by Kiersten Fay
She glanced up and was surprised to find the vampire’s gaze on her, his expression hooded, enthralled, even as he appeared vacant and confused. His mouth was slightly ajar, and his fangs were a sharp contrast against otherwise straight, white teeth. Unruly red-brown hair hung loose around his slack face.
He was heavily drugged. And yet, he seemed aware enough to dart angry glares at the three men in turn before returning to peer at her once more.
Something about that softened her, and she found herself drawn in by his eyes. They were the most marvelous shade of green.
She closed her eyes, not wanting to turn this perverse situation into something intimate.
All business, she took another long pull.
“That’ll do,” the doctor announced.
She resisted when two sets of arms tugged her away. Not enough time! She still felt weak.
Even so, when she lost the tug-of-war, she made her move.
She shoved her elbow into the cigar man’s gut. He grunted and hunched over, allowing her to rip away from his grasp. Then she twirled on the other two, sending the heel of her palm into the younger man’s nose. His head whipped back, and he let her go to cover his face.
Something pricked her left bicep. She swept her attention to the doctor just as he plunged down on the syringe in her arm. Yellow liquid disappeared under her skin. Horrified, she reared back and brought her palm around in a wide arch, slapping him hard across the face. Spittle flew in an arch as his neck wrenched to the right.
From behind, a battering ram of flab and muscle bashed into her, bowing her spine awkwardly and lifting her off the ground before slamming her down. Her head bounced off jagged rock and then spun in sickly swirls. It took her a frightening moment to realize she was unable to properly draw breath. Her lungs burned, fighting to expand.
As she managed to suck in agonizingly small gulps of air, her body was jerked off the ground. Then her front crashed into the wall next to the vampire. The severe treatment sent a cascade of sparkling white blasts across her vision.
Harsh fingers snagged her right arm in a crushing grip and then pitched her vulnerable wrist into the vampire’s gaping mouth.
No! No! No!
Fangs tore into her delicate flesh.
Oh goddess! They would be bonded!
If she had the air to fuel her outrage, her scream would have burned through their eardrums like wildfire. But she could only manage a straggled cry.
The vampire drew swigs of her blood with an unrelenting, desperate greed. Unwanted pleasure seeped through her arm, traveled along her shoulder, and cascaded down her body, the torrent unstoppable, inundating every cell.
She knew to expect the coming ecstasy, but it was a shock nonetheless.
She locked her jaw against the moan that was grinding through her battered lungs.
She would not allow herself to enjoy this travesty for a second.
——
Sweet, life-giving blood filled Bray’s mouth. It had been so long since he’d taken straight from a source. A mad-dog urgency ripped through him. Instinct, coupled with the drug swimming in his veins, broke down coherent thought and decimated any hope of control.
He tore into the presented flesh, capturing all the warm dark liquid that he could.
He should have wondered why he was being given such a treat. Should have been suspicious of the motives. But the door to comprehension had slammed shut, his body reduced to natural impulses. Logic no longer guided his actions, only the satisfaction of his baser needs being met after half a decade of deprivation.
He claimed a long pull and swallowed with relish. Then a second. A third. He couldn’t get enough, but too soon, his feast was trying to wrestle from his vice-clenched jaws. Flesh tore deeper as he refused to give up the meal. A harsh growl rumbled from deep within. A woman’s distant cry broke through the dull, gummy shell around his brain.
Any other time he would have dismissed his meal to help that woman who so clearly sounded distressed—he was a VEA agent, after all—but today he was far too hungry. Starving, in fact. Surely someone else would come to her aid.
Once more, his meal tugged and twisted as if to get away. That was rather unusual. Normally they begged to be consumed.
Finally, his prey tore free.
He tried lifting his head to ask what the problem was, but his neck hung limp as if his skull was weighed down. It must be truly late for him to be so tired. Typically blood so freshly imbibed invigorated him after a long night on the job.
Like always, he worked too hard.
He supposed he should get some shuteye before he met up with Trent tomorrow. Weren’t they scheduled for the morning shift?
After licking his lips clean, he surrendered to his body’s demand for sleep.
Bray’s dream came in fuzzy bursts of color, slowly melding into clumps of languorous motion, solidifying to form a solid yet blurry figure. Around that, dark jagged items rose from what looked like a roughened patch of earth. Then, as if someone were adjusting a lens, the shape of a woman came into focus. She was walking away from him through the bony husk of a dying forest. Blond hair swayed opposite generous hips. Her lope was swift, but there was something playful in it. Inviting.
He found himself willing her to turn and face him. He must know her. Why else was he following her through this treacherous land? He wasn’t the type to stalk from behind. Women came to him—with a sensual plea on their lips.
The figure halted, morphing oddly so that she was suddenly looking straight at him, the action instantaneous and unnerving. One second he had her back, the next, he was captured by deep, russet irises—the vision of autumn in the morning sun.
Full flirty lips came into view, the kind that women paid thousands for but could only be inherited biologically. A straight nose, long lashes, and delicate jaw completed an expression that held such gentle and unassuming strength that he knew the creature before him was nothing less than an angel.
