his eyes, unable to keep them open. "Jordyn's down there," he muttered. "We have to get her."

"I know." But Tristan didn't move either.

Swearing, Eric turned his head. He realized suddenly that Tristan's soul was beginning to detach from his physical body. Summoning energy, he lunged toward his brother. His fingers brushed Tristan's arm, and he wrapped his hand around his brother's wrist. The physical contact unleashed the combined energy of the brothers. He tightened his grip on Tristan and opened his shields. Their spirits rushed toward each other, two halves of one whole, trying to repair the broken bodies enough that each had to only sustain half a life.

Tristan rolled onto his side, facing him as the energy erupted between them, feeding and repairing—

A stake suddenly slammed into Tristan's back. His eyes widened, and blood trickled out of his mouth as his chest burst into flames. The end of the stake protruded from his heart, and then was jerked backward. Eric's body convulsed, twisting in agony as it fought to withstand the attack that had hurt him through his connection with Tristan. A boot shoved at Tristan's shoulder, rolling him to the side, and then someone squatted in front of Eric.

The sun backlit him, and Eric couldn't see his face, but he recognized the build. "David," he gasped. "That was the wrong, fucking vampire, you fool."

David leaned forward, his face hard. "It's never the wrong vampire, Eric." In his hand was Jordyn's grandmother's stake, and the blade was glowing. The bastard had swiped it from the ground where Eric had dropped it. David's hand was clothed in a heavy work glove. For a long moment, Eric stared at the glove, trying to process it. He recalled the towel that David had been holding in the kitchen when he'd been handling the stakes, and suddenly Eric knew. David had to protect his own hand from that stake, because
it would hurt him, too
.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered. "You're a vampire. You hunt vampires, but you're one of us."

David held his index finger to his lips. "Ssh. That's my secret." Then he reared back to jam the stake into Eric's heart one final time.

Cicatrice dumped Jordyn on the floor with enough force to send her sprawling across the polished marble. She scrambled to her feet and whirled to face him, frantic.
Eric. Can you hear me? Are you okay?
Her hands were shaking. She couldn't believe she'd staked him. She should have been ready for Cicatrice to move. How had she failed so completely?

But she knew how she had. It was because at the last second, when Eric had stopped trying to keep Cicatrice from stealing his heart, she'd panicked, paralyzed by her terror of Eric dying. For that one moment, she'd been so utterly consumed by the horror of watching Cicatrice kill Eric that she'd lost her focus, and now he was out there, in the sun, dying, because of her.

"Come." Cicatrice strode across the room, slamming the shutters closed to block out the light. He swept his hand across the room, and a thousand candles burst into flames, perched in crevices, on the floor, on tables, on every piece of dusty, antique furniture in the room.

Jordyn surged to her feet, looking around the room for a weapon. She saw only a bed. A portrait. A... Her gaze swept back to the portrait. It was several feet tall, an antique oil painting with an ornate bronze frame centered above the massive headboard of the four-poster bed. The woman in the portrait was young and beautiful, with long brown hair swept up on her head. Her lips were blood red, curved in a half-smile. Her skin was porcelain, and a beautiful pendant necklace was her only jewelry.

Jordyn stared at the familiar pendant, awareness growing within her. "That's my grandmother."

"It is." Cicatrice strode across the room, his polished black boots making no sound on the floor. "I had that commissioned the day after I met her. She spent hours sitting for it. She was beautiful, my precious Bridgette."

"Your precious Bridgette?" She knew Oba's given name was Bridgette, but no one had ever called her that, except apparently her true love. The reverence in his tone jerked her back to the present, and she glared at him. "If she was so precious, why did you kill her?"

"Silence!" Cicatrice swept his hand at her, and her words tore from her throat. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, her voice stripped away by the mere flick of his wrist.

Fear of the sheer magnitude of his power trickled through her as he turned toward her, giving her the first real look at the vampire who had hunted her for so long. His face was beautiful and poignant, as ethereal as the portrait of her grandmother. His clothes were those of an ancient lord, lush and rich, fitting his body to perfection. He moved with the grace of a predator, his muscles flexing effortlessly with each step he took. Along the side of his face was a jagged scar, still as raw and red as if he'd received it only recently. He touched it, his fingers sliding over it in a caress. "Your grandmother's present the day we met. She always regretted marring my beauty, but I will always cherish this as an eternal symbol of the passion that bound us." His voice was smooth and mesmerizing, just as it had been when he'd violated her dreams.

The scar on her breast began to burn, and she raised her chin, refusing to give in to the fear that he'd stoked in her for so long.

"Look at me, Jordyn." His eyes were bottomless and black, and she felt their pull the moment she obeyed him.

She immediately closed her eyes, cutting herself off from his allure. How could she possibly stop him? She had nothing to fight him with. Nothing except her mind. She thought of all the lessons her grandmother had given her, and she carefully, quickly began to weave the protections in her mind to block him.

A touch whispered across her throat, and she snapped her eyes open. Cicatrice was still standing on the other side of the room, but she could feel his fingers grazing along her neck and down her collarbone, a treacherous seduction. "Do you know how she was able to kill me?" he asked.

She brushed at her neck, rubbing the sensation of his touch away, even as she kept weaving her mental shields. "No. Tell me."

He smiled, sauntering across the floor toward the dresser across the room. A pair of gold rings sat there in a dish. "Because she was a NightHunter." He picked up a ring, and twirled it on his hand. "NightHunters aren't made. They're born." He watched the gold spinning, reflecting the light from all the candles. "They are the vampire's ultimate enemy, the only ones who are a true threat to the most powerful of us."

She watched him carefully, weighing his words. Her grandmother had always told her that she'd been born to take over for her, to continue her work. She'd assumed Oba was talking about magic. Was she a NightHunter? Was she one of the chosen few?

Cicatrice smiled and tossed the ring into the air, watching it spin with surreal speed before he snatched it out of the air in a lightning fast move. "Yes, you are. You've always known it."

Her heart began to pound. "How did she kill you?"

He extended a sinewy index finger toward her and shook it. "There's a special relationship between vampires and NightHunters, a symbiotic relationship." He picked up the other ring from the table and began weaving it through his fingers. "The reason she, and you, could kill me is because our magic is entwined." He began to walk toward her, still flipping the rings until they were moving with dizzying speed, the light from the candles bouncing off them. "But that also means you're the most powerful source of magic for me." He came to a stop in front of her. "You have the power to sustain me through any death, through any battle, through any lifetime." He held up the golden circle. "With this ring, I bind myself to you."