Falling from the Light (The Night Runner Series Book 3) (17 page)

Emil snorted. “From pain in the ass to exacting compliance in a matter of days. You were less irritating when you were resisting.” He opened the door. “Come on, stickler.”

Emil and Sophie pulled me along, making me stumble as I bent to sort out the layers of my long dress. White lace over white satin. It stretched across my arms, but left my neck and shoulders bare. My skin was chafed where Amy had roughly dried me. I hadn’t been fast enough showering and dressing.

The covered entrance to the hotel zigzagged lazily, cutting off the light before opening into a magnificent lobby full of plants and fountains. Sleek mahogany walls soared upward several stories. A string quartet sat just inside the massive room, playing a nameless tune. Undead filled the room, some in starched uniforms, others showcasing decades of fashion. It should have been impressive, but I had eyes for one thing only.

Richard stood at the far end of the lobby, to the side of a wide staircase. Something shifted inside of me at the sight of that staircase, a twinge like phantom pain. Richard turned. The twinge and all of those vampires faded away. There was only him.

The torchlight caressed him, making his blond hair glow and his pale skin appear almost translucent. He touched my mind, summoning me, and I couldn’t help but smile. The hands fell away, and I moved slowly, keeping my shoulders back and my head high. Dignified. An acceptable reflection of him, of his power and status.

Vampires moved aside to let us pass and conversation came to a halt. Hundreds of vampires and almost no sound but the heels of our shoes, and the slow-drawn strings. And a sound like water falling. I glanced at one of the large potted plants, at the devise spinning lazily. A rain stick. It must have been filled precisely, calibrated exactly. The sound of it, the idea of it, made me shiver.

Then Richard turned away and it was as if the sun moved off my face and left me in shadow. My legs grew heavy and I looked down, surprised that nothing physically slowed me even though it now felt as if I were walking through mud.

A female opened her mouth as I passed, then curled her nose. I smelled like wet pennies and wires smoldering in the woodwork.

The stringed instruments lost their harmony, then halted altogether for a moment before starting up again with a new tune. Words whispered through my head, half-formed lyrics accompanied by images, feelings. My cold hand on a gearshift. The rising roar of an engine. Flakes of snow moving like a shotgun blur in the tunnel of the headlights.

My left arm began to tingle, then to ache. The discomfort spread to my chest. I wrapped my right hand around my biceps and massaged gently. That only made it hurt worse.

“Faster,” Emil murmured behind me, punctuating the word with a rough poke.

“Sydney,” Richard said mildly, facing me. “Come here, if you wouldn’t mind.”

I straightened, cursing myself for having slumped, and quickened my pace. One foot in front of the other, toes slightly turned out. Swaying, but not sashaying. Walking like a woman ought to walk in order to make a male proud.

The straps of my heels dug into my ankles. Why was I wearing such impractical shoes? That fleeting thought filled me with guilt as Richard’s gaze met mine. Because he wanted me to. There was no other reason.

He stood in front of a female with long, shiny black hair and tawny, luminous skin. Her shirt was crisp and white, and a red silk tie draped from her throat. She tilted her head back and blinked toward the ceiling for a moment before focusing on me again. Another male stood on her other side, darker, taller, and he felt… My gaze slid off of him. He hurt to look at.

I could barely look away from the female. Her power loomed, large and wide, infusing the entire room. Beside her, Richard looked like a spot of interference, a television channel that had lost its signal. That must be Chev. Her name in my head elicited a spark that made me stumble. I knew her, but couldn’t remember how.

Above the lobby, a row of smoked-glass windows obscured booths separated by thick walls. The booths were red inside. The tables were hollow and filled with water and delicate floating flowers. I knew that, somehow, and remembering it spawned a longing so intense I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound.

Whatever I wanted wasn’t behind that glass now. There was someone up there, though, whose power swam through the glass to brush against me. My breath caught in my aching throat and I forced my gaze to the floor. That seemed safe.

