To Protect and Serve Ch. 10

Jonas's face was a twisted vestige of hate and horror. His casual handsomeness was all but buried under that look, and he recoiled away from the opening for a second. Then he pulled a gun and pointed it downward.

Shamira had no idea how she thought of the idea, but she grabbed Daniel's gurgling corpse-to-be and turned over, using him as a shield as the first bullets hit. One bullet got through, but it didn't stop Shamira. She was so far beyond a mortal concept of pain that this was just icing on the cake. From behind, she thrust her hand through Daniel's back, causing it to emerge from the other side while holding the elf's still-beating heart.

Jonas fell backwards as he saw his most important ally ripped apart before his very eyes. "It's not fucking possible," he mumbled, crawling away from the whole. There hadn't been enough life in that sack of flesh to warrant still being called alive, but it had somehow just killed an elvish sorcerer and metal-smith in a matter of moments. Daniel was lost, so Jonas decided to cut his own losses and run. He could set up his operation again somewhere else.

Below, Shamira was rending her enemy limb from limb. She poured blood into her open mouth, consuming his power. But it was not enough, and she knew it. She had only bought herself a little more time, and it was time she had not even wanted. The door above her closed, and she knew that she was lost. This knowledge was hammered home a few moments later when she smelled smoke. Jonas was burning the garage to the ground with Shamira trapped in the basement. She lay down and waited for death to release her from what Daniel had done.

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Not far away . . .

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"Are you sure this was the road we were supposed to take?" Kristoff asked from the driver's seat. Kristoff was one of Lord Pritchard's friends from Huntsville, and he was a werewolf with a fine nose for tracking.

Renata growled as she checked the instructions again. "Yes, this was the road Sebastian said to take. He said that they'd run into an elf who warned them about local goings-on and that it was on . . . Jesus Christ!" she shouted as the car she and three other were's were in screeched to a stop. Some young, half-naked teenaged boy who was bleeding from some cuts in his side raced across the road, looking like hell itself was on his heels.

Renata jumped out of the car and yelled after the boy, "Hey you! Stop! Are you okay?"

The boy didn't stop, and the werejaguar was forced to run after him. She took a deep whiff as she hauled ass trying to catch him, and could tell that he was a were of some kind. Probably a young werebear if her nose was not lying to her. He was hurt and she was hyped up on adrenalin, so she overtook him quickly, jumping on his back and pinning him to the ground. She could feel him trying to shift, but the poor kid did not have the strength.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said, trying to sound calm. "My name is Renata and I work for Lord Stapleton --" She realized she had just said the right thing, because the boy stopped struggling so hard.

"You . . . you're not with them? That elf and --"

"Elf? What elf?"

The boy started to gasp and cry. "I can't go back there. Please, don't take me back. That elf . . . he was going to bleed me and that woman --"

Renata rolled the young man over and locked his gaze while holding his jaw. "What . . . woman?"

"He . . . he was really angry at her. God, the things he did . . . somehow she helped me get out, but I couldn't . . . I ran and I heard screaming but I just kept running --" The young man just started to cry uncontrollably.

"Renata!" shouted another one of the hunting party. "You might want to look at this."

Renata turned her head and saw a plume of smoke rising in the distance. Her heart turned to lead even as she hauled the young were to his feet. "Is that where you came from?" she hissed. When the young man nodded, she hauled him back towards the car. "You're coming with us. It's not safe for you out here by yourself."

"I can't go --"

"You WILL go because MY friend is in trouble!" she shouted, making the boy cower, allowing himself to be put into the back seat of the car. Renata had not meant to scare him, but they were wasting precious time. It only took them a few minutes to get to the source of the smoke.

"Is this the place?" Kristoff was asking, but Renata was jumping out of the passenger side. She couldn't smell anything but oily smoke, which was odd. She should smell a lot of stuff, meaning that this place was spelled. But Sebastian had said he'd seen wards, so that made sense.

"There's a woman in there? Did she say her name?"

The boy was terrified, both of Renata and the fire before him. As a rule, weres didn't like fire. "She barely said anything. She barely had a face left!" he screamed. "I just know she got me out!"

