Equinox

Chapter Fifteen

Dylan was dying. Even if I sprinted I was too far away. The blood was draining from his body at incredible speeds and I stood helpless to the fact, watching him die.

And then there was Fang. In the midst of all the chaos I had completely forgotten that anyone else existed. Beautiful, wonderful Fang, who had never before in his life seen a real vampire, let alone encountered one in person. I, the experienced hunter, was glued to the spot … but he fell to action.

He lunged from the shadows, where he had seemingly melted into the darkness, and scooped up Dylan's fallen stake. The vampire was so consumed with feeding that you could have barreled toward him in a steam engine and he wouldn't have noticed. Fang took three long strides and sunk the stake deep into the vamp's back.

Dylan's body fell limply to the ground, all the color sapped from his skin. The vampire stumbled back, scrabbling in confusion at his chest, where the very tip of the stake protruded. It was a clean hit- straight through the heart. He looked down and caressed the wooden spike. Then he looked up. This time, his hell-bound eyes found mine.

"This … is only the … beginning," he stuttered, gurgling over the liquid climbing his throat. Onyx ichor dribbled from the corner of his mouth, then spewed as he bent over double and coughed into the dirt.

I ran forward, intent on tending to Dylan. I paused as I reached the vampire, who had sunk to his knees and was struggling through his last few breaths. My boot found his shoulder, and I kicked him to his stomach. At first I thought he was choking, but then I realized the wheezing sound rattling from his throat was laughter. Mercilessly, I grasped the end of the stake that hadn't punctured his back and twisted. His body seized up and then was still.

In those few seconds, Iggy had stumbled toward us. Now, he knelt at Dylan's side. His long, thin fingers brushed up Dylan's arm, over his shoulder, and onto his neck. Little blood lingered near the two neat punctures in his skin. Vampire saliva had a coagulating effect, so that their prey wouldn't bleed out in the case that they wanted to save some for later. Iggy lingered for a moment over the bite, before he pressed two fingers against Dylan's throat to check for a pulse.

"He's breathing, but barely," Iggy claimed, relief flooding his tone.

I dropped to my knees, then sat back on my heels so that I could rest Dylan's head on my lap. Fang hovered nearby, glaring at his feet. With one hand, I smoothed Dylan's hair from his forehead. His skin was unnaturally cold. With the other, I fished into my pocket and withdrew my phone.

With an artificially calm facade, I called in the kill and demanded immediate medical response.

Iggy sat stoically across from me, checking Dylan's pulse every once in awhile as we waited. I focused on his shaky breaths, matching my own with the faint rise and fall of his chest. He was going to be okay. He had to be okay. Any other alternative would kill me, too.

I broke my eye contact with him only once, to glance over my shoulder at Fang, who had settled with his back against the trunk of a tree. His hardened gaze met mine. I searched his face for any signs of emotion, but there was nothing to betray what he was feeling.

"Congratulations," I croaked, my throat thick with worry. "Your first kill."

-o-o-o-

The vampire was removed in a body bag, to be taken for incineration. Dylan was removed strapped to a gurney, to be taken as gently and quickly as possible to the nearest vehicle, in which they would speed him back to headquarters to be attended to as necessary. Fang, Iggy, and I accompanied them. They separated us from Dylan once we reached the cars. He was carted away in an ambulance (how and when the CSM had procured one, I had no idea), and we were left to follow in a nondescript SUV.

I sat squished in the middle of Fang and Iggy, alternating between curling my nails into the supple leather of the seats and drumming agitatedly against my knees. Bitter thoughts swirled in my mind and left an acrid taste on my tongue. How could I have let this happen? I was his partner, I was supposed to protect him. Instead I had frozen. Instead I had watched as the life literally drained from his body. What if Fang hadn't been there? Dylan would have died. He would have died.

A hand closed over mine. I stared at the olive toned skin, feeling its warmth and rough, calloused curves. Then I looked up, meeting Fang's gaze. Though his expression was hooded, his obsidian eyes were softer than usual. Much to my bewilderment, my breath got lost somewhere in my throat. I prayed he didn't notice my reaction, inhaling as casually as possible. He didn't betray any amusement, though. He just stared at me, softly and a little bit calculatingly. I peered back, past the wall I had firmly decided to overcome the first time we had met, and realized he was letting me see- letting me see that he understood.

Just as quickly as it had started, our moment was broken.

"Oh God," Iggy suddenly moaned, dropping his head into his hands. His fingers raked through his strawberry blonde hair, and his next words were muffled by his palms. "This is my fault. This is all my fault. I'm so sorry, Max. This is all my fault."

I turned to stare blankly at him, momentarily puzzled by his sudden outburst.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, resting my hand on his shoulder.

He didn't look up as he said, "It's my fault. I'm the stupid, clumsy, blind idiot that cut my hand. Dylan was attacked by a vampire. I felt the puncture wounds … and I'm the one that drew it toward us."

