Vampire Instinct (Vampire Queen #7)

She crawled back over to the stump, scooching down with her back against it. Her eyes never left the mangled form of the other Aboriginal girl, twitching in the sand.

Mal entered the enclosure. Elisa’s hand was on the girl’s ankle, her head turned toward Jeremiah. Her breath was labored, suggesting critical injury that would soon become excruciating pain. Still, it was a deep, soul-shuddering relief to see her eyes were open, though glazed with shock. Right before she’d challenged Leonidas, he’d seen her gripped by the post-traumatic stress of what had happened to her before, and he’d hoped it would freeze her in place, hold her there. Instead, she’d handed herself over to Leonidas. When her fledglings had come to her defense, she’d registered every blow given and taken, gripped with fear that she was going to see Leonidas tear them apart in front of her.

Only a mother thought like this. Only a mother could have managed to get past what had been done to her, shove it aside as if it were nothing more important than yesterday’s dirty laundry, and throw herself right in the middle of it for them. Only a mother could divide her mind that way, because nothing was more important to her than her children.

His mind went back to miles of dusty track, his mother’s back bowed under his weight when he couldn’t walk anymore, his feet frozen and bleeding. Scientists could call it what they wanted, a reproductive or biological imperative, but to anyone with a sense of God or a heart, it was love, pure and simple. Theories of obsession or misplaced guilt could be argued. Self-righteous do-goodery could be assigned to selfinterest with little effort. But nothing could dismiss true love.

He closed his eyes, something he’d never have done in the presence of a group of unpredictable fledgling vampires, but the power of that memory, one he hadn’t unlocked in so long, had the ability to knock him off his axis. Focus. Breathe, even though you don’t need to. Tightening his jaw, he opened his eyes, and resumed his assessment.

William was pretty banged up, whereas Jeremiah and Miah’s injuries were most severe. William had the wild, fierce look that male vampires had who’d been engaged in a mortal combat. His hands were still half-closed into fists, his stance more aggressive than he’d ever dared around Mal.

Don’t . . . hurt them. Please, Mal.

Unfortunately, a mother’s love could be so overwhelming she didn’t believe anyone else saw the truth that she did. Still, he felt another hard, shuddering wave of relief at the sound of her mind-voice, weak though it was. Be at ease, atsilusgi. As he moved across the compound, he gave William a nod, male to male. “You did well. Take Matthew to your room and close the door. The staff is coming to help and I need you out of the way.”

He didn’t say it unkindly. The boy nodded. Grasping Matthew’s arm, he brought him to his feet, murmuring something. Keeping his arm wrapped around him, he moved them to his cell. Mal knew it was a risk, but he was seeing some things with new eyes. He’d be willing to bet money that, even in bloodlust, William wouldn’t harm the smaller boy. And he was strong enough to handle Matthew if he had an attack.

Keeping an eye toward Nerida and Jeremiah, Mal knelt between the two females. Elisa was shaking, repeating that pleading mantra in her mind. She was terrified he would dispatch them when she lost consciousness, thinking they were all somehow responsible for this. The effort she was putting into it was monumental, given how little strength she had. It wasn’t misplaced. Anger filled him anew at the sight of her torn clothes, all the blood.

Moments before, he wouldn’t have trusted himself not to do exactly as she feared. But he was looking at five fledglings who’d undeniably risked their own lives to come to her defense.

Do you think I’m so heartless, Irish flower, that I can’t see what happened here?

Not heartless. Just . . . chronically practical.

“You are far too well educated for a maid,” he murmured in a gentle voice as his hands moved over her, confirming the damage. Two broken ribs. Her thighbone hadn’t snapped as he feared, only badly wrenched, so the ribs were the worst of it, though she had a number of open wounds, and her face was already swelling where Leonidas had first hit her.

A second-mark didn’t have the healing ability of the third-mark, but it was still considerable. If they had the ribs taped and the leg reset by a process he would make sure she wasn’t awake to experience, she should be herself again in a week or so. If she were his third-mark, he could give her blood, make it easier . . .

“Miah,” she rasped. “I’m all right, but check . . .”

“You won’t tell me what to do, or the order in which I do it.” But he couldn’t deny the raw look in those blue eyes. “I’m here, Elisa. Everything will be taken care of. All right?”

“Is she . . . going to make it? Her heart . . .”

