Blood and Bite (14 page)

“Sherry doesn’t matter. The question is, do you want to give
the boy back to his mama, or do you want him to die?”

“I’m on my way.”

“Oh, and Rune.
Leave your weapons
and cell in the car. I
will
search you.”

He clicked off and she listened to dead air for several long
moments before she remembered to pull the phone from her ear. Emerson had
Matthew.
COS
had Matthew.
All along.

It was almost impossible not to call Strad.

But she didn’t.

Emerson wasn’t lying. Even if he was, she wasn’t taking a
chance with Matthew’s life.

Choices, choices.

She’d go in and get the kid. She would make Tim Emerson cry
for death long before she gave it to him.

Yeah.
Because her life was always that
easy.

The crew would take care of Ellie. She put him in a corner
of her mind for later. Right now, she had to concentrate on helping a little
boy.

And destroying an evil man.

She cursed her trembling hands as she rid herself of her
weapons, haphazardly tossing belts, guns, and shivs into her car.

She might find Matthew alive and well inside that church,
but where COS was concerned, she couldn’t get too optimistic.

The outside of the building looked so benign, giving no hint
of the bleak darkness inside. Her walk from the car to the front doors seemed
to take an eternity, each step an effort. Her gut was screaming for her to run
back to the car and get the hell out of there—to call in reinforcements.

It was every horror movie she’d ever seen, scoffing at the
stupid heroine for going into the house, the basement,
the
woods.
Alone.

She knew bad things were about to happen, but she kept right
on walking.

There was nothing else she could do.

Not really.

She pushed the door open and went inside, her senses on full
alert.

The room was large and dim, as though sunlight couldn’t
possibly penetrate the stained glass windows. She caught a certain scent she’d smelled
only in churches, one she’d never really been able to identify.

And another scent, weak, but there.
The
scent of disease.
One of the people standing there was ill.

Emerson waited, but he wasn’t the only one.

“Cuff her,” he said, nodding to a man standing behind her.
He looked at someone else, a tall redhead who glared at Rune as though Rune had
somehow managed to offend her.
“Mare.
Hide her car.”

The man behind Rune grabbed her arm and she heard the chain
of handcuffs rattle as he started to follow his boss’s orders.

Rune turned, almost casually, and punched him in the throat.

He gagged, eyes bulging, and fell to the floor trying to
breathe.

She turned back to Emerson, who watched her with a gleam of
amusement—and no surprise.

“I saw that coming,” he said, smiling.

“Where’s the kid?”

“Rune,” he said, his voice soft, “I appreciate your bad ass,
truly I do. But you’re in
my
house now. And nothing that happens from
here on out is going to be good for you. I can promise you that.” He walked
closer to her, unafraid.

“I want to see the kid, Emerson.”

He ignored her words. “We’re going to do this again and if
you don’t behave, the kid will be hurt. Nod if you understand.”

Fuck you, asshole.
“Yeah, I get it.”

He looked down at the man she’d punched. He still knelt on
the floor with his fingers to his throat. “Corbin. Get up. If you let her punch
you again, the kid isn’t the only one who will suffer for it.”

Corbin got to his feet. Rune didn’t flinch as he bruised her
arms with his angry grip. He tightened the cuffs too much, on purpose, she was
sure.

She was also sure the tight cuffs were just a drop of
annoyance in what would soon become a river of pain. Before this was over,
Emerson was going to hurt her, and he was going to enjoy it.

“Are you immortal, Alexander?” the COS leader asked, genuine
curiosity in his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

He nodded. “You’re like a baby. I’ll tell you what. When
you’ve done what I need you to do, I’ll help you find out.
Deal?”

He and Jeremy Cross could have been brothers. They had the
same soullessness in their eyes, the same desperate evil in their smiles.

She sneered. “You know what, Emerson? I’ll be the one
walking away from this. In the end, you’ll just be dead.”

For one millisecond, before he could control it, she saw his
fear. His eyes dilated and his lips parted, a quick breath of terror escaping
into the still, musty church air.

He was afraid of her. And he knew she knew.

She sighed, waiting for it, and he didn’t disappoint her.

