Her eyes looked human, and her canines were snapped back into the roof of her mouth, but she smelled of fear and fresh blood. Beast bristled. Not knowing what else to do, I followed Katie to the office, holding Beast down with an effort of will; she hated tagging along to another predator’s den. As I followed, the vamp turned on the sconce, brightening the hallway with a touch of human color. But the scent of blood was growing stronger. Beast fought to get free and my lips curled to expose killing teeth I didn’t yet have. Katie didn’t glance my way.
In the office, the scent of blood and meat was so strong my stomach knotted. Contrary to books and movies, humans can’t smell fresh blood, only old and decomposing blood, but Beast can. She gathered herself and growled, low in my throat. Troll sprawled on the leather love seat, blood clotted on his throat and T-shirt, his outer shirt ripped open. His skin was grayish blue, his eyes rolled back in his bald head. His chest rose with a shallow breath. Beast settled to her haunches in my mind, waiting to see what I’d do.
“I hurt him,” Katie said, her voice astonished.“I . . . I took too much.” She looked at me with empty eyes, the eyes of a child who had made a grave mistake and didn’t know how to fix it. I relaxed my fingers, which had formed into fighting claws, and crossed the room, keeping Katie in sight. Kneeling, I checked Troll’s pulse. Thready and weak, way too fast. His skin was cold and ashen, shocky. I inspected his neck. The punctures were neatly constricted closed. At least he wasn’t losing any more blood. I adjusted his head slightly to open his airway, hoping Katie hadn’t broken his neck while feeding, hoping I hadn’t just paralyzed him.
Among the courses I had taken since I graduated from high school had been an emergency medical technician class, but I didn’t have supplies to help him. I traveled too light. “He needs a transfusion,” I said, “and fluids. Call 911.”
“No.” Still moving on the edge of vamp speed, she knelt, the motion graceful and wilting, and lay the back of her hand on Troll’s cheek. The gesture looked tender and caring, in stark contrast to her refusing her employee medical attention.
“Why not?” I said, keeping my tone steady.
“They will arrest me.” She looked at me across Troll’s body, distressed and helpless. Yeah. Right. “I have supplies,” she said. “I know you are capable of inserting an intravenous needle. You studied medicine. Rachael and he share a blood type. She can donate.”
Katie had clearly studied my Web site well, and had discovered that I was a certified emergency medical technician. I sat back on my heels, though Beast sent me an image of vulnerability, a cat with belly exposed. When I could speak without a challenge, which could stimulate a vamp on edge, I said, “Are you out of your freaking mind?” Okay. Not challenge-less, but better than what I wanted to say. “I’m not gonna start an IV and give somebody blood. If I gave the wrong type I could kill him. Not gonna happen.” I stood and looked down at Katie, at the desperation in her eyes.
“Do you know what happens to vampires in jail?” she asked. “We are chained in a dark room, without blood, and left to rot.”
“That’s just an Internet myth.” At least I hoped it was. Laws for equal rights and legal protection of supernats was not something Congress was eager to push through. Most of their constituents hadn’t exactly laid out the welcome mat to the vamps and witches when they’d been revealed a few decades back. Troll moaned, ashy, his breathing shallow. His carotid pulse fluttered like a dying bird. “Call your doctor,” I bargained, beginning to feel desperate.
“He is too far away. If you will not help with the transfusion,” Katie said, “then at least start intravenous fluids.” She stood and went to the bar.
I swiveled so my back was never turned to her, and watched as she opened a door on the bar to reveal a well-stocked medical supply cabinet. Well, looky there. How handy, I thought, feeling sarcasm ripple through me. This wasn’t the first time Katie had needed to treat a wound. Who woulda thunk it. I wondered how close to the killing edge Katie was. Lore claimed that vamps who started making blood mistakes late in life sometimes went feral, like the rogue I was hunting. Interesting. In a maybe-deadly kinda way. Beast didn’t like this. And neither did I.
Still keeping Katie away from my back, I checked the expiration dates on the saline and the sterile needles and went to work. I tied on a tourniquet and found a vein, inserted an eighteen-gauge needle. It was a large-bore needle, suitable for giving blood, and had to hurt, but Troll didn’t even flinch. I attached the line of fluids to the Jelco valve and turned on the saline, open all the way. Katie watched as I squeezed the bag to force fluid into Troll’s system faster. “He needs a doctor,” I said, hearing the near snarl in my voice.
“Will you make the call?” she asked, plaintive.
“Why don’t you?”
“I don’t know how,” she said. I looked up in surprise. Katie handed me a cell phone. “I know the correct number is in the phone book inside that but I do not know how to use it. And I do not wish to leave him, to go . . . back and find the number.”