Chapter 19

 

 

Vic woke up in the deep gray dusk of evening. She rolled over on her bedspread and gazed out the window. The awful scene down in the basement paraded before her eyes. More than anything else, Noah’s agonizing screams pierced her ears.

“Tell him nothing, lass! Tell him nothing!”

If Boyd killed Noah, or if he concocted some other horrendous atrocity to compel Vic to talk, she had to honor Noah’s last wish. She had to keep the Angui’s secret. In the end, she held their lives in her hands, exactly the way Malcolm told her she would.

She held Malcolm’s life in her hands. One slip, and it would be Malcolm hanging from that bar instead of Noah.

She’d lived her whole life in peace and serene contentment, in goodwill toward all men and all that crap. For the first time in her life, she’d screamed at someone, “I’ll kill you!” And she’d meant it. She meant it to the bottom of her soul. She hated Boyd, and that hatred went a lot further than wishing him dead. She wanted to take his life. She wanted to make him pay for what he’d done—not just to Noah and not just to Malcolm, but to her. He turned her into something she never wanted to be. He’d turned her into a cold-blooded killer. She’d never be able to get the image of stabbing Noah’s attacker out of her mind.

The light faded beyond the window. With the black of night, the ordinary sounds of people and carts in the street outside faded to silence. The Guild House rested from the day’s labor.

What a sick, evil organization this Guild had turned out to be! Death and torture and slaughter kept them going through the centuries. They weren’t satisfied annihilating a civilization and reducing the Angui to broken, tormented fugitives. The Guild would never rest until they exterminated every last Angui from the face of the Earth.

She shuddered in disgust. The Falisa had killed all the immortal females. They’d killed babies and pregnant women. And then they surely must have killed young boys in their obsessed hunt to destroy the rest of the Angui race. Boyd Gunn inherited that legacy, and it showed in his treatment of Noah. He was probably down in the basement harassing that poor boy to death right now.

Vic jumped to her feet. Malcolm had said Noah was still breathing when he took her out of the basement. Could Noah still be alive down there?

She paced around the room in the dark before she summoned the courage to poke her head into the corridor. Lamps burned on the walls to light up the house, but she didn’t see any people. She strained her ears to listen but heard nothing.

She tiptoed onto the landing. Lights blazed all over the place. While she stood there, three of the kilted men who’d taken custody of her and Malcolm at the warehouse emerged from a parlor off the main entrance foyer. They chatted and laughed while they opened the front door; then they slipped out into the night and quiet descended over the building once more.

Vic’s heart thumped against her sternum. She didn’t really think she could free Noah from these demons, did she? Why shouldn’t she? Her life was just as forfeit if she got caught. At least she would get killed trying to save a human life rather than waiting on the inevitable in a comfortable room.

She glided down the stairs, pausing in the foyer at the sound of more voices she recognized. Boyd and Malcolm were talking behind the parlor door where the men had just left. They sounded friendly enough, so she breathed a sigh of relief. Boyd must not suspect Malcolm after all.

She couldn’t bring herself to go near the basement door, though. What would she find down there? What if Noah was already dead and she got caught for nothing?

She had to find out. She couldn’t live with herself if she left him down there. She took a few tentative steps down the hall, past Boyd’s apartment. The kitchen opened just beyond that, leading into the garden. She stopped by the basement door to listen.

Malcolm’s rolling laugh floated to her ear through the walls.

Her blood screamed in her veins. She still hadn’t done anything wrong. She could walk away right now. She could go up to her room and forget all about this.

She heard nothing but the faint drift of voices coming down the hall, but Noah called her down to the basement. If she found him dead down there, at least she would know for certain. If she didn’t go, uncertainty and guilt would plague her for life.

She put out her hand for the doorknob when her gaze flicked to the empty kitchen. The large worktable gleamed burnished orange in the firelight. No other light shone in the room. The cook’s work knives glistened in the rack next to the counter.

Quick as a flash, Vic dove into the room, seized a carving knife out of the slot, and scooted into the basement. She pulled the door closed behind her and halted on the stairs. Her breath tortured her with every gasping inhalation. Her ribs ached from the tension tearing her apart, and her heart flip-flopped into her throat. She imagined all kinds of noises coming at her from every side but could hear nothing. A faint glimmer lit up the basement below from the lantern still burning on its hook.

She stole down the stairs, picking each footfall with extreme care and brandishing the knife in her shaking hand. Cold sweat crept up her arm. What did she really think she was going to do with it? She’d never harmed a flea in her life, and she certainly wasn’t about to start now.

She climbed down the stairs and entered the dark basement. When she beheld the hideous sight of Noah hanging bloody and ripped to shreds from the bar, she didn’t stop to think twice. She rushed to him and threw her arms around him.

