It wasn't Judson Tuxbridge.
Chapter Ten.
It was the rogue, Joel Branduff. The tall, sturdy body and dark wavy hair had fooled Ric in the dark. Ric rifled through the vampire's pockets quickly, stuffing the sparse contents into his own pockets. Sunlight would burn the body tomorrow, igniting the clothing as well, but Ric wanted to take no chances.
He hurried back to Shelby. A thin line of blood trickled down her neck, but when he placed a hand on her chest, he detected a rapid rise and fall. He checked her pulse. It, too, was quickened, but not racing. The blood loss wasn't life threatening. Ric estimated that Branduff had only started feeding just before Ric had caught sight of them. Another moment longer, though, and Shelby would have needed a transfusion. Any longer than that, and he would have killed her. As it was, she would recover, but she still needed replacement body fluids, and fast.He tapped her cheek with the back of his hand. "Shelby. Can you hear me?"
She groaned, and her eyelids fluttered as she tried to focus her eyes in the dark.
Good. She wasn't unconscious. "Everything's going to be all right. Rest now. Sleep." He made it a compelling command. What he had to do right now would be easier if she wasn't awake.
He gently picked her up and carried her through the woods as swiftly as was safe, then loaded her into the SUV and drove her to his office. He hooked her up to an intravenous saline solution and cleaned the wound. He also looked at his own arm injury, but it was already starting to heal. When he finished, he took her to his house, where he made her as comfortable as he could on his sofa. He'd allow her to rest for a couple more hours. The time was not so much for her benefit, but because he needed time to think. And there was a lot to think about.
He had just committed the worst sin an Undead creature could. He had killed another of his kind. He hadn't hesitated, and he hadn't thought about it-he had just done it. He didn't feel remorse for his actions for one moment, nor did he have a conscience to wash him in guilt, but he had to consider the possible consequences. According to hierarchy law, there was no justification for what he had done, no defense that wouldn't crumble before the justice of even the most lenient enforcer. It hadn't been self-defense. Ric had pursued and attacked Branduff. And deadly force in defense of a human was only justified under vampiric law if the human involved was a blood-bound servant. Shelby held no such position.
Ric was part of the infrastructure that was in place specifically to prevent such acts of violence from happening. For him, a ranking member of the hierarchy, to commit such an act was worse than if a rogue or an ordinary council member had done it. Ric was in a position of both authority and responsibility. It was like a cop going bad and killing those he had sworn to protect. It was unthinkable. It was the ultimate betrayal of trust.
If his crime should come to light, he would be forced to submit to the judgment of an enforcer. Because he was an Overlord, someone with high standing in the hierarchy would probably be sent-perhaps the head of the Midwest Region. Ric was a minor Overlord, true, but because of his elevated past position as Coterie Paramount, maybe even the Directorate would get involved.
He would certainly be sanctioned. He would lose his title as Overlord and most likely be banned from ever holding any future position in the hierarchy.
He longed for the help and counsel of his old friend Alek Dragovich. Ric and Drago had shared an alliance since 1875, and while most alliances were nothing more than political maneuverings, he considered Drago a friend. Drago had kept his word and backed Ric in his ill-fated bid for Patriarch, and he had never done anything to compromise Ric personally or professionally. Drago had been the uncontested, undisputed master of the creative solution. He would have found some loophole, some ploy in the bag of tricks labeled "The Drago Way" that would have salvaged the situation. But doing things "The Drago Way" was what had ultimately sent his friend to the True Death. Ric had never mourned the passing of his friend as much as he did now.
No, he no longer had his friend Alek Dragovich, l' enforcier, to back him in the Directorate, and while he knew well the directress who oversaw North America, he wouldn't beg her help in this or anything. There had been a major shakeup in the Brotherhood hierarchy following Drago's death. The old Patriarch had been cowardly, power-hungry, and corrupt, and Ric was happy to see him deposed, but he was unfamiliar with both the new Patriarch and the Patriarch's new chief enforcer, Revelin Scott. Ric had heard that Scott had previously worked for the Circle in England and had the backing of the directress, but that was all he knew.
Against all this Ric weighed his chances of being found out in his crime. Branduff had been a rogue. There were no witnesses to what he had done, and no evidence of the body would remain. However, just because Branduff was a rogue didn't mean he was unknown to the vampire community. He wasn't on the formal roster of the Cristallia County Council, but he was known by Tux, Eva, and perhaps others in the group. Had Branduff acted alone? If Branduff had been the one to put Kyle Carver in the privy hole, he had a motive for wanting the sheriff out of the way. But if Branduff had been lying...
Ric had to face the fact that there was a possibility he'd be found out. If Branduff had not been acting alone, there were any number of vamps who would question the rogue's disappearance and come to suspect Ric. Even if Branduff's associates couldn't prove anything, they could call the Midwest Region office and demand an investigation.
