Blood Pact

dead!”

    The third round passed through the abdomen again, rang against brass and sparked.

    All hell broke loose.

    Henry threw himself over Vicki.

    Celluci flattened.

    The explosion sent chunks of the oxygen tank flying through the air like shrapnel. Several of the larger chunks slammed into number nine, cutting him into pieces.

    He remembered dying.

    The last time, she had been there when it was over.

    He hoped she'd be there again.

    With a whoosh, the alcohol vapor in the air ignited, then the alcohol, then the desk.

    Then the emergency light shut off.

    Celluci picked his way back to Vicki's side. "Fucking place is on fire. At least we can still see." He squinted at Henry, the pale skin of the vampire's face and chest just barely visible in the flickering light. "You okay?”

    "Yes.”

    "Vicki?”

    Henry hesitated, praying he'd hear something different, knowing he wouldn't. "She's dying.”

    "Fuck that!" Ripping off jacket and shoulder holster, Celluci yanked his shirt over his head, ignoring the buttons. Folding most of the fabric into a rough pad, sleeves dangling, he shoved it at Henry. "She said your saliva causes clotting.”

    "Yes, but . . .”

    "Spit on this and tie that wound off. We're practically on top of a fucking hospital. You get the bleeding stopped and we move her.”

    "It's too . . .”

    "Do it!”

    Although he knew it would make no difference, Henry took the shirt and bent over the jagged hole. Michael Celluci had lived less than forty years and still thought death could be fought. Four and a half centuries had taught a different lesson. In a battle between love and death, death always won. He could feel Vicki's life ebbing, knew that nothing they could do would change that.

    His fingers maintaining pressure, he covered the still bleeding gash with his mouth. At least when she died, he would have contact with her blood. He pulled the touch, the taste, the scent of her into memory. You are mortal, my love. I always knew you'd die, but I never dreamed we'd have so little time . . .

    Suddenly, Celluci's fingers were in his hair and the contact broken.

    "I said wrap it, Goddamnit. Not fucking take what she has left!”

    Henry drew bloodstained lips back off his teeth. "Get your hands off me, mortal!”

    The explosion had jerked Vicki back out of the twilight zone of pain and darkness she'd sunk into. She hadn't thought it was possible to hurt so much and still be alive. She could hear the two men arguing and fought against the weight hanging from her tongue.

    "Mi . . ."

    “Vicki?” Henry forgotten in the sound of her voice, Celluci twisted around and cupped her face in his hands. The fire licked at the plywood over the windows. Celluci ignored it. The high ceiling drew the smoke up and away. The path to the door remained clear.
    As long as the fire posed no immediate danger, it could be ignored for more important concerns. The highly polished metal of the isolation box reflected the orange glow of the flames out into the room. In its light, Celluci saw Vicki's eyelids flicker, once, twice.
    "Hang on, we're going to get you to the hospital.”

    The hospital? She wanted to tell him there wasn't any point but couldn't figure out how.

    "Michael." The pain in the detective's voice damped Henry's anger and drew his own grief to the fore. With one hand still foolishly, hopelessly holding pressure on Vicki's leg, he gently grasped Celluci's shoulder with the other. "There isn't enough time.”

    "No.”

    "She'll be dead even before you get her out of this building.”

    "No!”

    "I can feel her life ebbing.”

    "I said, NO!”

    Listen to him, Mike. He's right. She thought she was still breathing but she couldn't be certain. I'm still here, I must be breathing.

    "Damn it, Vicki, don't die!”

    Oh, God, Mike, don't cry. She'd thought it couldn't hurt anymore. She'd been wrong.

    "There has to be something we can do!”

    Henry felt a vise close round his heart and squeeze. "No." One word, two letters, somehow carried all he felt.

    Pulled by the sound of suffering as great as his own, Celluci looked up and met hazel eyes washed almost gold by the firelight.
    They held a truth too bitter to deny. Vicki was dying.

    I'm cold. And it's dark. And it isn't fair. I could tell you I love you now. Could tell both of you. Love was enough to bring my mother back. I guess I'm not as strong. Her body didn't seem to be a part of her anymore. The flesh wrapped around her like a badly