He was practically in hysterics as he shoved his injured hand beneath my nose. I had to duck backward to avoid contact. The blood had dried to flakes, and the skin was already beginning to scab over. With a sinking feeling, I realized he was probably right.

"No," I insisted nonetheless. "You don't know that. It could have already been stalking us. Maybe the smell of your blood sent it into a frenzy, and that's why it threw surreptition to the wind, but that doesn't mean it attacking Dylan was your fault. If anything, it could have been what saved him. He was on guard, and that gave him the few seconds he needed to fight so that Fang could stake the vamp."

Iggy muttered unintelligibly, shaking his head. I let him. He needed time to process. He and Fang both, judging by the dark mask shrouding his features every time he thought someone wasn't looking. This single trip had turned into a convoluted mess on every possible spectrum, and I was left feeling frayed to a single thread.

When we careened to a halt outside the main entrance of the CSM, Anne was waiting for us in the lobby. Judging by her frazzled expression, she had just sent Dylan through. We didn't really have an area designated as a hospital, but the science department had everything he needed, including a slew of capable doctors, though their usual patients were of the paranormal variety. He would be in good hands, so for the moment I allowed my concern for his well being to dissolve in place of a swelling anger.

Anne pursed her lips upon seeing my livid expression, most likely bracing herself for the onslaught of my wrath. I stalked immediately toward her, feet pounding loudly against the white tile. My hands were curled into fists, and I had to force my teeth from their previously gritted position so that I could speak.

"What the hell was that!?" I demanded, seething with nostrils flared.

She regarded me tiredly. "I can't possibly imagine what sort of explanation you're after," she responded, nonplussed.

I tilted my head, glaring with every dredge of hostility I had in my body, which -as a teenage girl- was a lot. She was lying through her teeth. I could tell by the forced calm she was exuding. Her posture, the set of her brow, the tone of her voice- everything was fake, fake, fake. She knew exactly what I was referring to without even having been there to witness it.

"Dylan is 6'2'' and ripped from head to toe," I snarled. Inwardly, I winced. God forbid his face had he heard me say that. "He should have been able to bat that vamp like a balloon. You know something and you're not telling. What is going on?"

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. The wrinkles around her eyes were becoming more pronounced by the minute. I half expected her to sprout gray hairs and start walking with a cane after another sixty seconds. I could have pitied her, and all the stress I had caused and was causing her, had I not currently wanted to rip out her throat.

"Go watch over Dylan," she ordered. I bristled, and she added in a softer tone, "He needs you."

I wanted to argue, but I had already wasted enough time, and I knew a lost cause when I saw it … and convincing Anne of anything when she set her mind against it was useless. If I wanted information, I'd have to find it from some other source, else I pried it from her cold, dead hands. With a final glare, I shouldered past her and headed for the elevator.

The few moments I stood in the small box set me further on edge. Fang and Iggy had disappeared, presumably to return to the rest of their flock, and so I descended on my own. By the time I stepped into the hall, I was positively itching with discomfort. Elevators? Not my style.

They made me wait outside while they operated. Eugh. The word gave me chills. Dr. Martinez sat with me, her hand over mine in a reassuring gesture. Every time I looked up at her, she smiled tenderly. Something about her chocolate eyes set me at ease, but it wasn't enough to erase the gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach.

"What are they doing to him?" I asked quietly, after an hour had passed. There was little emotion left in me to express.

She smoothed my hair, like a mother would her daughters. My heart constricted at the thought. I had never known my mother. As soon as I thought it, I admonished myself. Now was the last time I needed to experience a total emotional break. I could worry about my mommy issues later. Or never. Whichever sufficed.

"He lost a lot of blood, but he was lucky. He's going to survive. He just needs a proper blood transfusion," she explained. "He might need a few, over the course of the next couple weeks, so take it easy on him. You need to make sure he rests and recovers."

We lapsed into silence for the next two hours. The prior adrenaline I was experiencing was beginning to wear off, and my lids grew heavier with each tick of the clock on the wall. I slumped on Dr. M's shoulder, practically asleep when the door directly across from us opened with a swish.

Dr. Fisher, who had always been the one to attend to my bumps, bruises, and broken bones, emerged. He wiped a hand across his brow, beckoning for me. I hopped to my feet as if I had never been tired in my life. He smiled at my eagerness, his lips parting through the weariness coating his face.

"He'll probably sleep for a while, so maybe you should get some rest sweetie," he suggested, placing an open hand on my shoulder.

"I'll wait." I shrugged, rushing into the room after briefly thanking both he and Dr. M.

I hardly recognized Dylan, a thin blanket up to his waist and wires poking from his arms and nose. His usually golden skin was reduced to a paste and his blonde hair was plastered to his forehead. Beneath their lids, his eyes twitched left and right. I wondered, as I settled in a chair at his side, if he was having a nightmare. The monitor tracing the path of his heart was regular. That was just like Dylan- steady even in panic situations.

After a few moments of surveying his appearance, I grew cosmically bored. Watching people sleep isn't fun, especially when you're as exhausted as I was. I leaned forward, folding my arms on the mattress and then settling my head on top. In seconds, I was asleep.