He doubled his fist and hit her, smiling with grim
satisfaction when she spat blood. And then he hit her again.

Corbin held her against him, his hands steadying her.
“Hurt?” he asked.

I’m surrounded by sadistic bastards.
Was she
surprised? Not even a little bit. She pushed away from Corbin, her attention on
the SCOS leader.

Her lips numb, swollen, and bloody, she spread her feet to
balance herself. “Fuck you, Emerson. You’re shit, hitting a restrained woman.”

He threw back his head and laughed, then stopped as abruptly
as he’d started. “You’re not a woman, Alexander. You’re a monster.” He eyed her
mouth. “You’re healing as I watch.”

“Jealous?” she asked, knowing better than to push him,
unable to stop.

“Oh no.
I’m grateful you’re a
monster. That’s why you’re here, actually.”

“You said you’d trade the boy for me.”

He shrugged. “I lied. I can’t let him go.”

“So your plan is to kill us both.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

“I had a chance to save the kid, Emerson. I took it.”

“Yes,” he replied.
“Such a brave soul.
Or you would be, if monsters had souls.”

“I’m not the soulless one here, dude.”

He gestured impatiently. “I’m tired of your mouth, so shut
it. Corbin, search her. She’s not going to hurt you.”

Corbin started at her back, his hands wandering to places no
weapon could hide. She bore it
stoically,
knowing to
do otherwise might get the kid hurt. But when he finally walked to the front of
her to finish his search, she caught his cruel stare with hers.

“Before this is over, I’m going to kill you, Corbin. And I’m
going to make it hurt.” She knew her face was calm and her eyes empty except
for the truth of her words.

He faltered. “Shut up.” But his voice was hoarse and the
scent of his fear filled her nostrils.

She smiled.

They didn’t know her, not really, or they’d have taken a lot
more precautions than fucking cuffs. She’d break the chain that connected the
restraints when she was ready, and these men would witness just what her
monster could do.

She almost felt sorry for them.
Almost.

Corbin released the straps that held her protective vest
closed and pushed it off her shoulders. Slowly, while the redhead and Emerson
watched, he slid his fingers under the hem of her shirt.

He groped her breasts, squeezing and pinching, his touch
angrier because of his fear. “Should I strip her?” he asked Emerson, his voice
breathless.

Emerson pursed his lips. “She should be humiliated. Do it.”

Only the thought of Matthew kept her still. Her body
vibrated with fury, and despite her control she was unable to keep her fangs
from dropping as she submitted to Corbin’s eager fingers.

But when she stood before them naked, shuddering with rage,
and Corbin ran his meaty fingers over her belly and lower, not even her fear
for the boy could keep her controlled.

She struck like a snake, her fangs raking furrows in
Corbin’s neck. The taste of blood stoked the fury and before he could react,
she took out half his throat.

He fell to the floor, clamping his fingers to his wounds,
unable to scream. He writhed in agony, his mouth wide,
his
eyes bulging.

“I told you I’d fucking kill you,” she said. “And I told you
I’d make it hurt.” She leaned over him, her voice soft. “Does it hurt?”

But Emerson wasn’t stupid and had come prepared. She looked
up from the downed man, but she was too late to do anything as Emerson rammed a
long metal object into her side.

She had no idea where it had come from, and seconds later,
didn’t care.

The shock went through her, short circuiting her brain,
sending a terrible, confusing pain into her system.

And worse than the dose of electricity she’d been hit with
were the long strands of silver the object shot into her bloodstream. She
recognized them immediately. Silver, to an
Other
, was
an unmistakable agony.

She could fight with silver. She could wear silver. But when
the deadly stuff got
inside
her, she was fucked.

For a second she forgot where she was. She was back in her
house with Jeremy Cross shooting her full of silver, his familiar face lined
with rage and what he thought of as love.

But no, this wasn’t Jeremy.

And she wasn’t home.

She wasn’t familiar with the object Emerson held—had never
seen anything like it. It looked like a cattle prod and delivered a hell of a
shock, but the business end seemed full of tiny needles,
each
one driving liquid silver
into her body when he hit her with it.

