Page 16 of Clay White
“Don’t bite him!” Buckley called sharply.
“I’m not. Tears are almost as good as blood.” When his tongue reached the edge of my ear, he whispered as softly as a light breeze in the treetops: “Sundown.”
Marek released me and backed away, carefully avoiding the metal object on the floor. I didn’t blame him. No promise in the entire world would have induced me to touch that thing.
Buckley was grinning again, his eyes crinkled at the corners. He had an air of satisfaction, like a man who’d just accomplished something especially clever. He took a few steps forward, scooped up the round thing, and stuffed it into his back pocket. But as he moved, my vision cleared enough for me to see him more distinctly—and what I observed made me start shivering again.
He was glowing. Not visibly, but that was the only way I could describe it. Energy radiated from him so strongly that I believe his touch might have killed. He was the most stunninglyalivecreature I had ever seen and a stark contrast to the undead man behind him. But there was no beauty to his vitality, not when I realized that the energy was stolen. From me, from the dead boys. It was far worse than if he’d simply drained my blood.
I didn’t know what he did with what he’d taken from us. Perhaps it made him live longer and increased his health. Perhaps it gave him the charm that captivated journalists, millionaires, celebrities, and politicians.
Without another glance in my direction, Buckley left with Marek hard at his heels. The lights went out as they left, and the lock clicked into place.
I sagged in my chains and waited for the next round.
Chapter Seven
The light through the windows dimmed and disappeared, leaving me in darkness. Although my jaw continued to hurt and my bruises ached, the worst devil I faced now was thirst. It didn’t help to remember the desiccated corpses of Buckley’s previous victims.
Since my situation wouldn’t sustain life for long, I assumed Buckley would return soon to finish draining me. The thought of going through that pain again almost made me retch, but I fought it back and struggled not to choke. Then I wondered why I bothered. Not only would choking be a gentler death than what awaited me, but in my last moments I’d have the grim satisfaction of knowing I’d cheated Buckley out of some of his plunder. Of course that meant he’d probably kidnap his next victim sooner. Some innocent kid who had done nothing wrong and had plenty to live for.
Dammit, I was no innocent, I’d done of plenty of wrong, and my life amounted to nothing much. But I wanted to keep it anyway. I wanted to live.
The door clicked open, but this time the lights stayed off. The space beyond the door was dim, but I recognized Marek’s tall, slim outline and then his rapid, light tread. He carried something, but I couldn’t see what.
When he reached me, he set down his burden without a sound and pulled something from a pocket. “We don’t have long,” he said as he moved behind me. A slight rasp of metal, and the chains at my wrists were gone. They clanked as he set them aside. My muscles and joints had locked up during my captivity, and I groaned as I tried to move my arms forward. As Marek worked on the other chains that still held me upright, I managed to lift my hands and fumble the damned gag out of my mouth. Closing my jaw, at last, was a sweet relief. I didn’t yet try to speak—and my tongue might have been too dry to manage it anyway.
Marek, however, talked fast and low while he worked. “I’m sorry. You won’t believe me but I am. I didn’t mean for this to happen to you. I thought… I thought I might find a way to defeat him if I let him lure me close and I pretended to befriend him. He thinks a vampire minion is a lovely idea. But I led him to you. I’m so sorry.” He kept on like that, but I couldn’t make sense of his words. I was too confused, too sore, too drained. I’d lost track of whether I trusted him.
After he unlocked the last of the chains, I crumpled, but he caught me and held me up. “Clothes,” he said. “Not yours. Sorry.” Hurriedly, despite considerable fumbling, he helped me into a pair of sweatpants. Once on, the legs reached only to midshin. We couldn’t get the T-shirt on at all and just gave up.
With what were likely expletives in his native language, Marek supported me as we shuffled out of the room and into the adjacent one. That space had a more traditional basement appearance—fewer chained captives and more household detritus—although it was still clean and neat. Just crossing that expanse of floor exhausted me, and I looked up at the stairway in defeat. “I can’t. Just kill me and be done with it. Feed from me, break my neck, I don’t care, as long as you don’t let that fucker near me again.”
“I’ll carry you.”
But as he attempted to reposition me, likely to heave me over his shoulder, a crash resounded above.
Marek swore again. “He’s home already.”
“Why don’t you kill him?”
“I can’t even touch him.”
Another bang, this time accompanied by shouting. Marek looked puzzled, but the ruckus above wasn’t my immediate focus. “Shoot him. There was a gun in my boot. The bullets—”
“Are harmless to him. He showed me. He held your gun a few inches from his skull and pulled the trigger. The bullet just bounced off. And that was before he… fed from you.”
Shit. Even in top condition I’d have been no match for someone who could resist a vampire and withstand bullets. And right now I was far from my top condition. I could barely stand on my own.
Marek grunted. “When we get upstairs, I’m going to take us to the front door. It’s not far. If Buckley sees us, I’ll distract him while you get out as fast as you can. I’m not sure how long I can keep him occupied.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“I’ve been dead a long time. Let me have a small chance to be a hero.” He kissed me then, very sweet and gentle, careful not to let descended fangs nick me. Then, as the tumult above continued, he lifted me and hauled me up the stairs.
We emerged into a vast kitchen, dark except for a small light over the stove. Marek set me down and, with some support from the counters, I was able to walk unaided. I wondered how many rich and famous people had eaten food from this this place, perhaps even while a young man was bound and dying beneath them.
Unfortunately our route appeared to be taking us closer to the noises. “A back door?” I whispered to Marek.
