A tall man in pale gray clothing stood a few feet away, staring at an electronic tablet of some sort.
Fear struck as she closed her eyes.
This was not the infirmary in the headquarters of the human network that aided Immortal Guardians. Nor was it the infirmary in one of Seth’s or David’s homes. And the man muttering to himself not far away was definitely not a Second rendering aid or one of the human network’s physicians.
When she peeked again, she noticed a still form covered by a sheet on a table not far away.
She closed her eyes. Fury replaced fear.
Gershom, the powerful enemy the Immortal Guardians had recently defeated, had once worked with Russian mercenaries. He had also twisted part of the American military into doing his bidding. Had a new enemy arisen to take his place? Another mercenary group, perhaps, eager to get their hands on an Immortal Guardian so they could use the virus that infected them to create a race of supersoldiers they could hire out to the highest bidder?
It wouldn’t be the first time.
But how had they gotten their hands on her? And where was she? Was this a mercenary compound?
Immortal Guardians in North Carolina had destroyed two or three mercenary groups in recent years. But she had not been aware of any such troubles arising in Texas, where she had been stationed for a couple of years now.
She searched her scattered memories for an explanation. Had she been hunting? Though Gershom had been defeated, the vampire population remained unusually high. So high she and most of her brethren hunted in pairs to ensure they could defeat the larger numbers they encountered on a nightly basis.
Had mercenaries engaged in a hunt of their own, hiding until they came upon her after a kill? Was the body on that other bed a vampire? Dread suffused her. Or was it her hunting partner? Had they killed Nick? Or Rafe?
Try though she might, she could find no memory of such nor of being captured.
Logic intruded. It couldn’t be one of her brethren or a vampire. The body would’ve already deteriorated by now if it were. So it must be some other poor victim. Perhaps a human the vampires had been feeding upon when Eliana had attacked?
Cracking her lids once more, she checked to see if the man in gray was facing away from her, then tried to move.
She was so weak!
Her rage increased. Only one substance on the planet could render her this weak and steal her memory: the only tranquilizer that affected both Immortal Guardians and vampires. The one created by humans to torture Ami when she’d been held prisoner in that government-funded research installation. And only enemies of the Immortal Guardians had possessed the tranquilizer in the past. Which meant this bastard was a mercenary and was also probably one of several who had been torturing her.
Fortunately, the drug was beginning to wear off.
A female voice emerged from a speaker somewhere above Eliana, but the cadence of her words sounded a little off, as if she were a computer or Siri or the like.
The man mumbled more foreign words, reached for something, and turned to face her. In one hand, he held what appeared to be a syringe with a long needle.
No way in hell was she going to let that bastard tranq her again.
The female voice spoke again.
The man paused, then moved closer. His brows drew down as he leaned over her.
The moment he reached toward her face, Eliana struck.
Pain forced a cry from her lips as she thrust one hand out and knocked the needle from his grasp. She fisted the other hand in his shirt and yanked hard.
Yelping, the man lost his balance and fell half on top of her.
Before he could recover, she raised her head, let her fangs descend, and sank them into his neck.
The man spat out what she suspected was a curse word and struggled for a moment, then relaxed against her. When the virus that infected her had made her immortal, glands had formed above her fangs that released a substance not unlike GHB under the pressure of a bite. That chemical now lulled her torturer into complacency and would rob him of any memory of the attack.
She moaned as her fangs drew his blood directly into parched veins. The beat of her struggling heart strengthened. Soon the virus would go to work, repairing what damage it could until she could find another blood source.
The man grew heavy upon her. His eyelids slowly closed. His knees buckled.
Eliana was so weak she couldn’t hold him upright. Retracting her fangs, she cursed as he slid off her and sank to the floor. She lay still for a moment. The peculiar symbiotic virus that had usurped her immune system would first race to repair whatever it deemed most important in terms of securing her survival. Normally that would mean healing her damaged ribs. But apparently this time it heeded her fight-or-flight reflex and began to restore strength and mobility to her legs.
Heart pounding, she struggled to sit up. The effort it took to do so infuriated her. Sending the unconscious man a scathing look, she scooted off the edge of the bed until her feet touched the floor.
Her knees immediately buckled, tumbling her down atop the man in gray.
More pain shot through her.
Eliana ground her teeth and barely succeeded in holding back a cry.
No time to rest. You have to move, she counseled herself. Now. She didn’t know how much time she might have before one of the other mercenary doctors strode through the door.
When she braced her hands on the man and pushed herself up, her fingers brushed something hard. She glanced down. A weapon was strapped to his thigh.
Eliana hastily unholstered the firearm and held it up. She frowned. It was unlike any handgun she had ever seen. The barrel was larger, making her wonder what the hell caliber bullets it shot. It was also light, boasting no more weight than a pencil.
Was it made of plastic?
It felt like metal, but… Again she marveled at how light it was.
Shaking her head at herself, she reached up and gripped the edge of the bed. The muscles in her left arm and leg shook with effort as she forced her beleaguered body to rise. Breath emerging in pained pants, she started toward the door. Her right leg would not fully support her weight, forcing her to grip every surface she passed to help her remain upright. Each jagged limp sent pain racing up her side. But she had to move. She had to leave. She had to find a way out of this damned compound before the mercenaries realized she was awake.
Though the rest of her body struggled to function, her preternatural senses seemed to work just fine. Both her ears and nose assured her that the hallway outside this room was empty.
Pausing in the doorway, she looked left, then right. White floor. White walls. White ceiling. The hallway curved at each end instead of forming right angles.
Silently she swore. She had really hoped to find a window or two she could simply raise or break and dive out of. Now she’d have to wander around in search of a damned exit.
Hobbling out into the hallway, she performed a mental coin toss, then headed right.
As Dagon stared at the stars that stretched before them, he instead saw Eliana’s pale features, frozen in death. The bridge was silent, the mood as somber as though they had just witnessed the death of one of their own. When he had returned, every face had swung toward him with excitement and hope, then had fallen when he announced that they had arrived too late.
His men appeared to be almost as despondent as he was. It said much about Eliana that just a few brief conversations could make so many care for her.
“Janek,” he said, “continue searching for other communications. Let us see if we can’t locate some of her friends in their escape pods.”