Retribution

CHAPTER 29

THE WOMAN WHO DRAGGED ME OUT IS KNEELING beside me, her face level with mine. She has long hair, drawn back from her face, light brown dusted with gray. Her eyes are deep blue and sparkle with an inner radiance. She projects great kindness.

She’s a vampire.

I’ve never met a vampire before who wasn’t young—or at least young-looking.

Before I can block that thought, she laughs.

Not all of us are made at a young age. I was, as you see, in my fifties. In reality, not a bad age to become vampire. There’s a certain wisdom that comes with middle age.

Wisdom is not something Anna knows much about.

Williams’ voice interjects itself in our conversation. He walks up from behind and when I turn, I see several men helping the injured vampires. They’re covering them with blankets and leading them to vans parked in a semicircle in the back of the parking lot. They ’re all human.

You were quick, I say. How did you arrange it?

There is a safe house nearby. I called, they mobilized.

Will the women be all right?

Williams nods. The humans will see to their needs. We can’t remove the collars until they’re stronger.

I shake my head, shuddering. What are those things? I’ve never seen anything like it. Just the thought of how I found them makes me tremble. She was bleeding them.

I’ve seen it before, Williams replies. In pictures. The collars were used by us, by ancient vampires, to bleed humans. Someone has a long memory and a great hate to use them now against us.

Not someone. Belinda Burke. The witch.

Williams is looking around. You said Ortiz was here. Where is he?

His question unleashes a rush of alarm. He doesn’t know. I don’t know how to tell him.

I force myself to my feet, heart hammering, head swimming in anxiety.

Williams feels it. He takes a step closer. “Where is Ortiz?”

The woman with us senses my agitation. She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe you should go with the others. You need to rest.”

I push her gently away. “No. You go see to them. I have to speak with Williams.”

She looks reluctant to leave us.

“It’s all right,” I say. “We’ll be all right.”

She moves off, looking back once, then takes the elbow of a young female who is stumbling toward the van. I watch as they walk away.

“Ortiz is gone.”

I don’t know how else to say it.

Williams expression stills, freezes into blankness.

“Gone? You mean he’s left already?”

I shake my head. “He was inside.”

Awareness blooms in Williams’ eyes. A muscle quivers at the corner of his jaw. His thoughts draw inward, shutting me out.

Then I feel it. Feel the rage.

It hits with the intensity of a blast furnace.

I accept it. I understand it.

He and Ortiz were close. I expect Williams to lash out and since I’m the likely target, I brace myself.

Williams doesn’t look at me. He turns away, head bowed. I feel his conflicted emotions as powerfully as if they were my own. Misery, like physical pain—a knife twisting and turning inside. The first swell of anger giving way to raw grief, a sense of deep loss, a terrible bitterness.

I was prepared for him to strike out but he ’s turned it inward. Somehow, that makes it worse. If he screamed or attacked me or slammed his fist into a wall, I’d know how to react. This way he’s unreachable. There’s nothing I can do or say. His desolation and despair wrap him in a cocoon of anguish.

I reach out a hand but stop short of touching him. “I’m sorry.”

He barks a short, desperate laugh. “Sorry? You could have saved him.”

“I couldn’t. The flames were everywhere. I didn’t know he was inside until it was too late.”

His expression shifts, turns his eyes cold, his mouth into a thin, hard line. “You are such an ignorant bitch. You don’t know your power.

You could have saved him. If you had taken one minute from your precious, insignificant human life to learn, Ortiz would be alive.”

His anger hits me like a punch to the stomach. I take a step away from him. “What are you talking about?”

He flings his hand in the direction of the warehouse. “Flames can’t hurt you. Nothing can hurt you. You are immortal. Truly immortal.

You are the one.”

The words lash at me. His face is contorted, twisted in anger. He comes closer. “You are a terrible disappointment to me, Anna Strong.”

A whisper, deadly, intense. “It’s the last time you will fail me. I swear by Ortiz, I will make you pay.”

His eyes burn with hatred. I can’t move, can’t look away, don’t know how to respond. I don’t understand. Questions flood my mind, but Williams has shut me out. His last words hang in the air between us. He blames me for Ortiz’ death. I have no idea why.

“We have to leave.”

A female voice. I turn to see who is speaking, but even the effort of this simple physical movement engulfs me in tides of weariness and despair. I feel drained. Hollow. Lifeless.

When I look up, I see Williams watching. Smiling.

I realize he is doing it —somehow he is not only in my head, but controlling my physical responses. I feel weighted down, sluggish, incapable of forming a coherent thought or breaking the bond that holds me.

Why is he doing this?

Because I can.

Simple. Without pretense. Because he can.

The other voice comes again. “The fire trucks. We have to leave before they get here.”

I focus on that voice, center my thoughts on it, muster all my strength. I could not break Burke ’s hold on me, I’ll be damned if I let Williams have that same kind of power.

Williams feels my resolve. He tries to fight it, but I won ’t let him. I turn his anger back on him. The channel between us breaks with an almost physical release of energy. When it does, my head clears, my body is free.

Williams jerks back. He tries to reestablish his hold.

This time, I’m in control. I grab hold of his mind in a grip as tight as the one he used on me. I twist the psychic connection until I feel him surrender to my will. I understand your grief. You were close to Ortiz.

Close? You have no idea. His fury blazes forth. But you will understand. I will make you understand.

My arm is throbbing, the wounds on my hands burn from being clutched into fists. Too much has happened today and in the past. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore. I lean toward Williams.

You have manipulated me for the last time. We will see this through. I need your resources to help Culebra. But then, you will answer my questions and it will be done between us.

He looks at me with dispassionate indifference. You’ve said the same thing a dozen times. It will be done when I say it is done.

I don’t fight. I release him. I have said it before. This time is different. I ’m sick of the game. Culebra comes first. When he’s safe, when Burke is dead, when I get from Williams what I need to understand what I am, then it will be done.

In the distance, sirens blare. The vans are pulling out of the parking lot. Only one remains. The woman takes Williams’ arm and pulls him over to it.

I’m left alone. I run up the hill to my car. The sirens are louder, and when I look back, I see the flashing lights approach. The last van pulls away seconds before screaming fire trucks make the turn into the warehouse parking lot. Smoke and flame pour out of ruined windows and doors. The roof collapses with a tremendous roar. Flames leap to the sky like a bird from a cage.

What will the firemen find in the ruined building? Ortiz’ badge? His gun? Will anything survive?

I hope so. He deserves to be remembered as a cop.

More cars appear on the frontage road. Curiosity seekers, I imagine, attracted by the smoke and sirens. For the first time, I give a thought to what I must look like. Wearily, I glance down at torn jeans, bloody hands and smoke -stained skin. I’d better get out of here before someone notices.