Vampire Mine

Chapter Three

Connor approached the side entrance of Roma-tech with the woman wrapped in his tartan and cradled against his chest. Teleporting straight into the facility would have caused an alarm to go off and incited panic, so he’d arrived in the side parking lot. Whoever was in the security office should have noticed him on the monitors, so hopefully they would let him in. With his arms full, he couldn’t reach his ID card.

He paused outside the glass door and spotted Angus’s wife, Emma MacKay, zooming down the hallway at vampire speed.

She opened the door, and her gaze shifted to the woman in his arms. “You found a survivor.”

“Aye.” Connor stepped into the hall. “I’m taking her to the clinic. Can ye alert Roman?”

“Of course.” Emma touched the unconscious woman’s shoulder. “Poor thing. She smells of blood and burnt flesh. They must have tortured her like Robby. Did you find her in the caves?”

“Nay. She was attacked a few miles south of there.”

Emma gave him a confused look. “Did you see Angus? He teleported to the campground about five minutes ago.”

“Must have missed him.” Connor hurried down the hallway. “Tell Roman I’ll be in the clinic.”

Behind him, Emma let out an exasperated sigh. “You didn’t follow Angus’s orders, did you?”

He kept walking. No time to explain his decisions when the woman was bleeding in his arms. Not that he usually bothered to explain himself.

“Is Angus right, then?” Emma called after him. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Nay.” He reached the foyer and turned left. Why would he want to die when he’d go straight to hell?

He strode through some double doors and into a hallway lined with glass on one side. Through the glass, he could see the garden and basketball court, illuminated by bright outdoor lights. The children, Constantine and Sofia, were bouncing basketballs while their mother, Shanna, sat on a nearby bench, chatting with her sister.

Down the hallway, Roman emerged from his office. His eyes widened at the sight of the injured woman. “She barely has a heartbeat. What happened?”

“She was attacked. Nasty wounds on her back.”

Roman glanced out the window at his wife and children. “We’ll get Laszlo to help.” He banged on the office door next to his and called out to the short chemist.

“Yes, sir?” Laszlo peered out, then gasped. “Oh dear.” He rushed along beside them as they headed through a waiting room into the dark clinic.

The strong smell of antiseptic cleansers assaulted Connor’s nostrils. He laid the woman gently on her side on a sheet-covered gurney, then made sure his tartan covered up the essential areas while leaving the wounds on her back exposed.

“So what’s the story?” Roman asked as he hit the light switch.

Connor winced at the sight of the woman’s injuries so clearly illuminated. “I discovered her being attacked a few miles south of the campground at Mount Rushmore.”

“You witnessed the attack?” Roman asked as he and Laszlo washed their hands in a large stainless steel sink.

“I heard it. There was an angry man named Zack, a Malcontent, I believe, and he was yelling at her for no’ killing all the humans. She was—”

“Is she a Malcontent, too?” Roman interrupted, drying his hands.

“Perhaps. She was clearly rebelling, and then the man attacked her.”

“Does she have fangs?” Laszlo asked as he snapped on some synthetic gloves.

Connor felt a momentary cringe of embarrassment. Such a simple thing, but he’d forgotten to check her teeth. Although he’d certainly looked over the rest of her. Thoroughly. But only to determine her injuries. A man would have to be dead not to notice a beautifully shaped female with a lovely face and dewy soft, lustrous skin. And he wasn’t dead. At least, some of the time.

He leaned over her and whispered, “Doona fash. I willna harm you.” He pressed a fingertip against the woman’s upper lip and gently prodded it up. Dainty white teeth. No fangs.

She must be human.

But what about Zack? He’d referred to people as “humans,” and he’d said something about the master ordering their deaths. He definitely sounded like a Malcontent. Had he attempted to use vampire mind control on this woman to force her to kill? But what vampire could cause the flashes of light and the blast of air that had thrown Connor forty feet through the air? What had burned the trees and scorched the earth? How had Marielle survived such an attack?

He straightened slowly. Roman was watching him curiously while Laszlo readied a tray of surgical instruments.

“Well?” Roman tugged on his gloves. “Is she a vampire?”

“Nay.” Connor took a deep breath. “I doona know what to make of her.”

