Connall stumbled through the subway tunnel that led to his lair, clutching his midsection as blood continued to flow freely from his wounds. He ducked into a narrow access corridor and yanked his knife from the scabbard on his belt. He had to get out the bullets before they contaminated him too badly and the silver poisoned his vampire body.
He gritted his teeth as he used the point of the knife to dig deep to find the first bullet. Applying pressure, he pushed it toward the surface, growing light-headed from the agonizing pain. But he pushed through it, and with fingers that felt as thick as sausages, he managed to remove the first bullet.
Breathing deeply, the smells of stale urine and his own blood filled his senses, but he kept on, repeating his brutal surgery on the second bullet lodged in his torso.
As he pulled it out, his knees buckled, and he slid to the floor. Blood continued oozing from his injuries, but not as badly as before, as his vamp healing took over—slowly and weakly due to the silver nitrate coursing through his blood.
But despite the slight relief, the burning deep inside his chest warned that he was not yet done tending to himself.
The first shot the cop had fired had caught him just beneath his armpit. It was buried deep, and from inside his chest came the rattle of blood filling his lung. Reflexively he coughed, and the taste of it filled his mouth.
So much blood. Too much.
He tried to bring the knife around, but the injury was in an awkward spot. The only way he might be able to remove the bullet was to poke around in his chest, but there was so much burning there now that he had no idea where the bullet was really lodged. He would likely only make mincemeat of himself as he searched out the bullet. That would weaken him too much to do what he had to—kill Michaela before he died.
Fuck. He was going to die.
It seemed inevitable.
But he wasn't going to go out like some sniveling weasel, begging for his life. Fuck that.
Forcing himself to his feet, he plodded toward his lair. He was certain Siobhan had survived for a time after he had shot her with his poisoned arrow. He had felt her life slipping away from the connection they shared. He had no doubt that in those last few minutes of life, she had given Michaela the location of his lair in the abandoned trolley station that had once served Brooklyn.
He hoped his daughter would not delay in coming.
Leaving the subway tunnel through an entrance for the old trolley station, he staggered through the abandoned rooms toward a door to the storage chamber he had converted into his latest home. Once inside, he hurried to the large wood and iron chest on one side of the room. He unlocked the chest, heaved the top open, and peered inside at his weapons, armor, and swords.
He had died as a soldier the first time.
He would die that way again.
***
Michaela got off the subway at the Essex Street stop, close to the Williamsburg Bridge. Once the platform had cleared off and she was alone, she jumped down onto the tracks and carefully made her way into the tunnel.
The scent of blood was strong, and she followed it to a niche in the wall. She turned her flashlight on it and saw blood on the floor and smeared on part of the wall. As she swept the flashlight back and forth, it glinted against something else on the floor. She bent and gingerly picked up two silver slugs, using her sleeve so she didn’t touch the toxic metal.
Connall had been there and removed the bullets J’s gun had put in him. He might already be healing.
She made herself recall the severe beating she had seen Ryder endure, and rallied her courage.
She could defeat Connall. He might be stronger, but she just had to fight smarter.
Continuing onward, she found the entrance to the old trolley station and slipped inside. A trail of blood drops led her to a door to a storage area.
She hesitated. Beyond the steel door and thick mortar of the walls, she sensed Connall's undead presence. Not as strong as she’d feared, so maybe the bullets had taken a toll.
She readied herself, taking hold of the small pistol Jesus had given her in one hand and a long silver-bladed dagger in the other.
With a deep breath, she said a prayer, then shoved through the door.
“Hello, Father.”