“Cochran wake up! Vampire 12:00!” Marcus shouted.
Perched on the extreme edge of the stone turret above them, was Améile. She had completely degenerated. Even the stringy hair that clung to her scalp had rotted away, leaving her nothing more than a skeleton with fangs. A cooing sound echoed from behind her, and all eyes watched as her progeny slid up next to her, resting her head on her maker’s bony shoulder, her fingers lovingly around Améile’s exposed ribcage.
“Kill the bitches or we’re all dead!” Jack shouted, pushing himself to his feet, one of Lily’s stakes in his hand.
The redhead’s chin lifted, and she sniffed the air, her nostrils flaring. Her eyes tracked Jack as he crouched, waiting for an attack.
“Fuck! She smells the blood from my scalp,” he said, his eyes narrowing at Lily in a death look.
On the balls of her feet, Lily slid into a defensive stance, adjusting her grip on the crossbow. The feel of the string in her fingers gave her focus and strength as she pulled it back, relocking it into place. Where the hell was Sean? She didn’t need telepathy to know he was going crazy trying to reach her. If she felt pain on her end, he probably did, as well. Or maybe he sensed nothing but dead air. Either way, she was on her own. If she tried to reach him again, the pain would disable her, and she couldn’t afford to lose the small edge she’d just gained.
Lily glanced from Jack to his men, her mind running the averages. If she shot one of the Weres, the blood would draw the vampires, and she’d have a chance at staking at least one, but that left the other for her to deal with, and even in a weakened state, the vampire was still too strong.
Shifting her gaze to the turret, she watched the vampires, taking in every nuance of their behavior. They were wrapped up like mother and child, with the redhead tucking herself under the other’s arm, while she still tracked Jack’s every move.
Lily focused on the redhead, as there wasn’t enough of Améile’s face left to give any semblance of expression. The younger vampire was completely ensconced by the other. If Lily took out the mother, there would be a split second of shock before the daughter attacked. In her rage, she would lose focus and Lily could nail her then. If she missed, it was anyone’s game.
Lily took aim at Améile’s exposed ribs. If she could just angle the trajectory, she could hit her dead in the heart. She lowered her chin and held her breath, her own pulse beating in the tips of her fingers on the trigger.
The stake soared through the air, hitting its mark, and Améile’s body jerked back. Her arms flew wide, and a bloodcurdling shriek echoed through the night. If that didn’t bring Sean and Sébastien, nothing would. Lily had just killed the master’s progeny, and she had no doubt he’d felt it. The tainted vampire burst in a cloud of ash, the particles wafting in the breeze, almost peaceful in the way they floated along.
The redhead stood on the turret like a disheveled goddess, her hair billowing out and her eyes blazing crimson. Lily took cover, pressing her back against the stone, her black clothing giving her just enough camouflage for the vampire’s scrutiny to pass her by.
Instead, the redhead settled on the largest of Jack’s men, swooping down like the angel of death, snapping his neck as he turned to run. Her jaws opened, exposing lethal fangs dripping with yellow, fouled saliva, and she drained him in seconds, tossing his dried husk of a body to the side.
Her nostrils flared, and she turned in Jack’s direction, her head jerky and puppet like. He was still bleeding, and her eyes opened wide with recognition and deadly thirst. “You!” she slurred. “You smell like my mother’s tormentor!”
Wild-eyed, she launched herself at Jack, her fury overriding her instincts. She never saw the stake in his hand. The redhead crumbled to the floor, Améile’s name on her lips as her body imploded.
Jack slumped against the stone battlement, panting. “Marcus, let’s go. Grab Lily and let’s get the hell out of here. The master vampire will be here any minute. We just killed his daughter and granddaughter, and I guarantee he’s not going to be happy about all this.”
Lily dive rolled over Leon’s corpse, and got to her feet at the entrance to the stairs. Without looking back, she clamored down the steps, but Marcus was on her heels, tackling her at the bottom. Her head snapped back, slamming against the stone, and the last thing she registered was the scent of fresh blood and stale urine.
