A thin thread of hope spiraled through Gabriel. "I need your help."
Another groan rose up out of the darkness.
"They've taken Sara."
"What... can I... do... ?"
"Can you reach me?"
"I'll... try."
Minutes passed. Long, agonizing minutes while Maurice slowly inched toward Gabriel.
"The cross," Gabriel said, his voice a harsh rasp of pain. "Get rid of it."
It seemed as though hours went by while Gabriel waited for Maurice to summon the strength to lift his arm, to remove the heavy silver cross from his chest.
Gabriel closed his eyes in relief, felt a small measure of his strength return. Lying there, he put everything from his mind but his hatred, his rage. He let it build within him, filling him until it consumed him, and then, with a mighty flexing of his muscles, he broke the chains that bound him.
Staggering into the kitchen, he stripped off his clothes and boots and scrubbed away all trace of the holy water. His skin was badly burned; in places, it hung from him in shreds of charred flesh.
He needed blood.
Slowly, he made his way into Sara's bedroom. For a moment, he closed his eyes and inhaled, letting her scent wash over him. Moving carefully, he slipped on a loose-fitting black shirt and breeches. Returning to the kitchen, he pulled on his boots, then went into the parlor. He put on his cloak, then knelt beside Maurice. The man was barely breathing; the back of his skull had been crushed, his hair was soaked with blood.
"Delacroix?"
Maurice's eyelids fluttered open. "Sara?"
"I'll find her."
"You... look... half-dead..."
"I am dead," Gabriel said flatly.
A wry grin pulled at Maurice's lips. "Me... too..."
There was no point in lying to him, Gabriel thought. At best, Delacroix had only a few minutes to live.
"My blood..." Maurice whispered hoarsely. "Take it... find... Sara."
Gabriel shook his head. For all the hunger burning through him, as badly as he needed nourishment to heal his wounds and restore his strength, he could not take this man's blood. Not now.
"Do it," Maurice urged.
"Are you ready to die?"
Maurice stared up at Gabriel, knowing without words what Gabriel was asking him. "You can... save me?"
Gabriel hesitated. Under other circumstances, a little of his vampire blood would have revived Delacroix, but he was too near death now for that to be effective. "If you wish."
"Would you... make the choice... to be what you are... again?"
Gabriel stared out the window, his heart and mind searching for an answer. Would he make the same choice again? He thought of all he had seen and done in three and a half centuries, and then he thought of the endless darkness, the years of loneliness, the awful, unbridgeable gulf that stretched between himself and all of humanity. Between himself and the woman he loved.
Slowly, he shook his head. In 350 years, he had never bequeathed the Dark Gift to another soul.
"I don't know," he replied honestly, "but you must decide now, before it is too late."
"Will saving me... weaken you?"
"Yes."
In that moment, Maurice made his decision. Gabriel was Sara's only chance, and the vampire was right. There was no time to waste.
"Take... my blood..." Maurice's voice grew faint. "Save... Sara..."
"As you wish," Gabriel murmured. And then, because Sara's life depended on it, on him, Gabriel bent his head to Delacroix's neck, determined to fulfill Maurice's last request.
Gabriel spoke to Maurice's mind, soothing the young man's fear as his fangs pierced his flesh. Delacroix went limp in Gabriel's arms; moments later, Gabriel felt Maurice's heartbeat slow and grow labored as he quickly drained the life's blood from the younger man's body.
Before Delacroix's heart beat its last, Gabriel drew away. Sitting back on his heels, he watched the light fade from the young man's eyes, heard the last breath of life whisper past Maurice's lips, and with it, his very soul.
Rising, Gabriel wiped the blood from his mouth. "Forgive me," he murmured fervently. "I only pray I am not too late to save her."
PART One Chapter Twenty-seven
In the last half-hour before dawn, Gabriel carried Maurice's body into a run-down part of town and left it there, lying in an alley. The police would find him in the morning. His death would be blamed on one of the many robbers who frequented this side of town.
Returning to Sara's apartment, he cleaned up the blood, locked the door. And then, wrapped in his cloak, he crawled under her bed to wait for nightfall.