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26
The Fear of Death
Anhourlater,Dominiquewould have much preferred to spend the rest of the night ensconced in some dark corner of an atmospheric bar, enjoying deep conversation with his newest convert. Instead, he rode the Ducati through the biting wet chill and cursed under his breath every block of the way.
Isao had taken more blood than was necessary. Dominique didn’t stop him. Neither did he stop him from riffling through his memories to learn what he needed to know of how Dominique came to be the Lord of Night. But he concealed those things he was not ready to share with another blood-drinker, regardless how dear: the suppressant, Cassidy’s condition, his mortal family.
Garrett Striker, however, refused to be concealed.
The moment Dominique’s phone buzzed in his pocket with an incoming call, he thought of the murderous old bastard and revealed his unorthodox relationship with the vampire hunters to Isao. The samurai’s eyes widened, the new light in them as intense as red-hot steel.
“Merde!That man,” Dominique fumed and yanked the phone from his pocket to catch the call before it dropped into voice mail. “Whatdo you want?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Then talk to me.”
“In person. Privately.”
“I am busy.”
“And I’m asking you to delay lording it over whoever for one lousy hour to come see the guy who almost died for you today. No, actually I’m not asking. I’mbeggingyou. There. Happy now?”
The outburst was so out of character for the Garrett Striker Dominique knew—and loathed—that it gave him serious pause.
Perhaps he has a point, Isao offered through the temporary two-way link they had forged.
Dominique closed his eyes. True, the man had almost lost his life today while in service to him. Though one question took precedence.Will I find Adilla this night?
Not tonight.Isao showed him where Adilla could be found, and it was nowhere anyone would reach before sunrise.
“Fine,” Dominique snapped. “I will be there within the hour.”
He sensed Isao’s mind already buzzing with questions from his younglings, who kept to the surrounding woods. His new friend would be busy for a while re-siring them and communicating all he had learned. “You will hear from me soon. Certainly before I seek Adilla. That, I promise you.”
At Vancouver General, Dominique remained invisible as he parked the bike, slipped into the hospital’s antiseptic miasma, and made his way to Garrett’s room in no particular hurry. He was fairly sure he knew what the man would want from him, but how he asked for it left him baffled.
Even at this hour, the hospital was wide awake, with nurses making their rounds, dispensing medication, and providing assistance. One was leaving Garrett’s room when Dominique arrived there. He slipped in before the door swung shut in her wake.
Strange how frail the fearsome hunter looked lying under the thin blankets, as though he had shrunk inside his skin and aged twenty years since the previous night. His slightly jowly face was gray with stubble, and his salt-and-pepper hair, usually so tidy, was in disarray. He lay staring at the window; though whatever he saw, the city gleaming beyond the rain-streaked pane probably wasn’t it.
An empty plastic cup sat on the stand beside the bed. Without moving it, Dominique cut his wrist and deposited an inch of blood. It was the distinctive odor of this that the patient noticed before he ever saw Dominique, who had by then retreated to the visitor chair. “Is that what you want?”
“Dominique.” Garrett ran a self-conscious hand over his hair and squared his shoulders. The melancholy of seconds ago evaporated. “I was hoping we had moved beyond these games.”
“Habit, old man.”
“You look drenched.”
“Probably because it is raining.”
“Yeah, it’s wet here. And cold. They haven’t been too generous with the blankets for this Florida boy.” His fingers grabbed at the edge of said blanket.
Dominique waited.
“I guess that doesn’t bother you, does it? Weather?”
“Surely you did not summon me away from my ‘lording’ business to discuss the weather.”
