She was hurt, perhaps dying, and until sundown there was nothing he could do.
Never before had he felt so helpless, so cursed. From the depths of his heart, he cried out, beseeching a kindly heaven to help her, to spare her life.
"Please. Please. Please."
Just that single word, repeated over and over again, as he was dragged down into the darkness.
When he woke, he could still feel her pain, her anguish, and he knew she was still clinging to life.
I'm coming, Sara. He sent his thoughts across the miles, from his heart to hers. Hang on, cara. I'm coming.
"He's coming..." Struggling through a morass of pain, Sara repeated the words again and again.
"Lie still, child," Sister Mary Josepha said. "You must lie still."
"But he's... coming. I've... I've got to... be ready."
Sister Mary Josepha glanced up at Sister Mary Ynez. "Who's coming? Who can she talking about?"
Sister Mary Ynez shook her head. "Maybe she's thinking of her father. Will you stay with her while I look in on the others? I fear Elizabeth will not survive the night."
Sister Mary Josepha nodded. "Poor child," she murmured. And bowing her head, she began to pray.
Gabriel walked down the narrow hallway, his nostrils filling with the odor of alcohol and antiseptic, of strong carbolic and ether. Of blood. So much blood.
The hunger rose within him, stabbing at him, wrapping around him. Blood. Warm and sweet.
He turned down another hallway, and the lust for blood was overshadowed by pain. Sara's pain. She was unconscious, but her silent screams of agony reached out to him, tearing at his heart, his soul.
On silent feet, he approached the doorway. She was lying on a narrow bed, covered by a thin white sheet. An elderly nun sat in a straight-backed wooden chair beside the bed, a well-worn rosary clutched in her gnarled hands.
The nun glanced up as he stepped into the room, her rheumy blue eyes widening in horror. "What are you doing here?"
Gabriel said nothing, his guilt over what he was rising up to choke him in the face of the old nun's purity of heart and soul.
"Spawn of the devil," she whispered, "why are you here?"
Her words cut him to the quick. "I mean her no harm, Sister, I assure you."
Sister Mary Josepha clutched her rosary to her breast, her thumb caressing the ivory crucifix. "Be gone!"
Gabriel shook his head. "I must see her, if only for a moment."
Though she was aged and small of stature, the nun bravely put herself between Gabriel and Sara.
"You will not have her." Sister Mary Josepha lifted the crucifix, thrusting it toward him. "Be gone, I say!"
Gabriel took a step backward and then, drawing on his revenant power, he gazed deep into the nun's eyes, delving into her mind.
"Sit down, Sister," he said quietly.
Slowly, her movements stiff and unnatural, the nun moved to the chair and sat down.
Gabriel passed his hand in front of her face. "Sleep now," he said, his voice quiet, soothing.
He felt a moment of resistance, but the old nun was powerless against the dark power of three hundred and fifty years. Her eyelids closed, her head lolled forward, and she was asleep.
On silent feet, Gabriel moved to the bed and gazed down at Sara. Revulsion and a wave of pity rose within him as he stared at her, at the blistered skin on her arms, her hands. He drew back the sheet, tears welling in his eyes as he saw the ugly burns on her chest, her legs. Miraculously, her face had been spared.
She moaned then, a soft cry of agony that tore at the very edges of his soul. He placed his fingertip against the pulse in her throat. Her heartbeat was slow, her life force weak. She was dying.
"No!" The word was ripped from his throat.
And then he was lifting her in his arms, carrying her swiftly from the room, from the hospital, the power of his mind blinding those he passed to their presence.
With preternatural speed, he raced toward the abbey. Sara lay limp in his arms, hardly breathing. She seemed to weigh nothing at all and he carried her effortlessly.
"Please don't let her die. Please don't let her die."
The words were a prayer in his heart, even though he didn't believe that God would hear him.
When he reached the abbey, he carried her into his room and laid her on the floor. A blink of his eye started a fire in the hearth. Removing his cloak, he spread it before the fireplace, then