Twilight Hunger

"Wait!"

The phone went dead, and for an instant, Max felt panic creeping up her spine and wrapping its cold claw around her brain. But only for an instant. She shook it away, stiffened her spine, depressed the telephone's cutoff, and then dialed star-six-nine.

The mechanical voice recited the digits of the last number to call the line she was on. It was the number of the hotel. The vampire hadn't been lying about that.

Then maybe he'd been telling the truth about Lou, as well.

She slammed the phone down, ran to the door. She had to get to him, help him.

Then she stopped still as she stood facing her sister's room, seeing her lying there in the bed, helpless. Why had Dante told her what he had? Out of the kindness of his heart? No. He wanted her to leave her sister unguarded.

Dammit! How was she supposed to choose between her sister's life and Lou's?

It occurred to her then that she didn't really need to choose.

She went back into the waiting room, picked up the telephone, dialed 9-1-1, then told the dispatcher where Lou was and that he was near death from blood loss.

Then she dug in her jeans' pocket for that other number. The one that sleaze-bag Stiles had given her. As she dialed, she hoped that whatever Lou had done to the bastard to keep him tied up with the local police all night had failed.

It was very dark, like standing outdoors on a still night, in a thick fog. Mists swirled, and Morgan floated, without the will or the strength to move. The girl with the spiky blond hair floated out of the mists, looked at Morgan and said, "Hey. I know you."

Morgan shook her head slowly. "No."

"Yes. You're her. I heard Maxie talking about you."

Her head lifting slowly, Morgan asked, "You know Max?"

"You're the long-lost sister, right?" The blonde smiled. But then her smile slowly died. "Max keeps telling me to come back. And I want to go back. I just can't find the way."

Morgan sighed, every part of her too tired even to nod her head. "I know the way," she said. Her words were slow, expressed more as a sigh than a sentence, and that only with effort. "But I don't have the strength."

Tilting her head to one side, the blonde said, "Gee, do you suppose we could help each other? I mean, work together?"

"I don't think it works that way. I'm supposed to die, I've always known it."

"I don't think so. I mean, have you seen how fast some of them come through this place?"

God, her head was heavy. So tired. "I haven't seen anyone."

"What do you mean? Of course you have. Look! There goes one now!"

Morgan saw only a streak of light flash across the deep blue backdrop of the swirling silvery mists. "I thought those were shooting stars."

"Uh-uh. I've been watching them. I think they're just like us. Only they know where they're going. And we're kind of... stuck. Because we don't. That must mean something. Right?"

Morgan shrugged, too tired to care.

"Look, I'll help you. I'm strong, I'm just lost. I'll help you, and you tell me the way. All right?"

"I... can't."

"Sure you can."

The blonde bent down and clasped Morgan's hand. Energy melted into her, a pool of life. The girl tugged gently, and Morgan rose to her feet as if weightless.

"Now," she said. "Which way?"

Morgan surfaced slowly, unsure what was going on, knowing only that she ached for Dante. God, where was he? Why hadn't he come for her?

She couldn't raise her head to look around the hospital room, and her hearing was distant, as if all sound was muffled. She saw through cloudy vision as Maxine, her sister, spoke to Lydia and David.

"They'll be bringing Lou into the ER any minute. Please, go down there and wait for him. And if... if it's really bad... come back for me. Otherwise, though... "

"We understand," David said, his eyes solemn. "Be careful, Max."

Max nodded, and Morgan wondered what was going on. What had happened to Lou Malone? And why did David feel the need to warn Max?

He must be afraid Dante would come for her. Oh, God, Morgan thought desperately, please let him come for me!

After David and Lydia left the room, Maxine opened the closet door, stepped inside it and closed it again.

What in the world... ?

Morgan waited silently, her heart hammering. The lights were all turned out. The glow of the various monitors surrounding her bed painted the skin of her hands with a faint green tint. It seemed to Morgan that she could hear every tick of the clock as she waited, waited, wondering what her sister was up to.

The window slid open. A soft breeze moved the curtains. They danced like ghosts; then a dark form climbed through. Morgan's heart leapt in her chest as Dante landed on the floor easily. He looked at her, met her eyes, and everything in her seemed to sing. She wanted to speak, to cry, to leap up and run into his arms, but she couldn't move, couldn't speak. A tear welled in her eye, rolled onto her cheek. Dante saw it, and it seemed to Morgan that love shone in his eyes as he hurried to her bedside without even looking around first. His long, slender hand stroked Morgan's hair away from her face. And Morgan saw the glimmer of a tear on his cheek, shining in that greenish glow.