“Rune, meet the vaccinator,” Emerson said, breathing hard.
“Say howdy.”

He drew back the vaccinator, holding it like a fat spear.
“It has various settings. I have it set to deliver tiny little drips of silver
into you, but those shocks are set on motherfucking high.” He rammed it into
her chest.

She lost her breath, her words,
her
ability to even think. There was nothing but pain and hot, suffocating terror.

“Look,” the woman screamed. “She’s pissed herself!”

Rune’s body curled into a tight knot and began to spasm.
Hate, hate, hate.

But finally her brain started working again, slowly,
sluggishly, and she pushed her mind into the darkness so she could think. There
was nothing else. No sensation, no body, no people.

In the dark, there was only Rune.

And her monster.

But her monster was as hurt as she was, and could not help.

She slid inexorably into death’s open arms, ready for the
sweet peace the reaper could give her.

Emerson wrenched her out of the darkness. “Don’t die on me,
you fucking beast. I’m not finished with you yet.”

Could she die?

Her lips, her eyes…they sat heavily and almost numbly upon
her face, and she couldn’t make her fingers work. She wanted to touch her face,
to see if it was still there, but she couldn’t lift her arms.

Then she remembered why. They were cuffed behind her back.

You’re okay, Rune. You’re okay.

“I thought for a moment I’d lost you,” Emerson said, leaning
over her. “I thought for a moment you weren’t immortal after all.” He laughed
soundlessly, sending out little puffs of air that covered her skin like moist,
repulsive plastic wrap. He wiped a finger through the sweat on his forehead.
“Whew!”

He handed the vaccinator to the redhead. Her name was gone
from Rune’s memory as though it’d never even been there. Perhaps it never had
been.

“Can I shock her?” the redhead asked.
“Just
once?”

Emerson glared at her. “Are you fucking stupid? Didn’t you
see I almost killed her?”

“Yes, but she’s okay now. You hit her too many times.” Her
knuckles whitened from her tight grip. “Let me, one time.”

Emerson snatched it out of her hands. “I told you to hide
her fucking car. Go, now, before I hit
you
with it.”

The hatred, the cruelty.
It was as
familiar to Rune as breathing, but she never ceased to be surprised by it.

She thought maybe mankind was doomed.

And in the end, there would only be the monsters.

He jerked her to her feet, cursing when her legs wouldn’t
support her and she fell to her knees. “Get up, Rune. Get the fuck up!”

She closed her eyes and gathered her strength. She was Rune
Alexander. She was fucking super
Other
. Emerson and
his torture devices weren’t going to keep her down.

Not ever.

She got to her feet, but the effort that cost her weakened
body was nearly all she had. She shivered as coldness seeped into her bones.

“The silver will kick your tail for a while,” Tim said, “but
if you’ll stop being such a pussy I’m sure you’ll find it in you to walk the
fuck out of this room.” He pushed her, sighing when she swayed drunkenly. Like
it was her fault and she was sorely testing his patience.

When he lifted the vaccinator and pointed it at her, she
forced herself to take a step.
Where the hell am I walking?
She tried to
say the words, but her mouth wasn’t working. Not yet.

“Keep going,” he urged, poking her spine with his evil,
silver-filled stick. “There’s a door in the back. I want you to go through it.”

His stare was an icy assault on her body, heavy and
invasive. She was nearly certain he wouldn’t try to touch her, as the now dead
Corbin had done. Something inside his eyes made her believe he would allow
others to degrade her in that way, but that he would not.

Maybe he couldn’t. Whatever his reasons, she was thankful.

She stepped carefully through the doorway, stopping when she
saw stairs leading down. No way would she be able to navigate stairs without
falling.

But he grasped her upper arm and guided her away from the
stairs, to her right, and down a long, skinny hallway with doors on either
side.

After a quiet walk down the hallway that seemed to take
forever, he took a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door at the
end.

“Matthew?” she managed to ask. Her lips felt oversized and
alien, but the feeling was coming back into them. It was hard to force the word
past the dryness in her throat. She’d have killed for a drink of water.

