Out of the Night (15 page)

Staring and horrified, Lanie watched Mac open his bloodstained mouth and rub a finger across his teeth. From where she sat, she saw the two elongated canines that hadn't been there the day before. Touching her neck, she felt the impression of the two punctures where the… fangs… had pierced her flesh.

She closed her eyes, suddenly faint. It wasn't a lack of blood that left her feeling light-headed, but rather the idea of Mac drinking her blood—like a vampire.

The sound of movement startled her, and she opened her eyes to see him stumble into the bathroom. Feeling vulnerable and exposed, she clutched the sheets on the bed around her and waited. From the bathroom came the sound of running water, followed by several deep breaths. She jumped when she heard the loud whack of Mac hitting the wall.

Part of her screamed to run into the other room and bolt the door behind her, but just then, Mac, looking calmer, stepped out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his waist and another, smaller towel clutched in his hand.

He walked over to the bed, and unable to stop herself, she shied away from him. It hurt to see the wounded look that came into his eyes, but she didn't know what to expect from him—and she was frightened.

Mac stopped and tossed her the towel. She used it to dab at her neck, but the bleeding had all but stopped.

"Lanie." His voice broke over her name and he had to clear his throat. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened." He swallowed and clinched his hands into fists. "I never meant to hurt you."

She wanted to believe him, but it wasn't that easy, so she said nothing.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, watching the way his mouth worked as he tried to adjust to the new teeth. After a moment, he seemed to notice that she still sat naked in his bed.

"Not to change the subject, but…" He paused as a thoughtful expression crossed his face. "I don't know any way to ask this without it sounding bad, but how'd you get in my bed?"

She gave him a pointed look, to which he responded with a slight nod of his head. "Right, stupid question, but, you see, I thought it was all a dream."

It was too embarrassing to sit and wait for him to tell her the whole thing was a mistake—that he'd been dreaming of
Babycakes
—so she shrugged her shoulders and pasted a casual expression on her face. "No problem. It was my fault, anyway. I came in while you were asleep and tried to wake you up."

"Why?"

For a second she was caught off guard by his question, but then she remembered why she came into the room in the first place. "I thought that maybe Burton and my father might have come to D.C."

Mac shook his head before she could continue. "That's unlikely, since half of the old unit is here this week. There'd be too many men here who'd recognize Burton. I can't see him taking that chance."

Lanie stared down at the bed and almost missed his next question as another, more horrifying thought sprang to mind.

"What made you think they were here?"

She decided to tell him the truth. "There were a couple of suspicious murders last night." Seeing the remote control on the stand beside the bed, she picked it up and turned on the TV. She flipped through the channels to an all-news station and told Mac the details as they waited for the story to replay. It didn't take long. From the corner of her eye, she watched for Mac's reaction. When the story ended, he turned to her, his expression haunted.

"If Burton and my dad didn't do this"—she paused and gave him a meaningful look—"then who did? You?"

"I don't know. I went out drinking last night—and indulged in about half a fifth more than I should have. The entire evening after the fourteenth shot is one big blur." He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Hell, I don't even know how I got home."

He stood up, running a hand down his face. "I need to get out of here. I need to think."

Not really looking at her, he leaned down and retrieved the clothes that lay discarded on the floor. Without warning, he dropped the towel about his waist, and Lanie was treated to the full, unabashed sight of him before she could turn her head away. She waited until she heard the sound of him zipping his pants before she turned back to look at him. When she did, she found him standing with his shirt held up in front of him, an expression of shocked disbelief on his face.

"Mac, what is it?"

Slowly, almost absently, he turned the shirt around so she could see the dark brown stain covering the entire front. There was no mistaking what it was, and a myriad of thoughts raced through her head—all bad. Feeling trapped by her state of undress, she began searching through the covers for her nightshirt.

"Oh, God," Mac choked. "What have I become?" He paced across the room, swearing under his breath, and Lanie knew that there was nothing she could say to comfort him. She couldn't promise that everything would be all right when it looked like it was only going to get worse.

