“Hurry,” she whispered aloud.
A rustle warned her. She glanced up and saw the migration of bats. Thousands of them coming out of the forest, heading straight toward her. Dartmus cackled like a witch in a horror film and then put his arms in the air, directing the bats. She realized immediately he was finding the weak spots of the barrier, places he couldn’t pass through; the bats might be able to make it through at his command.
Taking a deep breath, she ran toward him, holding up the bottle of whiskey. She lit it on the run and hurled it over his head, pulling the gun and firing, breaking the bottle right over his head. She’d gone over the procedure a hundred times in her head, praying she could do it. Her parents and brother loved trick shooting as much as she did, and they’d spent hours on end thinking up things to challenge each other with. She’d never tried this particular one, but she thought she would have enough time to get a shot off if she threw the bottle high enough into the air. Andor had assured her anything could go out of the campsite, just not come in.
The whiskey fell over the top of the vampire, soaking his clothes. The burning piece of flannel she’d used hit his shoulder. She caught up the wasp spray, hit the trigger and held her lighter to it, turning it into a flamethrower. She knew she had to get close, the range wasn’t very far, but the wasp spray lit beautifully. She lit Dartmus up, holding the steady stream of flames right against his chest, right over his heart. Instantly the whiskey there caught fire and flames spread over him.
Dartmus dropped his hands, screaming while he twisted and turned as if that would somehow put out the flames. The bat migration stuttered in the sky, all of the creatures suddenly disoriented and unsure where they were going or why. The vampire shrieked loudly, the sound carrying on the night. She sent up a silent prayer there were no more of his kind in the woods close by.
All the while she concentrated the spray on the place she knew the vampire’s heart to be. He was so engulfed in flames now, she was unable to see his head and face. She used spurts, to save fuel and keep the pressure on. This was all the defense she really had and if it was gone, she wouldn’t have anything to fight him with if he got through.
Dartmus stumbled back away from her and the barrier. She moved as close to it as she dared. She knew exactly where it was. If she stayed inside of it, she couldn’t ensure the vampire’s heart had incinerated. If she left the safety of it, she might not be able to get back inside. Dartmus kept moving backward as he stumbled and twisted, roaring his pain and then abruptly going silent.
Lorraine thought the silence was far worse than the high-pitched shrieking. She made the decision to let him go. She couldn’t take the chance of getting outside her circle of protection. Clutching the near-empty spray can, she sank onto the ground because her legs wouldn’t support her anymore. They just turned to rubber.
The wind picked up, fanning the flames so that they towered toward the sky in a fiery funnel. She gasped and pressed her hand to her mouth. She didn’t want to start a forest fire. She would have to go out of her safety zone if he approached the foliage.
He dropped to the ground, and suddenly there was another man there. He was tall, dressed in a tight tee and loose pants that didn’t hide the fact that he was ripped. She could see the muscles in his back rippling beneath the shirt. He waved his hand and the flames were gone. He slammed his fist deep into the charred chest and extracted the heart.
She wanted to look away, but it was impossible. Lightning forked across the sky, lighting up the night. It was early, so the dark veil hadn’t completely fallen, but the lightning was so bright it hurt her eyes. She could hear it sizzling and cracking. Her hair stood up on her head. On her body. She actually felt a vibration through her heart.
Even as she watched, peeking through her fingers to shield her eyes, a whip slashed across the sky and hit the heart where it lay on the ground a distance from the charred body of the vampire. The stench was so foul her stomach rebelled, but she held it together even when the lightning whip was directed at the vampire. Then the man stuck his arms and hands in the white-hot energy.
He turned his head toward her, and the breath left her lungs in a long rush. He was the most terrifying man she’d ever seen. Much scarier than Andor. Of course, Andor wasn’t scary to her, but still … She wasn’t letting this man near him. He had the widest shoulders, and he was tall. His hair was long, just like Andor’s. He came toward her, and she scrambled to her feet and backed away, holding up one hand so that he’d stop.
“Don’t come any closer.” Her heart pounded very hard, and this time she couldn’t stop it. He scared her more than the vampire had. Maybe it was because there was death in his eyes and she’d seen the lightning bolt he’d handled. She knew Andor had done the same thing, but watching the images like a movie was far different than having to witness it. She knew she was still reeling from having to fight off the vampire attack as well.
