Every man in the room was watching Claire. But she had eyes for only one of them.
As Gabriel Phelan selected several implements and laid them out, side by side, on a bench a few feet from her, she pulled against her bonds. Vincent could sense her desperation. He could feel her mounting fear.
Finally, Gabriel turned toward her and she was trapped in his piercing blue gaze. “I can imagine that you are quite confused about what is going on, Charlie.”
“Don’t call me Charlie,” she hissed at him, belying her terror and giving another strong yank on the leather restraints that held her so tight.
Phelan ignored the outburst and began to unfasten the platinum watch on his left wrist. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if contemplating his next words. “So allow me to explain the situation.”
He strode calmly toward her, handing the watch to one of his men as he drew near. “You are a werewolf. A female-born, to be more precise.” He began to slowly circle her, his gaze searing her flesh. He casually crossed his arms over his chest, thrumming his fingers against his thick bicep as he moved around her. “Your father was a male born werewolf and your mother was a Dormant – a human who possesses the ability to make the change into werewolf and bear our children.” As he moved and spoke, he studied her with those stark blue eyes. He was contemplating each curve, each expanse of creamy skin – and everything he would do to it.
“Your father claimed your mother and, twenty-seven years ago, you were born to her. As a female-born, Charlie, you possess none of the outward abilities of a male.” He stopped directly behind her and Vincent saw her close her eyes, tensing as if readying herself for some kind of blow. For more pain.
He was a good deal taller than her, even with her body stretched as it was, and it was easy for him to move in behind her so that he could whisper in her ear.
“And then your mother and father were murdered, Charlie. Hunted,” he said, as he reached around and ran his right hand over her stomach. She hissed in pain, jerking in her bonds, but her eyes were wide – comprehending.
“Yes, Charlie,” he whispered. “That’s right. They were killed by a Hunter.” He chuckled softly, his teeth a mere hair’s breadth from her ear lobe. “They were dead long before that car went over the bridge fifteen years ago, sweetheart. Decapitated, actually.” His hand splayed out across her trim abdomen and he used it to pull her body against his as she began to shake, to tremble beneath the pain he was inflicting on her, both physically and mentally.
“I had originally planned to take you out as well,” he continued, bringing his other hand up to run it through the thick, silky locks of her beautiful hair. “But then I saw you…. You were only twelve. Dressed in yellow. You looked like the sun.” He brushed a lock against his lips, breathing in. “And you smelled different,” he said, as he dropped her hair and stepped back, slowly releasing her from his agonizing grip.
“Very different… promising.” He turned away from her then, and slowly made his way toward the bench where he’d placed the instruments of torture. He stood before the bench, his back to her, as he lifted a large buck knife and twisted it between his thumb and forefinger. The blade glinted threateningly in the firelight.
Charlie closed her eyes. Vincent could see the tears on her cheeks now. She was trembling violently, and he could hear the soft sound of her silent crying.
“I am what I am, Charlie, and though most of my Hunters simply believe me to be an eccentric reclusive man who gives them orders through phone calls and never meets with them in person, the truth is,” he glanced at her over his broad shoulder as she opened her eyes again. He smiled, flashing sharp, white fangs. “Well, you know the truth, don’t you, Charlie?” He paused for effect. “And as a wolf – as an alpha - I am bound by the same need as every alpha wolf of my kind.”
He strode toward her again and she whimpered, her light blue eyes locked on the wicked blade in his hands.
“I decided to let you live. You were just too beautiful to destroy.” Again, he moved around her and she began a renewed struggle with the leather restraints around her wrists. Vincent could smell the adrenaline flooding her system now as if there was more of it in her veins than actual blood. She was being overrun with fear.
Phelan was very good at what he did. Relentless.
“After the murder of your parents, you were assigned several Sentinels – watchers, as it were – by the Council. I backed off and bided my time. By the time they’d finally gone and left you alone, I’d made up my mind.”
