Deliver Me from Darkness: A Novel of the Paladin Warriors (25 page)

Later. They’d work it out later.

Still feeling like his heart was being ripped out of his chest, Roland stomped down the hall and went into the closet off his bedroom. Popping open a drawer full of controls, he typed in a series of codes that opened a sliding panel. There, perched on a series of shallow shelves and hooks, was his collection of weapons, including his old knife. He hadn’t used the blade since he’d been turned. Wouldn’t use the blade. It belonged to the Paladin he’d once been, not the monster he’d become. But nor could he let his former brothers have it. He knew, just knew, that if they were to take it and lift it against him, he would lose it. Nothing Calhoun could say, no self-imposed morals he might have left, would be able to stop him from killing.

He was reaching for the ancient steel when the sound of Karissa’s name spilling off a man’s tongue stopped him. Calhoun, trying to engage her in conversation again and not having much luck judging by the heated reply that came next.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t even look at me.”

Yeah, like that request was going to be honored. Roland had to empathize with his friend on this account. It was hard not to look at her, not when she was dressed like something out of every man’s wet dream. Tight jeans, wet white undershirt.

My
undershirt.

Hand shaking, Roland momentarily bypassed the knife and started loading himself up with weapons, all the while keeping his ears tuned to pick up the conversation in the other room.

“You have every right to be mad,” Calhoun was saying. “I should have warned you. I should have told you what your presence would mean to the other Paladin.”

That was met with silence. Roland reached for the hilt.

“Karissa, I swear I never meant to hurt you, and I wouldn’t have used the mark to harm you either.”

Roland’s hands fumbled on the ancient blade he’d been strapping onto his thigh. Mark her? Logan had tried to mark her too?

“Only to control me,” Karissa snapped back.

“What? Where did you…never mind. It’s not important.”

Like hell it wasn’t important. Why Logan would have tried to mark her was the only important thing right now. Because if it had been for any other reason than her safety…

Apparently Karissa agreed with Roland on the importance issue because she scoffed.

“Karissa, please, I know I failed you when you needed my protection most. I know because of that I’ve lost your trust, but please listen to what I have to say.”

“I’m not going back with you. I’m not going to let you or your father or any man make decisions for me. And I’m certainly not going to give you another chance to try to mark me.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Funny. I don’t exactly believe you anymore.”

Grabbing up his cloak, Roland closed the panel, not hiding the sound of his approach as he moved back down the hall. “Ready.”

Karissa and Logan both swung their heads around. Karissa looked relieved by his timely return. Logan, well, it was hard to read Logan right then. Barring the seemingly heartfelt apology Roland overheard, Logan seemed completely in control. Remote even.

Hard-ass was back.

Good. It will be a fair fight when I take him to task for trying to mark Karissa.

Roland tamped down the thought, at the same time reining in the call for blood. His friend had only tried to do what Roland himself had once suggested. Mark her before the others did. Roland also knew Logan well enough to know his friend, unlike Valin, would not have taken advantage of the mark. Anything more would have been of Karissa’s choosing, on Karissa’s time frame. Honorable bastard that he was.

And
the
reason
you
keep
toying
with
the
idea
of
Karissa
being
with
him
someday.

Yeah. Someday. But not as in today. Not for a long number of todays.

Shaking off his conflicting wants and desires, he moved into the hall. Karissa immediately moved closer to his side. He reached up, rubbing a hand down her cheek. “It’s going to be okay. You have my vow that I will keep you safe.”

Karissa swallowed hard, bobbing her head as if to agree.

Logan watched the exchange with narrowed eyes but wisely didn’t say anything.

“Thank you for your aid,” Roland told him.

“I can get you guys set up—”

Roland shook his head, cutting Logan off. “No. I have a place in mind.”

“Going to tell me where that is?”

“Nope.”

Logan’s lips thinned, but he eventually nodded.

“What? Not going to argue with me?”

“Nope.” Logan dropped his eyes pointedly to the long knife lying against Roland’s thigh. “You have the right to protect your own.”

***

Christos looked around the high-rise apartment building, the wind whipping at his silken shirt so it billowed and flattened like a twisted parachute. The blood bond had led him here, courtesy of one Thomas Rhodes. Christos had considered it fate when Ganelon had contacted him, informing him that one of his merkers had found a connection to his wayward creation. Even better was that Thomas had a list of minor priors…and an address. It had been child’s play to get one of his human lambs to break into the man’s home and scoop him up. And baby’s work to overpower his mind, searching out the pathways of the blood bond that linked a lamb to its master. He’d used that pathway to pinpoint the locale of the rebellious vampire who thought himself special enough to severe their ties. Then, no longer needing the human, Christos had disposed of him—whiny bastard that he was. Cried like a big baby, peeing his pants when Christos had sucked the life out of him.

Filled with energy, Christos was ready for the confrontation with the vampire that thought he could escape his rule. The penthouse was an obvious choice and picking his way up the façade of the building via a stepladder of balconies had been easy. More difficult was breaking down the tinted bulletproof glass. Almost impossible was tearing down the lead-lined walls that housed the inner sanctum of the sheep that got away. It took another favor from Ganelon for that, which racked his tab up to a demon on loan, a dead merker, and Thomas Rhodes’s location. And now this. When it was over, he was going to be up to his eyeballs in debt. Unless he could actually track down the Paladin woman, then, well then the payoff would be worth it.

