The Vampire's Retribution, page 8
“Yeah. I can do that,” he mumbled, not looking at her.
Trust takes time, but it’s a start. She stood, nodding to Miles and Celia, and then gently pat the boy’s shoulder when he came farther into the room. Lukas didn’t stiffen. Didn’t flinch. It is a good sign. As they all left the bedroom, she stopped at the foot of the bed. “We’ll take good care of him.”
Their eyes met again. Did his son feel a spectrum of emotions the way she did? Yes. He had to—pushing her own trepidations deep down.
Chapter 11
Awakening
The room was quiet and the light from the bedside lamp dim at his side, casting a soft glow. Lukas felt weird staring down at Michael. Maybe because of remembering everything. They both had mystical strength, but nowhere was the intimidating vampire he had hunted a year before his world had changed. This Michael lay helpless, vulnerable to everything. He brushed the large hand with curiosity; forced himself to relax, then settled his hand over Michael’s bloodied one. No response. Not even a twitch. The last time they saw each other bitter rage had filled his heart. The desire to destroy had his brain locked in a vice. Tonight, however, nothing like hate entered his mind. This vampire was his father. “It’s me. Lukas,” he whispered with hesitation. “You’re gonna be okay. You have to come out of this.”
****
His son’s touch, his son’s scent. Both triggered a predictable nightmare. So much to explain… Lukas had been cagey. Murderous. Four years of captivity in the Second Realm did that to him. Shocked at the untethered rage in the child, he immediately began plotting a just revenge. But now? In this state of forced inertia? No one was safe…
“Help, Dad! I can’t find you!” his son screams, a piercing staccato in the solitude of a maze.
I am covered with sweat after hours of searching. Every time I think I am close his cries come from different directions. How could he be so lost? I call out to a stranger standing near, “Please, help me find my son. He’s somewhere in the maze.”
“You shouldn’t have let him go in there alone. What a terrible father,” he replies. One turns into many, a raging mob shouting barbs like “What the hell kind of father are you, anyway?” “Everyone knows no one comes out of this alive—it changes you—it feeds off the fear!” and then the mirage dissipates as if it had simply been a threatening cloud.
My son’s screams fill my soul. I retrace my steps, only to find a bright light from above illuminating my path. I walk toward the light with courage in my soul. Helena appears, and a sense of hope is kindled.
“Thank God, you found me. Lukas needs me. He is lost—”
“So shall it be for eternity. Sons of our bloodline. The last, a miracle birth. All is lost. Because of you,” she replies as if I repulse her, as if redemption was never in my reach.
“I love my son. I will keep him safe this time.” When there is no response, rage builds within my soul. “I sought retribution for my son. I did this for him!”
“Now you are lost as well,” is her reply. Helena turns away, disappears in the bright light from above.
The sudden sound of silence thunders in my brain. Silence is empty. So am I. Forever alone in this maze. I fall to the cold, cold ground. I cannot fight. I am not strong enough.
Lukas continued to hold his father’s lifeless hand in his own. Time kept ticking away. Confusion had him wavering between guilt and hope. Guilt over the year of his life when he tried time and again to kill Michael, and hope that his only connection to this world would somehow survive and suddenly wake up.
Then they could talk, and he wouldn’t feel this way anymore. And then he just wanted to sleep, to let go. Yeah, right, and there hasn’t been any progress. He’s fucking gone. He blew out a long breath, resolved to get up and tell Alana. He made it half the way to standing when he froze. It was just the slightest squeeze of his hand.
“Shit,” he whispered, “You’ve gotta wake up all the way.” More insistent, his voice got louder. “Come on! Wake up! Open your eyes!” He looked up when Alana, Miles, and Celia burst into the bedroom. “H-he tried to squeeze my hand. I swear!”
When Alana came toward him, he lurched back, watching her roll Michael on his side. “Dad, look at the shoulder bite. Do you think it’s the medicine? Is it doing something?”
He saw it for himself. The bite was pink, not an ugly deep-scarlet.
