Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📕

of her pulse—so close, only a mouthful away—was intoxicating, and he took pleasure in this violent foreplay, drawing it out. By the time he dove in, her blood would be racing, ready to burst into the back of his throat.

If she only knew how easily she could break away.

Of course, she had no clue.

Like other humans, Gina was full of doubts that only lent themselves to the Collectors’ goals. How easy it was to persuade and possess these quibbling, vomitous beings. It wasn’t Ariston’s style, however, to let hatred show. He preferred the finesse of flattery and gentle tones. Already, he knew she was susceptible, her memories a weak spot. He’d heard the stories of Chattanooga from Erota, and he’d just listened to Gina express her guilt over her son’s death.

What now? Did she think Cal would come to her rescue?

Ariston wondered what had transpired earlier at the Sinaia train station. According to Shalom, Erota had been in a fight for her life—not only with the present but the past.

Dov Amit . . . the present.

Cal Nichols, or whatever his true name was . . . the sordid past.

Rumors from other clusters had filled Ariston in. Cal, they said, was one of the original Nistarim—a man Lettered long, long ago, then buried in Jerusalem, then raised again and given a task. For centuries, he had served in that role until the solitude drove him into a woman’s arms.

Nicoleta. Nikki . . . She’d warmed him for a night.

Just that easily, Cal had violated the stipulations of his commission and lost his Letter. Another, for the sake of this dismal planet, had stepped into his place, but Cal still wandered the globe, trapped in his immortal frame, trying to right his wrongs.

On this one point, Ariston could relate to the miserable cur . . .

He and Cal, they were both fathers.

Nine months after Cal and Nikki’s violation, a baby girl had been born. She was half-human, half-immortal. And, after years of patience, Ariston had hunted her down. She was here now, her arms tied to these walls of stone.

Gina was on her own.

Even if Cal and Dov had survived their ordeal, they wouldn’t know where to find her. She could only hope they were alive and that Cal would guard the children of Tomorrow’s Hope better than he’d done with Jacob.

If she died here, would Jed ever know what happened to her? Would Teo?

The Collector was whispering at her ear. “Your memories, my dear. They’re encoded in your DNA, in your blood. I can draw them out in only a few mouthfuls. I give you my word.” He slid along the scar at the nape of her neck, where her hair was pulled back in a clasp. “Why continue carrying those awful thoughts?”

His offer was alluring, his tones soothing.

But no, hadn’t that already been the story of her life—jagged shards and jumbled pieces?

The Collector’s lips were stretching wide, stiff against his gums, while serrated teeth combed her skin in search of a resting place. Without breaking through, his teeth clamped onto a tendon that ran the length of her neck. She gazed into the dark and found strange reassurance in that firm pressure, like a kitten held in its mother’s mouth.

Yes or no. Which would it be?

The knotted tangle was pressing into her skin, stretched from her neck down along her arm. Her childhood, her bitterness—it was all there, holding her hostage to events she could not change.

I’m done. Time to let go of it all.

“You said only a few mouthfuls,” she breathed. “Are you sure?”

“For what I have in mind, it’s all I need.”

“But I . . .” Gina closed her eyes. “I want . . .”

She wanted to be free. Her soul had been prisoner to Nikki’s venom, to these thorns that Gina had watered with her own salty tears. She was so tired. Yet, in these limbs of hers, she still had a faint semblance of strength.

She still had the Power of Choice.

Gina Lazarescu braced herself for the pain, knowing, believing, it would be the first step on her path of escape. Her arms trembled. Blood traced a sticky pattern down her side, while sweat trickled from the sheath’s warmth against her thigh. She told herself this was the only chance she would get. If she hesitated any longer, remorse would chase her to the grave.

Honor . . . duty . . . combat.

“What is it, my dear?” the Collector urged. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel you close to me. I want you to take it all.”

Queen sacrifice.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-FIVE

Lord Ariston reveled in this moment. He leaned forward. He’d had fun toying with his prey, and now he was ready to feed. His head pounded with the tension of this pseudomortal existence, and he hoped a full partaking of Gina’s blood would soothe the aching of his swollen gums where the fangs protruded.

“I want you to take it all,” she told him.

He dipped toward her neck, that smooth bronze skin, and—

What was this?

Gina was moving with desperate bravado. Moaning between clenched teeth. Yanking with her left arm, rolling her wrist, and shredding her own skin in the tangled grip of the thorns.

The thick rope drew taut. With the torque that extended from her shoulder, she sawed the razor-edged brambles against the cord.

Tiny red spheres, spilling, spilling . . .

Ariston found himself hypnotized by this wasteful display, but he snapped back when he comprehended that she had severed herself free from the restraint. He leaned back in, planning to latch his mouth onto her throat, her lips, anywhere that would geyser warmth onto his tongue.

In her desperation, though, Gina was faster.

Her mangled arm swung down, and her fingers clawed at her thigh. She caught him with the flashing blade of the dagger just as his upper body weight edged in for his meal.

The dagger tore him open with fiery zeal. Gina seemed to find scant satisfaction as the sharpened steel tooth tasted from his