Suddenly he tossed his shirt onto the bed. "I
refuse
to be like
them
." Then he stormed out of the room.

For a split second she sat in stunned confusion, wondering where he'd gone. Then his words made sense. In the spirit of popular vampire fiction, Mac was going to meet the dawn—only in this case, he was meeting high noon, but the ultimate goal was the same. Mac thought he was a vampire and he was going to destroy himself.

Lanie searched through the covers for her nightshirt, damning the unfairness of it all. Mac didn't deserve this, but rather than succumb, he was going to do the honorable thing and take his own life. He didn't want to risk hurting anyone—anyone else, that is. Thinking of the homeless men, something didn't seem right She hadn't known Mac long, but he'd proved his mettle time and again. Hadn't he pushed her out of the way of the attacking chupacabra? Thrust her behind him when the researcher had turned into a vampire and come after mem? Only minutes ago, in the middle of a heated moment when she was totally at his mercy, he could have easily killed her—but he didn't. He'd pulled himself from her as soon as he realized what he'd done.

Scrambling from the bed, she looked under it for her nightshirt, but still couldn't find it. Frustrated, she ripped the covers off, letting them pile on the floor, feeling blind in the darkened room. Growing desperate, she raced to the window and threw open the curtains, letting bright sunlight flood the room. That's when she saw the huge brown stain on the wall.

Crossing to it, she noticed a brown paper bag and what looked like a take-out soup carton in the trash can by the desk. Though concern for Mac urged her to hurry, curiosity won out and she picked up the carton. The inside was covered with the same brownish red substance that stained the wall—and also Mac's shirt. Looking inside the bag, she saw another carton, this one sealed, and a small white piece of paper—the register receipt.

Pulling it out, she saw the name of DAVE'S ALL-NIGHT BUTCHER SHOP across the top and the itemized listing for two cups of pig's blood.

With the amount of blood on the wall, the carpet, and his shirt, Lanie didn't think he could have consumed very much. She pulled out the other container. It felt full.

Placing all of it on the desk, she went back to looking for her green shirt. With light filling the room, she quickly spotted it half buried in the pile of blue bedspread. The shirt was long enough to reach her mid-thigh and feeling like she'd already wasted too much time, she yanked it over her head and raced out of the room.

She reached the elevators and pressed the down button—and waited. It seemed to take forever, and growing too impatient to wait, she headed for the stairs, feeling she could run down the three flights faster than the elevator could take her.

She burst out of the exit on the lobby level winded and desperate. She ignored the stares of hotel staff and guests as she scanned the area, looking for the one person who wasn't there.

Afraid she might already be too late, she hurried outside, quickly looking up and down the sidewalk. She had no idea if Mac would burst into flames under the sun's rays or not, but she prayed she didn't find a pile of ash on the sidewalk.

When she didn't see either Mac or a pile of ashes, it occurred to her that he might have chosen someplace more private for his final moments. She looked around and noticed the opening to the alley beside the hotel. She ran the length of the sidewalk, ignoring the bite of the hot concrete on her bare feet.

When she reached the alley's opening, she stopped long enough to check for exiting cars and then dashed into it. Midway down, leaning against the wall as if in pain, with his hand over his eyes, stood Mac.

She raced to him, feeling more relieved than she wanted to admit. "Mac, it's me." She tried to grab his arms, but he shook her off.

"Leave me alone. I have to do this."

"The sun's not going to kill you," she argued, glancing up. "In fact, I'm not sure it'll even give you a decent tan today."

He resisted her efforts.

"Please, Mac. We don't even know if vampires really burn in sunlight. The chupacabra didn't; it turned to stone. So how are you feeling? Are your limbs stiff?"

Suddenly he stilled. "Lanie, so help me, if you're screwing with me—"

She smiled because he couldn't see her and reached for his arm again. This time, he didn't fight her off.

"Listen, I'm not really dressed to be outside. Can we go back to the room?"

