Nick blinked away the tears. He had managed to stay focused on his own feelings until Jackie’s panicky fear peaked. Why did something so despicable have to feel so damn good? He was sucking the life from this woman, and all he could think about was how sweet she tasted. His cock was so hard it hurt, but he had kept those images mostly stuffed into the background. He had wallowed in that kind of thing before, but at least whatever shreds of willpower he had could keep those thoughts at bay. Finally, Jackie’s pleas faded into unconsciousness, and she slumped forward. Nick eased her to the floor, his mouth still buried against her arm.
Laurel pushed and nudged at him, her cold, ethereal hands caressing his hair, rubbing at his temples. “Goddess be damned, Nick. Quit resisting so hard. Let me in.”
“Hmmm?” It was all he could manage to say in response without lifting his mouth free from Jackie. It was difficult to hear her over the growing howl of the wind coming from the other side. The sound existed only in his head, but it was real nonetheless, a bitter, icy chill that came along with the incredible surge of power that filled his body.
“Relax, you stupid cowboy. Focus on the good things. Shelby told me how real blood makes you feel, so let go of the guilt for two seconds so I can get in.”
Get in. Why does she need to do that? And how the hell can anyone relax while drinking blood from anyone? Focus on the good things. I’m not a savage. I’m not a loathsome animal. Focus on good things. The sweet taste of Jackie’s skin. How wonderful it would be to be inside her, kissing the crook of her elbow instead of sucking upon it.
“There,” her voice said from within his head now. “Was that so hard? Okay, get us through, Nick. We need to hurry. I’m going to amplify your power to open the door. Nick? Stop drinking! She’s going into shock.”
He pulled his mouth away, clamping his hand over the open knife wound. Sweat was dripping down his face from the heat inside the freezer. “Is it going to be enough?”
“Let’s find out,” she said. “And hurry. This is very difficult for me, too.”
Nick picked up Jackie, holding her tightly against him, and let the natural order of things follow, the order he had interrupted so many years ago in order to get his revenge. Now, ironically enough, he was letting it all go. The door yawned open, wider and wider, the breath of the dead blowing him through, but Jackie was not coming, not just yet, as she had not reached that brink, and Nick could feel her body slowly slipping from his grip.
“Laurel. Now would be a good time to kick it up a notch.” Nick dug his fingers into Jackie, clenching as hard as he could. She was not ready yet, and he didn’t have the force to get her through.
“Imagine a safe place, Nick. A safe place to take Jackie.”
His home was the only place he would take her. It was the only place he felt might be remotely defensible against Drake. “I can’t hold her much longer here, Ms. Carpenter.” Despite the strength of his grip, Jackie was slowly beginning to pull away. Even as close as she was to death. That little bit of life was enough to offset the pull of the dead.
Then Laurel’s whispering voice grew inside his head, slowly overtaking the howl of Deadworld. She was chanting, and Nick could not make out the words, or they were in a language he didn’t understand, but just like she had claimed, the door stretched itself, becoming more elastic, the louder her voice became.
Home. Take us home.
They broke free of that boundary, falling into the black void between the world of the living and that of the dead, a cold so intense Nick felt sure his bones would splinter apart into a million icy shards.
Take us home. Make her safe, please, God, if you exist and are there at all, get her through this. I beg of you.
The blackness began to fade into gray, a substanceless fog that gave Nick no sense of location. The howling wind of the doorway had faded, and it was now eerily quiet. There was the faintest whispering in the background. “Laurel?”
“Shhhh,” came the reply still echoing around inside his head. “Home. Keeping thinking of home. Almost there.”
Nick did his best to keep the images of his house fresh, the piano loft where he spent so many hours of his recent life, and where Jackie had felt compelled to kiss him. He desperately wanted a chance to do that again. “Trying.”
“Shhhh. No talking. They’ll hear you.”
She went back to her quiet chanting, and Nick wondered what she was talking about, but the whispers grew louder then, becoming nearly discernible voices. They were angry voices and many, but the words were jumbled, except for one, which he could make out because it was louder than all the rest. “Vampire.”
Laurel’s voice took on a fearful edge, the chanting becoming more frantic, and Nick took the cue and zeroed in on his house, the living room sofa, a fire, Jackie there, alive and healthy, sipping on a cup of the nuclear coffee he had made. Safe, comfortable, and home.
Something pushed at Nick’s back, and for a split second he panicked, thinking perhaps that crowd of voices was upon them, but then it took on more substance and feel, pressing against his back and legs, and Jackie’s body took on more weight against him as the gray fog dissipated into a serene background wash of color over everything. He was sitting on the sofa in his living room before his stone fireplace. It was a washed-out version of it, but his house nonetheless.
Resting against his chest, Jackie’s pale, bluish lips appeared to be kissing his shirt. Nick shifted and turned, easing her cold body down on the cushions, and pressed a pair of fingers against the soft flesh of her throat. For a moment, panic fluttered through his stomach, but then he felt her pulse, weak but still there. They had made it for now, but how long did Jackie really have?