“How dramatic.” Laszlo gave him an amused look as he set a stack of towels on a table close to the gurney. “She’s definitely female. She doesn’t have the scent of a shifter, so I think we can safely assume she’s human.”

“Ye doona think her blood smells a wee bit odd?” Connor asked. “ ’Tis verra rich.”

Laszlo tilted his head, sniffing. “True. I can’t quite detect her blood type, and I usually can.”

“Enough talk.” Roman marched up to the gurney. “Let’s take a look at her before she bleeds to death.” He whisked the bloody tartan away and tossed it on the floor.

“Nay!” Connor quickly pushed her onto her stomach and shot Roman an annoyed look. “I’ve already checked her for injuries.” With vampire speed, he nabbed a towel off the nearby table, flipped it open, and covered the woman’s rump. “ ’Tis only her back that needs tending.”

She moaned a few mumbled words.

“ ’Twill be all right, lass,” he answered as he carefully tucked the towel around her hips. Did the sound of her voice affect the other men like it did him? Perhaps not, since Laszlo possessed the same politely helpful expression he usually had.

“Did she just say, ‘Don’t touch me’?” Laszlo asked.

“Aye. She said that when I first found her. She may be afraid her nudity will incite men to abuse her.” Connor noticed that her hair had fallen over her face when he’d shoved her onto her stomach. He brushed her hair back to make sure she could breathe. “Doona fash, lass, we willna harm you.”

“Don’t . . .” Her eyelids flickered, then closed.

“Och, she’s out again.” Connor straightened and discovered Roman regarding him again with a curious look. His cheeks grew warm. So he was displaying some normal human kindness. Was that so strange? He lifted his chin. “So do ye plan on helping this woman or letting her bleed to death?”

Roman’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Let’s get her cleaned up, Laszlo.”

The short chemist passed Roman a bottle of antiseptic cleanser and some gauze pads. When Roman doused her burns with antiseptic, the woman moaned.

“Ye’re hurting her,” Connor protested.

“We have to protect her from infection.” Laszlo smoothed some ointment over the burns. “This will help with the pain and promote healing.”

“She may end up with some scars,” Roman commented as he began to clean the wounds across her shoulder blades.

She flinched, then moaned again.

Connor grimaced as he saw the two cuts now clearly defined on her back. Each one looked about six inches long. Fortunately, they had stopped bleeding.

Roman finished cleaning her wounds, then tossed the bloody strips of gauze into a metal pan. His eyes narrowed as he examined the cuts. “This is . . . odd. At first, I assumed the slashes were caused by a sharp instrument like a knife or sword, but if you look closer, you’ll see the skin is burned.”

“Perhaps she was cut by a laser?” Laszlo leaned over for a closer look. “It is odd.” He glanced up at Connor. “Are you sure this was an attack of violence?”

“Of course it was violent. She was bloody well wounded.”

Laszlo frowned as he fiddled with a button on his lab coat. “The two wounds are perfectly symmetrical. I would wager the lengths are exactly the same down to the millimeter. This sort of precision would not occur in a normal fight.”

“Laszlo makes a good point.” Roman selected two forceps off the surgical tray and gently examined one of the wounds.

“What are ye doing?” Connor asked. “Ye should be closing the wounds, no’ opening them.”

Roman drew in a sharp breath. “Laszlo, look at this.”

Laszlo nudged Connor aside so he could get closer. “What is that? Some sort of bone or cartilage?”

“Yes,” Roman whispered. “And it’s been severed.”

Laszlo straightened with a jerk and grabbed a button on his lab coat. “I’ve never seen anything like that on a human.” He turned to Connor, his eyes wide. “What have you brought here?”

Connor swallowed hard. She wasn’t human? He touched a lock of her hair. She felt so human.

“Is there anything else you know about her?” Roman asked. “Did you hear anything—”

“They were arguing.” Connor closed his eyes briefly, struggling to remember everything that had happened before he’d been blasted into a tree and had the sense knocked out of his head. “The man, Zack, was yelling at her. She had disobeyed three times. She was being banished.” He opened his eyes and gazed down on her beautiful face. “He called her Marielle.”

Roman’s eyes widened, then his gaze dropped to her wounds. “God’s blood,” he whispered. “Surely it can’t be.”

“What?” Connor asked.

Roman stepped back, his face pale. “Gabriel, Michael, Rafael.”