“We seek sanctuary,” Richard said, raising his voice to make himself heard. Because this was important, an important moment for him. For us. The sound of his voice sent a thrill wriggling down my spine. “Myself, my associates, and my human companion. We come tonight in the spirit—”

A wave of murmurs rolled through the crowd. The vampires turned, and over their heads I could just make out a door crashing open. Bare feet slapped against the tile, and the crowd rippled as a woman shoved through, ejecting into our path.

“Dear God,” Sophie murmured. “She survived.”

She was thin as a girl, with long dark hair and fine features that were too pale. A white bandage encircled her throat. My heart began to pound and my stomach swam until I had to swallow to keep it down.

“Emil,” the girl croaked, tears running down her face. “You came for me.”

Emil exhaled sharply, then his hand bit down on my arm. Chill power surged through me, cutting off the sudden, sharp pain. He laughed and, around us, the floor lit up with snickering and amused commentary.

“I expected better security,” Richard said, irritation thickening his accent and snapping his words off at the ends. “This is highly irregular.”

“Isn’t that always the problem with humans? They are so unpredictable.” Chev stepped forward, her dark eyes lightening as if stars were shooting within them. I flinched, one hand flying up to shield my face. Sophie took hold of me, and the two of them tugged on my arms.

A male vampire, shaggy-haired with long sideburns, appeared beside the girl. He closed an arm around her and urged her back, gentle even as she fought him. Gentle even as she clawed at him, screaming for Emil.

“You should have killed her,” Sophie said under her breath. “You let her get too attached.”

As if it was Mickey’s fault.

My stomach cramped and sweat bloomed across my back. Mickey. Thurston.

There are times when words evaporate, when their limited meanings aren’t enough to do justice to an experience.

I’d never been able to talk when I was in a lot of pain, and I couldn’t be articulate when I was truly pissed. Right then, as I was marched toward a vampire who despised me while my friend cried her heart out for the sucker who’d nearly killed her, all I wanted to do was scream and break everything I could get my hands on.

Rusty and jagged came the memories that Richard Fucking Abel had hidden from me. Who I was. Where I came from. I’d only remembered my name because he kept repeating it, using it like a leash. He said it every time he made me
thank
him for blood-bonding me. My anger was a world-drowning deluge.

But I couldn’t lose it, because I was in a hotel full of goddamn vampires. Because Richard Abel was still present enough inside my head—I could feel the part that belonged to him, struggling to reassert obedience—that he could crack my mind with a thought. Because Malcolm was standing beside Chev, watching me toddle forward like a lapdog, and if he cared for me half as much as I did for him, it had to be killing him.

Breaking something wouldn’t fix Mickey and it wouldn’t get Abel out of my head. It wouldn’t fix anything else. I tried to open to Malcolm, wincing when Abel’s presence flooded me. Not over me, but through me, calling to me. I went, a part of my mind grateful to stand by his side. He smiled and I swelled with adoration so massive and sweet that the thinking part of me thinned to a sliver.

Not again. I wasn’t fully free of him, but I wasn’t going to allow him to shut me down, not again. I latched blindly on to the vampire energy around me, reaching past the envelope of his power. It was a big room and these weren’t baby vamps. I might as well have put my finger into an electrical socket. Power hit me, a frozen slap. Chev stiffened, withdrawing, but not quite putting a lid on herself. I registered that reaction, unable to think on it as Malcolm’s pain flowed over me, slick and lethal as razor blades.

Abel touched me and I gasped.

“It’s all right, dear,” he said through bared teeth, taking hold of my elbow, gleeful about throwing me in Mal’s face. “We’ll be safe here.”

Control over my body returned to me in pieces, starting with the muscles shivering under his touch. The pressure building inside threatened to burst.

“I request sanctuary,” Abel said, projecting his voice. “For myself and on behalf of my hive. I agree to follow all covenants of residence.”

“Granted,” Chev said, mildly enough, but the building seemed to tremble. “All humans must be spoken for at Tenth World. Do you claim her and does she declare obedience to you?”

“I claim Sydney Kildare,” Abel said, and the words tolled inside my head. I wanted to belong to him. Chev ran her tongue over her teeth before she asked, in a slow drawl, “So noted. Are there any objections?”