It was not a happy state of affairs. He glanced at Shelby. His life was suddenly a mess, and he hadn't even begun to think about Shelby or what he was going to do with her. He sighed and studied her. She was still sleeping peacefully, unaware that she had been marked by one vampire and was now in the hands of another who not only considered her fate, but would determine it.
The way he saw it he had three choices. He could finish what Branduff started and kill Shelby. He could try to compel her to forget that this whole night had ever happened, or he could tell her the truth about everything. The first option was clearly out. The second involved a high amount of risk. Shelby was a strong woman with a strong will. Repressing her memories might work for a time, but there was always the chance that she would recall part of the experience in the future. The consequences of such an occurrence were impossible to predict.
The third option was the riskiest of all. Not only that, it was the option with the widest range of possible outcomes. Serious mortal- vampire liaisons were not unheard of, but they weren't matches made in heaven. Most didn't endure, and those that ended quickly usually ended badly. There was a very small segment of the human population, however, that was invited to share the Demi Monde and flourished. These were the select few who became servants to the Undead. Most were lovers, some merely handled household and financial affairs, but to all the relationship was a lifelong commitment and unbreakable except by death. Every such human pledged to live and, if need be, die for his or her vampire. Ric wondered if Shelby, with such an important career of her own, could make such a commitment.
He thought of a fourth option. He could bring her over to the Other Side. It was another unappealing idea. It would mean they could no longer be lovers, for the allure of life had to be present in at least one partner for any kind of sexual desire to exist.
But he was getting way ahead of himself. First was convincing Shelby of the truth. Many humans could not accept the existence of vampires, even when offered proof. After acceptance was the problem of embracing the truth. Would Shelby be repulsed by what he was? Disgusted? And even if she could accept him, how would he feel about that? These were things he had never pondered before. Having no love for humans, he had kept himself isolated from them as much as possible. Did he really want to tie himself to a mortal he had known for less than two weeks?
He thought about when he had made love to her the night before. She had delighted his body and made him feel the pleasure of being alive that he had denied himself for a long, long time. More than that, he had felt something he hadn't thought possible with a mortal-a true kinship.
He sighed again. None of his questions were going to be answered this way. Action, once again, was preferable to thought.
He glided to the sofa and bent down on one knee. "Shelby, hear me now." He skimmed her face with the tip of one finger, bringing it to rest at last against her temple. "Wake up now, Shelby. You've rested enough."
A soft moan escaped her lips, and she stirred. He got up, returned to his chair and waited.
A voice intruded into Shelby's sleep. Maybe if she ignored it, it would go away. She tried to turn over and settle into a new position, but she couldn't. Her bed didn't feel right. She opened her eyes and squinted, though the light in the room was soft and low. She didn't recognize anything except Ric. Why was he all the way across the room?
"Ric? Where am I?"
"You're at my house. How do you feel?"
Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton candy. She brought one hand up to her face to make sure it was still there. "Tired.
Kind of woozy. How long have I been here?"
"A little over two hours."
"What happened?"
"Don't try to get up just yet. You lost some blood. Not enough to need a transfusion, but I did take you to my office to give you an IV. You'll be all right."
She didn't feel all right, but he was the doctor. Still, he hadn't exactly answered the question. "But what happened?"
"What do you remember?"
She drew a long, shuddering breath. "Lights. I remember the lights in the woods. Strange lights-not like a flashlight or lantern- but like something alive. A glowing shape that pulsed and floated..."
"Go on. What else?"
"Um ... well, I followed the light, but it was always just out of reach. Just when I was going to give up, I saw a man. I thought it was Judson Tuxbridge, but it wasn't."
"Then what?"
She shook her head. Everything else was as fuzzy as her head. "I don't know. I don't remember anything else. Just a dream."
"About what?"
"Floating. Like I was dying. Horrible, but wonderful at the same time. I can't describe it. What happened? Who found me?"
"I did. I found you in the woods. You'd been bitten."
Bitten? "I don't recall any animals. All I remember is the man."
He didn't say anything more, but sat staring at her with a strange blank look on his face. Why was he sitting so far away? She tried to sit up, and the world spun. "Ric, please." She closed her eyes, hoping it would help.
When she opened them he was at her side on the sofa, supporting her in a sitting position.
"No more for now. You need to rest."
She pushed away from him a little to show she could sit up on her own. "No. I'm the sheriff, and I need to know what happened."
"And I'm your doctor, and you're not up to talking about this just yet."
He was beginning to aggravate her. "Ric, I'm serious."
"So am I."
She huffed, but she had a feeling that she wouldn't win this argument. She didn't.
He cupped her chin and turned her face toward his. "Get some more sleep now."
She looked into his beautiful eyes. They seemed to glow at her, like there was some kind of light behind them. They reminded her of the strange lights in the woods. Suddenly she couldn't keep her eyes open.
"Shelby."