Renata knew that she had little evidence to support it, but she believed in her heart that it was Shamira. Rescuing the boy . . . staying behind. It was just what Shamira would do. Tears and anger and fear all found a place in her ordinarily heart-breaking face as she stormed towards the building, before turning around. "Where was she?"

"In the buh-basement," the kid stuttered. Then something inside him turned from jelly to steel, and he got out of the car on his own. The woman in the basement had freed him while asking nothing of him. He had to try and help her. "I got out through a window . . . over here," he said, pointing at a small opening that the flame was rapidly approaching.

Renata stared at the whole as the other weres gathered around. "You'll never squeeze through that," Kristoff told her. "There's got to be another --" He was cut off as Renata rushed towards the front of the building where a tow-truck was parked. Renata jumped in, noticed the keys were in the ignition, then started it up. "Renata, do you know what . . . yikes!"

The werejaguar piloted the bulky vehicle like it was an intoxicated bison, rolling around and then backing up to the opening. Braving the increasing heat, she jumped out and latched the hook to the window frame. Kristoff took the cue and activated the wench, yanking the window out and enlarging the opening significantly. Renata saw that the flames were spreading rapidly, and she knew she had little time before the building was completely engulfed.

"Renata, what the hell --" Kristoff started, watching the Brazilian beauty dive headfirst through the opening and into a burning building.

Renata rolled and hit the dark and putrid floor of the basement, pulling a gun out of instinct. She smelled blood . . . so much blood. Most of it was old, caked into every crack and crevice, but some was new. Near a ladder leading up to the burning floor of the main structure was a pool of dark liquid surround a pile of . . . meat. Renata couldn't even identify what it used to be, at least not with her eyes. She took a whiff and smelled, identifying it as some kind of fae, most likely that elf everyone had been talking about. Her eyes scanned the darkness, finally spotting a huddled mass in one corner.

"Sweet Goddess," she whispered, tears flowing freely from her eyes. She smelled Shamira, but the creature before her bore little resemblance to her friend. "Shamira?" she added, her voice choking up her throat.

"Ruh . . . Ruh-nata?" whispered a voice so empty of life that Renata thought she might have imagined it. "Cuh-ant 'ee 'ou."

"It's me," Renata said, approaching Shamira's pathetic form. "I'm here to --"

Shamira screamed and held up her clawed hands. "'O away! Don' 'ook at muh-ee!" She tried to crawl further away, but she was out of space.

Renata's heart continued to break as she watched how Shamira moved. 'She's so broken,' the werejaguar thought. 'What did they do to her?' However the elf had died, it could not have been painful enough. "Shamira, I'm going to get you out of here. "I need you to put those claws away," she said, wondering where THOSE had come from. But this was Shamira, woman of a thousand surprises. "I need you to let me help --" She stopped for a moment.

Shamira was crying, drops of blood trickling from her eyes. Renata knew she could not afford to cry now. A crying vampire meant a vampire was losing blood, and Shamira did not appear to have much to spare. Renata put her gun away and crawled forward. She could feel the heat intensifying above her, but she could not afford to spook Shamira. The woman was hanging onto sanity by a thread. "Shamira, let me help you. I'll take you back home and we'll undo what they did and then we'll get everyone responsible."

'How do you "undo" someone breaking your soul,' Shamira thought as she sunk to the ground. She felt Renata gently lifting her, apparently realizing that something was wrong with her back. No one could put her back together again. But at least, while she died, she had a friend's arms around her. Shamira felt horrible about how she had treated Renata before. "Ah'm suh-orry," she muttered.

"Don't you dare apologize," Renata said through her own tears. She knew that Shamira would only be apologizing now if she were giving up, and Renata was not going to let her. She hoisted the broken vampire and carried her to the window. Someone had lowered the tow rope again, so Renata grabbed it and screamed to be pulled up. She turned so that her own back was scratched up as they were hauled to safety, but she barely felt the pain. All she could think of was the pain she was going to cause others. She would find everyone even remotely responsible for this and mete out a horrible vengeance.

"Good grief," Kristoff said when he saw what Renata was holding. "Is she --"

"She's alive, and we're damn sure going to keep her that way."

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Many hours later . . .

