And Nick would do anything in the world for her.
He heard static from his Nextel, which he expected to be Otto screwing with him again.
It wasn't.
Valerius's accented voice broke the stillness. "Nick, are you there?"
Just what he needed tonight. Grimacing, he jerked the phone off his belt. "What?" he snapped.
"I wanted to let you know that Ulric is Desiderius. He's already killed Tia. I don't know who's next, but I think you might want to check on your mother." Suddenly, Valerius's voice changed to one that made his blood run cold.
"Oh, wait..." Desiderius said tauntingly, "she's dead now." He made a sound of smacking his lips. "Hmmm, type O negative. My favorite. Of course, you'll be glad to know her last thoughts were of you."
Nick stopped moving for an instant before he dropped the phone and started running as fast as he could toward his house.
Over and over, he saw images of his mother in his mind. Of her gently teasing him while he grew up. The pride on her face the day he'd told her he was going to college.
His battered ribs ached and throbbed, but he didn't care if he ruptured both lungs.
He had to get to her.
By the time he reached the gate to his driveway, he was shaking so badly that he could barely punch in the code.
"Goddammit, open!" he snarled as the first code was rejected.
He reentered it.
The gates swung open slowly. Ominously.
Panting from fear and exertion, he raced up the drive to the back door.
It was unlocked. Nick entered, ready to do battle. He stopped in the kitchen to pull his Glock.31 out of the drawer by the stove. He checked the mag clip to make sure it was fully loaded with all seventeen rounds.
"Mom?" he called as he slid the mag in. "Mom, it's Nick, are you home?"
Only silence answered him.
His heart hammering, Nick crept through the house, room by room, expecting to be attacked.
He found absolutely nothing, until he reached the upstairs sitting room. At first, it looked like his mother was sitting in her chair like she'd done a million times before when he'd come home to catch her waiting for him.
He'd bought this house just for this room alone. His mother loved to read romance novels. All her life, she'd dreamed of owning a home where she could have a perfect, five-sided room to read her books in peace. The sitting room was lined with custom-made bookshelves.
Every inch of every shelf in here held a paperback that she had lovingly chosen and cherished.
"Mom?" he said, his voice breaking off into a sob. His hand shook as he held the gun out and stared through misty eyes at the blond hair he could see over the top of the leather recliner. "Please talk to me, Mom, please." She didn't move.
He fought back his tears as he moved slowly forward until he could touch her. Still, she was silent.
Nick cried out in grief as he buried his hand in her soft hair and saw the paleness of her face. The vicious bite-wound on her neck.
"No, Mommy, no!" he sobbed as he knelt beside her. "Dammit, Mom, don't be dead!"
Only this time mere was no comfort to be found in her touch. No soft, loving voice to tell him that men didn't cry. They didn't show pain.
But how could any man withstand this kind of brutal agony?
This was his fault. All his fault. He'd been the idiot who had befriended the Dark-Hunters. Had he ever told her the truth... She hadn't stood a chance.