Be Still My Vampire Heart(84)

 

The poodle barked, loud and shrill. The dog's owner shouted and yanked on its leash. They hurried away.

 

The door behind her slammed open.

 

She dropped onto the table and turned. Light spilled into the storeroom from the wine cellar, along with the smell of sausage and eggs. In the doorway, a bulky black shadow loomed.

 

"Brouchard said you would be trouble." Hubert entered the room. His accent was as thick as his neck and arms.

 

He charged, bellowing like a bull. Emma remained on the table. She landed a good kick to his chest, but it only slowed him down. He grabbed one of her ankles and yanked. She fell onto her rear, but used the momentum to roll back, then forward. She kicked Hubert hard in the gut. He stumbled back. She jumped to the floor, whipped the knife from her belt, and lunged forward. The knife slid in with horrifying ease. He cried out, then collapsed backward onto the floor.

 

Emma stood over him, the bloody knife in her hand, and her stomach churning. Shit. She was used to killing vampires. They didn't bleed like this. They simply turned to dust. Hubert writhed on the floor, moaning.

 

"Hang on. I'll get an ambulance." She'd find her way to Angus's security men on the Champs-Elys. But first there were four vampires in the next room who needed to be staked. Angus's knife would work just fine. She strode toward the door.

 

A board slammed into her face. She fell back onto her rear as lightning jolts of pain zigzagged across her face. Her eyes saw double for a second, then focused on one man standing in the doorway. He was small and thin.

 

"You made a fatal error, ch.I am Hubert. And I am prepared for the likes of you."

 

She scrambled to her feet, but he swung the board at her head once again. She collapsed to the side. Her head throbbed. The knife tumbled from her hand.

 

With a groan, she turned her head to see him. His figure wavered as pain shot through her.

 

He withdrew a syringe from his coat pocket. "I should kill you for what you did to my dear Rolfe." A stream of liquid squirted from the needle.

 

Emma willed her body to stand up and fight, but her brain was too battered to get the orders out. She felt the floor beside her. Her fingers touched the hilt of the knife.

 

"But my master wants you alive. So I will only make you sleep." He stepped toward her. She struck at his shins with her feet, and he stumbled back.

 

"Bitch!" He leaped on top of her and stabbed the syringe into her neck. Instantly his face grew hazy.

 

He leaned forward, sneering at her. "You should not have made me angry. Now I will have to play with you while you sleep."

 

With a great surge of effort, she plunged the knife into his back.

 

He shrieked and twisted, trying to reach the knife. He fell beside her, his body contorting.

 

Her eyelids drooped. She almost welcomed the drugged sleep, for it numbed the throbbing pain.

 

Hubert grew still beside her. A sense of doom spread through her as the drug dragged her into oblivion. She'd failed Angus once again.

 

Angus awoke with the surge of energy that jolted his body every evening at sunset. With his first deep breath, he was accosted by the hideous smell of foul, congealed blood, which meant one thing: death. His heart constricted. No, not Emma!

 

He scrambled to his feet while his eyes adjusted to the dark room. His metal flask was on the floor. And there were three bodies. The devil take it, what had happened? He rushed to the first body. It was a huge man with a knife wound to the chest. He'd bled out on the cold stone floor. The smell of spoiled blood turned Angus's stomach.

 

He staggered to the next pair of bodies. A slim man lay dead with thesgian dubh in his back. The blood within him had congealed to a slimy goop, unfit for consumption. Beside him was Emma. Her heart was beating, slow and steady. Angus's relief was cut short by one look at her face. The bastards! Her face was a mass of bruises and lumps. Poor lass. She must have fought for her life while he'd rested nearby totally oblivious. He cursed his inability to protect her during the day.

 

He heard sounds from the wine cellar. The enemy was stirring. If only he had enough energy to grab Emma and teleport out, but he was too weak from hunger.

 

"Puir lass, I'm so sorry," he whispered, touching her face. The smell of her sweet blood triggered an instant response. Hunger flooded in. He grabbed his knife and stumbled back to his flask on the floor. He opened the top with shaking fingers. Pain lanced his gums where his fangs strained to surge out. A vampire's hunger was always worst when he first awoke.

 

He gulped down Blissky. Slowly his hunger was quenched. His fangs retreated and relaxed. God, how he hated being a slave to this hunger. It was why he always carried an extra supply of synthetic blood in his flask. As the last drop slid down his throat, he reveled in the renewed strength that coursed through his body. He was powerful once again. He would save Emma.