Chapter 25
Jorick didn't look at Katelina, didn't look at the horror in her eyes, or the way her lip quivered at the thought. He said that they had her, that Claudius and his men had-
Sarah.
"They took her with them," Jorick explained without really answering. "They thought they'd found you. Once they brought her before Claudius, of course, they found out that it wasn't you."
Katelina's breath stuck in her throat and her hands trembled. "Was it Sarah? Is she all right?"
"They aren't torturing her anymore."
Her mind whirled as it tried to deny what she knew to be true. He couldn't really mean that Sarah was... she couldn't be-. "Dead? She is, isn't she?"
"Yes, she's dead." He sighed heavily and made the sign of the cross.
"Oh, God," she muttered numbly. She dropped to the floor and stared up at Jorick's face - at the light reflecting from his perfect hair and his pale skin, so smooth and flawless - and all she could feel was pain. First Patrick and now Sarah. How much more did she have to lose because of something she'd never been involved in? How many people had to die so Claudius could recover someone he considered nothing more than a possession?
Jorick rolled his head to the side and his dark eyes fell to her folded form. "I'm sorry, but at least it wasn't you." Though he meant his words to be comforting, they fell short.
Tears slipped from her eyes as the full impact crushed her. "I should have been there!" She violently slammed her fists into her legs. "I could have stopped it!"
"How? Can you defeat vampires now?"
"I could have at least warned her! If only you'd let me use the phone at the gas station!" Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
He swung into a sitting position, his hands in his lap. "I didn't stop you. In fact, I told you to use it. But even if you had, what would you have said?" His voice rose an octave as he imitated her, "'Oh, hey, there are some vampires after me, so watch out'?" He ran a frustrated hand through his long, dark tresses "Did it occur to you to warn her?"
"Well... no, but..." She stopped mid-sentence, still angry. He was right, what could she have done? She couldn't have fought them and she wouldn't have warned Sarah if she'd gotten to call. She dug her fingernails into her palms. "I'm glad he's dead."
"Who?" Jorick's head came up in surprise.
"Michael," her voice was venomous. "If he weren't already dead, I'd kill him myself! This is all his fault! He killed Patrick. He got me dragged into this. Now Sarah's dead, I can't go home..." Sobs choked out the rest of her sentence. Tears of rage and pain spilled out of her eyes and fell down her pale cheeks.
Jorick's hesitation was palpable, as if he was afraid to touch her, but he finally laid an uneasy hand on her shoulder. "It's all right."
"Is it?" she demanded between tears. She was waiting, begging, for that sanitizing numbness to come and swallow the pain. It had been doing so ever since she'd walked into Patrick's apartment and found his mangled body, torn and bleeding on the living room carpet, and it didn't fail her now.
"How did they know it wasn't me?" Her voice sounded hollow and foreign to her own ears. "How did they know what they were looking for?"
"Troy said it wasn't you," he answered carefully. He let his hand drop back into his lap.
"Who's Troy? And how did he know what I look like?" Goose bumps crawled up her spine as she thought about the implications.
"He's one of the few Claudius still trusts."
Jorick's refusal to meet her eyes set alarm bells off in her head. "How does he know what I look like? How did they know where I lived?"
"I already told you once, if Patrick knew then they knew." He let out an unhappy breath. "Besides, Troy has been there." He closed his eyes and absently massaged his forehead. "He's seen you."
"What? How could he... He was at my house?" She didn't like where this was going. The thought made her feel sick and violated. She took a steadying breath, and then she remembered Jorick mentioning Troy last night. Something to do with an "unfortunate incident" where they discovered Jorick's involvement. No.
"And how do you know?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he pressed his fingers silently between his closed eyes. When he did speak, his voice was slow and resigned, "Because, I was there, too."
"What? You were at my house? When? What were you doing there?"
"I was keeping an eye on you." He finally met her gaze.
"You mean you were spying on me? Why?"
"Patrick asked me to. He suspected something was up even before Michael admitted that Claudius knew about you, so I spent a couple months keeping an eye on things." He shrugged, but his fidgeting hands belied the nonchalant attitude. "Troy showed up one night and we had a bit of a tussle... he never came back again."
