Alex opened her mouth but promptly closed it again, unwilling to admit that she'd hoped it would keep them from being able to control her.
"Yeah, that's not working so good," Bricker chuckled. "But it looks kind of cute in a little old lady with a funny foil kerchief kind of way."
Alex scowled.
"So?" he asked with amusement. "What are you doing here? I mean besides trying to spoon me to death?"
"Bricker," the woman reprimanded, leaving the bed to join them. "Stop teasing her. The poor girl is terrified."
Bricker was silent, but then so was Marguerite now, Alex realized, and glanced from one to the other, frowning when she saw the concentrated expressions on their faces. She slowly became aware of a strange ruffling of her thoughts, a sort of tickle as if a moth or butterfly were fluttering around inside her skull, and then she was distracted when Marguerite's husband, Julius, joined the pair to stare at her as well.
Another moment of silence passed and she began to glare back, and then Marguerite suddenly said, "Bricker, you'd better go find Cale."
"Already on it," he assured her, moving away.
"What's happened?" Mortimer asked from the bedside. Alex couldn't see him, Marguerite was in the way, but his voice sounded worried.
"Nothing to concern yourself with, Mortimer," Marguerite said soothingly. "I'll handle this. You justwatch over Sam. We'll be in the next room. Shout if you need me."
"Do you want me to come with you?" Julius asked.
"No, we'll be fine," Marguerite assured him, and leaned up to kiss him before glancing back to Alex. "Come along, dear. I can see we have a lot to talk about."
Marguerite had barely finished speaking when Alex found her feet turning and moving her toward the door Bricker had just exited through. Once again, it wasn't by choice. Not wanting to leave Sam, Alex tried to stop, but her body wouldn't listen.
"Sam will be fine," Marguerite assured her quietly as they exited the room and started up the hall. "Mortimer loves her and would never hurt her. I promise."
Alex had to wonder what good the promises of a vampire were. Surely they could lie as easily as mortals?
"Of course we can, but I'm not," Marguerite said as Alex's feet led her into the next room. She heard the door close behind her. "Would you like to go to the bathroom? "
If she could have turned her head, Alex would have been glancing back with surprise though she supposed she shouldn't be surprised that the woman knew she had to go. She was reading her mind after all and that was up there among her concerns. Dying was one thing, but she'd like to go with some dignity.
"You aren't going to die," Marguerite said with exasperation. "And you can speak. I haven't taken total control of you."
"You could have fooled me," Alex muttered.
Marguerite's laugh was a tinkle of chimes in her ear, and then Alex felt her feet moving her toward a second door inside the room. "Go ahead and use the facilities. But please don't try to escape. You wouldn't get far."
Alex grimaced, thinking that was pretty obvious, and then she reached the door and suddenly felt whatever power had been making her feet move disappear.
"I think you can handle it on your own," Marguerite said quietly. "I'll wait for you out here."
Alex glanced back to the woman, happy to find she was able to. When Marguerite smiled encouragingly, she swung back and opened the door. Once safely inside, she pushed the door closed and then leaned weakly against it. She was trapped in the lion's den and pretty much done for. It seemed obvious she wasn't going to escape from these people when they could control her. Besides, even if she escaped from the bathroom and the house, she knew about the security here, the high electrified fences, motion-sensor cameras, and armed men. She wasn't going anywhere. She wouldn't even have tried without Sam.
A shout stirred Cale from the hell he was suffering, and for one moment he feared more mortals had come along to find him. That would not be a good thing. He was weak, and in agony, and just not feeling very sociable at the moment. Aside from that, he was out of blood, needed more, and didn't think he could control himself as he had the first time.
His first instinct when he'd seen the car rolling toward him was to slip into the mind of the driver and makethem keep going, but then he'd glanced to the copse of trees, noted the distance, and changed his mind. He would never have been able to drag himself that distance, so he'd taken control of the driver and made him stop, which he suspected he'd been doing anyway, and then he'd had the two occupants of the vehicle get out and come to him. Much to Cale's relief it had been a couple of men in their early twenties, healthy and strong.
Once the men stood silent and still before him, Cale had collected the last two bags from the cooler, tucked them into his coat, and then made them carry him to the copse of trees. Between the snow and the uneven ground, the going had been awkward for them. It had also taken longer than he'd hoped, and by the time they'd laid him in the cover of the trees, the healing had set in with a vengeance. Cale had only had a thin thread of control over himself. The only thing that had kept him from attacking one or both of the men was the knowledge that he had the two bags of blood tucked inside his coat. He'd ripped into the bags the moment they set him down, even while sending them hurrying back to their vehicle with the thought to forget about the mangled car and him. They'd reached their vehicle and torn away just as he'd finished the last bag of blood and begun to convulse on the forest floor.
"Cale!"
Not mortals then, he thought on a sigh, as he recognized Bricker's voice. He tried to shout "here," but what came out was a parched croak. It didn't matter. He'd apparently been heard because Bricker suddenlyappeared beside him, a tall silhouette in the dawning light weaving through the leafless trees.
"Jesus, you're in bad shape," the man said grimly, kneeling to look him over. When his gaze shifted to Cale's legs, he cursed. "Did the accident do this?"
Cale grunted, and the other man turned to glance at his face.