by J. D. Tyler
Walking ahead of the men, she stumbled up the porch steps and into the cabin, whose door had swung open at her approach. A couple more men waited in the living room, giving her satisfied smiles as she stopped.
“Who’s this?” one asked. He had a prominent beaklike nose, so she dubbed him Beak. “I thought we were supposed to grab Romanoff first.”
Fear clogged her throat. They had wanted Tarron, after all.
“Opportunity popped up,” Rat said. “This one’s just as good, if not better. According to our source.”
“She’ll draw the rest of her kind, as well as those mangy wolves, to us. That’s all we care about.”
The others smirked. Fear coursed through her anew. She was to be used as bait? No. Tarron and Nick would come for her, but they would realize they were being set up. They wouldn’t fall into any trap, no matter what these Neanderthals tried to do.
They pushed her down a dim hallway to a door close to the end.
“Put her in here,” Beak said, throwing it open.
Buzz Cut flung her into the windowless room and gave her a feral grin. “You get comfy, now. Be back before you know it.”
Her venomous glare said what her mouth couldn’t. A huge “fuck you” that she wished she could voice. The door slammed and she heard the sound of the lock clicking into place. Taking stock, she peered around in the darkness.
There wasn’t one stick of furniture in the room. No junk lying around, nothing she could use to sever the tape on her wrists. She was standing in a suffocating box with no way out.
Legs shaking, she put her back against the far wall and slid down it until she was seated on the dirty floor. Tears threatened but she refused to give in to them. She wasn’t going to give these animals the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
She didn’t think she could sleep in this horrible place, but eventually exhaustion took its toll. Slumping sideways, she settled down and let her eyes drift closed.
And she lost the battle to stay awake.
* * *
Tarron was nearly finished with his evening meal in his private chambers when his cell phone rang. Picking it up from the table, he studied the display.
The head chef? Why was the man calling him?
He answered politely. “Hello, Anders. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Prince Tarron,” the chef said. “But I was wondering whether to save the princess a plate. We’re getting ready to close.”
He frowned in confusion. “I don’t know. You mean, she didn’t come to dinner?”
“No, sire. I even asked around and nobody has seen her at all,” the man said, his worry obvious. “It’s not like her to miss a meal, and when she does, she always lets us know what her plans are.”
A prickle of dread shivered along Tarron’s spine. “Go ahead and save something for her. Just put it in the fridge, and when I see her, I’ll let her know it’s there if she gets hungry.”
“I’ll see to it right away.”
“Thank you, Anders.”
Tarron hung up and immediately punched in Calla’s number. The phone rang multiple times on the other end before he gave up. Ending the call, he rose and paced the floor. Calla was always telling him that he worried too much, and if he summoned the guards to search for her only to find her tucked away in some corner of the stronghold enjoying some privacy, she’d let him have it.
On the other hand, what if . . .
Quickly, he made another call, to the head of his guard. Jareth answered on the first ring.
“Prince?”
“Find out if anyone has seen my sister. I last saw her this afternoon, an hour or so before dinner. And find out if anyone was seen with her.”
“I’m on it, sir. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
Tarron hung up and left his quarters, jogging through the corridors in search of his sister. He started with her chambers and knocked. When there was no answer, he used his key to let himself in, something he’d never do under normal circumstances.
It took only seconds to ascertain she wasn’t there. Taking a quick look around, he saw there were no clues as to where she’d gone, either. His bet was that she wasn’t on the premises at all, and the thought chilled him.
If Calla wasn’t inside by now—
No. He wouldn’t think that way yet. Just then, his phone rang and he answered.
“Jareth. Have you got anything?”
“She was with Graham earlier,” the guard said. “Witnesses saw them head outside, and it seemed she planned to take a walk. She wasn’t too happy he insisted on going, it seemed.”
“What about Graham? Has anyone seen him?”
“No, Prince. As far as we can tell, neither of them has returned. I’ve already sent several groups of my men to comb the grounds.”
“Check the wading pool and the falls area. It’s her favorite place.”
“Heading there now, sir.”
Tarron was already running as he tucked the phone into his back pocket. If anything happened to Calla, he wouldn’t survive it. Stones and dirt slipped under his feet as he navigated the path too fast, belatedly realizing he could’ve teleported. He was too panicked, not thinking straight.
Jareth and two other guards were already at the waterfall when he arrived. Jareth and one guard were crouched over a prone form on the ground while the other guard stood watch.
“Is that Graham?” Tarron managed as he stopped next to them.
“Yes,” Jareth said grimly. “He’s alive, but quite severely wounded. It appears he was stabbed.”
Tarron crouched by the bleeding guard. Graham was unconscious. Tarron cursed, knowing they’d get no answers from him for a while. “Take him to the infirmary.”
The two guards grabbed the injured vampire and teleported away. Jareth stood and walked the area, eyes on the ground. Tarron joined him in looking for evidence that Calla had been here, and it wasn’t long before they found something.
“Is this her phone, sir?” Jareth asked. He bent and picked up the object, handing it over to Tarron.
