premonition of trouble headed her way.
She crawled on. The water tore at her, chilling her flesh and numbing her hands and feet. Rocks cut into knees and hands, but she could barely even feel them. Her teeth chattered, a sound that echoed through the darkness, mocking her.
The imp drifted on. The tunnel began to slope downwards, and the rush of the water grew stronger, pulling her forward. She battled to remain upright as the churning water leapt in icy fingers across her back, soaking her completely. Ahead, the water roared, the sound almost deafening. Waterfall, she thought, and hoped it wasn't very large. Or very deep.
The rocks under the water became smoother, making it harder to gain any hold against the rushing torrent. She slipped, going under, gulping water as the current grabbed her and smashed her sideways.
Panic surged, and she thrust upward into a sitting position. She coughed so long she could barely breathe, her face hot and throat raw. The imp flashed past her, green tinged with red. A warning, but she wasn't sure of what.
She hugged her arms across her chest and tried to stop her teeth from chattering. She should have tried to stop the water from flowing instead. It would have been a damn sight easier. Lord, she felt so cold that her bones ached with it.
The flame imp ducked past her again. Heat rolled across her skin, a moment of warmth that was gone all too soon. It hovered several feet away, its muted light showing a sharp turn to the right in the tunnel. The roaring of the water was close. The waterfall couldn't be all that far away.
She sighed and began crawling forward again. The water surged past her, tugging at her cotton sweater, thrusting it up to her armpits. She ignored it, crawling on, knowing she had to get out of this water soon.
It was becoming harder and harder to move.
She rounded the corner, and walls gave way to space. The roar of the water intensified, echoing in the darkness. The imp hovered again, light whirling green and red, highlighting the downward plunge of the stream.
Gripping a nearby rock to steady herself against the water's pull, she peered over the edge. It was a good twenty-foot drop. Not a great distance by any means, but long enough when there was no other way down and she couldn't swim. Nor was there any way of telling how deep the pool at the bottom was—or if it was even deep at all. She might jump and end up breaking a leg—or worse.
She bit her lip and looked at the flame imp. 'I don't suppose there's another way down, is there?'
It whirled in place, color flashing to red. She took that as a no. 'Damn,' she muttered. She'd have to jump and hope for the best.
She pulled herself upright, standing close to the edge, staring down. She didn't want to do this. It was stupid to do this. If she broke any bones, she'd be no help to Michael. But what help was she standing here shivering?
She was watching the water splash and dance, unable to make that final leap, when the decision was taken from her hands. Pain hit her, blinding in its intensity. Michael's pain, so sharp, so heavy, that it knocked her sideways—over the edge of the waterfall and into space.
Chapter Twenty-two
Michael regained consciousness slowly, aware at first of only the pounding ache in his head. But gradually other sounds seeped through, registering in his mind. Flames crackled and danced somewhere close, washing warmth across his skin and filling the air with the pungent smell of pine. Beyond that, water bubbled and gurgled —a stream, rushing past quite strongly.
Between those two sounds came another—a low, guttural chanting. Cordell doing God knew what.
Michael tried to open his eyes but couldn't. Something seemed to be gluing them shut. He sniffed, tasting the air. It smelled like dried blood—his blood, probably, if the ache in his head was anything to go by.
He tried to move his arms, but they wouldn't budge. He twisted his hands. Rope burned into his wrists, and there was very little leeway. He tried moving his feet and got the same result.
He twisted his head, trying to wipe the blood off his face and onto his shoulder. All he succeeded in doing was sending the madman in his head into a drumming frenzy. Red flames of pain shot through his brain and he groaned.
The chanting stopped. Wind sighed, moving toward him.
'So, the ex-lover awakens.' Cordell's voice was low but sharp. He smelled diseased—decayed. He smelled as unpleasant as a room full of zombies.
'Even if you kill me, Cordell, you won't get very far.' He began to twist his arms, trying to loosen the bindings around his wrists. 'The Circle knows all about your activities here. They will hunt you down and kill you.'
'Yeah, right.' Cordell snorted. 'That sounds a little like Get Smart syndrome to me—would you believe a hundred men? No? How about fifty? No? What about two men with a semiautomatic?'
The man was a nut—and who in the hell was Get Smart?
'Elizabeth's dead,' he continued. 'Her fledglings are dead, and the flame imps are all but extinct thanks to your abuse of them. Your empire crumbles around your ears, Cordell.'
'My empire has only just begun. And you, my friend, will pay for chopping off two of my fingers and, in the process, help my quest for more power.'
'Not a chance on this Earth.' Water splashed into his face, rinsing the blood from his eyes. He blinked several times.
'Who said the choice was yours?'
Metal rattled against the ground, then Cordell rolled into his line of vision and stopped. His skin was so pale it almost looked blue. His cheeks were hollow, and his lips cracked and bloody. He looked like he smelled—death on four wheels.
'As you can see, this body of mine wastes away. Your blood will empower my magic and bind one of the flame imps within. Their energy will renew and revitalize me.'
It would also kill him, but not soon enough. 'How long have you been a vampire, Cordell?' And why was a disease still active within his body? Surely the crossover from life to death should have killed it?
'I became a vampire two years ago. It was Elizabeth who turned me, you know. We were lovers.' He grinned, revealing heavily stained teeth. He'd obviously been a heavy smoker in life. And maybe still was in death. 'Surprising, huh?'
'Not really.' Elizabeth would have sensed the black magic in him and hungered for that power. The looks of the man holding that ability would not have mattered to her.
And in the end, it was her insatiable need for power that had trapped her.
Cordell looked disappointed, as if he'd expected more. Michael frowned. Cordell might be in his forties, but mentally, he was more like a teenager. Maybe that accident had taken a few brain cells along with his ability to walk.
'Why does your body waste away?'
Cordell raised his eyebrows. 'And Elizabeth told me your were the brightest of all her fledglings. It is the magic, of course, that wastes me. All magic has its costs, but black magic draws its power from the wielder. Every time you use it, it sucks a little more from your system. I could walk once, you know.'
'Even after the car accident?'
'You have done your research, haven't you?' He wheeled around to the left. Michael twisted, trying to keep him in sight. 'The doctors thought I was paraplegic, but a few months after my rehabilitation ended, I began getting feeling back in my legs and toes. They said my brain had 'rewired' itself somehow. It took me nearly a year to regain my strength and walk, you know.'
The rope around Michael's left wrist felt a little looser. Though his skin was slick with blood, he kept twisting and pulling. 'Then why destroy all that hard work by using black magic?'
Cordell snorted. 'After spending so much time in Elizabeth's company, I'm surprised you even have to ask that question.'
