Twilight Illusions (10 page)

The coughing racked her now, and with each bout she spasmodically inhaled more of the smoke that was choking her. Killing her. She sat on the floor, turning herself slowly, blinking her watering eyes in pitch-darkness to get her bearings. The window—she wanted to get back to the window. She choked again, dragging in more of the acrid stench. Her finger screamed in white-hot pain, and she suddenly realized the ring she wore was burning a brand into it. She yanked it off, threw it away. Her hair was soaked in sweat, her skin sizzling with the heat.

And then she found the window. She found it by the glow of the sheets she'd hung out, which were burning now, like everything else. Flames climbed the sheet like a rope and leapt the windowsill to invade. She lurched to her feet, to the bed. She fumbled with the knot she'd made, but a fit of choking caught her, held her in a merciless grip. She had to stand long enough to undo the knot on the bedpost. When she finally got it free, and sent the sheets sailing to the ground below, she dropped to the floor again.

Only this time it wasn't volitional, and she didn't get up.

 

He had never intended to use the power of the psychic bond between her kind and his. But he was increasingly glad he'd begun to relearn the ways of doing it. As soon as dusk fell and he came fully awake, he homed in on Shannon. He'd go to her, take up his nightly vigil, just as soon as he'd showered and dressed. And until then he'd keep track of her with his mind.

He ignored the cravings of his body. He shouldn't feel such an urgent need yet. It hadn't been that long. And the damned hunger that kept dancing in his mind shouldn't be wearing Shannon's face. Damn, what was happening to him?

He tried distracting himself from this irrational need for her by thinking of new and amazing feats to perform for the crowds while he took a record-fast shower. He thought about escape tricks, and reminded himself to go through that book on Houdini that he'd bought last month, while he threw on his clothes. But all the time, in one corner of his mind, he was feeling her thoughts, experiencing what she did, smelling and tasting and hearing along with her. The old talent had come back to him with a little practice, more powerful than he'd remembered it.

She'd been silent, so deeply asleep she hadn't even dreamed.

Then there was an abrupt shift. Every one of her senses went rigidly alert. Damien smelled smoke, felt it, thick and stinging, clawing at his nostrils, scratching his eyes. Heat like a lead blanket tried to smother him. He felt her fear. Stark terror. All so fast, it had happened.

Fire. And he knew, dammit, that his skin would go up like gasoline if he touched the flame.

Didn't matter, though. He had to get her out. If not, he'd have to experience her death. Feel the gradual ebb of her life force, see what she saw in her mind as she battled the final enemy. Anyone but her, he thought in sudden panic, and the real possibility of it hit him. She couldn't die, not Shannon. It would kill him this time.

He'd done it, then, hadn't he? He'd let himself start caring about her.

Damien stepped out of his house, lifted his arms. Seconds later he soared, a shadow in the night sky, a streak of darkness there and gone so suddenly no mortal eye would see him. He soared toward her, and he felt her heartbeat slow.

Damn you, you won't win. Not this time!

He sped through the starry sky, piercing clouds like an arrow. He felt the cool, crisp air on his skin, and then the searing heat on Shannon's. He smelled the biting autumn air and then the stench of smoke. And then he was there. The conflagration raged like a tower of pure hell, and he dove, swooping through the broken glass of her bedroom window.

He thudded to the floor of a smoke-filled room, and even with his night vision, he could barely see. The heat was intense, and here and there tongues of vicious flame broke the inky blackness. He avoided them, focusing only on Shannon, and he found her, dropped to his knees beside her just as her labored, raspy struggles for breath stopped altogether.

She lay still, eyes closed, a limp angel. He scooped her into his arms, cupping her head with one hand and held her face to his. He blew his breath into her lungs. Once, twice, again.

She coughed, drew a strangled breath, only filling her lungs with more smoke. Her arms came weakly around his neck, and her face pressed to his throat. She choked his name before she lost consciousness again.

Cradling her to his chest, a burden so light he barely noticed the added weight, he leapt through the window again, speeding through the night too rapidly to be seen, like one more wisp of sooty smoke that appeared, then vanished in the blink of an eye.

He came down away from the lights and the crowd, in a darkened alley between the next two buildings. The street just beyond was a chaos of sirens. Red and white flashes bathed Shannon with color. Vehicles moved back and forth, horns blasting, voices shouting.

She stirred in his arms, drew a wheezing breath and then exploded in a seizure of coughing that he thought would tear her body apart. He held her to his chest until the paroxysm passed, then searched her soot-streaked face. “Shannon?”

She blinked him into focus with red eyes, frowned, then glanced beyond him to the burning hulk. Red-orange tongues of fire lapped at the night sky, as if they'd consume it, as well. “How—”

Her question was cut off by her coughing. He carried her out of the shadows, into the crowd. He shoved his way through until he reached an ambulance, then snatched the oxygen mask from its hook on a tank.

“Hold on, mister. I'll handle it.” The young man turned a valve, held the mask to Shannon's face and waved an arm toward the ground. “Lay her down here.”

“A stretcher.” He bit the two words out and glared at the man in white.

“Sorry, but they're all in use. Just give her to me—” As the medic spoke he reached for Shannon, but a sweep of Damien's arm sent him stumbling aside. “Hey—” Damien shut him up with one glance before he looked for a soft place where she could rest. He spotted an empty police car and carried her toward it. The man swore under his breath, but came along, carrying the oxygen tank. Damien yanked open the rear door of the cruiser and lay her down across the back seat. She was coughing again, pushing the mask away, trying to sit up.

“Damien—”

“It's all right, Shannon. You'll be fine now.”