"I'm here," he whispered. "It's all right now, my love. I'm here."

He bent to press his lips to hers, and she tasted his kiss only briefly. The door burst open suddenly, and Dante jerked his head away.

Frank Stiles, the scarred man, burst in from the hall, as three other men-his cohorts it seemed-appeared as well, two from the adjoining bathroom, another from behind the bed curtain. Weapons were drawn, aimed at Dante, and Maxine stepped out of the closet. "Back away from her, Dante," she ordered.

Morgan's heartbeat raced. She tried to form words, lifted a hand in weak protest, but she was ignored.

"You don't know what you're doing," Dante said softly, staring at Morgan, his eyes gleaming with emotion. "Please, she's going to die, Maxine. Your sister is going to die unless you let me help her."

"I'm sorry. I don't believe a word you say, Dante. Not after what you did to Lou."

Lou? Morgan wondered. What had Dante done to Lou?

Stay calm, my love. Malone is fine, I promise you. Dante's thoughts rang in her mind, soothing. Stay alive. I'll come back for you, I swear it.

He started to turn for the window.

Stiles fired a weapon, and Morgan caught her breath. It wasn't an explosion but a small pop, as his gun shot a dart into Dante's shoulder. Whatever it was, it worked instantly. Dante buckled, dropped to his knees. One of the other men yelled, "It works!"

Dante looked up at Maxine with pained eyes. "For the love of God, don't let this happen."

Max moved closer to him. "You blew your shot at getting any sympathy from me when you attacked Lou Malone. He was the only one who wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, you know. The only one who wanted to help you. And you turned on him."

"You don't realize what you've done." He turned his gaze from hers to Morgan's, his eyes filled not with sorrow, but with promise. He would come back, he would find a way. He swore it to her without speaking a word.

"Get back, Ms. Stuart. We'll take it from here," Stiles said. He nodded to one of his men, who opened a pack and took out a rope with several pulleys and latches attached. He tied off one end and dropped the other out the window.

Maxine backed off.

"You're just fortunate we weren't detained by the police after all," Stiles went on. "Luckily your boyfriend the cop only had one pair of handcuffs on him. He had to leave one of my men free, who managed to free us before the police showed up."

One of the men bent over Dante, who was completely unconscious now. As Morgan watched in horror, unable to do a thing to help besides move one finger over and over on the call button at her pillow, the man snapped a belt around Dante, then flung him easily over his shoulder. "Ready, sir."

A nurse stepped into the room from the hallway, went still, eyes wide, and said, "Just what the hell is going on in here?"

"We're Ms. De Silva's private security team, ma'am. This man broke in here. We're taking him right back out again." Stiles wiggled his gun like a finger, and the nurse's face drained of color as she looked at his scarred face. "Now you just stay quiet until we're gone, hmm?"

The nurse backed into the hall, turned and ran, shouting for security. The big guy who had Dante over his shoulder sat on the windowsill with his back to the open window, the rope in his gloved hands. He put his feet to the windowsill, pushed off, then rappelled down the side of the building with Dante anchored over his shoulder. The others clambered out just as quickly, bagging their weapons and taking them. They were gone in seconds, as if they had never been there. Almost.

Maxine went to the window, removed the rope and dropped it after them. Then she closed the window and returned to her chair, sinking down tiredly.

Two hospital security men dressed like cops, came crashing through the door, looking ready for all-out war. Maxine looked up at them as if vaguely irritated. "What is this?"

"We were told there were armed men in this room, ma'am." The leader jerked his head, and the other man went through the room, the closet, the adjoining bathroom, checking everywhere and finding nothing and no one. He even looked out the window, but Stiles and his cronies were too fast to be spotted so easily. And well hidden in their black clothes, on a night as dark as this one.

"Armed men?" Max asked. She faked an incredulous laugh. "I suggest you have whoever told you that fairy tale tested for drugs," she said. "There's been no one here for hours."

Frowning, the men muttered among themselves and finally left her alone, but Morgan noticed one of them remained in the hall outside the door, just to keep an eye on things.