She heard Ric's voice in her dream. She knew it was him. No one else had such a mesmerizing voice-low, resonant, and with that faint accent that made her want to listen to him all the more just so she could put a finger on it."Shelby, wake up."
"French, of course."
"Shelby!"
Her eyes popped open. He was crouched on the floor next to the sofa. "Did I just say something?"
He smiled at her. "Talking in your sleep. You must be feeling better."
His dimple was in all its glory. Motivation enough to get up. She sat up straight, and he handed her a glass of water. "Drink up."
She took the glass and downed the water. She looked at him, holding out the empty glass. "All right. I've been good. Now tell me about this bandage on my neck and what happened to me."
Ric drew a deep breath and took the glass from her. "As I said, you were bitten. On the neck. If that suggests something to you, it should. The man who attacked you was one of the Undead."
Undead? It took a moment for what he said to sink in, and then it dawned on her what he meant. "You mean someone like Surly Seline the Goth Queen. Somebody who's into all that Goth stuff, right?"
"No. I don't mean a human playing at being a vampire. I mean a creature that exists on the blood of the living but that is not itself alive. Call it a vampire if you like. The term is accurate enough."
She closed her eyes. She was in no mood for jokes, especially not bad ones. "That's not even funny."
"It's not supposed to be."
This was getting worse and worse. She thought she could be serious about Ric, but it was becoming glaringly evident that he wasn't all there. How did he ever become a doctor with so many screws loose? "Okay, let's start over. Just tell me what happened in the woods. No embellishments."
"A vampire attacked you and was draining your blood when I found you. I stopped him and carried you out of the woods."
Right. "So when I was talking to you on the phone, how'd you know I'd be in trouble if I went into the woods? How did you know who this man was? What did you do to him, and where is he now? And if he was superhuman, how did you overcome him?" Her gaze challenged his with the confidence that he couldn't dream up plausible answers in a million years.
He turned away from her and stepped across the room to his easy chair, but the extra distance didn't make her feel any more comfortable. When he raised his eyes to hers again, the space between them seemed to vanish. She brought her hands to her open neckline, touched the bandage on her neck, and fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. She pulled the edges of cloth together and fastened the top two buttons, but the intensity of his gaze on her neck and chest made her feel downright naked. "Well? Do you have any answers?"
The glow of his eyes never dimmed. "I'm willing to provide whatever proof you require that I speak the truth. And it is the truth. If you persist in disbelieving me or in thinking that I'm crazy, we aren't going to get anywhere."
She broke the eye contact, searching the room for some normalcy she could cling to. Large leather chairs crouched like four- legged beasts waiting to spring. Shadows huddled in the corners of the room. The mouth of the fireplace gaped like a hungry maw.
Nothing was familiar except his voice, and when the sound of it, like a purr, touched her again, his words beckoned her with a seduction she had no defense against.
"Just listen and let me finish before you say anything." She sat still, giving no answer.
"The shining of the lights is a very old north woods trick to lure innocent people to their death. When you mentioned the lights on the phone I knew you were in trouble. I came as quickly as I could and searched the woods behind your house. I heard you cry out. That's how I found you." He paused.
She didn't want to hear more, but she couldn't help herself. It was like watching a disaster unfold on TV. "Go on."
"I interrupted the creature while he was feeding, so he wasn't too happy. He tried to kill me, so in your defense, and in my own, I eliminated the threat. He'll never be found or heard from again."
"So you killed this vampire."
"His human self had already died long ago. I merely sent him to his True Death."
"Don't split hairs. You killed him."
He sighed. "I killed him."
Murder. Now this was something she was familiar with. "You're a vampire killer, then, like one of those guys in the movies who goes around with stakes and crucifixes."
"No." His voice was very soft.
"Then ... how did you kill him? You're a big, strong guy, but wouldn't he have some kind of supernatural strength?"
"I have his strength and more."
No. It was the Curt Van Allen nightmare and the cop nightmare all rolled into one. Not only had her trust been betrayed, she was being hunted by creatures more terrifying than any her dreams had conjured. She stared at him, willing herself to wake up. "If you're saying what I think you're saying, I don't believe you. I've seen you in broad daylight."
He stood, reached down, and with one hand lifted the huge, upholstered chair he had been sitting on.
"You're strong. I'll give you that much."
He stepped over to the lamp and turned it off. The room fell into a very black and uneasy gloom.
She started to panic, and in her mind's eye she saw strange lights all around her, luring her to her death. "Ric, what are you doing?"
"Hold up some fingers. However many you want."
She gave him one finger-the finger.
"One finger and one message received. Can you tell how many fingers I'm holding up?"
She couldn't see a thing in the dark. "Okay, so your eyesight is better than mine. Now turn the light on."
He did. "I see that the cynical cop requires proof absolute. Very well." He got up, glided from the room, and returned a moment later with a large knife and a towel. He rolled his sleeve up.