Jack ran down the stairs after them, stopping short at Lily’s prone body. “Please tell me, you didn’t kill her.”
“She’s not dead, just unconscious.”
“Good. Now let’s get her into the van. It’s parked in the trees of the 79th Street Transverse Road.”
“What about Leon and Tony?” Marcus said, gesturing up the stairs. “We can’t just leave them. They have family back in Maine.”
Jack snarled, pushing past Marcus to hook his arms under Lily’s shoulders. “Are you insane? I may have said Sean was stupid and weak, but only when it comes to her,” he said, jerking his chin toward Lily. “He didn’t get elected alpha for nothing. Don’t underestimate him. By now he knows Parr is behind this set up. What he doesn’t know, is that I’m part of it too, and unless Edward has sold you out, Sean doesn’t know about you either. Don’t fuck this up. It ain’t over till it’s over.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sean paced back and forth on the castle terrace, Lily’s gun and crossbow in his hand. Her scent and the scent of blood were everywhere, yet the only thing that stopped him from going crazy, was that it wasn’t her blood.
“My enemy is behind this. I know it,” he said to Rémy, putting Lily’s weapons down to turn the two prone bodies over one by one. “These two were his lackeys.” He gestured toward both with a frustrated wave.
Sébastien was above them, lingering over the pile of ash on the top of the turret. He had Lily’s small stake in his hand. With a sigh, he floated down to land beside Sean.
“Ah, what a sad night for us all. My Améile is dead,” he said with a sniff. “However, at least I know she didn’t suffer in the end.” He opened his hand to show Sean the petite silver tipped weapon.
Rémy took the tiny stake from Sébastien’s hand, careful not to touch the silvered tip. “Clever workmanship. Almost scary in its practicality.”
Sean nodded. “Lily made that, and I can assure you Améile did not suffer. My alpha female may be small, but she’s strong and smart, and her aim is flawless,” he replied, placing his hand on Sébastien’s arm.
“Yes. It is a precise weapon. It’s easy to see it was intended to be both lethal as well as compassionate. Not unlike its designer, eh.” He glanced at Sean’s pained face.
“As to the redheaded one, I guess we’re not meant to learn her identity, though I’m sure she died as quickly and as painlessly as my Améile,” Sébastien said, bending to pick up another stake. “But whoever killed Chen doesn’t deserve the same swift justice. Such a heinous thing, to take someone’s heart.”
Sean didn’t comment, just stared out at the black water.
Sébastien followed his gaze and slid his arm around the wolf’s shoulder. “You think me a hypocrite to say such a thing, considering a vampire’s nature. Well, perhaps, but some of us still hold respect for other species, and respect for living as well as for the undead. I have learned much from you this past night, my lupine friend, and it will not be forgotten.” The vampire turned to glance up at the turret head again. “Your lady has done us a great service, and soon your wolves will help us deal with the aftermath. I am indebted.”
Sean inclined his head. “Thank you, Sébastien.”
The vampire glanced out over the water towards the east. “The sun will be rising soon. I must get my people to shelter. I wish I could accompany you to Maine and help you avenge tonight’s treachery. There is nothing more unsettling than to learn those you have trusted and loved, are false. The crime deserves the most painful sort of death, in my opinion.”
Sean sighed. “Unfortunately, in this instance, I have to agr
ee. I’ve already briefed my second-in-command. My problem is, I can’t reach Lily. I can’t feel her mind. It’s void, though I know in my heart she’s not dead.”
Rémy clapped him on the back. “She is a very clever woman and a talented little witch. Though I am loath for you to tell her I said as much.” He chuckled. “She will find a way to reach you, I’m sure.”
“Thank you Rémy. And I promise you both, if I find who is responsible for Chen, I will be happy to lay them at your feet.”
The vampire laughed out loud, his ruined face like a perverse version of the theatrical comedy and tragedy mask. “I will hold you to that.” He clasped Sean’s arm the way Sébastien had when he’d first greeted them. “Go. You have a long way to travel and wolves cannot fly!” With a mischievous wink, he launched himself into the air and circled around toward the western sky. “Goodbye, my friend, and Godspeed,” his voiced whispered on the wind.