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Shane was standing anxiously on his golf course as the helicopter he had sent to retrieve Shamira slowly began to land on the green. The entire house that was still present in Atlanta was outside waiting, with Clara standing so close that the chopper's turbulence was threatening to knock her off her feet. Even the Representative and her entourage were out. It was unusual for this many vampires to be awake during the daytime, and it was clear that the Representative was incredibly uncomfortable. But no one was going to miss this.

When Renata had called, she had sounded so angry, and she had warned Shane that Shamira was in worse shape than anything she had ever seen. Tabitha, one of Shane's newest converts and his new household medic, had gotten her miniature operating room ready, and was in constant contact with Renata. She had to push past Clara when the chopper landed in order to help Renata get Shamira's stretcher unloaded.

Clara watched helplessly as Tabitha moved the cover away from Shamira's face, and she saw the medic make a face like she wanted to throw up. Tabitha's reactions were still very human. Clara moved forward, but the medic covered Shamira's face again. Tabitha shook her head and pushed the gurney towards the house. When Clara approached --

"Don't," Tabitha whispered. "For her sake and yours, just . . . just don't."

Clara followed, never moving more than a few feet away. The not-knowing was killing her. How bad could it be? Shane had moved up close to Tabitha and they exchanged a look.

"Anything you need," he said. "No price tags, no reservations."

"I . . . I don't know . . . thank you sir," Tabitha replied.

They moved Shamira into the OR and Tabitha gently moved Shamira onto a sterilized table. She looked around. "I need everyone to clear out so that I can work and see what I'm dealing with."

"I'm not leaving," Shane replied. "Everyone else --"

"Don't you dare ask me to leave," Clara said, her voice as cold as an Alaskan December.

Shane was going to object, but the Representative put a hand on his shoulder. "Let her stay," the older vampire murmured. "I will stay as well. Everyone else may wait outside," she said, glancing around the room.

Renata's eyes were red from all the crying she had done, and obviously did not want to go. The Representative put a finger under her chin. "You have done more than anyone could ask. She may yet be saved because of you. Now go tend to your own wounds and that young were you helped escape."

Renata nodded and reluctantly left with the rest of those present. Tabitha grabbed she sheet covering Shamira and then looked at the remaining onlookers. With a heavy heart, she pulled the sheet away.

Clara gasped. Shane ground his teeth together so hard one of them chipped, and the Representative went . . . cold. So cold that Tabitha could feel it in her bones. She began a slow, methodical examination of Shamira, who moaned in pain even while unconscious. She pulled out a handheld voice recorder and started the rattling of injuries, and that took a while. She rolled Shamira over and immediately noticed the massive scarring near her lower spine.

"What's that?" Clara asked.

"I don't know yet," Tabitha replied. She moved Shamira to the x-ray machine, snapping shots of her entire body. When the shots were developed, she put them up on the light boards and started to stare.

"What's the diagnosis?" Shane asked, his voice dripping with a rage that Tabitha had never known from him. She had been his donor long before she had become his daughter, and now . . . this was a side of Shane that scared her.

"Everything is broken," she replied, trying to keep her voice even. "She's got half a dozen bullets still inside her, and who know what that silver poisoning has done to her. I count eighteen breaks, at least as many fractures, plus intensive scarring and . . . and this," she said, pointing to the shot of Shamira's back. "She's got something embedded in her spine. I know vampires can heal a lot, but this . . . I don't know. Whoever did this didn't just want to hurt her. He wanted to break her."

"You can fix her, right?" Clara whined. "You've got to. Why aren't you fixing her?" She was beginning to become frantic, and the Representative moved behind her and embraced her with abnormally powerful arms.

"Let Tabitha work."

Shane nodded. "What do you need?"

"I . . . the wounds are all cauterized. I'm guessing silver. All of her wounds look like they tried to heal around what was done, so --" She stopped.

"What?" Shane asked.

"In order to put things back in the right places, I . . . I have to break them all again. Rip open every scab, break every bone. Everything that this guy did, I have to do over. And I need to get that blockage out of her spine."

"She won't . . . she doesn't have to be awake, does she?"

"I don't think so," Tabitha replied. "But there is no anesthesia that works on vampires, or at least none that I ever saw in the literature. Someone has to knock her out or maybe put her to sleep with magic. And we need to get started soon."

"Clara, can you put her to sleep?"