Claire jerked violently as the cold metal touched the heated skin over her spine. “Shh, Charlie. Don’t move, sweetheart,” Phelan whispered in her ear again. Claire sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut tight as she felt the knife’s blade slice into the strap of her bra. “Good girl,” he taunted softly as he slid the blade up higher and cut the strap over her right shoulder. The left strap came next and the bra fell to the stone floor.
Claire lowered her head in a kind of defeat, her eyes still shut tight against the nightmare she’d found herself trapped in.
“When you turned eighteen, your dormancy reached its full potential. And I had a choice,” Gabriel continued, almost conversationally, as he stepped back once more and continued to move around her. “I could either take you then and make you my mate, or I could leave you as a Dormant.” He came to stand in front of her, the knife in is right hand. His left hand, he raised, curling his forefinger beneath her chin and forcing her head up so that her gaze was once more locked within his. “You were so strong, Charlie. So fast. A perfect pupil.” He smiled again. “A perfect toy.”
“Turning you would have changed all of that.” He closed the gap between them, his left hand slipping down to encircle her throat and hold her still. Again, she gritted her teeth against the pain of his touch, her eyes going wide as she once more felt the sharp blade threaten her skin. It slid across her hip bone and beneath the strap of her panties, slicing through the thin material with incredible ease.
Gabriel lowered himself so that his lips were nearly touching hers. When he spoke, it was in the softest of whispers and he accentuated his words with a tightening of his grip on her throat. “Werewolves never bruise, Charlie. And this body was made to bear my marks.”
She moaned as he sliced through the other side and then peeled her underwear from her body. He gripped the thin garment in his hand and brought it before his lips. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
Charlie watched him in sickened fascination.
When he opened his eyes again, they were glowing as if bright lights had been turned on behind them. She was trapped in the blue radiance; Vincent could see her go utterly still in her restraints.
“I would have changed you eventually anyway, Charlie,” he told her. His voice had changed, become deeper, and was laced with a deep threatening growl. “But fate moved things up a notch.” He dropped the underwear and they joined her bra on the cold, hard floor. “Another alpha moved into my territory in Pittsburgh and I had to send my Hunters after him. I couldn’t have you accidentally killed in the fray – or taken by the encroaching alpha. That wouldn’t do.” He shook his head and stepped back, turning away once more so that he could peruse the other items on the bench. “So I brought you here.”
He lifted a long black whip from the wooden surface, gathering its coils in his other hand. He sighed then, as if in frustration. “We could have continued our sessions for months, maybe years.” He turned to face her, anger flashing in his glowing eyes. His gaze narrowed. “But Malcolm Cole managed to pop in at just the wrong moment.” He strode back toward her then, stalking her with slow determination and barely-contained fury. “And he managed to get a whiff of something he liked.” He gazed at her, hungrily, through the tops of his sapphire-lit eyes. “But you aren’t his to take, Charlie. I found you first. And I’m keeping you.”
A terrified, miserable sob tore itself from Claire’s throat and she began to beg. “David, please-”
&nb
sp; “It’s Gabriel, sweetheart. And by the time we’re through, you’ll have screamed my name so many times, you will never forget it again.”
Chapter Ten, The Throwdown
Jessie Graves sat reclined in the metal chair of the café’s patio and watched the group of men gathered across the street. His amber eyes took in every move they made. To the humans around him, especially the women, the group of men seemed to be nothing more than handsome, well-built and well-dressed males, gathering to discuss something in private. There was one female among them, but that didn’t seem to bother anyone. She was beautiful enough to attract the attention of most of the human males, despite her large and ominous companions. And the men in the group were striking enough that the human women simply ignored her. Both sexes satisfied.
Probably the one who was attracting the most attention from the females around Jessie was the dark-haired man who had just donned a pair of mirrored shades. His entire, tall countenance was more than a little imposing. There was something about the way he was standing, the way everyone else seemed a tad shorter around him, the way his chest and the muscles in his arms and legs filled out his clothing with a nearly artistic perfection that made him stand out. Plus, he looked pissed. And somehow, that intensity only added to his charisma. Malcolm Cole.
