Vampire Journals (Books 1, 2 and 3). Morgan RiceЧитать онлайн книгу.
her face. She dodged it, and his hand barely missed her, the wind of it passing right by her cheek. His hand hit the wall with such force that it lodged into the stone.
Caitlin was mad now. She felt the red-hot rage pulse in her veins. She walked over to the stuck vampire and wound back her leg and planted a strong kick right in his gut. He keeled over.
She then grabbed him from behind and threw him right into the wall, face first. His head hit the stone hard. She was proud of herself, figuring she had finished him off.
But she was shocked by a sudden pain in her face, and found herself backhanded once again. This vampire had recovered quickly—much more quickly than she had thought possible. Before she knew it, he was on top of her. He landed on her with a crash and brought her down. She had underestimated him.
His hand was on her throat, and on it for real. She was strong, but he was stronger. He had an ancient strength that ran through his body. His hand was cold and clammy. She tried to resist, but it was just too much. She dropped to one knee, and he kept squeezing. Before she knew it, he was pushing her head towards the water. At the last second, she managed a scream: “Help!”
A second later, her head was submerged.
*
Caitlin felt the disruption in the water, the waves rushing, and knew that someone else had landed in the water. She was losing oxygen fast, unable to fight back.
Caitlin felt strong arms under her, and felt herself being hoisted up and out of the water.
She jumped up and gasped for breath, sucking it in deeper than she ever had. She breathed again and again, hyperventilating.
“Are you okay?” he asked, holding her shoulders.
She nodded. That was all she could manage. She looked over and saw that her attacker lay there, floating in the water, on his back. Blood was oozing out of his neck. He was dead.
She looked up at him, his brown eyes looking down at her. He had saved her. Again.
“We’ve got to move,” he said, grabbing her arm and leading her, sloshing, through the waist-high water. “That manhole won’t hold very long.”
As if on cue, the manhole above them was suddenly torn out.
They ran. They turned down tunnel after tunnel, and heard the sound of water sloshing behind them.
He made a sharp turn and the water level dropped down to their ankles. They picked up real speed.
They entered yet another tunnel, and found themselves in the midst of major New York City infrastructure. There were massive steam pipes here, letting off huge clouds of steam. The heat was unbearable.
He took her down yet another tunnel, and suddenly picked her up and placed her on his back, wrapping her arms around his chest, and ascended a ladder, taking three rungs at a time. They were rising, and as he reached the top, he punched a manhole and sent it flying out before them.
They were back above ground, on New York City streets. Where, she had no idea.
“Hold on tight,” he said, and she tightened her grip around his chest, clasping her hands into each other. He ran, and ran, and it turned into a sprint, at a speed beyond which she had never experienced. She had a memory of riding on the back of a motorcycle once, years ago, and the feeling of the wind whipping through her hair at 60 miles an hour. It felt like that. But faster.
They must have been doing 80 miles an hour, then 100, then 120… It just kept going. The buildings, people, cars—it all became a blur. And before she knew it, they were off the ground.
They were in the air, flying. He opened his huge, black wings, flapping slowly beside her. They were up above the cars, above the people. She looked down and saw that they flew over 14th Street. Then, a few seconds later, 34th. A few more seconds, and they were above Central Park. It took her breath away.
He checked back over their shoulders, and so did she. She could barely see, with the wind whipping in her eyes, but she could see enough to know that no one, no creature, was following them.
He slowed a bit, and then dipped, lowering their height. Now they flew just above the tree line. It was beautiful. She had never seen Central Park this way, its pathways lit up, the treetops right below her. She felt like she could reach out and touch them. She had a feeling that it would never look as beautiful as it did right now.
She clasped her hands tighter around his chest, feeling his warmth. She felt safe. As surreal as all of this was, things felt back to normal in his arms. She wanted to fly like this forever. As she closed her eyes and felt the cool breeze caress her face, she prayed that this night would never end.
Chapter Eleven
Caitlin felt them slow, and then begin to descend. She opened her eyes. She didn’t recognize any of the buildings below them. It appeared that they were way uptown. Possibly, the Bronx somewhere.
As they descended, they flew over a small park, and in the distance, she thought she saw a castle. As they got closer, she realized that it definitely was a castle. What was a castle doing here, in New York City?
She wracked her brain, and realized that she had seen this castle before. On a postcard somewhere…Yes. It was a museum of some sort. As they ascended a small hill, flying over its ramparts, flying over its small, medieval walls, she suddenly remembered what it was. The Cloisters. The small museum. It had been brought over from Europe, piece by piece. It was hundreds of years old. Why was he taking her here?
They descended smoothly over the outer wall and onto a large, stone terrace, overlooking the Hudson river. They landed in darkness, but his feet touched down gracefully on the stone, and he gently let her off.
She stood there, facing him. She looked at him closely, hoping that he was still real, hoping that he wouldn’t fly away. And hoping that he was as gorgeous as he was the first time she saw him.
He was. If anything, even more so. He stared down at her with his large, brown eyes, and at that moment she felt herself get lost.
There are so many questions she wanted to ask, she didn’t even know where to begin. Who was he? How was he able to fly? Was he a vampire? Why had he risked his life for her? Why take her here? And most importantly, was everything she had seen just a wild hallucination? Or did vampires really exist, right here in New York City? And was she one of them?
She opened her mouth to speak, but all she managed was: “Why are we here?”
She knew it was a stupid question the moment she asked it, and hated herself for not asking something more important. But standing there in the cold, March night, face a bit numb, it was the best she could do.
He just stared back at her. His stare seemed to pierce her soul, as if he were seeing right through her. It looked as if he were debating how much to tell her.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he opened his mouth to speak.
“Caleb!” shouted a voice, and they both turned.
A group of men – vampires? – dressed all in black, marched right for them. Caleb turned and faced them. Caleb. She liked that.
“We have no clearance for your arrival,” the man in the middle said, deadly serious.
“It is unannounced,” Caleb answered flatly.
“Then we will have to take you into custody,” he said, nodding to his men, who slowly circled behind Caleb and her. “The rules.”
Caleb nodded, unfazed. The man in the middle looked directly at Caitlin. She could see the disapproval in his eyes.
“You know we can’t let her in,” the man said to Caleb.
“But you will,” Caleb answered flatly. He stared back at the man, equally determined. It was a meeting of the wills.
The man stood there, and she could see he was unsure what to do. A long, tense silence followed.
“Very