A dark, slipping sensation poured out of Malcolm, immediately overrun by a surge of cold will. The power throbbing in the private room above us came from Master Bronson, and he was exerting it now, directing it at Malcolm.

The other vampires grew louder as they departed out the doors and down the hallways. Malcolm hadn’t objected, so the show was over and they were off to find better entertainment. Chev’s gaze didn’t move from me, but fine lines appeared around her mouth.

“How the knife must twist inside of you, Kelly,” Abel said. “If you were free, you could claim anybody as yours, but the servant must do what the master decrees.”

I couldn’t even feel Malcolm’s anger over my own, but my dress suddenly lit in the golden glow cast from his eyes. Chev’s finger touched my chin and I winced. If Abel was a car battery, she was her own power plant.

“Don’t be afraid, Sydney,” Abel said, playing at concern, but clearly concerned about her. “She must determine that you are not under my influence.”

I was half-blinded by the brilliance of her eyes.

“Has he bitten you?” she asked.

“No.” My voice was a husk of its old self. I barely managed the single syllable.

She searched my eyes, the sparks in her own subdued.

“Are you here freely?” she asked.

“I’m here of my own will,” I offered. “Freely.”

“Do you understand that you may only remain here so long as you obey this vampire, agreeing to follow his orders? Do you understand that, if you break the rules of this house and I order punishment, even death, that he will administer it?”

God, it was like the most fucked-up wedding vows ever made. The urge to laugh crept up on me, so I closed my mouth and nodded. Chev’s eyes brightened, and I blinked through the leftover flashes. Malcolm’s concern drummed a beat against me. My hand twitched, I wanted to reach for him so badly. But Bronson’s power coated him, holding him in place. Stopping him from pulling me away from Abel. But he hadn’t stopped everything. The music played on. The string quartet played on, “Gaslight Kill” by Shinzu Cormera. Abel was using me. Bronson was using me against Malcolm. Mal had planted a song that he knew would wake me.

“Before this audience, do you declare your obedience to Richard Abel?” Chev asked.

I wanted to belong to him. I wanted him dead. I turned toward him; I couldn’t help that. But I could do something else. Abel had fucked me up, but his power couldn’t hold me, not when I had a hundred vampires to draw from, including the mistress of the territory and a master.

“No.”

It didn’t register for about ten seconds, then his blue eyes narrowed. His will tapped against mine and I pulled more vampire energy and shoved it between us.

“She asked if—”

“I’m not the one who’s hard of hearing.” I would have screamed if I could have. Instead I rasped, “My answer is no.”

His eye twitched an instant before energy spewed out of him. His palm swept to within a centimeter of my face before Malcolm caught his wrist. Mal’s other arm eased around my waist and pulled me back.

“There will be no violence in this house. You agreed to it.” Chev raised a hand and summoned an employee, as if this was a regular part of the checking-in process. “This human is not yours. Now let’s see about getting you and your baggage stowed.”

M
alcolm pulled
and pushed me through a paneled door beneath the stairs and down the back halls of the hotel. I caught an impression of carts and uniformed waitstaff before my knees gave out. He picked me up without a word and I curled into him. His touch and scent were so right after so much wrong.

“We’re almost there,” Mal said. “Hold on.”

As if where we were mattered. Now that I was safe and with him, what had happened didn’t matter. I smiled.

And then I started crying.

The traitor inside me that had rolled over for Abel, that wanted so badly to belong to him, began shaking and sobbing. Malcolm kept walking, ignoring the sounds I couldn’t stop, shifting nimbly when I shoved at him one second and clutched the next. Control slipped in and out of my grasp, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. I managed silence by the time we landed in a room full of vampires, but I was barely able to focus. Soraya ordered the soldiers out while Mal carried me to the couch.

“Take your time, Sydney.” He settled me in his lap. I leaned forward, trying to wrap myself around my raw center. He pulled me back, and panic flared. When I shot to my feet, he jerked me back so hard it jolted the breath out of me.

