Immortals After Dark 12 - Lothaire

from her inner arms to a pair of portholes in the wall behind her, continuing into the control room.
    Half an hour ago, a nameless, faceless doctor had started a saline drip back there. At high noon, he would add a trio of chemicals, and moments later, the nightmare would be over forever.
    Have to finish this. Almost there.
    Funny what one would think about on the verge of death. How many people knew—to the minute—when they’d pass on?
    She doubted anyone had ever gone to her own execution with such a feverish drive still spurring her, with a goal and an iron will bent on achieving it. Far from muting her determination, jail had only honed it, like adding layer after layer of plating to shore up a mountain train trestle.
    I’m about to win. To beat her. Saroya had risen only twice in the last five years, both times in the first few months. Ellie’s blackouts had resulted in the permanent disfigurement of two fellow inmates.
    All done with her bare hands.
    Long dormant, the demon now stirred. Sensing its own doom? That’s right, you’re going down, bitch.
    Only two things could save her life at this point.
    An unexpected call from the governor.
    Or Saroya’s powerful red-eyed mate.
    Not a day went by that Ellie didn’t think of the fiend named Lothaire the Enemy of Old. She’d seen the male appear out of thin air and then vanish, had seen bullets annoy him. Members of her family, the sheriff, and those deputies had witnessed these things with her, no matter how many times that up-for-reelection sheriff told her they hadn’t. . . .
    She craned her head back to look at the clock on the wall behind her. Three minutes till noon.
    One hundred and eighty seconds until death slipped down the tubes.
    Though driven, Ellie wasn’t without regrets. She wished she could have used her hard-won psychology degree, had a career, made friends with women who weren’t murderers.
    She regretted never having a family of her own. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so careful not to wind up a teen mother like her mama and grandma.
    Hell, maybe Ellie should’ve given it up to one of those eager boys she’d gone parking with. She probably should’ve been less rigid and unbending in general.
    Unbending. But that was the Peirce in her; Ellie would get her way in the end. Best step aside.
    Another glance at the clock. Two minutes till—
    The lights flickered, ratcheting up her anxiety. Another power surge a moment later had the witnesses muttering nervously.
    With the third flicker, Ellie froze with dread even as the EKG went crazy. Nothing can stop this! Heart rate 150, 170, 190 . . .
    Darkness. The EKG went blank with a last jagged spike.
    No windows in the death ward. Pitch blackness. The witnesses were banging on the door, clamoring for an evacuation.
    “What’s happening ?” Ellie cried. For some reason, no generator fired up, no backup lights to cast a glow.
    Lying in the dark, strapped to a gurney.
    In the distance, a scream rang out.
    About to hyperventilate, she twisted against her restraints, cursing her bonds. “What’s going on out there?”
    An agonized yell sounded, but she refused the thought that surfaced. A jarring clap of gunfire fueled her fears. Some man bellowed, “I can’t see him! Where the hell did he go—” then came a bloodcurdling scream. Another man begged, “Please! Nooo ! Ah, God, I have a fami—” Gurgling sounds followed.
    Realization took hold.
    He had come. Lothaire the Enemy of Old had returned for her.
    Just as he’d promised. . . .

3
    T hat little súka ,” Lothaire sneered as a guard’s neck snapped in his fist. Elizabeth was about to be executed—voluntarily—for a trifling number of murders.
    In mere moments.
    The guard’s partner fired wildly in the dark; bullets plugged Lothaire’s skin, but he hardly noticed them.
    He’d fed yesterday and was strong from it. At least, his body was. His mind, however . . .
    With a yell, he lunged forward to slash his claws across the shooter’s throat. When blood splattered over his face, Lothaire’s fangs sharpened for flesh, his thoughts blanking.
    Madness. Licking at my heels.
    Even now with so much at stake. Too many victims, too many memories. Forever tolling.
    No, focus on the Endgame! Get to her, save your female.
    His foes had prevented him from reaching her sooner. If I’m too late . . .
    He charged forward through lightless corridors, easily seeing in the dark, but the place was a maze of hallways and minuscule