Anne Brontë Nightwalker

Chapter 48

I drift in a world of emptiness. Fear recedes to a pinprick and there are faces swimming up to me out of the dark. Charlotte, Papa, Elizabeth, Maria. Mama. Is she waiting for me upon the threshold of heaven? Or am I en route to hell?

Sweet oblivion seduces me. It is greater than hunger. To be nothing forever—what a gift.

But not yet, Anne. Not yet, a voice inside my head whispers loud as God.

With all my will, I cling to consciousness. My fingers search for the Leatherman at my waist, sliding it off my belt. Webb's teeth are locked in my neck and his stomach clenches against my back as he sucks my blood. One hand claws at my pants while the other gropes for his own and tugs them open.

Blindly, I fumble the multi-tool apart until I feel the sharp edge of a blade. Then I reach back and jam the knife deep between Webb's ribs.

He howls and falls off me, but I turn on him and drive the blade into the crook of his thigh, missing the artery by a hair's breadth. Incredulous, he kicks me away and climbs to his feet, when a blast of sound crashes through the night, knocking him back.

Shots ring out, louder and louder and I am back in Crimea, bullets flying, mortars falling. I'm scrambling for cover, ears ringing, crawling through the snow. Where, I'm not sure. The world's gone dark and hazy as if I'm a prisoner of the underworld. A doomed Inanna. I try to crawl, but cannot even rise to my knees. All my strength has fled. Another blast rings out then strong arms grab me, jerking me to my feet.

Let me go! I try to scream, but the words don't come.

"Bell, it's me. Santos." At the sound of his voice I stop struggling and wait for my vision to clear. "My God," he says, "you're drained."

"Where's Webb?" I whisper.

"He ran like a little bitch."

Santos throws my arm around his shoulder and we move quickly through the forest. Fast. He's moving too fast. The ground lurches beneath me as I struggle to remain conscious. Everything's a blur and I can't catch my breath. I need to rest but he holds me fast. Then the slick, cool vinyl of a seat catches me and a door is slamming, an engine revving. I am in the backseat of a squad car. We are speeding away.

Tires slide out and the car regains itself.

"Bell, are you okay? Look at me. Open your eyes!"

Santos.

I peer through the wire-meshed window separating us but all I see is a dark blur. Red and blue lights throb across the forest reminding me of flashing fireworks. How America loves her fireworks.

And freedom.

"Stay with me. Hold on."

I close my eyes and drift off. I'm so bone tired all I want is to sleep.

Time to sleep.

A fist slams the window separating the backseat from the front. I open my eyes. "Hold the fuck on, Bell!" Santos yells at me. "William is waiting. He knows what to do."

William? My first kiss. My last kiss. For him, I will stay awake. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I am panting. It's my hemoglobin, struggling to keep up, but there's too little of it, too much blood loss. I need oxygen, blood. A transfusion. No hospitals! Where's Webb? Did Santos shoot him? I want to ask, but don't have the strength to speak.

The car squeals around a sharp turn, slamming me back against the seat. Nausea rises in my throat. Each turn steals my breath and grates my broken bones against each other. "Slow down," I moan. "You're going to kill us."

We hit the interstate and he punches it. Red and blue lights burn my eyes, and I close them. Santos is on the phone, barking out a stream of questions.

"Why not a hospital? You want me to go where? Will, are you fucking crazy? Yes, I trust you. Okay, Will, okay."

William is waiting. I'll see him soon if I can stay awake, but I'm so sleepy.

A wailing siren startles me from sleep. With a jerk, I open my eyes to see the flash of an intersection and city lights morphing into a wave of light. Then there is only darkness and trees and the thrum of his engine tearing down a forest road. Santos is on the phone, getting directions. Eventually the car slams to a stop, almost throwing me to the floor. I hear him mumble, "I can't fucking believe this," before slowly pulling forward.

I glance out the window and see an iron gate receding into the forest as we drive through it. "Where are we?" I moan and then I remember . . . the secret back entrance to the Biltmore.

"What the fuck?" Santos says. "What the hell is she doing here?"

The back door is yanked open and the hinges groan.

"What happened to her?" It's Emily. She is climbing in, placing my head on her lap, stroking my forehead. "What the hell happened?" she yells to Santos.

"He got her. The Alpha or whatever the fuck you call him. He had her by the throat. Just like fucking Afghanistan."

Emily is here and I relax beneath her touch. "I thought you'd left." My voice comes out a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"Tracking someone."

"No, Em." I grasp her arm. "Not William. He's mine."

"Hush, sister. It's not him I want."

"Then who?"

She brushes the hair off my face. "Rest, sister." Her voice is soft and soothing and I remember being a little girl, Mama dead, and Emily, herself so small, holding me in her arms, cooing to me.

She does that now. "It's okay, Anne. It's going to be okay."

I smile. Because the last time she said this to me, it all turned out very badly indeed.