Out of the Night (38 page)

Mac didn't like the feeling that he'd been played. Walking into the study, he saw that books had been haphazardly knocked off the shelves and imagined it had happened when the admiral's body had been slammed against the bookcases. The display cases holding the various daggers and swords lay shattered about the room and their contents hung from the ceiling, tips embedded in the wood.

Admiral Winslow lay prone on his stomach off to one side, his head bloodied. Mac couldn't tell if he was alive or not, but resisted the urge to go to him. First, he needed to deal with Burton.

"Interesting choice you made," Burton said casually, playing with a letter opener. "I would have bet on the woman, but perhaps your relationship wasn't as close as I'd assumed." He glanced over at the admiral and shook his head. "He put up a good fight. Oh, don't worry. He's still alive—barely." He turned back to look at Mac.

"What about Lanie? I know you fed off her to regain your strength. Was she still alive when you left her?"

"Unlike you, Burton, I don't have to kill when I take blood. Lanie will be fine."

Burton looked first surprised and then pleased. "She didn't tell you, did she? Impressive. She's obviously stronger than I thought."

Mac felt confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Lanie's blood donation to you was not her first this evening. In fact, it wasn't even her second or third. When I finished, I honestly wasn't sure if she'd live long enough for you to
rescue
her." He showed mock concern. "Did you have to take an awful lot? I mean, the human body can't afford to lose too much."

"You're lying," Mac growled, suddenly filled with doubt. "I saw her neck—there wasn't a mark on it."

"Well, there wouldn't be, would there? I find the
upper
femoral artery to be so much more—enjoyable—when feeding on women."

Unable to listen to more, Mac leaped over the desk, going for Burton's throat. The weight of their bodies sent his chair toppling backward and they crashed to the floor. Mac delivered a blow to Burton's face before the vampire hit him, knocking him back. Mac quickly climbed to his feet and, driven by an unrelenting fury, went after Burton again. They exchanged blows of inhuman strength that sent vampire and changeling, in turn, hurtling through the air until they smashed into the bookcases lining the walls.

The surge of energy Mac felt after receiving Lanie's blood quickly ebbed under Burton's constant assault. In the back of his mind, he worried about Lame, fearful that Burton might have told him the truth and she lay dead or dying back at the hotel. Desperately, he fought, but Burton's strength and energy far exceeded his own.

Picking himself up off the floor from where Burton had recently thrown him, Mac charged. His reaction time was too slow and Burton sidestepped him, bringing his arm down on Mac and smashing him to the ground.

Burton rolled him over until he lay on his back, fighting to stay conscious while Burton straddled him, sitting on his chest, pinning him to the ground.

"You put up a good fight," Burton gloated. "Just not good enough. Before I kill you, let me tell you what I'm going to do to all the people you care about. First, I'm going to finish off…"

Burton rambled on, but Mac had stopped listening. His hand was resting on the floor beside his hip and he felt the small bulge of his pocket.
The antiserum
. The trick was getting it out without Burton noticing.

"Whoa," Burton mocked when Mac suddenly bucked his body, extracting the syringe as he did. "I guess there's a little fight left in you, isn't there?"

"More than you know." Mac snapped off the protective cap of the syringe and stabbed Burton in the hip, injecting him.

Burton lurched away but didn't get up as he twisted to see what had stuck him. When he saw the syringe, he pulled it out and held it up. For a minute, he looked confused, and then comprehension dawned.

He winced as the first of the antiserum coursed through his body, then Mac saw the muscles along his neck spasm. Burton shut his eyes as a look of pain distorted his features. Mac held his breath, unable to do any more than that, and waited for the serum to end Burton's life.

The look of pain on Burton's face gradually faded and was followed by one of intense concentration. That, too, quickly vanished as he opened his eyes and sighed with relief.

"Was that the best you could do? The professor's antiserum? Surprised that I know about it? Please. Do you really think he was capable of thinking of it on his own?"

Mac stared up at him in horror, slowly realizing that his ace in the hole, the antiserum, hadn't worked.

"Planting the suggestion was easy," Burton continued. "I'll admit that it took a little more of a compulsion to get Weber to test it on Kinsley, but well worth the effort. What's the matter, Knight? Confused? Let me explain it to you.

"Every time the chupacabra kills, it injects more venom. I've not died once, Knight. I've died
five
times. That's five times as much venom and recuperative powers. This little injection isn't powerful enough to hurt me." He tossed the syringe over his shoulder.

The expression on his face changed from one of amusement to one of pure hate, and Mac knew he was counting the last of his time alive in seconds. Garnering his energy for a last desperate attempt to get free, Mac twisted his body, trying to dislodge Burton, but me vampire didn't budge.

"Give it up, Knight. You lose. I've anticipated every move you could make. You can't kill me."

