Phantom Shadows Part 20

"Holy s.h.i.+t!" one of them uttered.

Just what etienne had been thinking.

Bastien's method of "retrieving" the bodies from the roof apparently entailed scaling the building, grabbing the bodies, and hurling them at the bus.

Richart sighed. "This is going to be a very long night."

It took the full might of etienne and his brother to hold Bastien back when they reached the network. Roland had healed Melanie's wounds, but not before she had lost way too much blood. And not before her heart had stopped beating.

The doctors and nurses at the network were still with her, giving her blood, monitoring her vitals, and praying the cerebral hypoxia that resulted from cardiac arrest had not injured her brain. Before leaving, Roland had told etienne that brain damage was difficult to detect and harder to heal. Only Seth and David could do it, and some damage exceeded even their abilities.

Bastien was beside himself.

Chris adamantly refused to allow the volatile immortal in the OR.

One of Dr. Lipton's colleagues-Linda-convinced Chris to let Bastien wait in Cliff 's apartment with both Cliff and Joe for company. Chris would have vetoed that, too, if he hadn't had two immortals (and didn't etienne feel so lucky to be one of them) on hand to guard the vamps and their former leader.

etienne stood just inside the door of Cliff's apartment. Richart had taken Cliff up on the offer of a chair and sat nearby.

Bastien sat on a sofa they'd had to retrieve from Joe's apartment because Bastien and Cliff had evidently obliterated all of Cliff's furniture earlier.

The vampires, Cliff and Joe, sat on either side of him. All three leaned forward, elbows on their knees. Bastien dropped his head into his hands, his usual bite me att.i.tude gone.

Cliff, the young African-American vampire, absently twisted his short dreadlocks, not giving the Frenchmen much thought, his concern all for his former leader.

Joe, the vampire on Bastien's other side, glared at the "intruders," blue eyes glowing faintly, unkempt blond hair a ma.s.s of uncounterfeited bedhead. Of the two vamps, this was the one to watch. etienne didn't have to delve too deeply into Joe's thoughts to know Joe was fighting tooth and nail to keep the madness at bay. And he was losing the battle.

This was etienne's first encounter with the vampires . . . if one omitted the night they had surrendered to Seth. Or been captured, as Joe's burgeoning madness now convinced him.

etienne kept his eyes on Joe, his hands resting loosely on the hilts of his weapons.

His mind he devoted to listening to Bastien's mental podcast. And what he heard frankly shocked him. There was much inside that thick skull that etienne had not expected to see. Or hear.

It p.i.s.sed him off, because now he was going to have to rethink his opinion of the p.r.i.c.k.

I never should have injected myself with the d.a.m.ned antidote.

Bastien kept his ears tuned to Melanie's heartbeat and monitored the conversations of the men and women who worked on her and watched over her.

Roland had come and gone. Melanie's wounds had been healed. Her chest was once more pristine. But she wasn't conscious. And Roland had been unable to determine if she had suffered brain damage when her heart had ceased pumping oxygen to her brain before his arrival.

If I hadn't injected myself with the d.a.m.ned antidote, she wouldn't have felt the need to monitor me.

Bastien's heart clenched when he heard Linda sniff back tears in the OR.

He should have made Richart teleport Melanie back here at the first sign of trouble. Or should have at least had Richart teleport her back up to the library's roof when she had hitched a ride down with them. Then she wouldn't have been in the direct line of fire.

h.e.l.l, he should have just stayed away from her completely tonight.

But they had needed to know if the antidote would work. The immortals needed that in their a.r.s.enal if they were going to defeat Emrys and his mercenaries.

Melanie had been too afraid to test it on any of the others, so he hadn't seen any other option. No one would have missed Bastien if it had killed him. And Melanie had been stressing over not being able to tell anyone she might have found the answer.

He combed his fingers through his hair, rubbed eyes that felt as though someone had thrown sand into them.

Once he had tested the d.a.m.ned drug, he should have left before she could insist on hunting with him or before Seth could back her. Reordon wouldn't have stopped him. Bastien would've been the one in danger. Reordon would love to see him perish. And if he destroyed himself, so much the better.

As long as Richart hadn't known where Bastien was, he couldn't have teleported Melanie to him. Seth wasn't omniscient. He didn't know where everyone was all of the time. Bastien could have just laid low for twenty-four hours, dropped by the network so Melanie could see he was okay and that the drug had no lingering side effects, then gone on with the hunting and recruiting.

Then she wouldn't be lying in there on a f.u.c.king table . . . possibly . . .

His throat thickened.

Every time he had come to see Cliff and Joe she had greeted him with a smile.

He combed his fingers through his hair. She was the reason he was able to visit Cliff and Joe as often as he did.

He remembered the first time he had seen her.