“Christ. Settle, Syd. You’re safe. I’ll get you anything you need, but you aren’t going anywhere.”

This was exactly where I needed to be, where I wanted to be, but it still didn’t feel right. Mal locked his arms around me and held my head against his shoulder until I struggled myself into exhaustion. It didn’t take long.

Soraya paced in front of the door all dressed in black, her doomsday best. Thurston arrived a moment later, stopping so fast when he saw me that Sora had to shoulder him aside to get the door closed.

I knew what I must have looked like. I was filthy, my eyes swollen and leaking. My dress—the dress Abel had put me in, pale and fancy and as restrictive as bonds—stained pink. Their voices buzzed and blurred as Abel’s leached out of my mind, the commands and directives he’d planted there disappearing as I sweated out his blood. As Malcolm’s energy ran over me like a steady downpour.

I tried to move my toes, and they responded. I clenched and unclenched my fists and my fingers stayed where I put them. I opened my mouth, and nothing horrible poured out. Finally, finally, I relaxed.

Malcolm’s arms loosened around me and, when I didn’t try to squirm away, he unstrapped my shoes and set them on the floor. Thurston offered a blanket, which Mal wrapped around me even though I felt fever-hot and his shirt had grown damp between us. Beneath the blanket, his hand stroked my ankle and calf, clamping down anytime I moved.

I wanted to tell him that I’d gotten the hint, that I wasn’t planning to go anywhere even if I had the energy. Instead I wavered, my thoughts slow, my body tired, as they talked around me. The room was dark blue and sea green, warmed by the light of two oil lamps and decorated with small sepia photographs. I surveyed it, examining each door and shadow. When nobody jumped out of the woodwork, I looked at Malcolm.

He needed a shave, which was unusual for him, grooming being more of a calling than an afterthought. I needed to explain and tell him things. I needed to get out of the sticky dress and spend a year in the shower. But instead I simply lay there watching him, the lift of his brow, the shadowed curve between his cheekbone and jaw. If Abel had had his way, I wouldn’t have been capable of recognizing Malcolm. To me, he’d ceased to exist. To him… He rubbed at his eyes, gorgeous and more tired than I’d ever seen him.

“Unacceptable,” he said, and my awareness expanded beyond the small borders of my body.

“We should not dismiss anything that might work,” Soraya replied, her patience thin. She’d stopped pacing and was leaning against the wall, hands shoved into her pockets. “There are two options—”

“One,” Malcolm replied. “There is only one option.”

Well, that didn’t sound good. “How’s Mickey?” I asked. “Is she okay?”

Three pairs of glowing eyes snapped to me and I flinched under the accompanying slap of power. Then everybody was moving at once. Thurston rushed to the bathroom and returned with a handful of dripping towel and a glass of water. Soraya stuck her head out the door to check the hallway. Malcolm pulled me up and crushed me against him.

I tried to say something reassuring, but it was all too fast.

Soraya slammed the door and pointed at me. “He is controlling her still.”

“He swore he didn’t bite her,” Thurston protested, turning so that the cloth he’d raised toward me dripped on the side of my face. “To Chev he swore.”

I fumbled a hand out from under the blanket and pushed it away.

“You would trust Abel?” Soraya asked.

“I would trust Chev to know if he was lying.
Por supuesto
.”

Malcolm leaned me away from him, his hands flat against my shoulder blades. Gold filaments rose and flashed on the surface of his eyes before retreating. I could lose myself in that light. I wanted to, wanted the entire world to sweep away except for that. And maybe he had a similar thought, if less modest.

He dragged the zipper down the back of the dress and tugged on the sleeves. My arms came up as I instinctively covered myself, but wrapping an arm over the naughty parts of my chest only brought the vivid bite marks closer together. Malcolm’s fingers dug into my ribs and his head reared back as though he’d been struck.

“He lied to Chev, in her house,” Soraya ground out, her anger razor-sharp.

I reached for Malcolm. He captured my hand and wrapped his gently around it. But he didn’t look at me, and my stomach twisted.

