Dark Legend (9 page)

Francesca let out her breath slowly, wanting to be entirely truthful. "How could I when I haven't seen him for so long? I don't know him. I haven't let myself know him; I don't want to know him right now. I can tell you I think he's courageous and I admire him as I've never admired anyone else in my life. And he deserves to have a good life. I just don't necessarily want to be part of it."

Brice swore silently to himself. "You don't owe him anything. I don't care if he was your husband. You sound as though you think you owe him, but you owe him absolutely nothing. I don't care if he was a secret agent and saved the world. He can't just come back here and decide he wants you again."

Gabriel
had
saved the world, probably more than once. And with a powerful vampire loose in the city, he would once again protect humans at great risk to his own life. He had given up his chance at happiness, had given up family, emotions and colors. He had done more than risk his life, he had risked his very soul to keep mortals and immortals alike safe. He had no real existence; even his own kind feared his power. He was completely alone.
Gabriel.
Her heart ached for him as much as her mind rebelled against his hold over her.

"Gabriel is different, Brice. I can't explain him to you. I've had a difficult evening and I'm asking you to drop the subject for a while. I can't give you the answer you want to hear and if you push me, I would have to say no, there's no hope for us and just forget it." She rubbed at her throbbing temples. "What about this patient of yours? Do you want help or not?"

Brice shook his head, trying to hide his frustration. "All right, Francesca, have it your way. We'll shelve it for now, but I wish you'd throw him out or take him to one of those shelters you're always funding. One of them ought to have a bed for him."

Francesca knew very well Gabriel was probably quite wealthy. No matter how long he had been sleeping beneath the earth, he would have a stash of gold or something of equal value to sustain him. Those in his line would keep his properties intact for him. If he had none, all Carpathians would contribute significant amounts to ease his way back into society. It was their way to aid one another at all times when there was need. In Carpathian society, wealth meant nothing. It was to be shared as a means of continuing their kind, of keeping them a secret. Gabriel had not yet had time to collect what was rightfully his, but he would. In any case, Francesca could do no other than live by the code of her people and share what was hers with him.

"I have asked him to find his own place as soon as he gets his bearings, but I will not force him to leave my home. Now tell me about your patient or I'm leaving." She meant it too. If Brice pushed her any harder she was just going to walk away and not come back for a very long time.

He recognized the finality in her voice. "She's fourteen years old, and looks as if she's been in a train wreck. X rays show a multitude of broken bones, some set by physicians and some knitted crookedly on their own. She's practically comatose. She looks at me, but won't say a word. I can't even tell whether she actually hears me. She's in bad shape. She has some wicked-looking scars on her back and some particularly bad ones on her hands and arms as if she fought back many times. She looks as if she's been battered repeatedly. Her father brought her in, a brute of a man, nasty, doesn't say much. No other relatives. Cops say he's a career criminal but no history of child abuse. We can't prove the father's a sadistic abuser without the child's account, and she can't talk to us. He wants to take her home, says she's retarded, but I don't think so."

Francesca felt her heart turn over. She hated this kind of thing, had fought for centuries to establish safe havens for women and children, yet there were never enough. Fourteen years old. Why would a father torture and abuse his own child while her species fought so hard to preserve their children? Carpathian males always protected women and children above their own lives. It just didn't make any sense and her heart bled for the poor teenager with no one to protect her from the very person who should have loved her the most. "Was there sexual abuse?"

Brice nodded. "Absolutely there was. This child has been so abused it's sickening."

"You have need of my aid, honey?"
Gabriel's beautiful voice brushed gently at the walls of her mind.

"Show her to me, Brice," she instructed softly.
"A child has been abused. I am going to see her now. Brice said they suspect the father."
Without really thinking about it, she sent him all of the information Brice had given to her.
"I will be fine."

"
I expect you to call should there be need."
Along with the soft command she was immediately flooded with warmth and comfort, strong arms to anchor her as she faced another emotional battering.

Chapter Four

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Brice pushed open the door to the young woman's room and stepped back to allow Francesca entry. Fortunately the girl's father was not present. The man was a bully and Brice was afraid of him. He crossed the room, smiling gently at the young woman huddled on the bed. She hadn't looked up or indicated in any way that she noticed their entry.

"Skyler, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. I know you can hear me, Skyler. This is Francesca. She's an extraordinary woman. You don't have to be afraid of her."

Francesca watched Brice, noticed how gentle his movements has become around the teenager. That was one of the things that drew her to Brice. The way he was with children, with those who were hurt and wounded. He cared. It couldn't have anything to do with money, she was certain of that. Brice really wanted to make things right, wanted to help these little lost souls. Her heart warmed and she smiled at him as she glided forward to seat herself in the chair Brice had placed right beside the bed.

"Hello, Skyler. Your doctor has asked me to come and visit you. I thought we'd ask him to leave so we can be alone together. Just the two of us." She nodded at Brice.

He bent close, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel the warmth of his breath. "I'm going to keep an eye out for her father. If he catches you in here, there's no telling what he might do."

"You think he'll become violent?" Francesca whispered the question, not wanting the child to hear her. The last thing the girl needed was an ugly scene involving her father. "Are you expecting him?"

"Not anytime soon. He usually spends this time of night drinking," Brice assured her. With a reassuring wink at the unresponsive teenager he left the room.

Francesca observed the child closely. The girl was lying in the fetal position, her hair hanging in ragged lengths as though someone had chopped it off indiscriminately. There was a crescent-shaped scar on her temple, white and thin. There were bruises all over her face. Her eyes were swollen and her jaw was several shades of green and blue. "So your name is Skyler." She lowered her voice so that it was soft and beautiful, hiding the underlying compulsion with a silvery sound.