Sébastien clasped Sean’s arm as well. “Godspeed indeed. And you are always welcome. No parlay necessary.” With a chuckle, he launched himself into the air, his call to his people echoing like a lark’s song in the air.
***
Lily’s chin was pressed into her chest, and her head throbbed. Half awake, she cracked one eye open, but closed it again, too tired to sustain the effort. Her shoulders ached and her arms were stiff. Unusual smells tickled her nose, and she sneezed, her arms jerking in the process from where she’d been bound. Completely awake, she opened both eyes, the realization dawning that she’d been strung up like a side of beef.
Why was Jack holding her in a barn? Didn’t he say she was the bargaining chip he and Parr needed to lure Sean back to the Compound? Hell, she didn’t even know if she was in Maine.
Her mouth was a dry crust, and her tongue had cemented itself to the roof of her mouth, but she forced herself to look around, peeling her tongue down from her inside palate. A dull ache throbbed at the back of her skull, and tiny pins and needles bit into her hands and arms where she was tied at the wrists above her head.
Her head hurt so much. She must have smacked it on something. Probably Jack’s fist, the traitor, but truth was, her memory toward the end was sketchy. The last thing she recalled was Jack killing the redhead. It didn’t matter, though. She was here because of Jack’s betrayal, and that fact remained crystal clear.
She kicked at the dirt below her feet. She needed to concentrate and find a way out of here. There was nothing to the dilapidated building, and from the huge holes all around, she’d bet dollars to donuts the structure was abandoned. Blue tyvek paper covered the largest of the holes, but it was frayed at the edges and torn in places where the wind had forced its way through. Wood shingles dotted the ground from where they’d fallen from the ceiling, and gusts of wind from the gaps left in the roof stirred up dust and debris. The floor was nothing more than frozen earth, and stale hay hung in clusters from an upper loft that had definitely seen better days.
Half a dozen feet away, smoke curled from a hollow oil drum, the glowing embers inside the only thing keeping Lily from freezing to death. How considerate.
Her ears perked up at the distinct rumble of a tractor in the distance. With people around, it might mean a chance at rescue, though somehow she doubted it.
A warm, sweet scent rode just below the smell of barn debris, and her mouth watered just enough for her to swallow. She inhaled again, trying to identify the scent, and her chin jerked up at the olfactory memory it stirred. Terry’s grandparent’s farm and the scent of fresh milk! That was the scent, and it meant Jack was holding her for Parr at a dairy farm. Were there many of those in Maine? Christ, she hoped not.
Excited, she opened her mind to call to Sean, but slammed it shut again, forgetting for a moment about Jack’s telepathic roadblock. There was no way she could risk being incapacitated again. Fruitless anger suffused her body with heat. How did she miss the signs that Jack was working both ends? How did Sean? Nausea rose at the back of her throat. Because they both loved him, that’s why. She balled her fists together, ignoring the pain in her wrists from the rope. Jack was a dead man. That is, if she could figure out a way to reach Sean.
Resting her chin on her chest, she concentrated on what she had to work with. Not much with me half hogtied. Her head came up again. Half…
Lily gripped the rope above the knots at her wrists and lifted her legs straight out and waist height. The rope held. Thank God. Gritting her teeth, she swung her legs up and over her head, and wrapped them around the braided nylon. Ha! Sean doesn’t call me the flexible flyer for no reason!
The tension on the nylon was severe, and even with her in a jackknife position, her body weight just added to it, pulling the knots tighter. God, she could use a bowie knife or a straight edge about now.
Voices drifted past on the opposite side of the tyvek, and she froze. If Jack or anyone of Parr’s acolytes caught her now—she held her breath and held still. Her eyes darted around, but with her wrists tied she was helpless. Unless…
Six feet away on the bottom sill of one of the small egress windows, she spotted a small, thin box, red and gold with one word written on the cover in old fashioned lettering. Gillette. Lily grinned. Seek and ye shall find!
