My dramatic flop backwards onto the bed was probably childish, but there was no one here to see it.
The kidnapping.
Ivan’s sneering indifference.
The Fae lurking behind the shadows of my altered memory.
Two gunshots.
Agony like nothing I’d ever known.
I squeezed my eyes shut and growled, digging the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. No doubt about it. I was well on my way to the loony bin.
Maybe the therapy there would be free.
TWENTY-SEVEN
MY KNEES WERE fine, I reminded myself. I was fine. Jace was fine. Even Richard was fucking fine—at least for now. Against all odds, someone had come for us. Someone had cared enough to save us.
My boss, the man with emotional barriers as strong as Fort Knox.
You didn’t see him when we got to your apartment and found you’d been taken, Zorah had told me. When he saw your necklace on the floor, I thought he was going to put a fist through the wall.
The interior movie loop changed. Instead of gunshots and terror, I remembered strong arms holding me... a voice I couldn’t ignore telling me not to be afraid, that everything would be okay. I remembered hands cradling my cheeks. A quiet figure rushing to answer my son’s frantic call for help with his friends, and whisking him away to safety.
Gradually, my ragged breathing evened out. My heartbeat slowed its frantic gallop.
Almost against my will, my thoughts turned to what-ifs. What if Teague hadn’t showed up at the Vixen’s Den that first night? What if I’d taken Leonides up on his offer to show me what I’d apparently been missing all these years, ever since a fumbling teenage boy had convinced me that no one ever got pregnant during their first time? Despite a few unsatisfying attempts in the interim, that defining moment in my life had put me off sex, seemingly for good.
Zorah’s phantom voice came once more, full of teasing laughter. Once you go undead, you never go back. Seriously, Von—the sex is phenomenal.
I was fascinated by people who liked sex. My experience of it—both directly and indirectly, through my work in phone sex—was that it was awkward, uncomfortable, and ultimately unsatisfying. The men... and occasionally women... who’d paid money to have someone pretend to care about their needs for half an hour embodied that discomfort. If they’d been able to find what they needed in the real world, they wouldn’t have been calling me.
I’d heard more people grunting and moaning their way through climaxes than I cared to think about over those long, tedious months. Yet I never got the impression that they went away satisfied.
Of course, I had no way of knowing—I’d never even gotten that far, personally. Frigid. It had been partner number three who’d first applied that particular adjective to me. And it had stuck.
This time, the echo of Leonides’ voice whispered in my ear. There’s nothing wrong with you. Mind you, there might or might not be something wrong with the idiots you’ve slept with.
What had made him say that? What would he have done differently, if I’d checked my sanity at the door and let him try to break my orgasmic losing streak?
What would I want him to do?
Absently, I ran a hand over the bare skin of my stomach, feeling the stretch marks of old pregnancy hidden beneath my loose shirt. It was Leonides’ aura of unflappability that drew me in, I thought. That was why I could even bring myself to think about something like this. He didn’t strike me as a man who would get frustrated, or impatient, or blame a woman for not responding quickly enough.
Now that I allowed myself to mull over the idea, I could easily picture him kissing a woman for hours—never pushing for more. Just... making out like teenagers for the hell of it, because she was enjoying it.
Making out like the teenager I’d once been, necking in the shadows, caught up in the secret thrill of it. That was worth remembering. I’d done those things once upon a time. I’d enjoyed them.
That unaccustomed and barely remembered flush of warmth fluttered to life beneath my palm, for the first time in forever. Would Leonides have bent me backward on his elegant couch, kissing me down to lie against the soft cushions? I imagined the phantom touch of his lips against my jaw, my throat. Breath against my ear... a hand cupping the nape of my neck, holding me in place for endless kisses.
His lips would be cool, like his hands, I thought. Soft, despite the dangerous fangs lurking beneath. My hand wandered upward to my breast, cupping the fullness. The growing feeling of liquid warmth centered in my womb spread, blossoming into a tender ache between my legs that I hadn’t felt in years.
