Blood Oath

Cadre heard the faintest rasping of breath. He shut the case and went to Griff.

The older man lay like a bit of wastepaper that had missed the basket. Blood pumped from the wound in his midsection, but slowly.

Cade leaned down, though he didn’t have to get closer to hear him.

Pink foam poured from Griff’s nose and mouth. “It’s bad.”

“I don’t know how you’re breathing now.”

Griff coughed, as close as he could get to a laugh. “Thanks.” More pink foam.

Cade held the case before Griff’s clouding eyes. “This could save you.”

Griff looked pained, and it wasn’t the agony from dying. It was disappointment. Shook his head, as much as he was able. “Not right,” he said. “You know. It’s time.”

Griff convulsed once, began trembling. It took long seconds for him to speak again. “Cade . . . Good . . . Bye.”

Cade put the case down. He took Griff’s hand in both of his, shook it formally.

“Tired,” Griff said. Then his jaw went slack as the life went out of him.

ZACH ENTERED THE ROOM, saw the creature’s remains on the floor spread over the presidential seal. He saw Cade, kneeling over Griff.

Cade reached down and closed Griff’s eyes.

“We didn’t lose,” he said. “That’s enough.”

Zach looked down at Griff and realized what had happened. His breath caught in his throat.

From behind the desk, the president lifted himself off the floor. He shook his head, as if to clear it.

Cade went to him and helped him stand. The president looked over at Zach, then at Griff’s body.

“I’m sorry,” the president told Cade. “He was a good man.”

The intercom beeped, a surprisingly mundane noise. Curtis answered. “This is the president.”

On the other end, a new Secret Service agent babbled with relief. Communications lines were back up. Reinforcements were here, along with the army.

Curtis cut him off, his voice smooth and easy with command. “Keep the airspace around the White House clear. Establish a perimeter on the street. And bring in medical attention. We have wounded.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President. Are you all right?”

He clicked off the intercom for a moment and looked at Cade and Zach. “My family?”

“We just left them,” Zach said. “They’re in the panic room. Not a scratch.”

The president gave a long sigh. He pressed the button again.

There was the sound of furniture moving. Cade assumed a battle stance, then relaxed. A second later, Wyman popped up from under a broken couch.

He surveyed the office as if measuring for drapes. Looked around at the destruction. The bodies. The blood on the floor.

He smoothed down his hair. He looked at Cade, and Zach, and then the body of Griff.

“I suppose you’ll want to say ‘I told you so,’” he said.

Cade was prohibited, by his oath, from doing what he wanted to do to the vice president.

Zach wasn’t. He swung a hard right fist into the man’s face, knocking him flat on his ass.

Wyman sat there, stunned, on the Oval Office carpet, blinking back tears.

“Not another word,” Zach warned him, his fist drawn back to hit him again. “Not one more word. Sir.”

Cade, despite himself, felt a small grin on his face. For the vampire, this was the equivalent of falling down on the floor laughing.

Sunlight began to pour through the windows. They could already hear the soldiers and Secret Service men downstairs, the sounds of panicked voices and barked orders. Sirens outside. The media wouldn’t be far behind.

Cade turned and headed for the elevator, back to the P-OCK and the tunnel out.

Zach looked to the president, who nodded. Time to go.

He followed Cade to the elevator. Wyman was still yelling at them as the doors closed.