Jessie had overheard a woman behind Cole comment on the his “strong chin,” and whisper that she liked his shoulders. Her companion had said he looked dangerous.
You have no idea, woman…. Jessie hid his dark smile.
Cole and his men were certainly gaining notice. It was one of the reasons his kind were not supposed to gather in large numbers in overtly public places. One alpha male here or there was one thing. But the two most powerful alpha males and half a pack all huddled close together in the middle of a very crowded sidewalk were another thing altogether. The vibe they gave off was ridiculous. It was otherworldly and dramatic and far too potent. It was strictly forbidden.
People were beginning to feel buzzed and agitated. They were waiting for something to happen and they weren’t even sure what it was. Cole, his men, and James Valentine were causing a bit of a stir. To the humans in their vicinity, they looked like gamblers whose game had been figured out and were about to go head to head with casino owners or the police. They looked like mafia drug runners who were close to getting caught by the FBI. Or maybe gorgeous actors who were about to do some sort of impromptu Vegas Strip street performance. Any number of exotic and titillating possibilities ran through the minds of the people around Graves as they sat watching and commenting in hushed tones.
But to Jessie, the men across the street were not any of these things. He knew exactly what they were, and because he was one too, he could hear everything they said.
“Call Scrubs. There’s no way in hell I’m waiting for that spell to drop….”
Jessie frowned. Something dark flickered in the depths of his stark, amber eyes. He picked up the beer in front of him and took a slow drink, his piercing gaze still locked on the group of men. He watched as Lucas Caige nodded, smiled a devil’s smile, and then pulled a small black cell from his vest pocket and popped it open. He turned his back toward the others in the group as he spoke quietly into the phone. It was a useless gesture, Jessie knew, but one the man was most likely accustomed to making for the benefit of any on-looking humans.
It baffled Jessie that Caige wasn’t leading his own pack at this juncture. The man struck nearly as daunting a figure as his leader did. Even in the waxing heat of a Las Vegas late May morning, Caige was dressed in motorcycle boots and black leather. And he wasn’t breaking a sweat. In fact, he seemed to be surrounded by an air of palpable cool, from the careless scruff on his chin to the tousled pitch-black locks of his unkempt shoulder-length hair.
Jessie shook his head. Malcolm Cole was bad enough alone. Lucas Caige was trouble with fangs and a biker jacket. And if the conversation that Jessie was eaves dropping on at that moment was any indication, Caige was about to show both the werewolf and the human community just how much trouble he could be.
Graves pushed back from his table and slid his own set of mirrored shades back over his eyes. Then he pulled his cell phone from his shirt pocket and dialed a familiar number.
After a few irritating rings – Jessie didn’t feel patient at the moment – a man’s voice picked up on the other end.
“Yeah?”
“Roman, it’s Jessie. Is Charlie with you?”
There was a pause. Jessie knew the guitarist was sorting several things out very quickly.
Then, “No, man. I think she overslept. We tried her door and her phone, but there was no answer. Mary Jane said she met a guy last night and probably overdid it. Have you tried to call her yourself?”
Of course Jessie had, but he’d also known it was pointless. He knew damned well where Charlie was. And, for too many reasons to count, he wasn’t about to let Roman in on the intel.
“Where are you now?” Jessie asked instead, changing the subject.
“We’re in the practice studio. It’s actually a warehouse that they converted-”
“Are you all there?” Jessie interrupted.
“Um… yeah, except for Charlie. Why?” Roman’s tone had lowered, becoming more serious. He was concerned. “Is she okay? Is something wrong?”