Pushing and pulling on the rope, she swung herself sideways, straining to reach the tiny box and praying, first—to get close enough to catch the box between her palms without dropping it, and second—that it had blades inside.
Sweat broke out on her forehead and she wiped it on the rope, grateful for the cold draft coming from the holes in the roof. One more pass should do it. Her luck held, and she palmed the little square box. Sticking it in her teeth, she let her feet drop back to the floor, dragging her heels in the dirt to slow the rope’s momentum.
Once the rope was steady, she hoisted her legs once more and hooked them acrobat style, bringing her face to her fingers. She took the box from between her teeth and opened the top flap.
Two straight razors. Thank God.
She closed the box with the spare blade inside and slid it back between her teeth before concentrating on the blade in her hand. Completely focused, Lily held the razor between her thumb and two fingers, glad for the tension on the rope, despite the pain it caused in her wrists.
With small movements, she cut fiber by fiber, each muffled tick a metronome counting off the minutes. Two thirds of the way through, she froze. The weakened rope groaned, and then pop, pop, pop, fibers snapped under her weight. The rope gave, and she dropped to the floor, landing with a whoompf in a cloud of barn dust.
Her head snapped back, making the dull ache at the back of her head scream. Her eyes watered, and she squeezed her nose to stop from sneezing, almost blowing out her eyeballs instead. She scrambled behind some old hay bales, and sat back on her heels. So far, so good.
“You can do this, Lily. You’re almost there,” she mumbled over the box still in her teeth. She turned the blade over in her fingers, and taking short, measured breaths through her nose, worked the largest knot closest to the top of her wrists. Her saliva had saturated the thin cardboard, and it tasted of dust and lord knows what else. Her throat spasmed and she leaned over to finally spit the wet box to the ground, swallowing back on her gag reflex.
Concentrating on the task at hand, she sliced methodically through the coils. They came apart and she slumped down, exhausted, dropping the blade to the dirt and rubbing the raw skin encircling her wrists. Closing her eyes, she let her head drop back, a murmured, “Thank you,” on her lips.
She sat for a moment just listening, before reaching for the limp razor box. The wet cardboard came apart in her hand and she pocketed the spare blade, just in case.
“Okay, girlfriend, let’s blow this pop stand,” she murmured, as she pushed herself to standing.
Her eyes moved from wall to wall, and up to the loft. But nothing looked feasible, not unless she wanted to slash her way through the tyvek. The main barn doors were the only real way out. They stood thirty feet ahead, but f
or all she knew, Jack had probably wired them for motion and sound.
Looking around, she exhaled sharply. She didn’t come this far to wait like a sitting duck for Jack to hand deliver her to Parr. She wiped her hands on her pants, her eyes traveling back to the egress window where she’d found the razors.
The opening was small, but promising. She could definitely wriggle through, if she could find a way past the noise of having to break the glass.
Lower lip between her teeth, Lily maneuvered her way up the wall, wedging her feet between two side beams, holding her breath the entire time until she was sure they’d hold. She hooked her hands onto the bottom sill, and tried the window. Just as she’d thought. Stuck. Her head was pounding at this point. Tiny spots of light danced in her peripheral vision and she frowned. Now is when her concussion decided to kick in? I don’t think so.
Pushing the dull headache away, she squinted, and cocked her elbow. The aim was to tap the old glass. If the window frame was rotted enough, perhaps the entire pane would just give. “Please fall,” she whispered to herself as she tapped at the edges and corners of the glass. The wood frame cracked, and a muffled pop at one corner sent her adrenaline spiking. Control was the key. Her breath hitched in her throat, and with her fingertips splayed evenly across the glass, she gave the thin pane a gentle push. Lily cringed waiting for the sound of shattering glass, but there was nothing but a soft thud.
Hoisting herself up, she peered over the back end of the sill, not sure what to expect. Fresh air washed over her face and she looked down. The glass was intact, having fallen vertically into the winter-bare scrub growing along the side of the barn. If this wasn’t life or death, Lily would have laughed out loud.
The Cursed by Blood Saga Page 43