"That was the unfortunate incident you mentioned last night? That Troy caught you spying on me? God! You spied on me! For 'a couple of months'?" She couldn't believe the conversation. How could he think she'd trust him when he'd spied on her? "When were you planning on telling me?"
"I wasn't, particularly." His eyes flicked to her and then away again. "I didn't think it pertained to our current situation."
"Well, it does!" She pointed to the door. "Out!" Horrific thoughts of what he might have witnessed during those months flashed through her mind. Had he watched her dress? Watched her sleep, shower? Watched her and Patrick together?
"Look, what I'm trying to say - "
"I said get out!" she roared. "I don't want to talk to you right now!"
He stood up, surprised and angry. "I only did it because Patrick asked me to!" he shouted back. "Don't you think I would have rather been somewhere more exciting than the damned apartment across the street?"
"You were across the street?"
"Yes," he admitted. "I had to sleep somewhere nearby, after all. There was little risk in the daytime of them harming you, but-"
She cut him off. "But what? Were you sitting over there with binoculars like a regular stalker?" She shivered as she thought of all the times her eyes had been drawn to that apartment opposite hers, all the times she'd wondered who lived there and what they were doing; the lonely nights when she'd taken comfort in the light burning in the windows just across the street.
"Of course not," he replied impatiently. "I had to be closer than that in case something happened."
"How close? Were you sitting perched outside my window like a vulture?"
"Sometimes," he conceded reluctantly and she gaped.
"My God! And what about when I wasn't home?"
He didn't sound especially apologetic, "Some of the time I followed you."
"Some of the time? Holy - and what did you do when you didn't? Hang out in my living room? Try on my clothes?"
He rolled his eyes and snapped, "No! Why would I do that?" He took a deep breath and calmed himself quickly. "I didn't like invading your privacy any more than you like having it invaded. I only needed phone numbers and - "
Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "Phone numbers? So you were in my house to get - Is that how you got my work number?"
"Yes," he said dismissively. "I - "
"You were in my fucking house, watching me through my fucking windows, following me around! My God! It's like something from the Lifetime Channel! You're like a professional stalker!"
He muttered something unintelligible before adding loudly, "I am not a professional stalker."
"No, of course not," she sneered. "You'd have to be up in the daytime for that - " she broke off. "You were! You called me in the daytime!"
"Yes," he said tightly, fighting for patience. "We can be awake in the daytime, but it drains a lot of energy, not to mention it can be dangerous. We have to compensate - "
"And what does that mean?"
"It means that it takes a good deal of blood to make up for it, especially if we don't sleep at all."
Her voice was high and hysterical. "And how much is that? A whole colony maybe?"
"No." He scowled darkly. "One or two people's worth for the entire day, less for a few hours-"
Her lip curled in disgust. "And what did you do? Turn into a bat and fly out there to meet me?"
"You're being obstreperous," he said impatiently. "I can't turn into a bat. I had to get a ride like everyone else."
"With who? Huh?"
"Anthony," Jorick answered coldly. "I doubt you know him."
"Patrick's friend?" she gaped. "He knew?"
Jorick hesitated. "No. He thought I was luggage."
"Luggage?" she repeated angrily. "Luggage?"
Jorick took another deep breath. "Yes, I was in a rather large trunk. I called him and asked him to take it to the house on Farm Mill Road. He and some of his friends showed up and did as I requested."
"I can't believe this," she muttered. "All of this just to spy on me!"
Jorick lost his patience. "I wasn't spying! Don't you think I had better things to do with my time?"
"Evidently not," she said coldly. She pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest, refusing to look at him. "You obviously had a pretty free schedule - or else you thought it would be amusing."
He knelt down in front of her, trying to control the anger dancing in his eyes. "I didn't find it amusing."
"Oh really?" She pulled away from him. "Then what? Thrilling? A bit of a voyeur are you?"
With a growl he jerked to his feet. He started for the door and stopped to turn back and shout, "Fine, you know what - fine! Just sit in here and starve for all I care!" He stormed out and slammed the door. The lock clicked loudly and then she heard his angry footsteps pound away.
Alone, grief clutched her and refused to let go. She buried her face against her knees. She couldn't believe how terribly wrong everything had gone. Sarah was dead and the only person she had at the moment had spied on her and then lied many times over. As sobs shook her, she was pretty sure she'd found the limit that a person could take.