Bodies had littered the floor between them, broken but still breathing.

She had been down on the floor, arms covering her head protectively as she waited for the violence to end. Then her arms had fallen away, she had raised her head, and . . .

It had been like the sappiest chick flick ever made where the hero looked at the heroine and s.h.i.+t went all slow motion because she was The One and he knew it. The thump of his boots. .h.i.tting the industrial-strength vinyl flooring had echoed through the hallway as he had approached her.

She had stood her ground, beautiful brown eyes wide.

The woman had courage. A lot of it.

He had crowded her intentionally as she had let him into Vincent's room, wanting to touch her and feel her emotions. Sure there had been fear. Concern for the guards he had taken down. But she had not feared him so much as she had the situation.

And once he had seen Vincent . . .

He didn't know why, but her being there had helped him through that.

Don't tell them you called me, he had advised her. You don't want to be linked to me in any way. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all. I threatened you and forced you to open the door for me. You feared for your life.

She hadn't liked it, had tried to protest. But the guards had come and . . .

For days afterward, every time he had returned to the network he had felt her guilt, her regret that she had not stood up for him and defended him, her determination to never make that mistake again. What a balm that had been, soothing the wounds that had plagued him for over two centuries.

He should have ignored it.

He should have avoided visiting the network when he knew she was working instead of scheduling his d.a.m.ned visits so they would coincide with the time she spent with the vampires.

Perhaps she wouldn't have cared then. Perhaps, like the rest of them, she wouldn't have given a c.r.a.p if the drug harmed him and wouldn't have insisted on monitoring him.

This was all his fault.

"Seth would remind you of free will," etienne said from his position by the door.

Bastien drew his hands down his face and straightened. "What?"

The Frenchman looked uncomfortable. "Free will," he repeated. "Dr. Lipton chose to accompany you of her own free will."

Richart looked over at his brother. "She insisted, actually."

Ordinarily, Bastien would have kicked etienne's a.s.s for reading thoughts that were none of his business, but he was too d.a.m.ned tired. He hadn't mentioned it to the others, but he had been tranqed again while bringing Melanie's shooters to justice.

etienne swore.

Richart frowned. "What?"

"He's been tranqed."

"d.a.m.n it!" Bastien snapped. "Stay out of my head!"

Cliff straightened. "You were drugged again?"

"Maybe they did it," Joe said, his accusing gaze never straying from the twin immortals.

Bastien patted the boy's shoulder. "It wasn't them, Joe. It was the soldiers."

"The network soldiers," Joe spat.

"No. It was the mercenaries I told you about. The network soldiers are helping us fight them."

Cliff spoke up again. "You need to have one of the doctors examine you."

"I'm fine."

"You've been dosed three times tonight. First with the tranquilizer. Next with an experimental stimulant Dr. Lipton thought would kill you. Then again with the sedative. You should go see Linda."

Bastien shook his head.

He didn't know Linda. He didn't want to know Linda.

"She's awake," etienne said.

"Linda?" Of course she was. Bastien could hear her weeping.

"No, Isaac Newton. Dr. Lipton. And she's all right. There's no brain damage."

Bastien's heart began to pound. "How do you know?"

"Because she's thinking of you."

Chapter 8.

Melanie opened her eyes.

The bland walls of the OR swam into focus. Machines she had used to monitor numerous patients in the past hummed and beeped.

Where was Bastien?

She glanced around.

Linda sat beside her, her nose and cheeks blotchy pink, her eyes red-rimmed. She turned away and pulled a tissue from a box on the bedside tray.

Melanie looked beyond her. Dr. Whetsman stood across the room, his back to her, writing something in a patient file. Two more members of the medical staff bustled about, cleaning up the mess tending . . . her . . . had left behind?

Where was Bastien? Hadn't they been at UNC together?

Yes. Richart had been there, too. They had taken out a handful of vampires and then . . .

Someone had shot her in the chest.

The little line on one of the machines began to jump up and down faster.

Had mercenaries gotten him? Neither Bastien nor Richart had been aware of the soldiers' presence prior to them shooting her. Had the soldiers shot the immortals, too? Tranqed them? With none of the antidote on hand to combat the drug's effects . . .

"Where's Bastien?"

Linda let out a surprised gasp and spun around. "Lanie?"

"Where is he?"

So much fear darkened her friend's gaze. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Yes. It's Friday night. Or Sat.u.r.day morning, depending on the time."

"Sat.u.r.day morning. And the date?"

"It's the . . ." h.e.l.l, what was the date? "The fifteenth."

"Do you know how old you are?"

"Old enough not to want to voice it."

Linda burst into watery laughter, then lunged forward and hugged her. "Thank goodness. We were afraid . . ."

"What?"