She had come for his soul.
To relieve him of his torment.
Chapter 18
Consciousness slapped Cora awake.
She was back on the gurney, strapped in place, but she couldn’t recall how she’d gotten there, not that she couldn’t guess.
She jerked her head around, scanning for her captors, but all she found was an empty, dimly lit cavern save one ensnared vamp casually studying her from his place against the wall. Her gurney was situated a dozen feet away from him.
“Morning,” he greeted. “Or maybe evening. I never know for sure.”
“Oh, goddess,” she groaned, remembering how much blood she’d consumed. She braced for a tortuous descent into insatiable need.
She waited…and waited…but there was no aftermath. In fact, she felt relatively good, considering. Could it be with the help of the doctor’s shot she’d slept through the worst of it?
She lifted her head to survey her body. All her wounds had healed, although the skin under her straps was already re-chafing.
She glanced at the vampire tethered to the wall. “Have I been out long?”
“Hard to say.” The vampire’s timbre was remarkably conversational as though her question might have been posed over afternoon tea. “Hours, maybe. Possibly a day. Before I passed out, myself, I saw you tag that doctor. Nice hit. Wish I could have had the pleasure.”
“If only,” she replied, running her gaze over his athletic, somewhat barbaric-looking build. He stood shirtless, his lower half covered by a baggy pair of scrubs tied loosely at the hips. A strapping tribal-like tattoo encompassed his right shoulder and upper bicep. “One hit from you and I bet his head would have come clean off.”
The vampire’s roguish smile transformed his features into an attractive mosaic. “I would have gone for a homer.” He turned serious. “Then I would have torn the spines from those other two.”
For the first time in her life, she didn’t tremble at hearing dark malevolence married to a vampire’s tone; she identi
fied with it.
If her assumption was correct, this vampire had been trapped here a lot longer than she. His desire for vengeance against his captors must be far past the boiling point. In the slim chance she was able to free herself, it was possible she could utilize him to her advantage. It was clear now she would have to fight her way out of here if she was to survive. What better weapon than a simmering, blood thirsty vampire.
Only a few short months ago, her thoughts would have shocked her, both for thinking to team up with a strange vampire and for assuming she could bank on him. But so much had changed since she’d met Mace, Knox, and Trent. Her world had changed….
She had changed.
And it seemed she could never find the time to evaluate the person she was becoming before something else moved in to scramble her world once more.
“What is your name?” she asked. If she was going to form an alliance with this vampire, she must first determine his character. It would do no good to put her trust in him if she even slightly suspected he’d betray her at his convenience.
“Yes, I suppose now that we’re bonded we should get to know each other.” His words were a bitter grouse.
“Oh, I wasn’t sure you’d been aware enough to remember that.” Bonded to yet another vampire, she mentally groaned. I’m cursed.
A sense of foreboding slammed into her mind. If he recalled their bonding, he also realized he could now find no other nourishment but that of her blood—hers alone. If they teamed up and, goddess willing, managed to escape, she would be stuck with him just as she was Knox, who must, even now, be rampaging over her disappearance.
The vampire’s features darkened with rage, but not toward her. “I remember everything they’ve done to me.”
Her face almost sank into an expression of pity, but she force impassivity. She didn’t know him well enough to feel sorry for him. For all she knew, he was just another Edgar, cruel and heartless and getting what he deserved.
“Forgive me,” he said. “It’s been a while since I exchanged pleasantries. My name is Brayden.”
Her lungs pulled in a disbelieving gasp. He couldn’t be…
Brayden’s head cocked as he caught her subtle tell. “Have you heard of me then?”
“I, uh…I recently met a vampire named Trent. Do you know him?”
“My sire goes by that name.” Hope settled in the fringe of Brayden’s eyes. “Did he send you?” Then he scrutinized her with a sober eye, dragging his gaze over her from head to toe. His thoughts came through as if spoken. Why would Trent dispatch such a meek rescuer?
“Sorry, no,” she replied. “I just know he’s been looking for you. So is Mace.”
He frowned. “Bang up job they’re doing.”
The affront she felt was on Mason’s behalf. “They’ve been working really hard. At first they thought you died in a fire. They only discovered you were still alive last year.”
“And yet a human has managed to stumble across me before them.”
“I’m not human.” The words were out before she could reason them through. She turned her head away, silently chastising her carelessness. Although, what did it matter if he knew what she was?
“Intriguing. Let me guess…” He slipped into contemplative silence as though entering a game of name-that-being. “Your right hook wasn’t hefty enough for a werewolf, or any shifter really. A witch would have used magic to fight off those men, and would have done some major damage—”
She frowned, but did not interject.
“—You’re definitely no vampire, although your blood is strong enough. Demon, maybe? Or are you of the fae?”
“Forget it. I’m just a human.” He was right. A witch would have done more damage.
“Have I insulted you? Are you a shifter, then? Runt of the litter?”
“No. I’m not a shifter, or a werewolf.”
“A witch?”