In his twisting, Mac had seen something familiar out of the corner of his eye, too far away to reach. Stretching out his hand, he yearned with all that was in him that he might be given one last chance. Suddenly something warm, hard, and metallic smacked into the palm of his hand.

"There's one thing you didn't anticipate," he said, closing his fingers around the hilt and swinging his arm upward. "Let me introduce you to the Vampire Slayer."

The sword sliced cleanly, leaving no evidence of a wound for several long seconds. Then blood began to seep, forming a necklace of red around Burton's neck. Then the body was roughly shoved aside, and Mac heard the sick thud of Burton's head hitting the floor somewhere out of his range of vision. He looked up and saw the admiral standing there, beat up and shaken, but very much alive. He extended a hand down to Mac and helped him to his feet.

Mac, still clutching the sword in one hand, turned with the admiral and together they studied what was left of Burton. Neither spoke at first.

"Death Rider," the admiral finally said conversationally, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Confused, Mac gave him a questioning look.

He gestured to the sword. "The sword is called Death Rider—not Vampire Slayer."

Mac held it up and saw the ruby eyes of the etched vampire's face blazing brightly in the pommel, blood clinging to an otherwise gleaming blade, and he rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He handed the admiral the sword and raced out of the house.

Mac broke land-speed records getting back to the hotel. He'd tried several times to call Lanie on the phone and when she didn't answer, he tried the hotel's front desk. The young man he spoke to assured him that they would send someone to Ms. Weber's room immediately and would call an ambulance if necessary. He thought he heard something about the fifth floor as he disconnected and when he called back, no one answered the phone.

There was no ambulance out front when he reached the hotel. He hurriedly parked the car and raced to the rooms they shared, a litany of prayers running through his head asking that she be alive; that Burton had lied, despite the ring of truth he'd heard in Burton's tone.

Throwing open the door to the room, Mac spotted Lanie's still form in bed. He rushed to her side and pulled back the covers, but she didn't move. Her eyes were closed and she was so pale, even her lips had lost their color.

Undoing the fastening of her pants, he peeled them down her hips, needing to know the truth, no matter how it turned out. Four sets of bites lined her inner right thigh, and knowing how forcefully Burton had to have bitten her in order to reach the artery buried so far below the surface of the skin, Mac wondered why the bruising was not worse than it was. Until he realized that there'd not been enough blood left in her body to form much of a bruise. He and Burton had taken it for their own selfish purposes, but at what cost to her?

"Lanie, baby, can you hear me?" He shook her gently, praying she was only unconscious. She didn't stir. Across the room, the young chupacabra rattled its cage door, trying to get out, but Mac ignored it as he placed his fingers against Lanie's throat and felt for a pulse. Nothing.

"Oh, God. Please, baby, don't be dead. Don't be dead." Growing desperate, he held his finger under her nose, waiting to feel the soft brush of her breath against his skin. When he felt nothing, he placed his head on her chest to listen for a heartbeat. He heard only the pounding of his own pulse and roared in silent denial of the truth.

She was gone.

The full horror of it hit him and he gathered her to him, holding her as he'd wanted to hold her earlier that day, his guilt more than he could take. He'd killed her. He'd killed her emotionally when he'd rejected her earlier, and now he'd killed her physically. And the irony was that he loved her more than life itself—would gladly have traded his life for hers. He'd wanted only to protect her—and instead…

He laid her back on the bed, gazing upon her face, so peaceful now, until the pain of loss bent him double to the floor. And though he had no memory of ever having cried before in his life, he wept there in the room.

A long time later, he gradually became aware of the chupacabra's near-violent behavior in the cage, and he forced himself to go to it, a kindred spirit in pain. As he passed the desk to reach its cage, he saw the note Lanie had left him.

Dearest Mac, I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about what Burton did to me. I knew you wouldn't take the blood you needed had you known. If you are reading this note, then you are safe, Burton is dead, and it was all worth it. There is something I want you to know and I'm sorry to have to tell you in a note, but I love you
—
with all my heart. If I had to do it all again, knowing the consequences in advance, I would, with no regrets. If you have some small affection for me, I beg you to do me one last favor. Stake me
—
and let me stay dead. I do not wish to become a vampire. All my love, Lanie
.

He read it through again, his mind numb. Learning that she loved him, as he loved her, only made the heartache that much worse. He clinched his hand into a fist, resisting the urge to put it through the wall. He loved her. He loved her so much, he wanted her to come back, even as a vampire, but did he love her enough to let her stay dead? With a resigned sigh, he walked through the connecting doors to his room and pulled a stake out of his bag. He
did
love her that much.

Returning to Lanie's side, he raised the stake high, but when he would have stabbed her through the heart, he couldn't. Not yet. There was a little time left, he thought, before she'd rise. He sat beside her and held her hand, gazing upon her face, so lifelike despite its chalklike pallor.