"Gross, Duncan. I was going to say I could call Lonnie.” Lonnie worked for Raphael, running a circuit of party houses in various parts of L.A. where people eagerly lined up for the chance to mingle with the vampires, donating blood straight from the vein in order to enjoy the mind-blowing sex that was offered in exchange. Lonnie could usually be found at the Malibu house with the beautiful people. “But why—” Cyn was about to ask why Duncan had been so emphatic about sharing her own blood, then sucked in a breath. “Raphael."
"Lord Raphael,” he agreed grimly. “He would not take kindly to another sharing—"
"What right does he—"
"The consequences would not be for you, but for Mirabelle, Cynthia. And it is not only feeding she will need, there is the matter of protection."
"Fine, fine. So what—” Cyn spun around as a dull thump echoed through the hangar. She stared at the small plane, watching it rock slightly, as if someone was moving around inside. “Duncan,” she said softly. “I think she's awake."
* * * *
Mirabelle woke slowly, her body sluggish, her mind dull, with none of the clarity she usually experienced on waking. She lay still, as always, listening, scenting the air. She opened her eyes. Light. There was too much light. Had someone opened the closet door while she slept? Was someone waiting...
Her heart, barely beating after her long day's sleep, skipped in panic as her senses kicked in. She wasn't in her closet. This wasn't her blanket and—she brushed away the unfamiliar covering and looked at herself—she'd slept in her clothes, something she never did. Her lungs expanded, taking in the strange scents of metal and oil, and something spicy, food, but nothing she could remember smelling before.
She sat up, pushing the blanket away with trembling hands, struggling to climb off the bed. It was some sort of platform, tucked into a small room, surrounded by walls on three sides, and her long skirt made it awkward to move around. Her legs dropped over the mattress edge and her feet touched the carpeted floor. A narrow door stood open in front of her, bright artificial light beaming in from the hallway. She rose slowly, one hand sliding up the nearby wall for support. She was terrified of stepping out into the light, but equally terrified of staying in the dark. The hunger decided for her, striking without warning, painfully intense and coupled with fear. What if there was no blood? Would she die? She'd heard stories of vampires living for months, years even, with no sustenance. Horror stories.
She took a step toward the light, crying out as a sudden stab of pain drove her to her knees, curling her into a tight ball of agony in the narrow space. Jabril Karim. Only he could do this, but why? What had she done? The pain doubled, then tripled and she screamed over and over, unable to do anything but give voice to the torment wracking her body. Every nerve was on fire, every muscle bunching and stretching at random until she thought her skin would burst and her body would fly apart. With no warning, the pain was gone, stopping as quickly as it had started. In the silence, she heard whispering. She scrambled toward the light, but the whispers followed, growing louder, pursuing her, threatening her with more torture, more agony if she didn't ... what? What did they want her to do? “Listen."
Mirabelle listened and shook her head in horror at what she heard. "Listen," the voices demanded again. "Look." She glimpsed an image. A dark-haired woman, her body lying limp, beautiful face rended with great bloody gashes as Mirabelle ... She gasped out loud and stared down at her own hands, at her diamond-hard nails, at her fingers curled into claws like an animal's. She tasted her own blood as her fangs split her gums, forcing their way between her lips. She drew a shuddering breath, then she stood up and lurched toward the open door.
Chapter Eighteen
The screams poured out of the small jet, filling the cavernous hangar and bouncing off the metal walls. Cyn raced for the stairs, stumbling through the narrow hatchway in time to see Mirabelle crouched on the floor outside the sleeping compartment, her eyes rolling white with terror. When she saw Cyn, she shrank back into the corner, teeth bared, fangs distended.
"Jesus, what—"
"Cynthia!” Duncan was shouting in her ear. “Don't—"
"Hurry, Duncan,” she closed the phone and took a step forward, letting the cell drop from her shaking hand. Mirabelle was crouched against the bulkhead, hissing defiantly, her hands curled into claws in front of her.
"Mirabelle,” Cyn said, holding out an empty hand. “Mirabelle, it's me. It's Cynthia. You're okay. You're safe."
Mirabelle froze. She stared silently at first and then closed her eyes and began rocking back and forth, whispering something, muttering to herself. Cyn took a step closer, trying to catch the words.
"Please, please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” The girl was repeating the same few words over and over, arms wrapped so tightly about her body that she was drawing blood with her own claws. Her body swayed in rhythm to her words, her head softly bumping the carpeted bulkhead behind her with every cycle.
Cyn didn't know what to do. Why hadn't she thought about this, arranged for someone to be here, someone who would know what to do? Jesus, how long before Duncan arrived?
The phone rang and she snatched it up. “Duncan?"
"Which airline did you use?"
"Lonnie?"
"One and the same, babe. Which airline?” She told him. “I know it.” He said something aside, presumably to whoever was driving. “Hang in there, Cyn."
She wanted to scream at him to hurry, but one glance at Mirabelle told her screaming probably wasn't a good idea. She thought about the hangar door. Was it locked? She couldn't remember. But, what the hell, they were vampires. If they wanted the door open, they'd open it. And besides, Mirabelle had opened her eyes again and was looking at Cyn with a distinctly hungry gaze.
"Okay, let's stay calm here, Mirabelle. I know you're hungry, but that was Lonnie ... Well, you don't know him, but he's bringing blood."
Mirabelle hissed angrily ... and did she lean forward a little, like she was getting ready to attack? Christ, maybe it was better not to talk about food, after all. Cyn lapsed into silence and began calculating how long it would take for someone to get here—Duncan or Lonnie, she didn't care which one. Either one of them could handle this better than she could. She mentally traced Duncan's route from Malibu to the airport, maybe stopping to pick up Lonnie? Yeah, okay, but that wouldn't have taken long; he could have waited outside the house and hopped in on the fly.
Of course, there was traffic. But this time of day going south, it shouldn't be too bad, not on the highway anyway. Her legs were killing her, crouched there in the narrow aisle, but she was afraid to move. Mirabelle seemed to have settled into kind of a watchful waiting. Geez, waiting for what? Was this like those nature shows on television where the big cat sits and waits for the antelope to fall over in exhaustion before attacking?
She nearly dropped her phone when it rang; she'd forgotten she was even holding it, she was so focused on watching the vampire's every twitch. “Where are you?” she whispered. She heard the fear in her own voice and cursed.
"Five minutes, babe.” It was Lonnie again. He spoke to someone on his end, and then said, “Are there any cars in front of your hangar?"