“Is this a good sign or what?” she asked.
“It’s a strange one, but a good one,” Miles answered. “I think the penicillin is counteracting the poison.” And to him, “Perhaps your touch gives him more reason to fight.”
“No way,” he muttered, stopping behind the upholstered chair next to the bed, gripping its high back. His heart raced like a rabbit as his felt his cheeks get hot.
“But he’s in a coma,” Celia chimed in.
“He’s not in a coma,” Miles replied as he walked to the foot of the four-poster. He began to pace with his hands clasped behind his back, as if it were a habit to help him think. “The poison must be a specifically prepared compound to induce a state of unconsciousness. There had to be something on the creature’s teeth and claws.”
“But why would antibiotics help?” asked Alana.
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? It’s a long shot, but let’s state some facts. Lukas sees the attack. The creature paralyzes Michael. Lukas gets to him in seconds. We arrive and begin a transfusion. The blood is Guardian blood, untainted—and it’s not animal. His wounds are immediately cleaned. What can we deduce? One, he was not expected to survive. Two, if he did, the creature was their Plan B. Its purpose? To paralyze for capture.”
Lukas’s eyes darted back to Alana as she asked, “And you’re saying the antidote is penicillin?”
“Think outside the box, honey, and just go with it. They couldn’t know we’d arrive so quickly; that we’d transfuse Guardian blood, human blood—something they know Michael will not drink. Why can’t an organic compound be an antidote? This isn’t a synthetic antibiotic. It’s the real deal.” The pacing stopped. “Celia, you hit the nail on the head when you said we trumped them! We have diminished the effects of the poison considerably.”
“And he’s still as bad as this?” Celia blurted out.
“Give it to him,” Alana said. The look on her face read pure determination. “Get the rest of the vials and use it all. We’re not dealing with some mortal weakling who tripped and cut his knee. He is a mystically enhanced vampire who has a soul, and he’s obviously trying to fight. You know he is! Besides, I’ve never heard of an undead creature of the night overdosing on penicillin, how about you?” The way they locked eyes was intense.
As if it were some silent signal, Celia ran out of the room. No one said a word while she was gone. And he stood glued to the back of the chair like it alone held him up. Coming back, she handed four small, glass bottles to Miles, who filled and injected syringe after syringe right into the gnawed wound on Michael’s shoulder. Each jab appeared to change the look on Alana’s face—from strength to worry. And each jab made him cringe, thinking he’d be sick right where he stood.
Celia was suddenly at his side. She had her hand over his. “You don’t look so good. Maybe you need some sleep.” He resisted as she tried to tug his grip off the chair.
“Go with Celia,” Alana said softly.
“No. I stay,” he stated, pulling his arm away.
“It’s late, sweetie,” Celia whispered, “You’re tired. You need sleep.”
Miles came over, adding, “Don’t we all. You’ll see him in the morning and every day after.”
Fear flexed its ugly grip. His hands curled into fists. “You can’t tell me what to do. I don’t have to listen to any of you. I stay right here.”
A tight glare came from Alana. “I know what you’re thinking. I wouldn’t try it. Too much happened yesterday… and today. I swear, I will not leave him. Go to bed.” She paused, let out a long breath. “You should get some rest as well, Dad. What time is it, anyway?”
“Much too late for a talk about the hour, honey,” he replied from the doorway.
Celia’s brush of his shoulder made his brain tingle. His mind slid out of confrontation as his body screamed of exhaustion. His eyes felt dry when he blinked. He wanted to close them. “Come on, sweetie,” she whispered as she led him out of the room by the hand. And just like that, he complied.
Alana shook her head, full of cautious relief. “That boy’s gonna blow. His temper is something I can’t deal with at this moment.”
Miles shook his head as well. “He’ll learn to listen. Give him time to adjust to us. Is there anything else you need?”