His hand still covered his eyes. "I can't see." He didn't sound panicked; she wasn't sure he'd know
how
to sound panicked, but she could tell from his clipped tone that he was upset.

"Your eyes are sensitive to the light, that's all. You'll be fine once you have your sunglasses. Keep your eyes closed and take my arm. Here, like this." She took his hand and placed it at the crook of her elbow. "Now, just follow my lead."

Moving slowly, she guided him through the hotel's side entrance. Once they were far enough indoors, she stopped.

"It's not as bright in here; do you want to try opening your eyes?" Mac gradually pulled his hand away and blinked several times. Lanie saw immediately that they were red and irritated.

"Better?"

He gave an almost imperceptible nod and then, as if suddenly noticing her lack of proper clothing, he gave her a stern look, his eyes raking over her from head to toe. This time when he grabbed her elbow, she wasn't sure who was leading whom.

When they reached their rooms, Lanie realized she had forgotten to grab her key card. She almost laughed when Mac reached into his pocket and pulled out his. He was the perfect Boy Scout, she thought, always prepared—even when planning his own death.

"Is it too early for a drink?" she joked, trying to break the tension as she hurried over to the drapes and closed them again.

He didn't even crack a smile. "Don't you understand the severity of this situation? I'm turning into what
they
are. Just because I'm in control of my thoughts and actions at this particular moment doesn't mean that I won't morph into the thing I was when I killed those homeless men." He walked over to where his duffel bag rested on a stand inside the closet. "Go to your room, Lanie. Shut the connecting door, and don't come back in here for any reason."

She didn't like the sound of his voice. "What are you going to do?"

He pulled something from the bag as he turned to give her an exasperated look. "Would you
please
go next door? You're only making this harder."

She gasped when she saw the gun in his hand, and her thoughts started racing.

"Don't you think you're overreacting to this a little?"

"Lanie, I killed those homeless men."

"You don't know that. You told me yourself that you couldn't remember what you did last night."

He gestured to her neck. "I practically killed you."

She gave an unladylike snort. "Oh, please. I've drawn more blood shaving my legs."

He shook his head. "It's more than that. I
liked
the taste of your blood."

She eyed him skeptically. "Well, eeeuw—but still not convincing evidence that you deserve to die."

"That creature changed me when it attacked me. All my old injuries have healed, I can move incredibly fast, my night vision is better than most people's day vision, the sun hurts my eyes. I'm full of energy after dark, but once the sun comes up, it's almost impossible for me to stay awake."

Lanie held up her hand to stop his litany of changes. "Mac, I have no doubt that you've been changed because of that attack, and I think that had the chupa killed you, the venom would have brought you back as a vampire. But you didn't die. Therefore, you're not like the vampires we've seen. I mean, come on, Mac—taking a little blood in the heat of the moment is a lot different from what my father and Burton did to those researchers, or to Davis."

When he still seemed unconvinced, she pressed on. "At any time this morning, you could have killed me, but you didn't. You're in control of yourself."

He shook his head. "But for how long? Look what I did to those men."

"I'm not sure
you
killed them." She walked across the room and picked up the bag containing the empty containers of pig's blood. "Look what I found." She handed him the bag.

Mac stared at it in surprise. "Where'd you find this?"

"In the trash can—and look." She turned on the floor light in the corner and lifted the drapes until he could see the stain on the wall. "Looks to me like you tried to drink it and didn't like the taste. If you were as drunk as you say and frustrated, I can see how you might have spilled it down your shirt and then thrown it against the wall."

She took the bag from him and pulled out the full container. "This one is still full." She peeled off the lid and wanted to throw up. Inside was partially congealed dark red pig's blood. "You say you like the taste of blood? Here, drink this." She held it out to him, her gaze locked with his so he'd know she was serious. Slowly, he accepted the cup from her and raised it to his lips, but that's as far as he went. She saw the disgust on his face as he lowered the cup and set it on the desk.