Laszlo shook his head, nervously twirling the button on his lab coat. “No. Just because her name happens to rhyme, that doesn’t mean—”

The clinic doors swung open, and Shanna ran to the sink to wash her hands. “Why didn’t you call me? I just heard about the injured woman. Emma thought the Malcontents might have tortured her.”

Connor shot a worried look at Roman. The medieval monk appeared awestruck. Laszlo was clutching a button so hard his knuckles were white. If they were thinking what Connor suspected they were thinking, they had to be wrong.

Shanna dried her hands and grabbed a pair of synthetic gloves. “Why so quiet?” She gasped. “She hasn’t died, has she?”

“Nay,” Connor said. “She’s unconscious.”

Shanna snapped on the gloves as she approached. She grimaced at the sight of the wounds. “How terrible. Did you give her a local anesthetic?”

Roman shook his head. “No.”

“I think you should before you stitch up the wounds,” Shanna said.

“I’m not sure what to do,” Roman murmured. “I think we’d better call Father Andrew.”

“Why?” Shanna’s eyes widened. “You mean for Last Rites? Surely we can save her.” She placed her hand on Marielle’s head in a protective gesture. Her eyes rolled up, and she crumpled.

“Shanna!” Roman grabbed her as she fell.

“Oh my!” Laszlo rushed toward them.

“Shanna?” Roman patted her face. Her limp body sagged in his arms, and he settled her on the floor. “Shanna?”

Connor watched, his innards growing cold with horror. He didn’t want to believe his eyes. Or his ears, for no matter how hard he strained, he could barely hear a heartbeat. Laszlo had to be thinking the same thing, because he fell to his knees and grabbed Shanna’s wrist to feel for a pulse.

“Shanna!” Roman screamed and shook her.

“Sir,” Laszlo told him quietly. “She’s fading fast.”

“No! She’s going to be fine. She— Oh, God.” He seized his wife’s face. “Shanna, wake up!”

“Roman!” Laszlo shouted, his eyes glittering with emotion. “She’s dying.”

Roman glared at him. “No. She just fainted, that’s all. She—”

“She’s going to die,” Laszlo yelled. “You have to change her now!”

“It’s too soon! The children are too young. Sofia’s only two!”

“You have no choice,” Laszlo gritted out.

Roman shuddered, then gazed down at his wife. “Oh God! I can’t lose her.” He looked wildly about the room, and his gleaming eyes landed on Connor. “What have you done?”

Connor stepped back from the accusing eyes. “I dinna mean . . . please, change her before it is too late.”

“You’re supposed to protect my family,” Roman hissed. “You brought an angel of death here!”

Connor’s blood ran cold. Holy Christ Almighty, had he truly brought death to the family he had sworn to protect?

Roman pointed at the woman on the gurney. “Get her out of here before she kills my children, too!” With a hoarse cry, Roman tilted back his head and shot his fangs out. He sank them into Shanna’s neck.

Connor didn’t know which was worse: the sound of Roman frantically sucking all the blood from his wife, or the wrenching sound of his sobs while he did it.

My fault. Connor doubled over, nausea churning his gut. My fault. Shanna had trusted him to protect her, and he’d brought death to her. Just as he had his own wife and newborn child.

He fell to his knees. Failure again.

“Connor,” Laszlo whispered.

He glanced up to see Laszlo standing by the gurney.

“You need to take her away.”

He glanced at her, then at Shanna, dying in her husband’s arms on the floor, then back at Marielle. Could Roman be right? Was she truly an angel of death?

Connor rose to his feet and lurched toward her, grabbing the edge of the gurney in his fists. “Why dinna ye kill me?” he growled. God knew he deserved it.

“Perhaps she couldn’t,” Laszlo said quietly. “We’re already . . . dead.”

Connor snorted. One little request, and God couldn’t grant it for him. “Ye’d think He’d want me in hell.”

Laszlo frowned at him. “Take her away from here. Quickly.”

He tugged the sheet loose from the gurney and wrapped it around Marielle. How could she look so sweet and innocent when she was so deadly? He gathered her in his arms.

She moaned as his arm came in contact with her wounded back. “Don’t touch me,” she whispered.

“Aye. I should have listened to you, lass.” With one last glance at Shanna, he teleported away, taking the angel of death with him.