“For you to wake me up and tell me this is only a bad dream and none of this is happening?” She sank into the upholstered Queen Anne chair, tracing the floral pattern on its arms. “Michael’s not one of your favorite creatures, Dad. Putting everything on the line to help him and his son couldn’t have been too easy for you.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, honey.” It was in his tone—a gentle scold. “Whatever I feel or don’t feel about him… it’s not the point. Taking on the evil powers behind NWT was incredibly brave and incredibly stupid. Two very brave, very capable ex-Guardians are dead. There will be consequences for him to face, from both the Georgian Council as well as whatever evil is left that he didn’t destroy. You and I both know it.” He paused before saying, “Look. You love him. You always have.”
She refused to think about Dan and Rob. “But when I was twenty-one—”
“The Georgian Council dealt with it. You dealt with it. And you have stayed clear of him since then.”
“I wanted to call him before I left the city last year,” she confessed.
“It doesn’t surprise me. After this mess, nothing does anymore.” He gave a thin grin. “Now get some rest,” he said as he left.
Alone with him, the room fell silent. She moved to the bed, stretching out beside him. She traced his eyebrows, cupped his bruised cheek, and kissed his pale lips. “Where are you, Michael, my love?” A worried sigh escaped before she closed her eyes.
Words. Many words. And their meaning. The poison is strong. The reality of two more deaths was on his soul alone. His mind slipped away as guilt took hold.
They sniff at my feet in a darkened tunnel. The rats are large, wild, and hungry. They’ve been on my heels, scenting ripped flesh on my back. The stench of the sewer fills my nose with nauseating odors that stick in my throat. Rotting garbage and waste from the city is not as tantalizing to vicious vermin as fresh meat. Once they pick up my scent, their evil little minds are made up. I will be a feast for them.
It is the pain in my thigh that first slows me down. Growling like rabid dogs, the rats stand still behind me. I hear snarls; imagine dripping saliva as their red eyes glower. Not yet ready to attack…this is to intimidate and eventually bring me to my knees.
Blood races up my throat like human bile, acidic and strong. Hugging the tunnel wall, I spit it out. I am cold, weak with exhaustion. My broadsword, a trusted friend for over a century, is lost—too heavy. My sharp eyesight is gone. The innate sense of direction, which always leads me home, is inaccessible.
Yet, I must keep moving. I must find home. If I choose the correct direction, Rob and Dan will assist. But which way is home? I cannot tell.
Rats jump, snap at my legs. Halfway down the tunnel, I see dim light. A door opens and I am determined to get to it. But the rats…
Frenzied, they sink their hungry teeth deeper into my skin. The added weight on my leg makes me stagger. I smell their acrid breath when they claw up my body. I reach my destination, and the rats hiss in protest, not wanting to give up their feast. I pull their angry jaws from my torn flesh, and I crush them against tunnel walls.
As I slip into safety, I close myself inside, hearing sharp scratches on the metal door.
As I lean against the lock my knees give out. I am home. It doesn’t matter if I am hurt or in pain. Rob and Dan will keep me safe. They always do.
My eyes adjust to the darkness. I sense them across the room. “Wake up,” I call out, “I need your help.” But there is no response. No movement. “Come on, damn it! The rats are… the rats are…”
A scurry snags my attention. I crawl toward them, and the truth is exposed. Terror takes hold as I see their lifeless bodies. Two ex-Guardians who survived ten years of fighting demons… it jolts my mind. Rats cover them. Devour them. Suddenly, the crazed vermin stop feeding. They stare at me to inspect their next meal.
Oh God! I have killed them…
Alana felt him flinch. Her body stilled, her eyes opened, and immediately, her vision was more than 20/20. His bloodshot eyes wide open, his gaze fixed on something she could not see. She hooked his bruised chin and he flinched again. “Michael, fight like hell! You’re strong. You can do this.”
He gasped for breath he didn’t need. “No, no, no, no, no—”
“I have you. You’re safe.”