“You got—” A fit of coughing took her and she was weak when it let her go. She sat up anyway, her arm along the back of the seat to brace her. She held the clear plastic mask to her face, head bowed as she sucked a few breaths of oxygen, but her eyes never left his. Her head came up, slowly, as if it weighed too much for her neck to support. “You got me out.”

He nodded. “Rest. You need to—”

“How?”

He said nothing, just watched her. She turned her head to stare at the blazing building. She drew two more breaths, then moved the mask aside. “You went in there, didn't you? You walked into that…” Her brows drew together and she returned to her scrutiny of his face. She coughed again, drew herself straighter, searching his eyes.

An ambulance pulled up beside the police car. Two paramedics jumped out, yanked a gurney from the back and rolled it to a stop behind Damien. The one with the oxygen tank tapped the roof. “We've got an ambulance available now. We can transport her.”

She shook her head. “No, I'm fine.”

“We're taking you to a hospital, miss. You inhaled a lot of smoke—”

“I
said
I'm fine.” She got her feet to the pavement again, shoving Damien aside so she could stand up, then closing a hand on his shoulder for support. She glanced just once more at the building, then met Damien's eyes, her own shooting sparks that were just a bit duller than usual. “Why?”

He wasn't sure just then that the smoke she'd inhaled hadn't damaged her brain. “You need see a doctor, Shannon. Lie down on this gurney and—”

“Stop talking to me like I'm two years old and spill it, Damien.” She paused to cough, wheeze, gasp, pressing the palm of one hand to her chest, bending almost double. The young man held the mask she'd discarded to her face. She took one gulp of oxygen and pushed it aside, lifting her head with an obvious effort. “Why did you risk your neck for me like that? Again? You have a death wish or what?”

He frowned at her. “You know you and your lousy attitude are beginning to get to me. I went to a lot of trouble to snatch you, kicking and screaming as usual, from death's door. I don't expect a thank-you at this point, but you'd better believe you are going to see a doctor if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you there myself.”

She sucked at the oxygen, eyes narrowing on his face.

He cocked his eyebrows. “Don't get that suspicious look, Shannon Mallory. This wasn't a plot to get you to stop suspecting me of heinous crimes. If that was all I wanted to accomplish I could have left you in there.”

The mask moved away. “I never said—”

Her glare faltered, and she began coughing hard enough to tear her lungs to shreds, he thought.

He picked her up. “I'm tired of arguing with you, dammit.” He held her hard and climbed into the back of the ambulance. He sat on a seat, with her on his lap, and sent the attendant a nod.

The youth clambered in with them, bringing the oxygen along, bending over to affix the mask once more to Shannon's face. Damien could see the medic wanted to suggest Damien follow in a car, meet them at the hospital. He even opened his mouth to do it, but he changed his mind. The other man closed the double rear doors and went around to the front. The vehicle lurched, jarring her against his chest. Her arms encircled Damien's shoulders and she let her head relax against him. He closed his eyes. In seconds they were under way, siren blasting.

They hadn't gone far, when she lifted her head, reached up to yank the mask from her face, but Damien caught her hand in his, held it, stared down into her eyes. He could will her to be still. But he found himself wanting to convince her, instead. He liked her spirit, irritating though it was.

“Shannon, there is nothing in this for me. That's what you're wondering about, isn't it? What my angle is, what I'm after? Nothing at all.”

She twisted her hand from his and yanked the mask away. “I didn't ask for you to jump into the middle of my life.” She drew a slow, careful breath. “I don't need a hero.”

“I didn't claim to be one.”

“Ha! You ran into that burning building like some kind of comic-book superstar! There was no earthly reason for you to—” Her accusatory comment was cut off by another bout of coughing, and Damien pressed the mask to her face again.

When she'd calmed and faced him again, he lifted the mask. She looked at him in silence for a long time. Her gaze fell to somewhere in the vicinity of his chin. “There was no reason for you to risk your life like that.” She spoke more softly, he thought, so she wouldn't instigate a return of her choking and gasping.

“There was every reason,” he told her. He pushed her hair away from her face.

Her eyes narrowed, shooting amber sparks at him. He wiped some of the soot from her face. She tried to sit up, and he let her. She slid from his lap to settle on the edge of the gurney. She didn't look him in the eye. She stared downward, and her golden hair fell over one side of her face. “I thought…I really thought it was all over, in there.”

“I'm glad you were wrong.”

She nodded. “I owe you, Damien…again.” The ambulance turned and slowed. Then came to a stop. The rear doors opened, and she got to the ground by herself, refusing his help as well as the medics'. The young man reached out to take Shannon's arm, but she jerked it away. “I can walk perfectly well by myself. God, you'd think I was…was…” She stood, wavering slightly, glanced at Damien, blinked. She lifted one hand toward him.

He caught her when she began sinking. Stubborn woman! He carried her through the double Emergency Room doors that opened on their own at his approach. He walked into chrome-and-white chaos, the smell of Lysol, the squeak of rubber soles on spotless floor tiles and the clatter of wobbling wheels on gurneys as they were pushed along. She muttered that she was fine and didn't need to be carried. He was ushered to an examining room, where he laid her carefully down on a table that was covered in immaculate white paper. She smudged it with soot.

 

Damien evaporated as soon as the first nurse appeared with a stack of forms to be filled out. Shannon sat on the edge of the bed and filled in the blanks, wondering if they handed this same stack to cardiac-arrest victims before administering CPR.

A nurse came in with a soft, damp cloth and a basin of warm water and proceeded to wipe the soot from Shannon's face. Okay, she thought. They were sweethearts. She was just thinking bitchy thoughts because she was in a bitchy mood. Damn, she'd lost just about everything she had.

“The doctor will be right in, Ms….” The blond woman glanced at the forms. “Mallory. You just relax and let me get your vitals, okay?”

Shannon nodded as a thermometer was popped into her mouth.