Ignoring the stricken faces around him, Carlos stooped and picked Damali's limp form up in his arms, the white blanket billowing in the wind.
"You do not think we're just going to stand here and let you walk out of here with our baby girl" Shabazz said, catching the Isis from Father Patrick's toss.
Jose was holding his empty gun with two hands. "Word. You ain't taking D nowhere, man!"
Rider was on his flank, crossbow raised. "Not." Carlos reached out his hand, breaking Shabazz's hold on the Isis, drawing it toward him. The sword spiraled and lodged into a cinder block behind Carlos. "I'll bring her back when she's better," he said, retracting his fangs.
He turned and stepped over the wall line with Damali in his arms. He grabbed her sword from the wall, resealed the compound, rebooted the lights, and was gone.
When he landed on the mansion porch, his Hell-dogs immediately lunged at him. He drove the Isis blade into the dirt, slowing their now-stalking advance. The garlic and incense and prayers Damali trailed had obviously confused their senses, bristled the hair on their backs, and formed acid foam at their jaws.
"No!" he ordered, making them completely stop, sniff around confused, and retch up half digested body parts. "Not this scent, either," he said, his voice dropping to a threatening low that cowed their aggression. "Never."
"Stay. Guard. Watch," he said, turning his back on them and taking Damali into the house.
Chapter Eight
Numb,, Berkfield punched the code into the garage-door opener that he'd been given by the scientist. He waited as the door slowly opened and stood, transfixed, in the same spot where he'd been when Carlos disappeared. Every belief he'd once held had been shattered. In a place beyond fear, he stood watching the horizon - traumatized.
He didn't move as a black van without windows pulled into his driveway. He just stared at it. But when six burly guys climbed out of it bearing a strange crest on their black fatigues, the hair stood up on his arms.
"Where's the old guy with the white hair?"
Berkfield began to back up as he spoke. The scream that was bubbling within his chest never reached his throat as two icy hands held the sides of his head from behind. He couldn't speak, couldn't move. Paralysis swept through his body.
"Dr. Zeitloff was a problem," a strangely accented voice murmured close to his ear. "He's dead. Your protector is battling a Guardian team and coping with domestic problems with his wife. And you, my friend, are soon going to become my living key."
"Did you see that shit?" Rider said quietly, sitting down slowly on the edge of the bed.
"He walked through every prayer line we'd laid down," Father Patrick whispered, looking at the team members.
"He more like blew through them," Shabazz muttered. "Even for a council master... shit."
"How can a vampire, regardless of level, be immune to prayers, garlic, holy water..." Marlene's question trailed off as her fingers touched the repaired wall.
"He's hybridizing," Father Patrick said, running his fingers through his shock of white hair. "She's in him, as much as he's in her," the elder cleric said in a far-off tone. "They've soul-joined... that's why he could speak the name of the Almighty, break the new line - but he didn't attack."
"What have we got here, Father?" Big Mike asked as he lowered his weapon. "He's still all vamp and if the traditional methods don't work..."
For a moment no one spoke as the impact of what they were now facing settled into their awareness.
"We need the team of seven around the table so I can try to locate them." Marlene looked at Father Patrick. "Then you and I can link thoughts, and the three remaining members of the Covenant can find the lair."
"Yeah, Mar, but that ritual needs a twelve-man team." Shabazz looked at the clerics. "Carlos had always been your fifth man over with the Covenant, a dark Guardian - but a Guardian nonetheless. It's a risk that his energy might get pulled into the mix."
"We don't have a choice," Marlene said quietly, despair making her voice barely audible.
"We just saw how strong he's gotten, Marlene," Rider said, taking sides with Shabazz, and glancing around the team for agreement. "We can search for her by day. Forget the mind lock to her. If she's still alive, Carlos is all inside her head."
"I'll take the weight," Jose said fast. "I'll go in with Marlene, if you all won't." His intense gaze swept the team. "She went to Hell for me to break Dee Dee's bond, that's the least I can do."
Father Patrick nodded. "Marlene's right. Time is of the essence, and the risk is of no consequence." He gave Jose a nod of respect. "We'll still have to do a daylight recovery... but we need not waste another moment in divining her location tonight. They'll be on the move from this point forward as a mated vampire pair."
Every place her skin touched his, sizzled. Carlos pulled in a deep breath and covered Damali's mouth and nose with his lips, and pushed the breath of life into her lungs.
When she didn't respond, he willed himself not to panic. He dropped to his knees on the foyer floor, laying her flat, as he massaged her heart, continued to breathe for her, with her, into her, spitting out the nasty taste of whatever they'd made her swallow in the process, until he was left with no option but to pound on her chest.
Her body convulsed, shivered, and her eyes opened, glassy and dead. The sight of it nearly stole his breath, and he scooped her up, taking the stairs two at a time, too rattled to even dematerialize. Dashing down the hall, he willed on the shower, thrust her into the cold spray and began gently washing the horrible oils and residues off her pretty brown skin.