Possessed by an Immortal. Sharon Ashwood
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would connect with any of the other puzzle pieces.
Larson’s refusal to say who had frightened him so badly was a problem. Mark’s enemies had been close by—close enough to play mailman.
And why had Ferrel resurfaced now, after so many years? After generations? Mark had let down his guard enough to take a position at a hospital filled with vulnerable patients. If the Knights of Vidon found him on the island, how long would it be before they showed up here?
And that was only half his problem. There was Bree and the boy, with their own set of gun-toting maniacs. Whose enemies had been the ones shooting at them? His or hers?
Mark swore softly. Even if he was being summoned to Los Angeles, Mark had a responsibility to the boy and his mother. He couldn’t just dump them and go. At the very least, he had to get the boy into adequate care.
That didn’t mean he was involved with them in the warm-and-fuzzy sense. It was just that there were some occasions when he had to be a doctor first, and a vampire later.
Mark pushed back from the desk, trying not to see the paperwork glaring up at him. So much for a paperless world, where everything was digital. He swore every time he looked at the stack of files it was bigger. Worse, it didn’t care if he was a supernatural being of immense power. Growling never made bureaucracy run away.
He left the office, closing the door behind him. The corridor was narrow, painted the usual nondescript hospital-beige. A nurse in scrubs hurried by, giving him a nod and the professional half smile of someone with too much to do. He nodded back, then strode toward the ward where he’d left Bree and her son.
Like everything at Redwood General, the pediatrics area was small, but the staff made the most of it. It was the one place with bright colors. Mark found the kids’ TV room, where Bree waited with Jonathan. A swarm of cardboard bees covered the walls, smiling down at the tiny patients. Jonathan was playing on a giant red sea monster that doubled as a slide. Skinny arms flung wide, he scooted down the curve of it as Mark walked in.
It always fascinated Mark how even the sickest children still had the impulse to play, but healthy adults quickly forgot how.
They were the only ones in the room, and Mark saw Bree before she saw him. She was hunched over, her chin propped in her hands, watching a cartoon with the dull expression of the exhausted. Nevertheless, she’d angled her body so that she could still see her son. That vigilance of hers never, ever slipped.
As if she could sense his presence, she raised her head. She was disheveled, her eyes bruised with shock and fatigue. He’d bought a different jacket for her from the gift shop because her trench coat had been bloody. This one was ice-cream-pink and fuzzy—not something he guessed was her usual style—but it was all the store had. She’d pulled another pair of jeans from her backpack, and this pair had threadbare knees. The woman had nothing but the clothes on her back, and they were in sorry shape. And yet, she was lovely.
As their eyes met, hers widened, expectant. Mark’s chest squeezed, a half-forgotten feeling waking inside. It had been so long since someone had waited for him. It was something he’d never take for granted—to walk out of a room, and have it matter to someone if he ever walked back in. He’d lost the right to expect that from anyone long ago.
Yes, she was beautiful with her soft hair waving around her face, like a painting of an angel. Not the Christmas-card type, but the angels from his day, with swords and arrows and smiles that woke the sun and broke armies of war-proud kings. That kind of sweetness remade worlds.
And destroyed vampires like him. Innocents invited tragedy because, well, beasts would be beasts and angels would ultimately suffer. Mark tried to freeze his heart as he strode forward, but the bitter lesson of his memories melted like cobwebs in the wind. Hunger rose in his blood.
The corners of Bree’s mouth quirked up in a hesitant greeting. He was struck with yearning to kiss those wide, generous lips. He could tell they were warm, just like every part of her he’d already touched.
He squashed that thought before it took flight. A kiss would only end in complications. Neither of them needed that, especially when he might have to tell her she was going to lose her precious son. Please, no.
“Bree,” he said softly, sitting next to her in the row of molded plastic chairs.
“Mark.” Her hands twisted, fingers lacing and unlacing. “Or should I call you Doctor here?”
“Mark is fine.” He reached over, stilling her hands. The bones felt delicate beneath his fingers. “I’ll be honest. I still don’t have a diagnosis for you, but I’ve sent some blood samples to an excellent laboratory in Los Angeles. They’ll run whatever tests I ask for and not ask any questions.”
Her eyebrows lifted, expressing skepticism and hope in one gesture. “Really?”
“Yes. It’s a start. Depending on what those tell us, there are some other things we will probably want to do—we just don’t know yet.”
Her eyes clouded and she pulled her hands away. “We can’t stay here. Those men who were following me—they’ll check hospitals.”
Again, Mark wondered if they’d been shooting at him or at her. “Who are they?”
She looked down. “Like I said, I don’t have names. I’m really sorry you got caught up in this. You’re kind. You don’t deserve it.”
“You said you witnessed a murder.”
She shifted in the chair. “You don’t understand how powerful they are.”
You don’t understand how powerful I am. “Tell me.”
She bent her head, avoiding his eyes. “It’s been like this all along, from one coast to the other. And there have been close calls. Jonathan and I got cornered in the Chicago airport. They stuck both of us with needles full of some sort of sleeping drug. The only thing that saved us was that they got the dosage wrong. They didn’t give me enough. I woke up in the back of a van and managed to get out with Jonathan. I was so scared.” She covered her face with her hands. “He didn’t wake up for ages. I started to wonder if he would.”
Fury washed through him in a hot tide, followed by hard suspicion. Why drug Bree and Jonathan and not just kill them?
Her expression was bitter. “They’re getting closer every time they strike. One day we won’t get away.”
“You need a bigger city.”
“Maybe.” She looked away. “I’ve been through most of them.”
“I could take you to Los Angeles.”
She shuddered slightly. “No, I— No. Not Los Angeles.”
Clearly, something bad had happened there. “Seattle?”
She chewed her lip. “Maybe. For a while.”
The implication being that it wouldn’t work indefinitely. No hiding place would. What does she have—or know—that someone wants so desperately?
“I’ll take you there,” he said, almost before he had made a conscious decision. “I need to catch a plane, anyway. I can do it from there.” He’d just miss the one Raphael was sending for him and Larson. Oh well.
“You’re going away? And here I was getting used to personal service.” Her tone was careless, but a lift in her voice betrayed a hint of dismay. Then she laughed, shaking her head as if to clear away unwelcome thoughts. “No, I travel alone.”
“So do I.” He gave a slight smile. “But it’s just to Seattle. A couple hours, then I’m on a plane and out of your life. I can leave you a contact number so you can call me to get the results of the tests. No matter what, I’m still your son’s doctor.”
She was silent.
“Are you okay with that?” Mark asked. “Am I being too pushy?”
“Of course you’re