And, what seemed like seconds later, I was woken.

Dylan smirked down at me as I groggily blinked into the bright, fluorescent light above. He was sitting up, and some of the color had returned to his cheeks. I shook myself, wiping at the corner of my mouth with the edge of my sleeve. Tongue heavy, I managed to assemble a coherent sentence through the sleep still clinging to my thoughts.

"How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," he acknowledged, grinning. "But I'm alive."

"Barely," I mumbled, leaning heavily back in my chair. Memories from the previous night washed my lingering fatigue away in an instant. Dylan and the vampire. The vampire attached by fang to Dylan's neck. Dylan collapsing to the ground. The images circulated through my mind in a continuous loop.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching for my hand. I stilled at the pressure of his fingers and glanced up into his sea blue eyes. They twinkled in a way that made me flush.

But I didn't, because I'm me and I don't flush.

"Friggin' vamps, man. What can you do?" he joked, cracking a brilliant smile.

I snatched my hand from his, drawing my chair away from the bed with a loud squeal. I stood, pacing a few steps away in agitation. I raked a hand through the top of my hair, though strands were uncoiling from my braid with each jerk of my shoulders.

"It's not funny," I quipped, gritting my teeth. "You could have been killed."

He shrugged, unaffected by my dark mood. "But you saved me and that's all that matters."

"Erm," I muttered, biting my nail. My thoughts had been otherwise consumed, so I hadn't really thought about how Dylan would handle the truth of his miraculous survival. After all, he had been kind of out of it when the events took place.

"What?" he demanded, his brow wrinkling.

"Those thanks belong to Fang, not me," I informed him.

His expression hardened to a glower. "Fang killed the vampire?" His words were halting, like he was in denial of the fact. I nodded, and he repeated the phrase, more slowly and like a statement instead of a question. "Fang killed the vampire."

"Yes," I corroborated, biting back a laugh at the pinch of his nose.

Being sucked dry of blood by a vampire wouldn't kill him after all. No, leave that to his wounded pride.

-o-o-o-

Weeks passed, and January melded into February. The flock was hard at work training and Dylan was still in recovery, much to his protest, but I wasn't going to take him hunting if there was any chance of weakness on his behalf. So when I wasn't reprimanding Dylan for straining himself or working with the flock, I was keeping my ears and eyes peeled for any hints regarding Anne's secrecy surrounding strange behavior amongst the paranormals. My efforts, though entirely fruitless, were further interrupted by the arrival of a group of hunters from Virginia.

David Norman had returned, and this time his son Sam had tagged along.

I had always admired Sam. Not because of his particularly engaging personality, although he was a relatively nice guy, but because he was marginally good looking and I didn't get out a lot. When you're thirteen and spend all your time with either adults or Dylan and Gazzy, you learn to appreciate the few other teenage boys you're exposed to. I was expecting to have retained this sentiment, but when Sam entered the lounge room that day, I was considerably unimpressed.

There was something oddly familiar about his appearance, pardoning the obvious fact that I was familiar with his … appearance. Ahem, anyway. After exchanging greetings and introducing him to the flock, it dawned on me. His hair, his clothing- especially his easily recognizable jacket. He was dressed like Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester. As in from the TV show Supernatural. I could have keeled over laughing right then and there, but I didn't want to embarrass him.

"Soo," he drawled after a break in the conversation. He leaned casually against the wall, biting his lip as he gazed mischievously at me. "How about you ditch deadweight Dylan over there and hunt with me tonight?"

I raised an eyebrow, swallowing another bout of laughter. Dylan, who had been instructing Nudge as she played against Gazzy in some video game, glared sharply over. Sam smiled crookedly back. I didn't need Dylan's permission, but I didn't particularly feel up to a whole night of listening to Sam's cringe-worthy pickup lines (most of which he probably picked up from his favorite TV show character, Dean Winchester). I was counting on him to put up a fight.

And judging by his stormy expression, he had intended to. But then, some sudden thought seemed to change his mind. With a demure smile, he said, "Sure, why not. You'll have fun, Max."

I snapped my mouth shut quickly, lest I begin gaping.

"Yeah, fine, that'd be great," I agreed, adopting my most winning smile. Hurriedly, I added, "But I think Fang should come with us."

Fang, who had been wordlessly following our conversation, now raised a dark eyebrow. I smiled tightly at him, eyes crinkling in faux-excitement. The corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. Unfortunately for me, that motion of his never failed to cause me heart palpitations. I quickly diverted my gaze, as if he could possibly sense my uneven pulse from all the way across the room.

Sam's shoulders deflated slightly, and he was visibly disappointed. Dylan quickly came to his rescue with a suggestion that made me want to punch him right in his smug mouth.

"I have an even better idea," he claimed enthusiastically. "I think it would be good for Fang to get some exposure with other hunters. Max can hunt with Sam, and Fang can go along with someone else. Didn't you say Lissa came with her mom?"

I instantly seethed. Lissa.