Page 92 of Grayson’s Challenge

“Don’t worry,” Grayson assured him. “It helps. At least we know he was here. We’ll figure out when he left and where he went.”

“Dad!” Patrick appeared in the door and rushed past Hamish.

“He’ll be all right.”

Patrick kneeled down next to Samson and put his arms around him. Then he looked at Grayson. “Did he drink Mom’s blood?”

Grayson nodded. “The entire bottle. Let’s get him home. He’ll need more. The blood they forced him to drink really did a number on him.”

Patrick looked over to Cain. “And what did they give Cain?”

Cain opened his eyes a sliver. “Dead man’s blood…” He swallowed, his voice breaking. “More painful than silver.”

But less lethal: silver would eventually kill a vampire, but dead man’s blood would inflict excruciating pain, without ever killing its victim. It was the perfect means for prolonged torture.

Abel was more vindictive than anybody he’d ever known.

41

Isabelle heard the sound of the front door being opened. They were back! Her heart pounding into her throat, she charged out of the kitchen into the hallway. Robbie, one of the vampire guards stationed outside the house and a vampire she didn’t know were dragging Orlando into the foyer. His clothing was torn and drenched in blood, his face swollen and bloodied. She ran toward them.

“Oh my God! Orlando! What happened to you?”

Orlando lifted his head. His lips moved, but only a pained groan came from him.

“He got ambushed,” the stranger said.

“Get him into the living room,” she ordered, and watched them place Orlando on the large sofa. Isabelle addressed the stranger, “Who are you?”

“Striker Reed.”

“I’m Isabelle.”

He nodded. “I know.”

Of course, he did. And she knew about him, even though she’d never met him in person. He’d been instrumental in finding her kidnapper and rescuing her over ten years ago. He’d been a tracker for the vampire council, though back then he’d already left the council and started working freelance. He was one of the best trackers the council had ever had, but he’d never disclosed why he’d left the council, and why they’d let him leave, which added to the mystery around him.

“Robbie, get me the first aid cart. And bottled blood. In the pantry,” she directed the vampire guard.

Robbie complied and left the living room. Isabelle crouched down to Orlando and inspected his injuries. He had a deep knife wound across his abdomen, and more angry-looking gashes on his arms, all inflicted by a silver blade, which made the wounds look as if burned with acid. She peeled some of the shredded fabric away from the stomach wound, and Orlando groaned in pain. She shot him a look and noticed that his fangs had descended, and his eyes were wide open and glared red. The cords in his neck bulged, attesting to the fact that he was holding on to his control so as not to lash out.

His injuries were severe, and they confirmed one thing immediately: Orlando wasn’t the traitor her brother had assumed him to be. He was innocent. In fact, he’d risked his life to help their family.

Wanting to assure Orlando that she wouldn’t hurt him, Isabelle gently stroked her hand over his dark hair. He flinched as if he hated being touched, and she quickly withdrew her hand.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Orlando, but you’ll have to let me help you,” she said calmly.

Finally, Robbie rolled the first aid cart into the room, and Isabelle reached for a bottle of human blood and twisted off the cap. Orlando ripped it from her hand and gulped it down greedily.

Isabelle reached for the pair of scissors on the cart. “Thanks, Robbie. You can go back to your post.”

Robbie glanced at Striker. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Isabelle replied. “I can handle these two.”

Robbie nodded dutifully and went back outside to guard the house.

She looked back at Orlando. He’d emptied the bottle, and she took it from his hand. “What happened, Orlando?”