Beloved Forever Part 8

"You will," he said with steely determination. "You do, but you've forgotten. With time-"

"I won't stay with you," she said.

His eyes were sad, and his voice was level. "I'll always find you, no matter where you go. I won't let you go. I can't."

A s.h.i.+ver ran through her at the tender possessiveness she saw in his expression. "You don't own me."

He shook his head. "I do. We're bound to each other. You own me as surely as I own you."

"I don't believe that. It's crazy."

"Your mind may not believe, but your body does."

Emily whimpered when he flipped their positions and pinned her underneath him. "No," she said as his lips touched hers. She wasn't sure whom she was speaking to-Nicholas or her own treacherous body-as desire spread through her. She wanted to push him away, but her mouth refused to listen to her brain. She eagerly returned his kiss, raking his lip with her fang. She flicked her tongue across the wound, lapping up the drops of blood before the puncture closed.

She murmured a protest when his hands ripped open the b.u.t.tons on the blouse, but didn't try to stop him. Instead, she buried her hands in his long hair and pulled him closer. Emily's thoughts became hazier as his hands moved over her body, until she had no thoughts of resisting. Touching him no longer seemed wrong. In fact, it became necessary. Her body clamored for him. Nicholas slid down the length of her after unfastening the bra. He kissed her stomach, near her bellyb.u.t.ton, and she arched against him. Emily's breath lodged in her throat when she felt his fangs penetrate her skin. When he drank her blood, her arousal increased, and she moaned.

He pulled away a moment later, pausing only to lick one of her nipples before returning to her lips. He kissed her opened mouth, sweeping his tongue inside. One of his hands settled on her hip, and the other took possession of her breast. He moved his mouth to her ear. "Do you want to taste me?"

She nodded, incapable of speaking. He rolled on his side and pushed her face against his chest, near his left nipple. Her tongue darted out, seeking the artery leading to his heart. She could hear the blood flowing in his veins, blotting out the hushed buzz of the other heartbeats around the city. At that moment, there was only the two of them.

She found the vein and punctured his skin with a quick slice of her fangs. He tensed underneath her, and she instantly recalled the feeling of power that surged through her the last time she fed on him. Tonight, it was tempered with a stronger need-the need to feel him inside her, to be joined with him.

Blood flowed into her mouth, and she vaguely remembered it was the remnants of Ron's life, but her disgust was fleeting and soon overwhelmed by the desire and hunger coursing through her. She wasn't as ravenous or savage as last night and could feel the blood flowing around her fangs in small spurts. The process was slower, although infinitely more sensual, but the taste wasn't as satisfying as the night before.

She pulled away and lifted her head, frowning. "You taste different."

He nodded. "The blood is tainted now. The best time for a proxy feeding is within an hour or two of consumption of fresh blood."

She jerked away from him. "He was alive last night. You killed Ron last night?"

He sighed. "I had drank lightly of him two nights before, but yes, last night I drained him to feed you."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Why him? Why someone I know? Why not a person off the street?"

Nicholas's mouth twisted. "As I've said, he was convenient. He meant nothing to me. Simply a means to an end."

When she realized she was still lying under him, Emily pushed him away and sat up. "How can you be so cruel?"

"I'm realistic, and if that makes me cruel, so be it." He waved his hand. "You'll learn to do what must be done."

"I would never hurt a friend."

He ran a hand through his hair as if attempting to restore order. "He wasn't my friend, if you recall. And don't be so certain of what you will or won't do when your survival depends on it."

"I can only die once." She glared at him and got to her knees. "You've already taken care of that."

He put his hand on her arm, keeping her from rising to her feet. "Wrong, my love. Do you remember what I told you earlier, before you became so...emotional? You can still die as a vampire. To starve todeath must be the worst way to go. It's even more terrible than decapitation or burning alive. Your civilized side tells you what I've done is wrong, but your true nature understands and embraces my acts."

His voice lowered an octave, and his eyes burned with a red glow. "You've been waiting for me to return all this time. Deep in your heart, you've known what you were and would be again. Deny it all you want, but I know what's inside you, Emily. I can hear your thoughts and feel your soul as clearly as my own."

She shrugged off his hand and stood up so quickly her head spun. "You don't know me or what I want.

I don't want any of this, and I don't want you."

"Liar," he accused in an amused voice. "I can smell how much you want me. I could follow you to your room and take you now."

"No."

He nodded. "Yes, and you know you wouldn't fight me. You want me as your lover. More than that, you need me to complete you. It's the same for me."