He shoved her inside.

The windowless room was illuminated only by the light coming
in from the hallway. It would be filled with shadows when he shut the door, but
she’d be able to see better in that dimness than Emerson, or any human, could.
But there was nothing to see.

The room was empty.

“Matthew,” she said again.

Emerson stood in the doorway. “He’s in that corner.” He
pointed to the far side of the room. “I’ll be back as soon as I get things
squared away. You’re here because…” He paused before continuing, his voice
stronger.
“Because I need a favor from you.
Of course
you’ll do what I need in order to save that child, won’t you? Anything I want.”

The bastard had her right where he wanted her.

She didn’t wait for him to shut the door but walked toward
the corner, sniffing the air for the elusive scent she finally caught. It was
the odor of sickness, but it was weak, even to her hypersensitive nose.

Sickness was easy to trace for an
Other
.
It stank of dark, slithery things. Of shiny green goo and thick, slimy pools
atop which stirred bloated insect bodies. Of steaming piles of bloody rot.

All that was there, in the air, becoming
stronger the closer she got to him.

The kid was dying.

Tim gently closed the door and she heard the click as he
locked it. The room was dark but in seconds her eyes had adjusted and she could
see clearly enough to pick out the tiny, unmoving bundle in the corner.

She dropped to her knees beside him. “Matthew? Can you hear
me?” She pulled experimentally at the cuffs but realized quickly she was too
weak to break the chain connecting them.

Emerson had known what to do. If she got her strength back
without feeding, she’d be surprised. Right then she was almost human weak.

The boy was unconscious and zipped up into a sleeping bag.
He was turned to the wall and she couldn’t see his face, but when she
concentrated, she could hear his breathing.
Barely.

“Kid?”

He groaned.

Her heart fluttered and for a second, she forgot to breathe.
I’ll take care of him, Berserker. He’s alive. He’s
alive.
“Matthew.
Come on, baby. Wake up.”

His sluggish turn toward her was agonizing to watch and once
again she gave a tug at the cuffs.

In the dimness of the room his face was a pale moon, full of
sunken craters, and he stared out at her from huge, fevered eyes.

Her stomach knotting with anxiety, she leaned closer. “Hi,
baby. Do you remember me?”

“Want to go home now,” he whispered.

“Soon, Matthew.
I promise.”

“I want my mother.”

“I know, baby.”

Already tiny, the child had become gaunt and wasted during
his time with Emerson. His lips were dry and
cracked,
his skin paper thin. Even in the darkness she could see the branching blue
veins beneath his skin.

If she didn’t get him out soon…

“What did they do to you?” she asked him.

He pushed his tongue out to wet his lips and for a second it
hung there, as though he was too weak to withdraw it. He whimpered,
then
closed his eyes.

Her heart was breaking. “They made you read, didn’t they?”

“Promised to take me home,” he replied. “He lied.”

Emerson had dangled promises before the boy and had drained
him dry. “What reading did he want from you?”

Matthew sighed. “When would he
die.
”

Rune frowned. “Did you tell him you couldn’t do that?” The
kid could find lost people, not predict the fucking future.

“He’s going to die.”

“You can tell that?”

“I told him you can save him.
Like you did
that girl.”

Oh shit.
“What girl?” she whispered.
“Lex?”

“I saw it in my head when my dad came to get me.” He closed
his eyes, and this time didn’t open them. “I want my dad.”

“Rest, baby.
I’ll get you home.” It
wasn’t a promise she was going to go back on.

Matthew wasn’t
Other
, but he was as
enigmatic a human as Rune was an Other. The boy had some impressive power. That
power, given a chance, would only grow.

But now she knew why Tim Emerson wanted her. He wanted to
feed from her, wanted her to heal whatever sickness was growing inside him.

When she’d fed Lex she’d healed her, but had no idea if her
blood would affect everyone the way it had the
Other
.

Probably not.
But her blood
would
make him an addict.

The man had no idea what he was asking for. Regardless, she wasn’t
planning on letting him live long whether he forced her to feed him or not.

