Part 31 (1/2)

Pandora pounced, growling. The boy jumped to his feet, and the cat hit him in the chest with both paws. He went over the side, into the water, sinking out of sight. When his head popped up again, Pandora was looking over the side, and she took a couple of playful swats at him, claws retracted.

”Look, darling. Pandora wants to bob for humans.” Rhiannon got into the driver's seat. She'd been watching the young man carefully and thought she had a handle on how to accelerate, decelerate, stop and steer the thing. She hoped she didn't have to attempt to make it reverse at any point. She waved to him. ”Go now, swim. I'll try to bring your boat back to you in one piece.”

The boy shot a pleading glance at Roland, but Roland only shrugged as Rhiannon coaxed the boat into motion. It was only twenty more yards before the first shots were fired. The sh.o.r.eline rose steadily, growing into towering cliffs, and the bullets fired from on high plipped into the water around the boat. Rhiannon steered the boat in closer when she saw Eric's former home towering above, with its iron fence marching out to the very edge of the cliffs.

She slowed as the boat drew near. The soldiers above raced toward the edge, because that was the only place from which they would be able to hit them, and even then, they had to aim straight down. It was obvious they were finally aware of what had happened in the house.

”There!” Roland pointed. Rhiannon saw the dark opening in the cliff face and steered toward it, slowing the boat. She spotted Jameson and Angelica in the opening; Amber was with them.

Where was the stubborn mortal, Willem Stone?

As the boat slowed, the three jumped from the mouth of the cave, which was some ten feet above the level of the water. They splashed into the water and swam closer, and Roland pulled them aboard one by one, beginning with Amber.

”Where is Will?” he asked.

”There was a rowboat about fifty yards up.” Jameson hauled himself over the side and sat on the floor between the front and back seats. ”When we got to the mouth, we could still see Stiles- or at least we thought it was him-in a motorboat. Looked like he was heading for that island.”

Jameson pointed, and Rhiannon looked ahead. It wasn't so much an island as a jutting pillar of rock.

”Will couldn't see it-there's too much mist for mortal eyes to penetrate. But he did see the rowboat, so he dove in and swam for it. Then he took it and headed straight out there, following Stiles's motor-boat.

”We need to go after him.”

Amber looked at the sky, then at her parents. ”It's going to be dawn soon. You don't want to be trapped out there on that treeless hunk of granite when it comes.”

”We have at least another hour,” Jameson said. ”We can make it.”

”Then let's make it quick,” Rhiannon said. She raced the boat as fast as she dared, across the waves, toward the nearly perpendicular rock formation in the distance.

Sarafina struggled to remain conscious as the madman-the unnaturally strong madman- carried her higher and higher, scaling the side of a megalith with her thrown over his shoulder.

He'd grown weary of her blood soaking into his clothing as he'd run through the tunnel with her, had cursed her for it, though she'd reminded him that he was the one who'd shot her.

When he pitched her from the cave mouth into the sea, the salt water's sting was nearly unbearable. Was unbearable-yet she bore it. For she was a vampire and hadn't yet lost every last drop of blood in her.

The water swallowed her down, then belched her up again, and when her head broke the surface, she saw him at the bottom of a rope ladder that hung from the cave. He stepped off the bottom rung, slogging toward the sh.o.r.e, where a small boat was lying on the narrow beach, tied to a scrubby tree. He pushed the craft into the water, leaving it tied, then waded in until he could reach Sarafina.

She was in too much pain to move away. Pain, in her kind, was magnified a thousand times, and she wondered how long it would be before death relieved her of it. She'd been wrong in her fears of loving Willem, hadn't she? It wasn't he who would die and leave her to grieve and mourn.

He was the one who would be left behind to do the grieving.

Stiles grabbed her hair where it floated like seaweed on the surface and towed her to sh.o.r.e.