It wasn’t as if I’d come to him in perfect condition. He’d been the one to tell me that bites, that changing even, was simply something that happened. This was a few more scars, nothing more. If I spent enough time with him, they might even heal.

Thurston stared from where he knelt a foot away. If he was looking for more of a show, he could fuck right off. I wasn’t about to squander the little dignity I had left.

“Blood in, blood out,” Soraya whispered.

Mal shook his head.

I looked back and forth between them. “What are you talking about?”

“We can only keep it from Bronson for so long,” Soraya murmured, ignoring me. “To give you time.”

“Give you time to what?” I asked Mal. He didn’t answer. It was like he couldn’t hear me.

“Do you know me?” Thurston asked, speaking very slowly and shattering the last of my patience.

“Yes, Thurston, you muttonchopped asshole. Now, what the hell are you guys talking about?” I jerked my hand away from Malcolm. “And where is Mickey?”

“She’s resting,” Thurston said, after a moment of collective silence.

“She’s hardly slept since she returned,” Malcolm murmured, his eyes on the dress crumpled around my waist. “Do you remember when she left?”

“We were going to…” A cold knife sliced through my mind. I took a shaky breath and pulled the blanket up to cover myself. “We were trying to escape and got separated. Did Abel come here last night?”

“He came with hat in hand, full of platitudes and promises, asking to meet with Bronson in person.” Malcolm’s tone was flat and, for the first time in a long while, I felt nothing from him. He was withholding when I was starved for him. It felt like punishment.

“That was not last night, though,” Soraya said. “It was four nights ago.”

I shook my head, denying it. But nobody corrected her. That was a long time, long enough for the foggy gaps in my memory to turn all kinds of sinister.

“Four nights, huh?” I took a massive breath and pushed my hair back from my face. “Abel fed me his blood. That’s why I was out of it earlier, why I wasn’t…tracking so well.” Why I was crying for him, demanding that Malcolm return me to him. No wonder he couldn’t look at me. I lifted my chin as a sinkhole opened inside me.

“Are you certain that’s what happened?” Soraya asked, her gaze on my body as if she could see the marks through the blanket. As if they were evidence that I wasn’t trustworthy. So maybe my brain felt like a giant bruise, but I could actually think again and I could feel exactly where I’d been bitten. That, I remembered.

“He didn’t bite me. Others did, on his order, but he didn’t. When the fangs didn’t have the intended effect, that’s when…that’s when he started.” I swept a finger past my mouth, not wanting to say it again. Sometimes confessions didn’t make you feel better. They just threw you down and laid your shame out for everyone to see.

“Started?” Malcolm asked. “How many drops?”

“I don’t know how much. He cut himself and forced it down my throat. It got blurry after that.”

Mal shifted beneath me, straightening so that I was perched on his knees rather than sitting with him. Soraya made a sound and raised her eyebrows at him. And that was it. I was hurt. I was a mess. And now they were acting like I was a fucking liar.

“You know what? Screw you, Soraya. I don’t need to convince you. I might have been out of it, but I was still the one who was there and you weren’t, so—”

“You wouldn’t be alive,” Thurston interrupted. “Humans can take blood in small doses. Drops at a time. Not more. It would have killed you.”

“Well thank goodness they had a defibrillator handy. Real Boy Scout of them. Always prepared.”

“He convinced you that’s what happened,” Mal said, his gentle tone grating against me, his hand unmoving against my back. I didn’t want to be managed or coddled. I wanted to be held. “The bite confuses events in your mind.”

“No. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Nothing got confused. It hurt, and nothing else. There was no glamour, no thrall.” My voice, what was left of it, wobbled. I swallowed around a hard lump. “Is that why Chev didn’t ask if I’d been fed blood? Because I shouldn’t be alive.”

“You reacted when Mickey burst into the room,” Soraya said. “If you were under thrall, you could have been distracted. If you’d been blood-bonded and programmed to do Abel’s bidding, you wouldn’t have reacted at all.”

Programmed. The word didn’t agree with me.