My right nipple tightened into a pebbled point that tingled pleasantly beneath my touch as the fantasy unspooled.
He would gather my hair, letting his fingers slide through it and using the light grip to tilt my head back, bringing my lips to his. Holding me in place to ravish my mouth.
My hand slid down my body to delve beneath my waistband. Short, crinkly curls met my fingertips, damp with unaccustomed slickness at the apex. With tentative movements, I stroked along the seam with my middle finger—a frictionless glide rather than the unpleasant drag I was used to from all of my previous attempts.
It felt... good. Good enough that I did it again, and again—delving a bit deeper each time. Gaining confidence as the feeling built higher. In my fantasy, Leonides placed a large hand over mine, encouraging me to chase the sensations, rather than trying to take over. Something inside me was tightening; winding up like a spring. I lifted my free hand to my breast again, drawing in a sharp breath.
The smell of smoke assailed me, thick and choking. My eyes flew open as the shrill noise of a fire alarm pierced my eardrums. I yanked my hands free of my clothing and clawed my way upright on the burning bed.
I was surrounded by flames, burning painlessly around me—rolling over my skin without touching it. Utter shock kept me frozen in place for the space of two heartbeats. Then cold water drenched me from above, and I let out a strangled shriek, leaping off the bed as though I’d been shot from a cannon. It did nothing to stop the chilly downpour pelting my head.
A sprinkler system. The apartment had sprinklers, and the fire on the bed had set them off. The fire... that had somehow started despite having no fuel or ignition source. Consuming my body without causing a single burn. Water dripped from my hair as I grabbed the garnet pendant at my throat and peered down at it, catching the diminishing amethyst glow as it faded back to its usual dull ruby color.
“Shit,” I said, feeling my hands start to shake again. I looked around, feeling utterly overwhelmed and unable to cope with this new piece of insanity. The flames were already doused, though the stench of smoke still clung in the atmosphere of the soaking room. I grabbed my handbag from the nightstand, my shoes from the floor, and my overnight case from the corner before fleeing through the bedroom door, into the dry hallway.
Alarms clamored elsewhere in the building, evidently connected to the one I’d just set off. I stood shivering for a moment, unable to take in the idea that I’d somehow just been responsible for doing god knew how much damage to the expensive apartment where I was staying for free.
In a daze, I walked to the front room, dripping on the tile and rugs as I went. The horrible, sinking feeling grew as I tried to think of what to say to Leonides by way of explanation. So sorry, boss—I was masturbating to fantasies of you and apparently it was so hot I caught the bed on fire.
A choked noise caught in my throat. It wasn’t laughter.
At the same instant, the front door crashed open, the frame splintering around the lock.
“Vonnie!” Leonides came to an abrupt halt, wide-eyed, and we stared at each other across the width of the living room. Unflappable... wasn’t really the first adjective that came to mind to describe his expression.
“It’s out,” I said in a daze. “The fire. I... uh... think it was something like what happened with Zorah’s door. I can’t seem to control it. The sprinkler’s still
going in there... I’m so sorry—”
He cut across my disconnected rambling. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m fine.”
Fine. Yeah. I’m just peachy.
The little voice in my head began cackling hysterically.
Leonides was still standing frozen, a step inside the door. I saw his throat work, bobbing up and down once before he spoke.
“You’re soaked. Get something dry on. We’ll have to evacuate the building, until the fire service comes in to check it and turn off the alarms. I’ll... just wait outside.”
After a final brief hesitation, he suited word to deed. I stood there, mortified. When I glanced down at myself to see my erect nipples clearly visible through the thin, white fabric of my wet t-shirt, that mortification increased tenfold. I dove into the larger suitcase that I hadn’t bothered to move into the bedroom, and retreated to the bathroom to throw on the dry clothes.
My shoes were still wet. They squished when I shoved my feet into them.
Cringing, I put on my coat, and emerged from the apartment with my damp handbag and my damp overnight case in tow.
