Sucker Bet (23 page)

Her face must have revealed her curiosity, because he said, "What?"

Then they both heard the popping sound. Nate reacted before she did, shoving at her, pushing her back in the car, his hand on her shoulder gripping her jacket as he tried to haul himself back into the car.

"Get down," he rasped, hands trying to push her head against his stomach and out of range from the shooter, as he stopped trying to get into the car and stood straight up.

He was trying to shield her, but she couldn't help him that way, and she knew without a doubt a bullet wasn't going to hurt her, so she fought him to stay upright.

But it was too late. There was another popping sound and Gwenna watched in horror as Nate's expression froze, as he started to tip forward, blood spreading across the pristine white front of his dress shirt. "Nate!"

His eyes were rolling back into his head, and he swayed on his feet. Gwenna grabbed the lapels of his jacket and dragged him into the truck, going for speed instead of caution. He was on his side, legs crushed awkwardly, but she just leaned over him and yanked the door shut with trembling fingers.

It was then she saw who had shot Nate. It was Smith, Roberto's bodyguard. He was standing in the middle of the row they had parked in, a gun in his hand and a smug smile of satisfaction on his fat lips.

Oh, God. Gwenna thought she was going to throw up as she realized that Roberto had ordered him to do this. To kill Nate, because of his involvement with her. For a second, the world actually tilted as she went dizzy with shock. Swallowing hard, she fought to keep the bile down, and shimmied into the driver's seat. The hospital was just up the road. They would save Nate. Mortals survived gunshot wounds all the time. Modern medicine was astonishing. She would not let him die because of her.

But when she slowed down to let the gate open so she could exit the parking garage, she glanced at Nate. And realized that no one was going to save him. It was too late. He was already dead, eyes wide open and vacant.

"No!" Tears blurred her eyes, and she slammed on the gas, hurtling out into the street, not even sure where she was going, the jerk of the vehicle jarring and intense. Mind numb, she side-swiped a parked car, before having the wherewithal to pull over and park on the side of the road, shaking and crying. "Oh, shit, oh, shit, this isn't fair." She reached for Nate. He slumped against her, slack and completely unresponsive. "Damn it." With trembling fingers, she checked for a pulse in his neck, knowing she wasn't going to find it.

The look of death was unmistakable, and Nate had it. A quick pull back of his jacket showed one of the bullets had gone right through the heart. Gwenna held him in her arms, and fought the total overwhelming and paralyzing feeling of panic. She didn't know what to do. She had absolutely no idea what to do. But there was nothing
to
do. He was dead. Nate was dead because of her.

He was dead, and she would live forever, and Roberto still had his iron fist of control wrapped firmly around her…

Gwenna sat up straight. Unless she used her blood. Gave it to Nate. Turned him to vampire.

She had never done that, never used the power of her blood, never needed to, and had never wanted the responsibility. The one person she would have turned was her daughter, and Isabel had rejected the gift, had ensured her mother or uncle could never turn her by Committing Suicide. Isabel had pinned herself with a sword to the boards so she wouldn't inadvertently jerk about, then had decapitated herself.

That her daughter had wanted to die that badly had nearly destroyed Gwenna.

Knowing she was responsible for Nate's death very well could destroy her.

Gwenna shifted back over behind the wheel, letting Nate's head fall into her lap. Smoothing his hair back, she shifted gears, hit the gas, and pulled out onto the street. There was no way she was going to just let Nate go. His house was only a few minutes away and she would have privacy to drain him and then feed him her blood.

If Roberto thought she was going to crumple into a puddle and let Nate die, he had another thing to learn about Gwenna Carrick. She may be quiet and unassuming, but she was also stubborn and logical.

And logic was telling her the vast majority of people would choose life as a vampire over death.

So that's what she was going to give Nate.

"He's dead. Are you sure?" Donatelli stared hard at Smith. His men weren't exactly Mensa material and it was vital to verify important little details with them.

"I guess so. I mean, I shot him through the heart." Smith's look of satisfaction and pride turned to puzzlement. Worry. "He should be dead."

"Didn't you check his pulse?" That's all he needed was the damn cop only wounded. Gwenna would get off on nursing him back to health, which would totally defeat the purpose of shooting the bastard in the first place. He wanted Nate Thomas out of Gwenna's life. Permanently.

"No, I couldn't check his pulse. She pulled him into the car and drove away. But he really did look dead."

Roberto stopped pacing and closed his eyes as the whole room went red with his rage. "Excuse me?
Who
drove him away?"

"Ms. Carrick." Smith bit his lip, like he couldn't quite figure out why that might be a bad thing.

"You are a complete moron." Donatelli struggled to breathe. "You were supposed to shot Thomas when he was by himself, not with Gwenna."

"Why?"

"Because…" He clenched his fists over and over, mind trying to devise a punishment heinous enough for Smith and his stupidity. "Because Gwenna likes the man, you fool. And she's a sucker for a sad story. If she thinks he is dying, she'll turn him into a vampire. Then I'll have the guy drooling over her for who the hell knows how long instead of just a year or two! God!" He picked up what was closest to his hand—a table lamp—and hurled it across the room.

It exploded against the wall with a horrific crash and dropped to the floor in a hundred pieces of ceramic and glass.

"Sorry," Smith said. "I didn't even think of that."

Well, obviously.