“I do not have time for your fear. Andor is dying and he must be helped.” He lifted his hands, much like the vampire had done, and began to speak ancient words as he unwound the intricately woven barrier.
She found herself gripping the gun and the wasp spray. He had to be Andor’s friend. He’d killed the vampire. He knew Andor was in trouble, and the vampire hadn’t mentioned that. Why was she so afraid of this man? His eyes were the strangest color, like iron, but with rust running through them. They didn’t look in the least bloodshot. His features were hard. Intense. She wanted to run into the tent and beg Andor to wake up so she could ask him what to do.
The moment the man’s hands dropped, he strode toward her, his face a mask of determination. Before she could speak, he moved past her straight to the tent. The next thing she knew, her tent was no longer there. Andor’s body lay in the shallow depression, covered with the dark, rich soil. He was still unmoving. Lorraine wanted to throw herself over top of him to prevent the stranger from getting anywhere near him.
It was too late. He waved his hand and the soil opened, revealing Andor’s naked body. He lay as if dead. She heard the stranger’s swift intake of breath.
“Can you save him?”
He glanced at her. “I do not know. He is far from us. His thread to you is all that has kept him alive.”
“There were supposed to be two of you.” She still was a little worried that she was doing something wrong. She should have asked Andor to show her images of the two men he expected.
“Sandu is in a fight just south of here with two of the undead. They were answering the call of that one.” He jerked his head toward where the fight had taken place. The wind had scattered the ashes of the vampire throughout the forest. “I am Ferro.”
“Lorraine. Tell me what I can do to help him.”
“I must go now into his body and try to heal him from the inside. You will have to keep any enemy off us. If something comes, you call out to me, touch my body, otherwise, do not get near me. Be ready to give me your blood.”
“Not Andor? Shouldn’t I be giving Andor my blood?”
“I will be weak when I return, and there is no way the first time will heal much. I must be at strength.” His eyes swept over her, dismissing her. “Your blood will not be sufficient, but it is all we have.”
She didn’t even care that he was a jerk. “Hurry.” There was a sense of anxiety she couldn’t get rid of. She felt that with every second that passed Andor drifted further from her.
Ferro sank to the ground beside Andor, his touch shockingly gentle as he brushed dirt from Andor’s face. He plunged both hands deep into the soil. Then he was gone. Just that fast. She hadn’t even blinked. She was looking right at him and yet he was gone. She could tell his body was an empty shell. He looked every bit as dead as Andor did.
Lorraine closed her eyes and put both hands on Andor’s chest. If you can hear me, Andor, know that you have given me more than I’ve had since my family died. I laughed when I didn’t think I ever would again. I was excited and happy and surprised. So many emotions. You gave them all to me. I don’t want you to die. I want you here, because I believe the world needs you. There’s a part of me that knows I do as well.
She was grateful he couldn’t hear her, because she didn’t want him to think she was one of those women who saw a man for the first time and decided he was the one and she had to be with him. She wasn’t needy as a rule. She liked her independence. She’d always liked her time alone and had never been lonely—until the death of her family. After that, she’d felt lonely all the time—until Andor.
They’d only been together a short time, hours really, but those hours had been very intense, and she’d learned a lot about him. More than she knew about any other person, because he’d allowed her into his mind.
She forced herself to leave the two men, hoping Ferro was good at his job. He wasn’t the healer Andor had mentioned just before she’d buried him completely. Ferro was worried. Well, concerned, not worried. Like Andor, he seemed matter-of-fact. Either his brethren would live or he would die. She walked slowly along the outside circle where she imagined the barrier had been placed before Ferro had taken it down. She kept the wasp spray in her jacket and the gun in her hand.
Two men came striding out of the darkness straight at her. She took a two-handed grip on the gun and brought it up, aiming right at the taller man’s heart. “Stop right there and tell me who you are.”
The taller man kept walking. He had the same long hair as Andor and Ferro. His shirt was off and his chest was a wall of muscle. Tattoos drifted down his arms and over his shoulders just as Andor’s did. His eyes were blacker than night but burned with red flames. There was blood on his belly, as if a razor-sharp claw had tried to rip him open. She recognized that wound. It was like Andor’s, except this man’s wound was shallow and Andor’s belly had been ripped open. She lowered the gun.
“I am Gary Daratrazanoff,” the other man greeted. “That is Sandu.” He continued walking as well.