With a cry, she turned away from him and ran down the hall, struggling to block her thoughts from his.

Their blood exchange had renewed the bond between them, allowing him to easily feel what she felt, and think what she thought. She would be able to clearly feel him too, if her powers were fully developed.

In her room, she slammed the door and locked it from the inside. She knew the flimsy flip lock wouldn't keep him out if he chose to carry through on his threat, but felt more secure with it in place.

In her mind's eye, she could picture him breaking through the door and carrying her to the bed. Emily's thighs quivered, and she couldn't deny the rush of pleasure that accompanied the thought. She didn't understand her dark compulsions. How could she ache to belong to him? He had murdered her friends and taken her from everything she had known. She should hate him with all of her heart. So why did she continue to yearn for his touch?

With a frustrated cry, Emily hurried to the velvet drapes against the wall, tearing them down in a fit of rage, grinning at the ripping sound the fabric made. The new her seemed to revel in destruction, and it frightened a measure of control back into her.

Behind the curtain was a pair of locked French doors. She gathered her strength and kicked against the door, splintering the wood, sensing a means of escape. The ruined doors opened easily, and she stepped out onto the balcony.

The city sprawled out before her, farther than her eyes could follow. The lights hurt her eyes, causing her to close them. As soon as she did, her hearing increased tenfold. The sound of cars rus.h.i.+ng by easily reached her from four stories below. From the end of the next block, she could hear the muted screaming of a man cursing at someone, followed by a cry of pain that sounded feminine. Most of all, she could hear millions of heartbeats joined as one, echoing through her ears.

Her eyes snapped open when she remembered the urge she'd had several nights ago to hold a beating heart in her hand until it stilled. She had no urge to relive the vividness of that image and forced herself to concentrate on a glowing neon light two blocks away, until the thought pa.s.sed. She could see the sign as clearly as if she stood in front of it, and without her contacts. It was the first good thing she had discovered about her new state.

Casting a look over her shoulder, she wondered if Nicholas knew she was out here. She focused onemptying her mind and allowing only a tiny part to mull over how to escape.

She walked to the iron rail and glanced down. They were at least four stories up. If she jumped, she would surely die. Yet, a bullet through the brain hadn't kept her from living again, so would a fall? She didn't doubt it would be incredibly painful for a short time, but the pain seemed preferable to staying as Nicholas's captive. It was only a matter of time before her body gave in to its urgings. She couldn't allow that to happen.

Emily returned to the bedroom to retrieve her f.a.n.n.y pack from under the bed before taking her fleece jacket from the closet. As soon as she stepped inside, the roar of heartbeats settled to a muted murmur, and she wondered if Nicholas had caused that. She didn't want to wait around to ask him, she thought with a quirk of her lips.

Standing in the walk-in closet, she slipped off the ruined s.h.i.+rt and pulled on a plush lavender sweater.

Once she slipped on the jacket and fastened the pack, she returned to the balcony. With her first step outside, the mingled heartbeats flooded her senses again, making it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand, which would also make it difficult for Nicholas to read her thoughts.

She stumbled to the railing and took a deep breath, leaning over to look down, seeing an alley below.

She used her keen eyesight to scan the recesses, determining the alley appeared to be deserted. She also saw a fire escape just a few feet below and to the side of the balcony. If she could make it to the ladder, she wouldn't have to jump four stories onto cement.

Emily swung her leg over the railing and gripped it with both hands. Fear surged through her, and she was stuck for a moment, unable to continue, and unable to pull her leg over and go inside.

Finally, she remembered how to breathe again and slowly eased her other leg over the balcony. She maintained a white-knuckled grip on the railing as she eased each foot under the gap between the marble of the balcony and the rail. When she felt secure, she slid her hands down to the bal.u.s.trades and slowly sank to a crouch. She hung there for a moment, gathering her courage.

Emily grasped the bottom of the railing and dropped one foot from the balcony, into midair. Her left leg screamed in protest at its cramped position, and she moved it away from the tenuous support of the balcony.

She hung suspended from the balcony railing, with her feet flailing for a hold. Emily craned her neck and judged the distance to the ladder, groaning when she realized it was farther away than she had thought.

Her eyes fell on hunks of torn metal bolted to the side of the apartment building near the railing. Someone had deliberately ripped away the section of ladder connecting to the main escape.

Nicholas, of course.

She refused to cry out for help or attempt to get back in the room. Carefully, Emily slid her hand down the railing, releasing her left hand to move around a bal.u.s.trade and grasp the rail on the other side. The world spun when she hung four stories up by one hand, but righted itself with a false sense of security when she again grasped the iron rail with both hands.