Though Gwenna didn't really give a damn what the neighbors might think, she didn't want to deal with any suspicious inquiries, so she kicked open the fence gate, breaking the lock, and dragged Nate into the backyard. Punching her hand through the glass of the slider, she undid the lock and opened the door. Nate was heavy, even for her, and she barely made it to the sofa in his den before she lost her grip on his arms.

Her balance compromised by gravity as he dropped down onto the sofa, she stumbled and fell on top of him, breathing hard, her stomach churning, eyes burning. It had been at least five minutes since his heart had stopped beating and she couldn't wait another minute. Peeling down his T-shirt to give her clearance to his neck, Gwenna closed her eyes and punctured his flesh with her fangs.

This was the first time she had drunk his blood, other than that one quick taste during sex, and she felt the hot swell of regret. It shouldn't have been like this. She should have told him the truth and let him decide whether to stay or walk away. She shouldn't have waited.

It took several minutes to drain him completely and Gwenna was nauseous and panicking by the time she was finished. She almost never bit mortals anymore, not since blood bags, but when she had, there was always a flow of thoughts and emotions, human life, along with their blood when she fed.

With Nate there was nothing. It was absolute silence and that terrified her.

"We're going to fix this, Nate, I promise." Gwenna had no real idea what she was doing, but she didn't see any other way to go about it, so she sliced open her wrist with her teeth and dripped the blood from the wound into Nate's open mouth. The hot liquid sort of pooled on the top of his teeth and tongue and dribbled out the corners of his mouth and down his neck.

"Shit." Gwenna pushed up on his chin and forced what would be a swallowing action if he were still alive. Maybe it was too late. Maybe a mortal had to be alive still, if only by a thread, to make the change. Without functioning organs, maybe this wouldn't work.

Yet when she opened his jaw again, she saw the blood seemed to have dissipated, so she squeezed her wrist hard and pumped more into his mouth, filling it to his teeth. Then she shoved his mouth together, held it there for a moment, opened, and started the process all over again.

After the fourth time of filling his mouth with blood and forcing it down his throat, he bit her. Weakly, but he caught the tip of her finger with his teeth when she was prying his lips open.

Gwenna jumped in shock, than gave a sigh of relief. "Oh, Nate, God, please be okay." She forced her wrist over his mouth again, and this time he clamped on and sucked of his own volition. Sliding alongside of him to get a more comfortable position, Gwenna held her wrist up to him, but let her head drop into the crook of his arm. She needed a minute to regroup, to think, to figure out how to explain this to him, and to let go of the fear and panic that had engulfed her. She took a few shuddering breaths and relaxed her body, taking comfort in the hard pull of Nate's mouth on her wrist. He was getting stronger, she could feel it, taking more of her blood with each subsequent suck and swallow.

It was working. His body was starting to twitch and move next to her, little jerks and spasms. She was starting to feel weak from the loss of her blood, so she detached herself, figuring she could feed him from a bag if he still needed more. Yet she couldn't bring herself to move away from him. Hand on his chest, she felt the reassuring rise and fall of his breathing, and let the tears run down her cheeks.

Four days wasn't a long time to know a man. Not when superimposed over the length of her life. But at the same token, those nine centuries of living had taught her to measure a person's integrity quickly, and she knew that Nate was a solid human being. His caring and concern for his sister were evidence of the quality man he was.

Her entire life, she had been refusing to be honest with herself about Roberto. Despite his positive attributes, he was, in essence, rotten to the core. She had never wanted to admit that, had told herself that everyone was complex and multilayered and no one was perfect. She had still cared about Roberto because she had loved him once fully and completely and they had shared a life, a marriage, no matter how rocky those years had been. And she glossed over Roberto's flaws because of her own guilt. They had created a daughter, the most obvious and enduring connection between a man and woman, and she had never told him. It didn't seem right to cast stones at him for his behavior when she wasn't exactly beyond reproach.

Yet the time had come to tell Roberto the truth about Isabel. And to admit to herself that a man who would order Nate shot, order Kelsey drained of blood, and earn his money via illicit drug dealings was not worth even her sentimental holding on to the past.

Because she had done just that for so long, though, Nate Thomas had taken a bullet and died. It made her feel sick, and she wouldn't blame him if he despised her after he woke up and found himself a vampire. She would be profoundly disappointed, and yes, heartbroken, because she truly cared about Nate, but she would understand his feelings.

"Gwenna?"

She sat straight up and looked at Nate. His eyes weren't open yet she had definitely heard him, shaky and steady, but sounding very much alive. "Yes, it's okay, you're fine."

"I feel like shit," he said, dragging in a ragged breath. His eyes opened briefly before fluttering shut again. "I dreamed I got shot."

"Just go back to sleep, Nate. You'll feel better after you've had a few more hours of sleep, I promise."

From the looks of it, he already was. Gwenna touched his clammy and sweaty forehead. He was burning up. Undoing his shirt, she ran her finger over the puckered exit hole from the bullet. Right through the heart. It occurred to her if the bullet had gone in his back, and exited out his chest, it must have lodged somewhere in his truck. It hadn't hit her, she was sure of it.

Standing up, she bent over and stripped him of his jacket and dress shirt. He slept straight through it. Balling the clothes up, she tossed them in his laundry room on top of the washing machine, and pulled a thin sheet out of his linen closet. She had no idea how long he would sleep, but she was guessing for a few hours. As she laid the sheet over him on the sofa, she glanced at the clock on his microwave in the kitchen. It was only five o'clock. She guessed he'd sleep until midnight or later. Then he would need to feed again. She would have to dash back to her place for some blood bags for the both of them, but she was concerned about leaving him just yet.