She tried to lift his weight off his arms. “Noah!” she croaked. “Noah, are you still alive?”

She already knew he was. His skin still felt warm. The minute she touched him, he reared back and tried to stand up, but his legs buckled underneath him. His blood-smeared skin slipped out of her grasp, and he fell down against his wrists. He groaned in agony.

“Noah!” she cried. “It’s me. It’s Vic. I’m here to help you.”

His eyes rolled back in their sockets, and his head lolled back. He fought to open his eyes. “Lass! Ye shouldnae have…”

“Don’t talk!” she whispered. “I’m getting you out of here.”

He didn’t answer. He stank of something she didn’t care to identify. Muck and dried blood stained his tartan, and his cuts were crusted with black blood all over him. She hardly dared touch him, but she couldn’t leave him here. She refused to acknowledge the risk she was running, doing this. She shoved it out of her mind. She never saw anyone in such bad shape before, and the sight ignited insane action in her.

She started sawing through the ropes holding him up. What she would do with him when he collapsed on the floor at her feet, she couldn’t imagine. How was she supposed to get him out of here when the Gunns controlled the whole island? Even if, by some distant chance, she got him out of the house, no one would help her. Anyone who saw her would report her to Boyd in seconds.

She didn’t care about anything but saving Noah’s life, even if it meant sacrificing her own. She bent all her will to cutting those ropes. The threads parted. As she expected, the instant the strands gave out, he flopped in a pile at her feet.

She tucked the knife under the basque of her dress. She strained her back to pick him up, but his bloody body kept slipping through her hands and arms before she could muster any strength to lift him. She wrestled his arms onto her shoulders. “Help me, Noah. You have to stand up.”

He grunted in response, wheezing for every breath. Blood caked the side of his face where his ear used to be. The ragged hole in his side oozed blood every time she moved him. She hated to think how deep it went.

Then she remembered. He was immortal. If he got out of here, if he got somewhere safe, he would heal. As long as he was still alive, he would be okay. Boyd hadn’t killed him, not yet.

That thought gave her the strength she needed to get through this. She hooked one of his arms over her shoulder, held his hand in place, and wedged her shoulder into his armpit. She hoisted him up, but his weight crushed her spine.

“Help me, Noah,” she begged again. “Please help me. We have to get you out of here.”

He rallied and got one leg under himself. For a brief instant, his weight lifted off her shoulders, and her spirits exploded. The next moment, he collapsed again, only to try one more time.

She pushed forward. He did his best, but he lacked the power to hold himself up. She got him as far as the stairs before he slipped out of her grasp, onto the floor.

He folded at the waist and moaned, hugging his arms over his waist. His loose hair covered his face, and he crouched on the ground doubled over with his back to her. “Leave me here, lassie. Save yerself.”

“I can’t leave you here to die,” she whispered. “We have to get you out of here. Once you get off Stromness, you’ll be okay. You’ll heal from these wounds. You’ll live.”

He cast a desperate glance over his shoulder, and Vic almost lost heart when she saw the expression on his face. “I’ll never get off Stromness, lassie. He’ll hunt me down, and when he finds out ye helped me escape, he’ll make me watch while he does the same to ye. Then he’ll kill us both.”

Terror seized her heart. Wild mania clenched her chest in its icy fist. She wanted to bolt and leave this young man to his fate.

The next minute, her soul kicked against that impending disaster. If she died, at least she would die fighting these monsters. One more life didn’t mean a thing to them, but it sure meant something to her.

Her friends back home would never believe she could take such a risk. Of everyone in their little circle, Vic had always played it safe. She’d grown up in a loving, supportive family and never faced any challenges—at least, she never faced anything close to what Ree and Ellen had faced when Ree crashed that car. Vic always played it safe, and she always got what she wanted. All of that went out the window along with her painted façade. She changed her clothes. She took off her makeup and she became a different person. She found an untapped reservoir of strength and resolve inside herself, and she wouldn’t back down until she did what she set out to do.

She said nothing more. She picked him up again and started manhandling him up the stairs.

He said nothing, either. He let her do what she wanted with him, and what she wanted was to get him out of this house.

She fought her way to the top of the stairs before she stopped to rest. He weighed her down more than ever, even as he made feeble efforts to help her. He planted each watery leg on the steps and made a weak attempt to hoist himself up each stair, but mostly she did the work.

She sweated from the exertion. The lantern light faded behind her. She closed her eyes in the darkness behind the basement door. Boyd and Malcolm sat only a few feet away on the other side of that door. Did she really think she could get Noah past them?

She propped him against the wall while she gauged what to do next. The faintest moisture glistened on his eyes when he looked at her, but he was panting too hard to speak.

He knew.

They both knew.

This was suicide, but what else could she do?

She eased back the knob and cracked the door open to peek out.