She was getting stronger by the minute. She wouldn’t be
monster strong, but she was still Shiv Crew. She wasn’t helpless. But she had
to get the cuffs off.

She crouched beside the fading child. She closed her eyes,
ignoring the lingering effects of the silver still floating through her
bloodstream.  The weakness and pain from not only the silver but the jolts
of electricity continued to make her brain stutter and her hands tremble.
Spasms of pain poked at her, almost teasingly. The bastard had scrambled her
thoughts and devastated her body, but she was no stranger to violence.
Definitely no stranger to pain.

So she knelt beside Matthew and closed her eyes, gathering
that agony to her.
Eagerly.
It would make her strong.

She hadn’t forgotten how to use pain.
Hadn’t
lost that part of herself despite the doctors’ best attempts at making her
better.

So she embraced it, enjoyed it, used it.

Her fangs dropped. The tips of her fingers ached with the
need to release the sharp claws, but she controlled it.
Kept
them in.
That in itself was a victory.

She stood in one fluid motion and with her eyes still
closed, held on to the big ball of blackness inside her. She clenched her teeth
and forced her arms apart.

The cuffs cut into her flesh and the warm stickiness of
blood covered her skin. She kept pulling, pulling,
her
body filling up with agony.

She threw her head back and howled, but silently, and with a
crack!
loud
enough to make the boy stir, the
chain broke. She’d done it.

Who cared that she’d cut her wrists to the bone? She would
heal. And now she had her hands.

She sank to the floor and rocked back and forth, humming in
pain. Her hands were slippery with blood that leaked onto her legs as she
cradled her injured arms in her lap.

She kept her eyes closed for a long moment, almost afraid to
look at her wrists. She might see that she’d cut her hands off. And seeing the
injury always made it hurt more.

Her reserves were low and her body would not heal quickly
from the abuse it had been dealt. But that was okay. It
would
heal.

She wiped her hands on the boy’s sleeping bag and at last
was able to touch him. She smoothed back his baby-fine hair, gently, over and
over.

Her touch seemed to comfort him. It comforted her.

Once, she stumbled to the door and tried to batter it down,
but she couldn’t budge it. She was too weak. The silver and the shocks had
weakened her, and she’d used up the last of her reserves getting out of the
cuffs. She was going to need more time. And blood.

She had no idea how much time passed. It seemed like many
hours later when she finally heard footsteps approaching and the key turning in
the lock. Emerson was returning. She wasn’t exactly ready for him, but her
hands were free.

Battered and bloody, she stood and faced the door.

It was time to fight.

Or die.

Emerson wasn’t alone. He came in with ten people at his
back, and every single one of them was packing a vaccinator.

She stood in front of the boy, shielding him with her battered
body. Her hair, lank and bloody, hung in her face. She imagined she looked like
the monster they believed her to be.

They fanned out, the wicked prods held out before them.
“Where’s the fucking light switch?” one of the men asked.

Someone else flipped a switch and the room was illuminated
by a rather dim set of lights in the ceiling.

“I expect you’ll want to fight me, but there are eleven of
us and we have these.” Emerson hefted his vaccinator. “We
will
take you
down. You’re too weak to defeat us. So what’s it to be? Will you help me, or
will I force you?”

Rune sniffed the air, trying to get a whiff of the sickness
inside him. He must have been in the early stages of his disease, because the
scent was very weak—almost buried beneath the scents of the slayers surrounding
him. “What’s wrong with you?
Cancer?”

He didn’t look surprised that she knew. “Yes.
Brain cancer.
It’s inoperable.” He paused, as though waiting
for some sign of sympathy from her.

“I hope you die a terrible death,” she said.

“Yes, well, I didn’t expect you’d wish otherwise.” He moved
a little closer. “But how ironic is it, my dear monster, that you will be the
one to save me?”

She spread her feet and glanced around at the crowd of
slayers. She could take out a few of them before they started shooting silver
and shocks into her, but would it be worth it? The extra damage to her body was
going to extreme. Did she want to fight something that was most likely going to
happen anyway?

Fuck
yeah.

She dropped her fangs, shot out her claws, and smiled. “Who
wants to die first?”