So far, though…He closed his eyes, taking in the scents of the vacated apartment.

Empty. The place was fucking empty. Sometime between late that morning when he’d sucked the location and life out of Thomas and that evening when it finally got dark enough to make his move on the place, Roland had left…and taken the woman with him. At least they knew for sure that the woman had been here. And, if the imprints of scents were correct, that she and Roland had left before the virtual army of Paladin had trashed the place for clues.

Seems everyone wanted the girl. Well, he wished the Paladin luck, bad luck. Christos knew Roland well enough to know the tricky vampire would not have left his former brothers any clues. Christos, on the other hand, didn’t need luck. He had his own personal ace in the hole.

With a smile pulling his lips practically to his ears, Christos spun about and leapt out into the night.

It was an hour past sunset when Roland and Karissa stumbled across the threshold of the safe house. Karissa wasn’t sure who was holding who up. It had been a harrowing journey. Being as powerful as he was, Roland could stand a certain amount of sun, but they’d done all they could to reduce it: traveling by subway, then renting a van. He’d ridden in the back, burrowed under a cloak, but he’d still gotten a distinct red cast to his face.

The daytime journey weakened him, no doubt. Her exhaustion was more of a bone-deep wariness. Part of it, she was sure, came from being up and running for more than seventy-five percent of the last couple days. But the other part was purely her sagging spirit. She felt deflated. The roller coaster ride she’d been on since she slid into the vampire’s cab ended with a major crash on the final spiral S curve.

Her mate didn’t want her.

Three days before, she hadn’t even know him, never dreamed she could have such a soul deep connection to another being. But it was there, and to take it away now would be akin to ripping her heart out of her chest. Vital. Life-giving, or deadly.

Her mate didn’t want her.

The truth of that had come through the developing link. Every time she had to touch him it was a slap in the face as his anger, his frustration, and his disgust rolled over her.

Her mate didn’t want her. And so, as soon as they made it into the slightly sagging structure, the thick pine door swinging shut behind them, he untangled his arm from over her shoulder and lurched a good ten feet away.

Too bad the cabin was so small. Just a simple log structure in the middle of the woods. Light-blocking shades with—she glanced past the cracked door to the right—one windowless bedroom. And one too small bed. Two people would have to be awfully close to share that bed. Like on top of each other close. Or take turns.

Ships passing. To think she’d once wanted that.

“You can have the bed. I need to…” he trailed off, removing the backpack cooler that he’d filled back at his loft. Blood. The backpack was filled with pints of blood.

She swallowed hard, trying not to squirm under his penetrating gaze. It shouldn’t bother her. The concept itself—that he used Red Cross discards to sustain himself—didn’t. It was simply that she’d been raised to believe there were firm lines between good and evil, and according to Papa, all vampires were evil.

She knew now it wasn’t true. The man who owned her soul, who had earned her trust with his honorable nature, was not evil.

I
only
need
to
prove
it
to
him.

“You’re tired too.” She took a step forward, determined to close the gap that had arisen between them, both physically and emotionally. “I’ll grab the rest of our stuff from the van and have dinner with you and then we can both—”

“No!” He spat the word like an oath, his eyes flashing red for a moment before receding back to black.

She flinched. She’d closed eight of the ten feet and started to raise her hand to rest it on his arm. Now she dropped it, looking away. Guess his vow to keep her safe had a limitation clause. Keep her safe, as long as he didn’t have to touch her.

Without a word she turned around and made her way into the bedroom where she kicked off her shoes and filthy jeans, and then slid into the chilled sheets—alone.

***

A deep, gut-wrenching moan filled the room, pulling Gabriella from her personal hell and into the real one.

How long had she been out? Judging by the ripping pull in her stomach and the violent shaking of her muscles, it had been long enough to get the worst of the healing process over with. It would slow down now. Her body had used up all of its reserve energy to mend the broken bones, bind back together the ruptured organs, and smooth over the shredded skin. What was left was bone-deep bruising and an all-over fatigue that would keep her lying here on this cold floor until she got the blood she needed to rejuvenate her strength.

Christos was pissed. No, pissed was too tame a word. There were no words to describe the fury with which he’d torn into her flesh. Toward the end, she’d been sure that he’d lost all control, that when she did pass out he’d keep on beating her and that this time, maybe, just maybe, there would be no waking back into the nightmare that was her life. No such luck.

With a groan of agony, she rolled over onto her back and then lay there, staring at the ceiling and breathing in the stagnant smell of her own blood. She was still in the corner where she’d cowered through the last half of the beating, but at least her room was empty. Christos must have decided there wasn’t anything else he could strip her of: information or dignity-wise.

It was now out of her hands. She’d tried. Damn it, she’d tried. And really, she didn’t think any of the information he’d extracted from her was enough to matter. Christos already knew the Paladin would be raised into a war frenzy over the female Paladin. Knowing Roland had a thing for her too wasn’t all that much more. They still had to catch her. And judging by the snit Christos was in when he came after Gabriella, the woman had somehow managed to slip through his net. She could be anywhere now. With Roland or the Paladin. Either one made her virtually inaccessible.

Gabriella was still lying there when an oppressive blanket of evil settled around the room, making the stagnant air even more difficult to gulp down. She knew that presence: Ganelon. But why would he have lowered himself to come here? Christos was his partner of sorts, but Ganelon held all the power.