He unlocked the screen and nodded, heart sinking. “Yes. It appears she’s been taken.” It was all he could do not to crush the device in his hand. “Let’s head back inside and then we’ll decide our next course of action.”
Which would be eviscerating whoever had kidnapped his sister.
This time he had the presence of mind to teleport, and appeared in his office seconds later. Mind gone cold, he made a call.
Nick answered on the second ring. “Tarron, what can I do for you?”
“Commander, it seems I’m being forced to ask for your team’s assistance much sooner than I’d planned.”
Instantly, the wolf was on alert. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Calla,” he ground out. “She’s been kidnapped.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, “I’m on my way.”
* * *
Boots thudded on stone, Nick’s entire team on his heels as they marched toward Tarron’s conference room.
The prince had sent his guard for them, and he was grateful. The faster they arrived, the faster he could find Calla. Fear almost overwhelmed him, but he wouldn’t give in. Getting her back was the only thing that mattered. He could fall apart later. When she was safe.
Giving only a cursory knock, he pushed open the door and strode inside. His team filed in and took places around the room, none bothering to sit. The prince’s guards took up the spaces at the large table anyway, not that he cared.
“Nick, all of you, thank you for coming,” Tarron began. His face was taut with stress, mouth pressed into a grim line.
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
“I know,” Tarron said softly.
The vampire held his gaze for a moment—and Nick realized he meant that he knew. Tarron knew exactly what Calla was to Nick, though he didn’t say so to the room at large. Now wasn’t the time or place.
Nick got to the crisis at hand. �
��Has anyone claimed responsibility for her abduction?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you expecting someone to step forward?” he asked.
“It’s possible. Hunters don’t take prisoners, as a rule.”
“How do you know it was hunters?”
Tarron said, “Because one of my guards, Graham, was with her at the time. They were down by the wading pool when the humans surprised them. Just moments ago, he was able to tell this to Dr. Archer, who relayed the information to us.”
“Okay,” Nick said thoughtfully. “If hunters take a prisoner, which they almost never do, then what are they after? Ransom money? Some kind of political leverage?”
“My guess is they’re after money. Not to mention the thrill of having a prominent vampire at their mercy,” Tarron said with anger.
“Money and sheer brutality, then.” He could imagine what they were doing to his beautiful vampire, and shoved the thoughts out of his mind. “We need to move. I’ll take half of my men and we’ll track her scent, as well as the bastards who took her.”
Tarron’s expression was grateful. “In the meantime, I’ll—” On the table, the prince’s phone buzzed. Everyone went quiet as he checked it. “It’s a text, from a blocked number. Looks like the link to a Web site.”
“That’s all?” Nick asked. “May I see?”
Tarron handed him the phone, and Nick clicked on the link, which was just a series of letters and numbers that didn’t spell anything. The device switched over to the Internet browser and the Web site popped up on-screen. He frowned.
“It’s a room that’s empty except for a chair sitting in the middle of the floor.” Turning the device around, Nick showed the screen to the prince.
Tarron stared at the picture for about two seconds, then turned to one of his men. “I’m going to get my laptop from my office. Get Teague in here to record this and run a trace.”
“Yes, Prince.”
The man hurried away and Tarron disappeared. Nick and the others fidgeted restlessly until Tarron returned a couple of minutes later with the laptop. Looking at his phone, Tarron typed the link to the site and pulled it up. The mystery room on the screen was still occupied solely by the chair.
But not for long. Several men came into the frame—and one shoved Calla hard into the chair. She stumbled and almost fell over it, hands bound behind her back; then she righted herself and sat in it as ordered. Her glare spoke volumes about what she’d do if she were free and able to speak, but her mouth was taped as well. Nick silently cheered her courage, even as terror gripped him anew.
“Hurry up with that trace,” Tarron snapped at his tech man as the guy hurried into the room.
Wires were hooked into the laptop, then stretched to another computer Teague had brought with him to run the trace. Nick didn’t know how to help with that part, so he kept his attention on what was going on with Calla.
The hunters secured her ankles to the chair with more tape, and then moved behind her to do the same with her wrists to the chair slats. Then they left and she was alone in the frame for a few minutes. To psych her out, he guessed. And us, too. They want us to suffer along with her.
A tall figure finally moved slowly into the frame. Any hope of identifying him withered as he turned to face the camera, and it was revealed he was completely cloaked in black from head to toe. Nothing showed, not even his eyes.
“Fucker’s wearing one of those mesh mask things,” one of the guards spat. “He can see out, but we can’t see in.”
Nick tried to gauge his height, but without a point of reference other than Calla seated near him, it was hard to say. Six feet or a little over, maybe. The black cloak concealed his build, too.
“Are you all watching? Prince Tarron and Commander Westfall, I think you’ll find this presentation particularly interesting.”
The man’s deceptively calm voice was a jolt, shattering the stillness in the conference room. The voice was distorted electronically, which had exactly the intended effect—it chilled Nick and everyone else to the core.
“Somehow, he knows about you and Calla,” Tarron said quietly to Nick.
They exchanged uneasy glances and turned their gazes back to the screen as the cloaked fucker went on.