Maxine sighed, and she closed her hand around Morgan's, glancing down at Morgan's face and finally realizing that Morgan's eyes were open and staring straight into hers.

Morgan strained to force words, and even then, only the barest whisper emerged. "You get him back," she rasped. "Or I'll die hating you for this, Max. I swear I will."

Dante's captors sat around a table, smoking, talking in low tones. Dante had been rendered temporarily unconscious by the drug, whatever the hell it had been, but already its effects were wearing off. He was still weak. Far from fighting strength, but at least he was awake. Able to listen, smell, try to discern his surroundings. He was on a table, he thought. Flat and hard. His arms and legs were restrained. He smelled only tobacco smoke and the moldy, musty smell of age and disuse. He opened his eyes a mere slit and saw bare lathe and crumbling plaster, spiderwebs and broken boards. Shattered windows with razor shards of glass still in them. An abandoned house?

"The drug works. You did it, Frank. You reproduced the old Rogers formula perfectly!"

"Yeah, and just in time, too. Man, he went down fast," another man said.

Stiles spoke next. His voice was beginning to become familiar to Dante. Familiar... and hated. "It works, but we have no idea how well, or for how long. I only had partial notes on the process. The rest were destroyed in the fire."

"Well, he's out," said one of the others. "That says all I need to know."

"Then you're a fool."

The men went quiet for a moment. Then, "What are we going to do with him, boss? You said we weren't ready to keep prisoners yet."

"We aren't. The cells in our new headquarters aren't even finished. And even when they are, capturing them will never be our goal. I want you to remember that, men. That's where we differ from the old DPI. Our mission is to eliminate them. Wipe them out. The entire race. However, keeping a few for experimentation will help hone our weapons for maximum effectiveness."

Dante suppressed a shudder. This man was single-handedly re-establishing the DPI-and making it more bloodthirsty than ever.

"This one, though, we kill. But we can at least keep him alive long enough to see how the tranquilizer works. He might as well serve our purposes before we slice him open and watch him bleed out."

Gently, Dante gave an experimental tug on the restraints. They felt solid, and he sensed he wasn't yet strong enough to break them. And then he wondered why he even bothered to try. If he couldn't save Morgan, what was the point? God, why had he waited so long to acknowledge the bond between them? She hadn't. She had known it for what it was from the very start. She was his. Meant to be with him. It had taken him centuries to find her. And now she was being taken from him. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

"Go see if he's still out," Stiles ordered.

Footsteps came closer. Dante relaxed his features, lay perfectly still, limp.

"Still out," the man called.

"Make sure," Stiles said.

The man was quiet for a moment. Dante heard him puffing on his cigarette. Then the puffing stopped, and Dante felt heat near his neck. It got hotter, and then the tip of the cigarette pressed to his skin. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying out as the skin seared. Pain screamed through him. He did not react. He couldn't, or they would kill him. And dammit, then it really would be over. But as long as he drew a breath and she still lived, there was a chance. Slight, but real. Very real. He had to survive, escape and get to Morgan.

The hot brand moved away, but its bum remained, sizzling skin cells. Dante smelled his own burned flesh.

"I'm sure," the man said. "He's really out."

Morgan lay very still in the bed, watching, too weak to do more. Even speaking exhausted her. She wasn't going to live much longer; she knew that with a dire certainty. And she didn't care. Dante. He was all she cared about. God, if she couldn't be with him, then death was a far more desirable prospect than that of life without him. But she could not bear the thought of him in the hands of those evil men. She couldn't bear it.

Tears slid down her face in utter silence as she lay there, unable to howl her anguish. Her longing for him was so deep and so sharp that it cut into her very soul. And the pain was unbearable. She barely heard her so-called sister as the girl sat beside her, telling her all the reasons why she'd had to betray the man Morgan loved. He'd shot her best friend, she said. He had attacked Lou. He was a killer. They were words. Far less convincing, less moving, to her than the words of a madman on the pages of a diary.

The door opened. Morgan watched with dying eyes as Lou Malone walked in, a bandage on his neck. He looked fine. Healthy. Pink.

"Lou!" Max jumped from her chair and flung herself into his arms. "Oh, God, are you all right? I can't believe he did that to you-and after you tried to help him! I can't believe... " She let the words trail off. "Where are David and Lydia?" she asked.