His body trembled as if he was trapped in a freezer. “Not safe. Never safe.” The richness of his voice was gone. In its place a rasp, a gravel-like substitute. “A…la…na…”
“I’m right here,” she replied. She smoothed his wavy brown hair and pulled herself up against the headboard to rest his beaten face against her breast. Brittle sobs escaped his lips. Cold scarlet tears spilled down her white sweater like tiny roses drawn on an empty canvas. “I’m right here,” she repeated, hoping he could hear her, longing to reassure him.
How many times had she dreamt of being with him? None were like this. His confident stance, his commanding good looks, his fierce fighting skills. Those were some of his best qualities. Cradled in her arms, fear swept through her heart. He needed her now, and nothing, no one, would ever come for him again. It was as if her Guardian strength had renewed itself deep within.
When he drifted off and stilled in her arms, she whispered a much-needed prayer.
Chapter 12
Aid and Assist
Miles was the first awake, always an early riser and up before dawn. It didn’t matter what time-zone he was in or what continent he lived on. His internal alarm clock never failed. Lukas still slept across the guestroom in the other twin bed.
Showered and dressed in pressed gray trousers and a white button-down shirt, he closed the guestroom door and headed for the kitchen admiring the renovations. The floor plan was open, creating a generous living room and dining area. All the woodwork was a dark, lush walnut to balance the crème walls. He specifically liked the detail on the main door to Alana’s home, and much preferred it to the elevator set in the back of the rose-colored marble foyer.
A pot of strong coffee was called for. He fixed it, poured a cup, and sat in the sun-filled dining room to read days of e-mails. Philip, the ex-Guardian in Manhattan, had sent a brief message describing little to no demonic activity in the city.
“This is, truthfully, a first,” he said to himself.
The second email was from Arthur Chamberlain, the demon specialist. Perhaps the poison is now identified, he thought. After another cup of coffee, it was time. He knocked softly on the master bedroom door, hoping to wake Alana. A quick “Come in” was the reply.
“I fell asleep in my clothes,” she said through a yawn.
“How’s he doing?” he asked in a hushed voice, noting, of course, tiny splotches of dried blood on her sweater. Michael was still and at her side.
“We were right. Penicillin had a definite effect. He woke for a few seconds. I think he recognized me.”
“Very good,” he said, more surprised than he let on. “Chamberlain will be here soon. You’d like some time to freshen up?”
“Definitely.” She came off the bed, and immediately checked the heavy drapes to make sure they were secure. Even a sliver of the bright, Amalfi sunshine would destroy the injured vampire.
His attention stayed on Michael, the bedside lamp the only light. “His skin tone hasn’t changed, but facial swelling is down, and the cuts look like they are, perhaps, starting to heal. We are making progress.”
“You call this progress? It’s disgusting! He’s one of the strongest vampires the Georgians have ever documented. There is no healing. I think we’re fighting the clock.” He crossed the room, meeting her by the windows. “Michael needs to wake up. I don’t care if we have to pump him full of every antibiotic known to modern science. He comes out of this today.”
“I hear your determination, honey, but—”
“No buts, Dad. Today,” she stated. He watched her walk over to the dresser. She laid a lilac-colored blouse and a pair of jeans over the back of the upholstered chair and met his eyes once again. “I don’t know where his mind is, but I can bet you a two-week paid vacation in Paris it’s a five-star rated horror hotel. These terror trips stop…today.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I’ll be in the dining room.” Without another word, Alana went into her private bathroom and shut the door.
****
Entering the living room, Alana felt more determined than ever. Doctor Chamberlain and Doctor Baker were already there. She stood gripping the high back of a dining room chair hoping to hide her anxiety, to appear calm and composed. Her adopted father had often sung Chamberlain’s praises, but she had never met him. A short and bald, muscular man, he had been in this line of work since the end of his military service, many years ago. Listening to the conversation, Chamberlain appeared kind but intense, with a no-nonsense attitude about him.
“Miles, I think it’s time to meet our patient,” the doctor said as the three men stood.
“Thanks for everything your team did on the plane,” she said, leading them into her room. “Did Dad tell you what happened with the penicillin?”