Moving slowly, she worked her way to the edge of the balcony. When she had gone around the corner and was pressed against the wall of the brick apartment building, she drew in a painful breath and waited for the vertigo to pa.s.s, ignoring the burning pain in her arms while keeping her hands locked around the bal.u.s.trades at the same time as she kicked out with her left foot, attempting to connect with the ladder. She missed and returned to the wall. Emily took a deep breath, wincing as her lungs burned, and swung her entire lower body. Her left foot touched the ladder before falling away. Her body jerked when she returned to a hanging position. Her right hand loosened, and she cried out when she started to fall. She immediately tightened her hold and calmed down before swinging again, this time kicking off against the wall from an awkward, twisted angle.

She sobbed with relief when her left foot landed solidly on a rung. She wedged her boot sideways to keep from falling away and hung there between the railing and ladder without moving for several seconds.

Now what? She couldn't get her right foot on the ladder too. She simply wasn't tall enough, and the fire escape was too far away. She would have to let go of one of the bal.u.s.trades and reach for the ladder.

She choked back a cry and forced her left hand to relax its hold. As soon as she did so, she could feel herself sliding. She reached for the ladder and missed, causing her right hand to let go of the balcony railing. Emily started to fall and desperately tried to grasp the railing. She missed that too, and her foot slipped free from the rung.

She flailed her arms in an attempt to grab onto anything as she fell through the air. Nothing was within reach, and the ground rushed toward her. A scream tore from her throat as she fell past the first-floor window. She tried to brace herself for impact with the ground by putting an arm behind her head, but nothing prepared her for the pain that exploded up her legs, back, neck and head when she hit the concrete with a wet, smacking sound. The cracking sound of several of her bones breaking followed.

Agony swept over her in debilitating waves. Emily found herself unable even to cry out, and couldn't move at all. Her head filled with pressure, and she pa.s.sed out under the onslaught. Death quickly followed.

Chapter Six.

When Emily's eyes opened, she noticed she still ached everywhere. That her eyes had opened was a good sign, she decided, and tried to sit up. Her back protested, but she was able to move. She sat frozen for a long moment, figuring out what hurt and what didn't.

A constant dull twinge radiated from mid-back up to her shoulder blades. Her head throbbed with pain.

Her legs felt fine, as did her arms, hands, feet and fingers. She lifted a hand to touch the back of her head and grimaced at the squis.h.i.+ness she found. She could feel her skull firming under her fingers.

Emily looked around her, wincing as her neck popped when she turned her head. The alley remained deserted, aside from a moving ma.s.s in a pile of boxes nearby. It was too small to be human, so she chose not to investigate.

The night sky was darker, but a steady stream of cars and people continued to move down the street.

She didn't have a watch, but estimated she had been out between thirty minutes and an hour.

The pain in her back had almost faded, and she eased herself into a standing position. The throbbing in her head had diminished to a slight ache, and the bone felt firm when she touched it. Emily blanched when she looked down to where she had fallen. A huge red stain, still glistening in places, marred the spot. Bits of tissue were mixed into the mess, along with bone fragments. She clamped a hand over her mouth to fight down nausea and took a step backward. Even before she had turned away, she saw several rats peeking out of their box camouflage. A daring one-fat and greasy, with dark-brown fur-walked boldly to the stain and sniffed it.

She shuddered and turned away, putting several feet between herself and the rats. A few feet before she stepped onto 6th Street, according to the green sign, she paused. She must look like she had fallen from a four-story balcony. Blood had surely drenched the back of her clothes, and she didn't want to speculate about what else had matted her hair.

She shrugged off the fleece coat and held it up to examine it in the meager light filtering from the street.

Dark stains had soaked through so deeply into the weave that they appeared to be part of a gruesome dying process. She turned the jacket inside out and found it was mildly better. She slipped it on, unable to hold back a sound of disgust when the stained side clung to the fuzzy sweater, and drying blood-the consistency of gel-soaked through to her skin.

After she stuffed as much hair as possible under the hood of the jacket, Emily checked for her f.a.n.n.y pack, then plunged into the foot traffic of 6th Street. She kept her head down, but her eyes moved constantly to watch those walking with her. A cold sweat trailed down her face, and she was shaking with hunger. Their heartbeats ricocheted in her head until she wanted to clamp her hands over ears and scream. She resisted the urge, knowing she was drawing enough attention already.