“If I don’t have your attention now, I will soon enough.” He paused. “You have no idea how I’ve suffered because of your actions. All of you.”
“What the hell is he talking about?” Tarron asked hoarsely.
Nick shook his head. He had no idea.
“How can I make her suffer? How many ways can I make her bleed?”
“The trace,” Nick growled to Teague. “Do you have it?”
The tech banged a fist on the table. “They’ve got the IP address blocked. Dammit!”
Sidling close to Calla, the figure leaned over, putting the front of his mask close to Calla’s neck. Then he raised the mask just enough to expose his chin and mouth—and then he struck, burying his fangs in her flesh. She cried out, arching against her bonds.
Vampire. Nick stood there, fists clenched, his wolf surging inside him, demanding to be freed. Anger boiled, and he desperately needed to rip out the bastard’s heart for daring to touch his woman. To put her through the same torture Nick had endured at Carter’s hands. He was vaguely aware of Tarron shouting his anger at the monitor.
But when a slim blade slid from the sleeve of the assailant’s cloak, his blood ran cold.
“Our sweet princess won’t bow to my persuasion. Perhaps this will remind her who is in charge around here.” Reaching out, he ripped the tape off her mouth. “Let them hear you.”
Without further warning, he plunged the blade into the top of her thigh. Calla screamed in agony, head thrown back.
And Nick could take no more.
He ran from the room, from the stronghold. He bolted straight to their pond, the last place she’d been seen. Once there he stripped and shifted, and wasted no time sniffing the entire area to pick up her scent. He found it on a rock, and her sweet aroma almost knocked him to his knees. He would get her back, and then this bastard had better watch out.
“Nick!” John called.
Turning, he saw his team racing down the path after him, John in the lead. When they reached him, the big man stopped and scowled at him.
“You’re not doing this alone,” he reminded Nick. “I suggest half of us help you track her on the ground. The other half should go back to the compound and retrieve our air transport because we can’t always rely on the vampires to get us where we need to go. Ryon will go with our group on the ground so he can communicate where you are to the rest of the team, and they can rendezvous with us. Sound good?”
Frustrated with himself, Nick nodded. He should’ve thought of his team, but instead had gone off half-cocked. They couldn’t function if their leader couldn’t keep his head.
“All right,” John said to the group. “How about me, Ryon, Kalen, Micah, and Jax go with Nick? The rest go back for the transport and be prepared for a rescue. They can take Tarron with them if he wants. Does that work?”
The others agreed, seeming a bit awed by the typically quiet man taking charge. Nick knew the truth—John’s personality really wasn’t that quiet or shy. He simply felt much more comfortable taking the reins now that his identity wasn’t a secret and he no longer felt like he had to blend into the woodwork. It was good to see this side of his old friend that had been sleeping for years.
Those going back for the helicopters left. The rest began to strip their clothing for their shifts—except for Kalen, who, as a Sorcerer, didn’t need to remove his clothes to change into his panther. Lucky bastard. But he was good to have around when the rest of them needed to change back to human form and had left their clothes far behind. His magic had also saved their asses in more ways than Nick could count.
Once his group had shifted, they joined him by the rock to imprint her scent on their brains.
There were other scents, too, ones Nick didn
’t recognize. In one spot blood was pooled on the ground, and he investigated. This scent probably belonged to the guard who’d been injured. He and his team filed that information away as well.
From the rock, he followed Calla’s and her captors’ scents across the open area and down the path, away from the stronghold. The trail led to a dirt road, several miles away, where there were tracks from an unknown vehicle that had pulled in, turned around, and drove off again. There, the scents were drastically reduced.
They’d taken her away by car. He could’ve howled his anger, but forced himself to remain focused.
Pushing himself harder than he ever had, Nick ran. On and on, hour by hour, his team flanking him. Though he eventually grew tired, he stopped only to allow his team water from the streams and lakes they came across.
He had to find Calla, refused to think it might already be too late.
And he made a vow—if she was spared, he’d step up and grow a pair of balls. He was going to be a mate she could count on and be proud to call hers.
Or die trying.
Seven
If there was a place on her body that didn’t hurt, she couldn’t locate it.
Calla slumped against the wall in the little box she thought of as her coffin. Weakness weighted down her limbs and her vision was blurry. She couldn’t see very well anymore, but her hearing was still fine. She heard the rain pattering outside the cabin, trickling off the roof and onto the ground. Pat, pat, pat, pat.
It sounded a whole lot like her life ticking away its final hours and minutes.
She could also hear the bastards in the other room laughing about what else their boss had in store for her. More draining of her blood, more cuts to her body. Maybe a beating or two thrown into the mix.
“That stingy vamp better let me have a go at her pussy before he sends her to hell,” Buzz Cut said from somewhere in the cabin.
“Think she’s still nice and tight after a few centuries?” This from Rat.
“She’d better be, or I’ll skin her worthless hide with my Buck Knife.”
Shivering, she huddled and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to make herself smaller. Conserve warmth. That was easier to do since they’d removed the duct tape from her wrists, though it didn’t help much. It was so cold and tomblike in the dank room—or that feeling could be the blood loss.