"I sent them back to the house to get some rest." Lou wasn't looking at her though. He was looking at Morgan. She held his eyes and prayed he could see the plea in hers. She parted her lips, tried to speak. "Dante" was the whisper that emerged.

"I thought he would have been here by now," Lou said. He clasped Max's shoulders, put her away from him, searched her face. "Have you seen him?"

"Seen who? Dante?"

Lou nodded. "I assumed he was coming for Morgan." He closed his eyes. "I was so afraid you would get in his way. He's damn dangerous when it comes to her. I don't think there's anything he wouldn't do-"

Max lowered her head. "He came," she admitted. "I knew he would. I had Stiles and his men here waiting."

Lou blinked. His gaze shot to Morgan's, to her cheeks, where hot tears rolled in slow motion, then back to Max again. "Did they kill him?"

"They shot him with some sort of dart. I don't think it killed him, but I don't know for sure. Then they took him out of here."

"Where?"

"How would I know? Jesus, Lou, don't look so concerned about the guy. He tried to kill you."

"No," Lou said sharply. "He didn't."

"What do you mean, he didn't? He... he bit you. Drained your blood."

"And told you where to find me. They gave me two pints. Two pints, Max. The doc in the E.R. said I'd have been fine even if they hadn't brought me in. Tired, dizzy, weak for a couple of days, but fine."

"He attacked you." Max lowered her eyes. "And he shot Stormy."

"He made sure I would be found. He made sure not to take enough to do me any harm. And let me tell you, I think he could have used a lot more, as weak as he was."

Shaking her head as she kept her eyes cast down, Max said, "He came here. He came after my sister."

"Even though he must have known there was a chance he would be ambushed. He knows you're not stupid, Max. Sure, he thought he might lure you away, but it was a shin chance. And he came anyway. Risked whatever hell he's in right now to get to her."

"To kill her," Max snapped.

"Or maybe to save her."

"No. You're wrong. You have to be wrong."

Morgan's heartbeat sped up, and her breath was coming faster. God, they were so close. So close to understanding. They had to save Dante. Please, God, let them save him from those men.

There was a tap on the door. A nurse poked her head inside. "Ms. Stuart? You had a message at the desk from, uh, Lydia. She said someone had been trying to reach you on your cell phone with no luck and finally left a message with her at the house. You're to call this number." She handed Max a slip of paper.

"I turned the cell phone off. There was a sign."

The nurse nodded. "They can mess with certain equipment in hospitals. But, um, between you and me you can use it in here if you want. Just stand near the window."

"Thank you." Max opened up the folded slip of paper, reading the number on it as the nurse walked out of the room. Her head came up slowly, eyes meeting Lou's. "It's the hospital in White Plains." Her eyes fell closed. "Oh, God, it must be Stormy. She must be gone, Lou. Oh, God, she's gone."

Lou wrapped Max up in his arms. Part of Morgan felt that her sister deserved to lose someone she loved, after what she had done to Dante. But most of her wept to see her sister in pain.

"You'd better call," Lou said. "Her mother will want to talk to you."

Nodding, Max straightened away from him and started fishing in her purse. Lou snatched a couple of tissues from a box on the bedside stand and caught her chin in his hand to hold her face still while he dabbed her tears away.

Sniffing, Max poked numbers into her cell phone, held it to her ear and waited. And then she said, "Hello? Mrs. Jones, it's Maxine."

There was a pause. Then she cupped the mouthpiece, spoke to Lou. "She can't bring herself to tell me. She's putting someone else on." And then suddenly her eyes shot wider, her hand moved, and she spoke into the mouthpiece again. "Oh my God. OhmyGod, Stormy? Is that you?"

Her face crumpled, and her voice became a series of laughs punctuated by sobs, with a few words in between as she spoke to the friend she had thought was dead. When she finally got herself under control, she said, "I want you to know that we got the man who did this to you. He's not going to hurt anyone else, not ever." Slight pause. "Yes, yes, we're sure." Then her eyes shot to Lou's. "Just to be safe, though, can you describe him?" And then, very slowly, the color left Maxine's face. Her jaw went lax, and she turned slowly to Morgan. "Oh my God. No. No, Stormy, everything is fine. Listen, you just rest, get strong again. I have to go, but I'll speak to you soon, okay?"

Finally she hit the kill button. "The man who was waiting in your apartment that night to shoot Stormy had a horribly scarred face."