Heat set her cheeks aflame.
“Ah, a witch. Have you no magic?”
She avoided his gaze, and embarrassment firmed her lips. He was too good at this game.
“So, a witch without magic. There’s a story there I bet, and what luck, I have time to spare.”
“Am I really so easy to read?” He was better than Knox at guessing her thoughts.
“It comes naturally when you’ve lived as long as I have.”
“Oh? How long is that?”
He turned suspicious. “This isn’t a ploy for information is it? Are you working with those men?”
She stared at him, aghast by the accusation.
“Don’t look so insulted.” He jerked his chin at the cell door. “I wouldn’t put it past them.”
“Why would they care how old you are?”
He managed an awkward shrug. “Old blood is more potent. Could drive up the price. Other than that, I don’t know why they’d want to know, but hell if I’m going to enlighten them.”
“Is age something of a guarded secret for vampires?” Mace had skirted around the issue as well.
“The older a vampire is, the stronger he is.”
She nodded. This she knew.
“Just as many don’t like to reveal their weaknesses, some vampires don’t like to reveal their strengths. Better to be underestimated, don’t you think? Personally, under different circumstances, I wouldn’t normally fret about it, but those guards are near and could be listening. And any info they want, I will be withholding. I suggest you do the same.”
“How can you tell they’re near?”
“I can smell the sweat on their skin. They are more out of shape than they probably realize.” His lips formed an impish half-grin. “A magicless slip of a witch nearly got the drop on them.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I meant that as a compliment. Desperation can be the deciding factor between victory and failure.”
“Well, I failed. Guess I wasn’t desperate enough.”
“One against three is never very good odds in any case. Besides, you’re not dead yet.”
“No. Very much alive, and very much trapped.” She paused. “What do they want from us? Why keep us together here in this cell. And why force us to bond?”
“I know what they want from me. My blood, sold to the highest bidder. You, however, are a mystery. Twice they’ve come to take samples of your blood while you were unconscious. I wonder what they’d be wanting that for.”
She supposed she already had an answer for that, or rather, a theory.
Brayden was closely studying her features, reading her, she suspected. By the quizzical tilt of his head, he must have caught her apprehension. “So tell me. If Trent did not send you, how is it you came to be here?”
“It’s a long story,” she said.
His hands spread out as best they could with the restriction. “Nothing but time.”
She bit her lip, debating. Could this information be used against her? Would the guards, if they were truly listening, discover anything they didn’t already know? What did it matter when she was at their whim anyway? They could just torture her if they wanted information. The fact that they hadn’t told her they had all they needed, or didn’t care. And in all likelihood, her captors were the ones behind Winston’s black market blood business. The ones who had ordered his assassination.
She couldn’t find a reason not to share with Brayden what she knew. At least, a little of it.
“Before I met Mace, I was married. My husband, Winston, was secretly slipping me small amounts of…your blood.” She averted her gaze, suddenly and irrationally ashamed. The deed was done without her knowledge, but she still felt culpable for being so naive. “Sometime last year, Mace and Trent discovered your blood was being distributed on the black market and traced it back to Winston. They think he was using me to test the blood to make sure it wasn’t tainted. I guess an influx of bad blood was saturating the market. People were dying from it.”
“Your husband would risk your life like that?”
She fought ag
ainst her tightening throat. “Clearly our marriage wasn’t what I thought. He had found me when I was at my lowest. I had just gotten out of a bad situation with a gang and was alone, hiding out on the streets of St. Stamsworth. He lured me in with the promise of security. Love. A better life. Stupidly, I believed him.”
“It’s not stupid to seek those things.” Brayden surprised her with the unexpected remark.
“But to want it so badly…to blind myself to the truth?”
“It’s easy to lose your heart when love is anteed.”
That was rather poetic.
“I’ll remember to fold next time.” Her swiftly spoken words brought on a bout of guilt. Mace wanted her love. She just didn’t know if she had any left to give, though she did care for him deeply. Winston had been at the end of a long list of bad affairs—she continuously fell for the wrong kind of man—and she didn’t want to see Mace’s name inscribed underneath his.
Ignorant of her musings, Brayden continued. “Your family did not see through this Winston? Gave you no well-intentioned warnings?”
“I had none. Not for a long time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Anyway,” she hurried along. “I met Mace a few months back when my husband was murdered either by his cohorts or the competition. By then, Mace and the VEA had been watching us for some time. Aside from Winston feeding me your blood, he and our family doctor were monitoring its effects on me, just as the doctor seems to be doing now. Only they had been doing it without my knowledge.”
“To what end?” Bray asked.
“Mace theorized they were trying to figure out how to transform a human into a vampire.” She let the weight of that sink in.
“You’re kidding. You think they’re trying to turn people? So that’s why they took samples of your blood. To see how you’re progressing.” He shook his head, a deep crease forming between his eyes. “But it doesn’t explain why they’d force us to bond.”
Cora considered that. “Maybe they’re stuck. Trying something different. Although if that’s a new avenue for them, it really wasn’t necessary.”