All the way up onto the tiny sc.r.a.p of beach, he dragged her. Then he knelt beside her, hooked his fingers into the jagged bullet hole in her dress and ripped it open. He tore it up to the neckline, ripping that apart, too.

She lay there in the darkness, wondering if he thought this was supposed to make matters worse for her somehow. She had no qualms about nudity. No shyness. Good G.o.d, who did he think she was?

But no, that wasn't his objective. He scooped wet, mudlike sand, soaked by salt.w.a.ter, into his hands and mercilessly packed it into the bullet wound in her belly. He ground it into the hole, and she shrieked in unbridled agony, tears springing into her eyes against her will.

And he laughed. Frank Stiles laughed at her pain.

Then he rolled her over and ground more salty sand into the exit wound at her back.

Red, then white-hot, fire filled her vision. She was quivering in anguish.

He picked her up, dropped her into the boat, then untied it, got in himself and drove it to the island. When he arrived, he threw her over one shoulder and a coiled length of rope over the other. The flow of her blood would no longer trouble him as he began hauling her up to the very precipice of the tall phallic boulder that rose from the sea to impale the sky.

And finally, at the very top, he leaned forward and let her fall onto the angled stone surface.

The impact knocked the breath from her, and her head hit so hard she felt the skin split and blood begin to seep into her hair.

Stiles knelt, bound her wrists together, then got up and stretched the rope beyond her head, pulling her arms with it. She tipped her head backward, trying to see what he was up to. He was tying the rope around a finger of rock. Then he took out a pocketknife, sawed off the excess rope and bound her ankles to another stone protrusion below her. Ruthlessly he pulled the ankle rope tight, stretching her body, using the boulder as a pulley. As her ribs and stomach muscles pulled taut, the pain screamed.

”There's a monster coming for you soon, Sarafina.”

Her mind spun, and she no longer knew if she was alive or dead, or if she'd journeyed backward in time, taken to a dark cave at the hand of her sister, left bound as an offering to a creature she had feared.

”I call it the sun. It's going to rise, and then you're going to lie here helpless as it roasts your skin. It will be a slow burn, until it gets high enough. It will come up this side of the stone, beyond your head, so it won't hit you all at once. You're going to suffer slowly, burn slowly, before you finally burst into fullblown flames.”

”Over my dead body, Stiles!”

Fina lifted her head weakly. Willem stood behind Stiles on the top of the pillar, his s.h.i.+rt and his hair dripping wet. He was hot and breathless, and his foot was killing him. How the h.e.l.l had he ever managed to climb this precipice with that bad foot? she wondered. But then she knew.

Sheer will. Will of Stone.

The two sprang at each other at the same moment, reminding Sarafina of a pair of mountain rams, vying for the ewe.

They clashed, struck, rolled on the ground.

”Will, be careful! He's stronger than a normal man-he's done something!” she cried, though it took every ounce of strength she had to make the words loud enough for him to hear.

Even as she said it, Will took a blow to the chin that launched him through the air, until he landed on his back near the very edge of the boulder.

”Let's end this,” Stiles said. His pocketknife in his hand, he advanced on Will.

Will seemed to have been stunned by the impact. He was just lying there on his back, blinking his eyes as if to clear his vision.

”Willem!” Sarafina screamed. She tugged at the ropes binding her, but the pain and blood loss left her too weak to snap them.

Stiles towered over Will, raising the knife.

Will's legs suddenly hooked around Stiles's ankles, while Will reached up to grasp his wrist, jerking him forward. Stiles was falling, even as Willem rolled to the side and gave him an extra push-just enough to send him plummeting over the edge. His horrified wail stopped suddenly at the bottom. Will leaned over, looking down. ”Sheesh, he didn't even clear the rocks at the bottom.

Too bad.”

Wincing, he got himself to his feet and came to Sarafina. He knelt beside her, where she lay.

”It'll be daylight soon,” he said softly. ”Will the bullet wound heal?”

She nodded.