Warrior (Relentless #4)(124)
I rubbed the back of my neck, which ached from hours poring over the detailed field reports. “Dax and I have been trying to come up with some kind of pattern to explain why the vampires have been active in certain cities more than others. LA and Vegas have been hit the hardest, but we’re also seeing higher activity in Houston and San Diego.”
“All western cities.” Tristan leaned back in his chair.
I nodded. “I talked to Maxwell Kelly yesterday, and he said it’s been so quiet in Maine he went back to normal patrols. He said the whole East Coast is quiet.”
Tristan stared at the reports. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad news at this point.”
“It’s definitely not good for the western half,” I said. “Did you know Stefan Price was spotted in Albuquerque last night?”
“Stefan Price?”
I understood his surprise. Price was an old vampire, over one hundred and fifty years old, and we had been trying to catch him for the last seventy-five years. He was a strong bastard and skilled at evading us.
“There hasn’t been a Price sighting in years. Word was he went to South America.”
I shrugged. “Looks like he’s back.”
Tristan swore softly and stood. “I’ll have to let the Council know.”
“And that’s my cue to leave.” I got up and opened the door. Instead of leaving, I turned back to Tristan. “Have you talked to Sara today? She was upset in training this morning, but she wouldn’t talk about it.”
“Yes.” He sighed heavily. “Nate’s taken ill with pneumonia, and he can’t come for the holiday.”
“We can send one of the healers to him. He can still make it for Thanksgiving dinner.” Sara would be crushed if Nate couldn’t be here.
Tristan shook his head. “I offered, but he’s not comfortable with non-human medicine. He said he’ll come as soon as he’s fit to travel.”
“Sara’s been looking forward to his visit for weeks. This must be killing her, especially on top of everything else.”
“I know, but she’s strong. She’ll be okay –”
“She’s not okay, Tristan,” I said harshly, thinking about the pain Sara must be in. “Nothing about this is okay. I’ve never seen her so unhappy. I wanted her to know about us, but this is all wrong. This is not what I wanted for her.”
He nodded gravely. “This hasn’t been easy on either of you.”
“I don’t care about me. She’s miserable. I can’t stand to see her like this. I’d rather she break the bond and be free than be tied to someone she doesn’t want.”
“You don’t mean that.” Tristan came over and laid a hand on my shoulder. “It’s only been a week, though I’m sure it feels like much longer to you. Sara does care about you, and she’s trying to understand all of this. She’s seventeen, and she just found out she’s bonded to you. She probably doesn’t know how to talk to you about it.”
Some of the tension left my body. “I’ll wait until after the holiday. If she doesn’t come to me by then, I’m going to her. We have to work this out one way or the other.”
*
After my talk with Tristan, the last person I expected to see two hours later when I came back from the security center was Sara. She was standing in the hallway, facing the other end, and so lost in thought she didn’t hear me approach.
“Sara?”
She gasped and spun around, and I caught her before she fell. Her eyes met mine, and she looked as surprised as I was.
I let her go. “What are you doing here? Were you looking for me?”
Her mouth opened and closed, and a panicked look entered her eyes. “N-no,” she uttered, stumbling past me.
What the hell? I caught her again and turned her to face me. That was when I got a whiff of alcohol coming from her. Didn’t she know that faeries couldn’t handle human alcohol?
“What is wrong with you? Are you drunk?”
“No!” She jerked her arms out of my hold and immediately began to turn a sickly shade of green. A hand came up to cover her mouth. “Oh, I don’t feel good.”
Something told me I was the last person she wanted to see her like this, but that couldn’t be helped now. I picked her up as gently as I could and carried her to my apartment. Inside, I went straight to the bathroom and set her down on the floor. She fell to her knees in front of the toilet and began to vomit.
I stood behind her, holding her hair back, and I was assailed by the sour odor of alcohol, which left no doubt as to what she’d been up to before she came here.
“Oh God, I’m dying,” she moaned piteously then retched again.
I smiled, remembering the few times in my life when I’d overindulged in spirits. Sara wasn’t soon going to forget this experience.
She raised her head a few inches. “Please, go away and let me die in peace.”
Not a chance. I grabbed a cloth and ran it under cold water. Squeezing the water from it, I carried it over and lifted her hair to lay it across the back of her neck. She let out a sigh before she threw up again.
Eventually, the vomiting stopped, and she flushed the toilet with a trembling hand. I went to the sink to wet the cloth again, and I turned around to find her huddled against the tub.