Ahead, at the corner of Bleecker and 6th, she saw a street vendor with jackets and s.h.i.+rts. She turned west on Bleecker and pushed her way toward his cart, grabbing an "I ? New York" s.h.i.+rt at random, along with a black hoodie. The lights were hurting her eyes, and she added a pair of sungla.s.ses to the pile.

The clerk was staring at her, with his mouth half-opened. Two gold teeth were visible among the s.h.i.+ning white teeth that contrasted so vividly with his dark skin. "That be all?"

She nodded and avoided his eyes.

"Thirty-seven dollars," he said.

She didn't bother to haggle over the price, even though it cut into her cab money. She fumbled for the money and handed him exact change. "Is there a gas station near here?"

He nodded and pointed. "Keep going down Bleecker, 'til you get to MacDougal. There's an all-night station there."

"Thanks." She gave him a quick smile and took the clothes, not bothering to wait for a sack. Emily hurried through the pedestrian traffic, anxious to be somewhat inconspicuous as soon as possible. It was only a matter of time until Nicholas discovered she had left, and if he remained true to everything he had said, he would come after her. She wanted to be far away from New York City as soon as possible.

The station came into sight, and she started jogging, pus.h.i.+ng aside a couple of people in her rush. She heard someone shout obscenities behind her, but ignored them. At the crosswalk, she crossed with several others. Halfway across the street, one of the girls tripped.

Emily almost fell over her, and skidded to a stop, swaying, inches from the girl. She watched as a boyknelt beside her to examine the cut on her knee. She licked her lips when she saw the blood flowing, and her stomach rumbled. With a cry, she hurried around them and across the street, running through the lot to the outdoor bathrooms around the side of the white station.

She cursed when she found the k.n.o.b locked. Emily looked over her shoulder and saw no one nearby.

She grasped the handle and twisted firmly, feeling it slowly give under her hand. With a cracking sound, the doork.n.o.b turned freely, and she pushed against the door, stepping inside.

It was a one-person bathroom, without a stall for privacy. She had the room to herself, to her relief.

Halfway through breaking the lock, she had briefly wondered if it wasn't locked by station policy, but because someone was inside.

She looked at herself in the mirror, alarmed to see how pale she was. She felt weak, and her body cried out for sustenance. Emily knew what she needed, but denied it, telling herself it was all in her head while she slipped off the jacket and sweater. She wet a paper towel and washed her face and hair as best she could. Blood had spattered her neck, and she washed that area with a fresh towel.

More blood was on her stomach, where several of her ribs had punctured the skin. Faint lines remained, but they were the only indication of a wound. The bones felt whole and strong under her probing fingers.

She didn't bother to remove the jeans and wash her legs. She knew her right leg must be covered with blood, because there was a hole in the denim and a bloodstain, indicating her bone had punctured skin and material alike in the fall. It felt fine now, and she had no fresh pants, so didn't take time to investigate.

She found a small travel brush and hand lotion in her pack. She used the brush to smooth her hair before rubbing handfuls of the raspberry-scented lotion over her body and through her hair, hoping to partially disguise the scent of blood. After returning the items to her pack, she slid on the dark gla.s.ses. Her eyes immediately felt better.

When she had cleaned up as best she could, Emily slipped on the white T-s.h.i.+rt and black hoodie, and then tucked her hair inside the hood. She stuffed the ruined sweater and jacket in the trash before leaving the bathroom.

Emily crossed the street again and got back on Bleecker, hoping to hail a taxi. One sped by, but ignored her raised arm. She continued walking, and Il Mulino caught her eye. She was starving for a plate of spaghetti. Just from the scent wafting from the restaurant, she could almost taste the warm marinara, paired with perfect al dente noodles and plump meatb.a.l.l.s.

She gagged when her imagination changed the meal to worms wriggling in her mouth, covered with blood, and served with eyeb.a.l.l.s. She lost all appet.i.te for Italian food as she continued on her way, spotting three taxis in a row in front of the building housing Terra Blues, and sprinting the half-block distance to ensure that at least one remained available.

She chose the first one and slipped into the back.

The cabbie craned his neck to look at her. He was in his forties and of Mediterranean descent. "Where to, miss?"

"Can you take me to Huxley? It's about forty miles from Goshen."

He whistled and looked at his dash clock. "I'm due to go off-duty in twenty minutes. That'll take acouple of hours, one-way."

"Please? I really need to get there." She opened her f.a.n.n.y pack and counted the money. "I'll give you one hundred forty-three dollars and seventeen cents."