Francesca took the girl's limp, scarred hand into hers, reaching at the same time for her mind. She wanted to examine the child's memories, to see what had happened to her to make her lie without moving, so lifeless and without hope. At once a flood of violence and depravity stormed into her. Tears burned, clung to Francesca's lashes. Such a terrible existence. She felt every blow the child had received, every burn, every rape, every act forced upon her, every single torture, mental and physical, as if it had been done to her. The scars were on the inside as well as the outside, scars that might fade with time but would never really go away. Her own father had sold her to other men, beaten her repeatedly if she fought them and punished her each time she had attempted to run away. He beat her if she cried, beat her when the men returned her, complaining that she was a wooden doll, uncooperative and frigid.

The images were terrible, of fingers forcing their way into the little body, hands squeezing and groping, men fumbling at her with alcohol on their breath. There was breathtaking pain as they rammed into a body far too small to accommodate them. Large, hamlike fists coming at the little face, her small body being flung against the wall. The nightmare went on and on, illustrating the hideous fate of a child impossibly young, without help, without hope. Locked in a stifling hot closet, locked in a freezing cold bathroom. Hungry, thirsty, knowing each time she heard footsteps it would start again.

Francesca pressed one hand to her stomach as it knotted and twisted in sympathy. For a moment, she was afraid she might actually be sick. This child had not only suffered physical hell, but had completely lost the will to fight. Francesca pushed past the total despair and reached for more. She wanted to find the real Skyler, the one that had existed before her spirit had been beaten out of her. Skyler had been a fighter once. A lover of life, of poetry, finding joy in the things around her, simple things, just as her mother had. Skyler Rose, her mother had named her. A beautiful rose without the thorns. She had a voice that could sing to the heavens, yet her brutal parent had managed to silence it. The man was every bit as evil as a vampire. Cunning and cruel and totally depraved. His very existence sickened Francesca. He lived for alcohol and crack. That was his life, his only life.

"Listen to the sound of my voice, Skyler, more than my words." Francesca projected her voice into the girl's mind, reached to touch the huddled, cringing spirit. "I cannot lie to you. I know you don't want to come back to this world and I don't blame you. You've gone far away from this body so you don't have to see or hear him. You don't have to feel what he does to you anymore. I can heal you. I can take away the things he has done to you, the scars on your body. I can lessen the impact of what has been done to you so you can live again whole. I can even make it possible for you to conceive a child later if that is your will. You can have a family of your own. You will believe me in this one thing, above all others: you are in no way responsible for the things that have happened to you. I know he made you believe you are worthless, but the truth is, Skyler, he couldn't stand your natural goodness, your very beauty shining at him, reminding him every day of his own sick depravity."

Stroking back strands of dull hair with gentle fingertips, Francesca leaned close to the girl's head. She wanted to hold her forever, keep her safe and love her as she should have been loved. Why hadn't she found this child earlier, before her cruel parent had done such extensive harm? She could feel the tears trickling down her face, the heavy sorrow pressing in on her chest. Ancients felt pain, emotions, much more intensely than fledglings. Francesca wanted to lie beside the girl and weep, but instead she forced herself to look beyond the pain both of them now shared.

She closed her eyes, focusing entirely on the young teenager, her own body dropping away from her until she became energy and light. At once she moved to merge with Skyler. Her young body was a mess of torn muscle, broken bones, bruised tissue. There were internal scars everywhere. Most of all the body felt dead, as if Skyler's spirit had long ago departed. Francesca knew it wasn't so; she had connected with the girl, knew the child was listening to her, somewhere deep inside her mind. A small huddled spirit drawn only by the compulsion in Francesca's voice. Francesca knew the girl was waiting very still in the shadows, just waiting to see whether Francesca was telling the truth. How could she believe? It was only the strangeness, the pure silvery sound of Francesca's voice and the fact that she was "different" that had captured her attention at all.

"Baby," Francesca whispered softly, her heart aching. "Baby, I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you before, but I won't abandon you. I will watch over you always, throughout your young life. I will make sure no one can ever hurt you again like this." She moved closer to the life force huddled so small. "Come back and live, Skyler. I can give you back your life. I'm not your mother, I know that, but I will never allow any harm to come to you again. I give you my word, and it is not given lightly or often." She moved closer, bathing the huddled, miserable child in her light, her compassion, the full force of her goodness. "Believe in me, trust in me. I know I can keep you safe as no one has ever done. Hear my voice, Skyler. I'm incapable of lying to one such as you. I know you feel my words are true."

Her voice was compelling, drawing the child's shattered spirit to her like a magnet. She swamped the teenager with warmth and reassurance, a promise that she would never again have to face the brute that was her father. She would be protected from him at all times. All she had to do was come back. Just allow herself to trust someone.

Softly, Francesca chanted a healing ritual in the ancient language, the words as old as time itself, as she began to work from the inside out to repair Skyler's damaged body. She worked swiftly and meticulously, paying close attention to details, not wanting any foul evidence of the beatings or rapes in her body. After a time she became aware of a discordant note. Merged as she was with the child, she became aware of the girl cringing, suddenly radiating fear. She was not frightened of Francesca, never of her. If anything, the huddled spirit was moving reluctantly toward her for protection. The child seemed to sense her father's presence. He was somewhere close inside the hospital, coming toward the room.

Francesca caught some of the young woman's fear. It would have been impossible not to feel it when the girl was so terrified and they were connected. Francesca had tremendous control, born of centuries of patience. She knew that she was powerful and could handle dangerous situations, yet at the same time she was also aware that she must appear to be human. She had trained herself to appear human, to make her responses totally normal. Even her thoughts had to appear human. Such precautions had protected her from the undead. They had also kept the Carpathian males from finding her. Even a mind scan would identify her as human, not Carpathian. She had never been able to risk a surge of power that might draw her own kind or the undead to her.