“Away from our energy, our blood doesn’t gel or evaporate. It dies, turns to a kind of ash. You could have absorbed a few drops quickly enough that it did no harm, but more…it would have killed all contacting tissues as it died. It would have been extraordinarily painful.”

It had hurt. My throat had burned like the blood was acid. But I hadn’t felt like it was killing me.

“Chev’s some kind of mind reader,” I said. “Why don’t you ask her what happened?”

“One of her talents is for gauging compulsion,” Malcolm said. “She knows when a human has been glamoured beyond free will or is resisting a thrall. And everyone knows the look of a blood-bound human.”

That didn’t make sense. I knew what had happened. The horror and panic of Abel trapping me and forcing the blood into my mouth. That was vivid. What came between those moments…

“You shouldn’t be listening to her,” Soraya said, shaking her head. I glared at her. We weren’t BFFs, but that was goddamn cold, especially when she’d relied on someone else to pull her out of her darkest days.

“Sora, please.” Malcolm took a deep, unnecessary breath, then hesitated a moment before he spoke. “These others…what happened when they bit you? How long did they drink? How did it feel?”

I would have punched him if the questions hadn’t hurt so much. I was so raw, sliced open and laid bare in front of him, in front of them all. Having them think I was still under Abel’s influence sucked. Having Malcolm think I’d enjoyed getting there was worse.

I’d fought Abel and, even though the battle wasn’t visible, it was the hardest thing I’d ever done. But I’d gotten away. I’d survived. We should have been goddamn celebrating.

“Why didn’t you try to find me?” I asked. “Why do you get to treat me like shit after leaving me with him for so long?”

“She’s trying to manipulate you,” Soraya said. “Make you feel guilty.” I could barely hear her over the pounding in my head.

“I can’t feel any worse than I already do.” Malcolm looked at me finally, his eyes crinkling like I’d blown smoke in them. Then his face smoothed out until no emotion lived there. “We had to transfuse Mickey after we tracked her down. A falling-down trailer on the side of the road with no memory of how she’d gotten there or where she’d come from, no trail to trace back since she’d hitchhiked. That was after less than twenty hours. Yet you look relatively well.”

“You know, after these last few days—each of those nights you didn’t come for me—let’s go ahead and admit I look like shit. Those two who walked me in here each bit me once, at the same time. Then they dropped me because apparently I taste like poison.”

I forced myself to stand. My legs felt ninety feet long and like they were made of jelly as I made my way to the bathroom.

“And, since you asked, I’m not sure how long it lasted. It felt like forever. But I can guarantee that I didn’t enjoy a single second of it.” My voice broke somewhere at the end. The lamps flared, then went out with a hiss.

“You both need to leave,” Malcolm said. There was the sound of jostling, then the door opened and closed. Whatever. I fumbled my way to the bathtub, dropped hard onto the side, and turned on the water. He should have been happy to see me.

“Your blood has a peculiar taste to it,” Malcolm said. “A strong flavor, not something that could be produced by spicing. The poisoned feeder is an urban myth, but it’s a persistent myth. And it’s a good thing.”

“Yeah, ’cause if they’d kept chewing on me, there would have been nothing left for you to treat like crap, and wouldn’t that have been a shame.”

“I’m sorry, Sydney. I had to know.”

“And this is how you find shit out? Taunt me to see if I still care about myself enough to be upset by it? Well, congratulations. I’m upset.” I’d thought I was out of tears but they welled up and spilled over again, and I laughed so that I wouldn’t sob.

“Blooding, allowing…” He swallowed and power burst from him before he reined it in. His voice was still harsh. “…or forcing a human to drink directly from the body is done only to heal or to control. In such an amount, though, it should kill. If it doesn’t, it triggers the first phase of the change, but that’s a one-way connection.” He was quiet for a moment, after which he spoke slowly, almost dreamily. “We’ve all felt it take hold and pull us under. We know what it does, how impossible it is to escape. The change or death, those are the only outcomes. I want you to still be you. God, you don’t know how much. But, try to understand how it is to want something you know isn’t possible.”