"Stiles," Lou growled. "And if he lied about that, I'm betting he lied about everything else, as well."

Max turned to Morgan, her eyes wide, wet. "Oh, God, what have I done? Morgan, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Morgan held her eyes, begging her. "Please... " she managed.

"I know. I know." Max turned to Lou. "We have to rescue Dante."

"No shit. But how the hell are we going to find him? Stiles could have taken him anywhere."

For the second time that night Morgan's window slid slowly open. Again a form climbed inside. But this time it wasn't Dante. It was the woman Morgan recognized as Sarafina. She was stunning, with masses of jet hair and ebony eyes, lips of blood red, and skin as pale as snow. She stared at them, her gaze potent enough to send chills up Morgan's spine. She wore red velvet, and she said, "I may have a suggestion."

"Who the hell are you?" Max asked, stepping between Morgan's bed and the woman standing near the window.

"Brave, for a mortal. My name is Sarafina. I am Dante's sister. And his aunt, and his mother."

"You're a vampire," Max said, and it sounded like an accusation.

"Your powers of observation are astounding," the woman said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Yes. I am a vampire. Not the tooth fairy, not the sandman, a vampire. And you will either help me get Dante back or pay for his life with your own. Are we clear on that?"

Max stood her ground. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Her brows rose. "Well, the fact that I'm going to offer myself as bait for the vampire hunter ought to be sufficient for that, don't you think?"

Max and Lou stared at her, stunned.

"Come now, it's the only way. Dante's not sending signals strong enough for me to pick up mentally. I can't find him on my own. But I know he's alive. I can feel it."

"Alive," Morgan whispered, fresh tears welling in her eyes.

"Yes. Which is more than I can say for you, mortal."

Morgan smiled at her, weakly, unsteadily. She didn't care that she was hovering on the brink of death. She didn't care-so long as Dante would be all right.

"Come, we've little time. You," Sarafina said to Max. "Contact the scarred man, tell him you have another vampire. That I've been injured, can barely function, and that you've bound me and will hold me for him. Tell him to meet you at the house, near the cliffs, if he wants me. Then gather up your sister and bring her along as quickly as you can."

She turned then to Lou. "While she does all that... " She held out her arms, wrists pressed together. "Bind me and take me to the cliffs to await the vampire hunter."

"Lou, I don't think you should go with her. Not alone."

"Afraid I'll kill him, are you?" Sarafina asked. She rolled her eyes. "Mortals. Fine, if you want me weak enough that I pose no threat, we can arrange that, too." She drew a dagger from her pocket. "Just see to it I don't faint and bleed out entirely." Lifting her arm, she brought the blade to her wrist.

Lou caught her hand, stopped her from slicing herself. "No." He looked at Max. "We have to trust her, Max. We need her at full strength or we risk losing the fight. Stiles has at least three other men working with him, and maybe more, all of them armed."

"Not to mention trained," Max said. Then she paused, turning to Sarafina. "Can you help my sister? Dante says he can save her. Does that mean you can, too?"

The woman looked at Morgan, licked her lips. "Frankly, I fear she may be too far gone to survive the transformation at all at this point. Add to that the fact that if I were to try, it would leave me too weak to fight for several hours, and by then, Dante might well be dead." She looked away.

"But there's a chance."

"There's a chance. But I won't do it."

"And you expect me to trust you?" Max asked.

Lou clasped her arm. "Be reasonable, Maxie. If she tries and it fails, we lose them both. If she tries and it works, we save Morgan and lose Dante. Do you think that's what Morgan wants?"

Morgan tried to say no, but it emerged as a groan instead.

"Her way, we have a shot at saving them both."

Closing her eyes, lowering her head, Max finally nodded. Then she gripped Lou's arms. "Be careful, dammit."

"I will."

Max turned to Sarafina. "I don't give a damn what you are. If you hurt him, I'll find you and I'll kill you."

The woman looked surprised, and perhaps a little amused. "I do believe you'd try." Then she turned to Lou. "Come," she said. She flung him over her shoulder as if he were a rag doll, turned and leapt out the window.

Max cried out and lunged to the window, hands braced on the sill, looking down. Then she sighed in relief.

"Call," Morgan whispered. "Call."

"Yeah. I'm on it." Max took out her cell phone again.