“I need to make sure everyone else is out,” Leonides said, apparently having regained most of his unflappability while I’d dressed.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Don’t worry about me.”
Without waiting for a reply, I ducked past him and located the emergency stairwell next to the elevator. In reality, there probably wasn’t any reason not to use the elevator instead, but it had been drilled into me that when alarms were going off, you used the stairs. And alarms were most definitely going off.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever been as thoroughly embarrassed and humiliated as I was in that moment. I slogged down seven flights of stairs like I was doing penance, and exited through the nightclub’s front doors. Outside, the flashing lights of fire trucks had already gathered on the north side of the building. A group of perhaps twenty people were milling around in various stages of confusion and undress, looking up at the building as they spoke in low voices, blowing on their hands to combat the night’s chill.
“False alarm, do you think?” I heard someone ask.
“Don’t think so,” said someone else. “I’m pretty sure I smelled smoke on the seventh floor.”
Please, I thought. Somebody kill me now.
I huddled in my coat, my damp feet already aching with cold. Rather than risk having to speak with anybody—or worse yet, having someone connect the dots after noticing my wet hair, wet shoes, and wet overnight case—I skulked around the corner and hid in the shadows. Leaning back against the wall, I thumped my head softly and repeatedly against the bricks.
Stupid, I berated myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
My phone rang. I scrabbled for it in my bag, thanking my lucky stars that I’d shoved it in there earlier, rather than leaving it sitting on the nightstand to get soaked. Malinda’s name flashed on the screen, and I dragged the green call icon to pick up.
“Vonnie?” she said without preamble. “Have you heard from Jace?”
Disquiet settled cold and heavy in my chest.
“What do you mean, Malinda?” I asked. “He texted from Denver, but that was hours ago. Is his flight running late or something?”
“No,” Malinda replied. “That’s just it—his flight arrived twenty minutes ago, but there’s been some kind of a mix-up. He’s not on it.”
The cold feeling grew claws and froze the blood in my veins to ice. “What do you mean, he’s not on it? Where’s the unaccompanied minor liaison?”
“She’s right here,” Malinda said. “But she claims he was definitely on the flight when it left Denver. Like I said, someone screwed up, Vonnie. I mean... he couldn’t have been on the flight when it left, but not when it arrived!”
Every instinct I possessed screamed at me that this was not some innocent mistake related to flight numbers or airport gates.
“I need to talk to the liaison. Put her on. Right now.” My voice was terrifying in its unnatural evenness.
There was a short exchange on the other end, and a new voice spoke. “Ma’am? I’m so sorry—I don’t know how this could have happened. There are redundant safeguards in place for minors traveling on their own. It should be impossible.”
My jaw clenched, turning to ice like the rest of me. “I don’t care how impossible it is,” I told her in that same frightening tone. “Tell me where my son is, right the hell now.”
There was a faint pause. “But... that’s just it, ma’am. We have unambiguous records of his boarding pass being checked in on the flight, and the flight attendants being notified of his status on board the plane. They remember him being in his seat after takeoff. But when they did the pre-landing check to make sure everyone was seated and buckled in, he was just... gone. Flight crews are doing a thorough search of the plane as we speak—”
The words faded to a meaningless buzz in my ear, as every mother’s worst nightmare exploded into stark reality around me. In that moment, I knew with utter certainty that my child had been taken. Movement registered in the corner of my eye. I looked up to find Leonides approaching, his features creased in a frown at whatever expression he saw on my face.
“Vonnie?” he asked.
I swallowed hard and licked my lips, meeting his dark gaze as it kindled with an unearthly inner glow.
“Jace didn’t make it to El Paso,” I said, barely recognizing my own voice. “I don’t know how it happened, but... somehow, they’ve got my son. And Leonides—whatever it takes, I have to get him back.”
* * *
Vonnie’s story continues in Vampire Bound: Book Two.
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Want the backstory on Zorah, Rans, and Leonides? Get The Last Vampire: Complete Series, Books 1-6, or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited.
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Vampire Bound: Book One Page 20