He nodded. “Easy, girl.” Still, under her worried gaze, he laid a hand on the wounded female vampire. Leonidas had put his fist through the chest wall, and it was ugly and gaping, oozing blood. He’d been able to compress the heart with a battery of broken ribs, but he’d mainly punctured the lung. It explained her wheezing. It was not a pleasant injury for a vampire, and she’d need blood and recuperation time, but she’d be all right. Unfortunately, she’d be in excruciating pain for the hours of the mending. He hoped she remained unconscious as long as possible. She was going to need a great deal of fresh blood to expedite the healing, though he expected when the hands understood what had happened here, they’d all willingly donate. He already heard the three Jeeps pulling up, as well as Kohana’s ATV.

“I’ll give her my blood.” Still disoriented, she was trying to reach toward the girl. He caught her shoulders, holding her down as her face screwed up from the pain.

“No, you won’t. Elisa, you’re not thinking clearly. Lie still.”

“If I’m dying, what does it matter if I give them blood or not?”

“You are not going to die. Elisa, I mean it. Lie still.” He forced himself to sound like his irritable self and tapped her cheek, making sure her eyes riveted to his face. As they did, he stroked the tear tracks from the corners of her eyes. “You’re worse than a deaf hound.”

“Suppose that’s because I’m not a dog,” she mumbled with some of her usual spirit. The kind that usually bubbled around in her head, calling him a bloody galah, telling him to rack off, even as she stayed politeas-you-pleased to his face. It almost made him smile. Or do something worse and far less manly.

In point of fact, she was as loyal and courageous as any dog he’d ever met. Despite that, he frowned. “You’re forgetting which things you need to say to me in your head, and which you need to say with your mouth.”

Her limbs twitched, and a small cry forced its way out her stiff lips. “Mal, this hurts.”

“I know.” Putting his forehead against hers, he framed her face, closing his eyes. Her small hand brushed against his elbow, her soft, ragged sigh passing over the bridge of his nose, taking his comfort. “We’re going to take care of that. I’ll take care of everything. The fledglings will be cared for. You have my word. Sleep now, while we do that.”

She nodded. However, as her eyes closed and he reluctantly began to rise, she murmured something. He squatted again. “What?”

“Not your fault. You had to do it. So brave. It’s okay.”

Mal cocked his head. “Do what?”

She opened her eyes with obvious effort. “Jeremiah. He’s hurting . . . upset that he had to kill Leonidas. He said he was sorry.”

She gave a harrowing jerk then, a small spurt of blood seeping from her nose. Mal clasped her shoulders, holding her steady, his heart in his throat when consciousness left her. For a moment he thought he was wrong, that her wounds had been mortal and she was dying right in front of him. Reassuring himself, he tracked her pulse a moment more. When he stroked a matted curl from her face, passed a thumb over her lips, he noticed a tremor. In his own arm.

It startled him enough to rock him onto his heels. He gave himself a mental shake. There were things to do. Even so, it took a surprising amount of effort to rise, move toward the gate.

Kohana had the shotgun shouldered. The others were similarly armed with weapons, including crossbows. Not yet knowing what had happened, they were ready to shoot the lot of them like fish in a barrel. Every fledgling in the enclosure knew it. Nerida’s eyes were wide, her face mostly hidden in her knees as Chumani kept her crossbow trained on her. In his cell, William had shifted Matthew behind him.

What struck Mal was that the three vampires were braced for it. They recognized he might do what he’d thought best from the beginning, exterminate the lot of them. They had no expectation that he’d tell his staff the truth of what had occurred, or if that would even count for anything.

Jesus, Ruskin had been a bastard.

“They saved her life,” Mal said. “Took out Leonidas, all together.”

When it sank in, there were surprised looks, an easing of shoulders. He nodded, shifting to brisk efficiency, which he knew everyone would handle better than a riot of emotions right now. Particularly himself. He’d hired them for their pragmatic natures, after all, though perhaps Elisa would call it a contagious condition they’d caught from him. Chronically practical. Instead of the thought making him smile, it made his gut hurt worse.

“We’ll need a stretcher to take Elisa out of here. Kohana, she needs heavy sedation to keep her under while we set that leg and tape her ribs. Miah requires several quarts of blood, so get to the nearest supply shack for transfusion equipment and set up a triage here. I’ll carry her back into her enclosure and get everyone secured. Kohana, pull those extra blankets out of the back of Tokala’s Jeep we use as slings to transport sedated cats. Put a couple on Miah’s bed so we don’t bloody her sheets. Once she stabilizes, she’ll need a bath and a change of clothes . . .”

As he issued further directives, he turned his attention to Jeremiah. The boy hadn’t moved, though he’d stopped shaking. Now he was so still, they could pour mud over the two of them there and let them bake, a macabre piece of curious statuary.