Jessie quickly formulated what he was going to say. He forced his tone to remain calm. “I assume she’s fine, but I discovered some iffy things about this Phelan character that you guys contracted with. We may have to go over the terms again and, in the meantime, I wouldn’t play for him if I were you. Stay away from the hotel, in fact. I don’t want you to get into some sort of confrontation and have to deal with assault charges.”
“What the hell did you find out?” Roman asked, clearly baffled.
“Let’s put it this way,” Jessie ventured, carefully. “The man doesn’t play fair.” That much was true. But not as true as the next thing he said. “And he doesn’t have your best interests in mind.”
There was another long pause on Roman’s end and then Jessie could hear the musician softly swearing.
“Jessie, we already signed a fucking contract,” he hissed into the phone.
“Don’t worry about it, Roman. Just make sure that you and Kevin and M.J. don’t go near the hotel until I have spoken with both you and Phelan. And if you see Charlie, make sure she does the same. Okay?”
Roman didn’t answer right away. And when he did, what he said took Jessie by surprise.
“Jessie, I have a bad feeling about Charlie. She’s never late for practice.” His voice had lowered considerably and Jessie guessed that he was trying not to be overheard by his two companions. “And I’m not happy about what she and M.J. did last night. I don’t trust the guys they met.”
Jessie chewed on the inside of his cheek. Roman was right, on so many levels. But, while the man’s worry was most certainly warranted, it was misdirected as hell.
“I’m flying in within the hour, Roman. If we don’t locate her by this afternoon, we’ll contact the police.”
That seemed to placate the man. Jessie could almost hear Roman’s curt nod on the other end of the line. “Deal. Call me when you get in.”
Jessie disconnected and made his way out of the small café. At least now he knew that the rest of the band would be safe on the off chance that he couldn’t stop Cole and his men from blowing The August to smithereens.
He didn’t put his phone away, though. He had another call to make – this one a lot less pleasant.
The call was answered on the first ring. Jessie didn’t wait for the man on the other end to speak. “It’s Graves. I need to speak to Mr. Kavanagh immediately.”
The pause on the other end was very brief. Then Jessie heard a series of clicks and the line picked up once more.
“Graves,” the Overseer greeted. His gravelly tone felt immensely powerful, even through the connection.
Again, Jessie didn’t hesitate. “The situation has become
irreparable. Cole and Valentine are planning something drastic and I need permission to intervene.”
“Granted,” the deep voice came back at once, sounding more than a little upset. “Get my granddaughter out of there, Graves. I’ve had enough of this. Our alphas are obviously inept at caring for their mates.”
“Yes sir.”
“Bring her straight to Council headquarters and try your best to explain things on the way. I’ll send reinforcements and a chopper within the hour.”
* * * *
Charlie tried to brace herself for what was coming, but she knew it was pointless. She wasn’t a child. She knew enough about people like Gabriel Phelan to know that they strove to create within their victims a sense of confusion, horrid anticipation, and fear. If Charlie expected to be struck five times, he would probably do it ten.
So, when Gabriel began to pace around her once more, the cruel black whip in his hands, she closed her eyes and thought of her parents. The parents that Gabriel Phelan had killed.
She wondered how exactly they had died. Were they taken by surprise? Did they put up a fight?
Why…. Why had he done it? And what was a Hunter?
She hadn’t wanted to show any weakness in front of Phelan, but the tears that streamed down her cheeks ran unchecked. She was helpless against them. Her insides were mangled and her soul felt mutilated. She was bleeding from within, somewhere so deep and dark, the blood would barely be visible. It was a hiding place for pain. Everyone had one, but Charlie’s seemed a tad full at the moment.
The tears were spillage – a leak in the dam, a flooded river bank.
“Tell me to remove the mark, Charlie.”
Charlie’s eyes flew open. She’d managed to pull herself away from him for a few precious moments – and he’d cruelly jerked her back. The sound of his voice was like a tether around her consciousness, holding her fast and choking the life from her at the same time. Her heartbeat sped up once more and more sweat broke out along the smooth, golden valleys of her body.
The Strip Page 13