"No," the Native American beauty replied. "That's outside my realm of power. Lillian might."

"I'll get her," Shane said, quickly looking out into the hall. Everyone was still waiting. He brought his necromancer in, and Lillian reminded everyone that she was still human by throwing up into the sink when she saw Shamira.

"Sweet lady of Death, how --"

"You have powers that affect the dead," Shane said. "Can't you keep her unconscious while Tabitha works?" He explained what Tabitha was going to have to do, and watched as the redhead's face contorted in horror.

"I think I can help." Then she threw up again. The Representative went over and held her hair, handing her a towel when the necromancer had regained control of herself and splashed water on her face. "But it will only do so much. I mean, that much pain . . . she's going to keep coming out of it. I can try and keep her out, but I won't be able to do much else for the pain."

'She doesn't deserve more pain,' Clara thought. As Lillian tried to explain the mystical dynamics of keeping a tortured vampire with as much power as Shamira had unconscious for that long, Clara began to chant softly, placing her hand on her lover's ruined face. She could not put Shamira under, but she might be able to help with the pain.

"Clara, what the hell are you doing?" Lillian asked. "It's too much --"

"Clara, what are you doing?" Shane asked.

Clara kept chanting. It was a simple spell to cast. The aftereffects however --

"Shane, stop her!" Lillian shouted, beginning to panic. But by the time Shane moved, it was too late.

"You shouldn't have done that," Lillian whispered. She looked at Shane. "Shamanic magic is about balance. Causes and effects."

"What did you do?" Shane looked angry but also scared. He knew how Clara felt about this woman.

Clara just closed her eyes and took Shamira's hand.

Lillian placed a hand on the shaman's shoulder. "In order for a Shaman to take away pain, they have to be willing to share it."

"What else was I supposed to do?" Clara whispered. "Whatever she went through . . . I can't let her go through that again."

Tabitha shook her head. "Shane . . . I have to start working."

Shane quickly walked over and grabbed Clara while the Representative held Shamira down.

"Everyone ready?" When everyone who could nodded, Tabitha started reconstructing Shamira from the ankles up, and the room quickly filled with the groans of one vampire and the sympathetic screams of another.

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Some time later . . .

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Shamira felt like she'd been trampled by a heard of bulls when she finally regained consciousness. It hurt to move, breathe, or even think. The memories . . . the god-awful memories . . . they came back in a wave, along with an intense, smothering fear. She remembered the twenty-four hours of hell she had experienced at the hands of that elf. She remembered drinking his foul blood after disemboweling him. She remembered a young were in chains, and then . . . she remembered fire. Then Renata. In the back of her mind, she had heard a sweet, beautiful voice, and then that voice had cried out in horrible, horrible agony.

It took an act of sheer will to open her eyes, finding herself in a dark room. Had Jonas found her? No, Renata had. Her eyes adjusted, and she found herself in a pitch-black room that would have challenged the senses of even the most perceptive vampire, but her Shadow Sight went right through it all.

'Some kind of medical facility,' she thought. She glanced to one side and saw the outline of medical equipment, but everything was covered in towels, blocking all light. 'Darkness to help me heal?' Another memory came to her, more painful than the rest. Had she healed? She tried to raise one leg . . . nothing. She reached down and while her hand made contact with flesh, that flesh felt nothing in return. Shamira was grabbing her own leg. She was still very much paralyzed. Shamira began to weep. She wanted to scream, but her throat was dry, and there was something that was keeping her mouth closed. She reached up to feel some kind of metal contraption that seemed to be holding her jaw in place.

'What the fuck am I?' she thought, the mental anguish returning. She remembered what she had looked like when Daniel had finished with her. 'Why didn't they just let me die there?' she thought. She wanted to end it. She didn't want to see herself like that. She didn't want to be some helpless monster kept around for the sake of pity. She extended her hand and made the claws form around her fingers again. 'I won't live like that.' She wanted to plunge them into her own chest and --

"Shamira?" came a soft voice from off to her side.

The muscular but crippled vampire turned her head, pain shooting through her neck. Clara was lying on a gurney right next to her, looking gaunt and pained and . . . 'She's still so damn beautiful.' That beauty hurt Shamira as much as anything else that had been done. How could Clara ever want to look at her again? How could any of them?