She handed a medium-sized chef’s knife to Antonia and took the menacing butcher knife for herself. Ordinarily, it’d be a little too big of a blade, but with her lack of defenses, size mattered.
A yellowed drying towel rested by the sink. She rolled it up and tied it around her thigh. Shoving a blade through, she flexed and bent her leg. Meh, it’d work and remain hidden.
Any advantage.
She cocked a brow at Antonia. The girl gulped, her eyes bordering on wild, like she wanted to bolt past Ophelia and find the nearest window to leap out of. But she held it together. Definitely raised by Bastian.
If Ophelia’s daughter had survived, she’d burst with pride if she were anything like Antonia.
Ophelia stumbled with the thought but recovered and moved on, hoping Antonia wouldn’t ask something that’d make her cry like “Are you all right?”
Blinking rapidly, Ophelia rushed out the nearest exit. A set of stairs waited for them.
Antonia made a strangled noise. “This is so much like last time,” she breathed. “So close to freedom, but you have to win the maze.”
Yep, that was about right.
She shot the girl what she hoped was a reassuring smile and not a stressed-out grimace. “Almost there.”
They ascended the stairs. At the landing, they had two options. Right or left. She inhaled deeply. There was nothing but stale air coming from the left. She chose to go right, where she assumed doors and windows waited.
Ophelia rounded the corner to another long hallway. She wanted to scream. How big was this place?
A dark figure moved within the dark shadows. A lanky blond man wearing a suit strode toward them. “Antonia, my child. I’ve been so worried about you.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bastian glanced at his phone and clenched his jaw. His fangs scraped together. The other males in the SUV growled at the news they’d all received. Stryke and Zoey were rapidly clearing manors. Each home crossed out narrowed their list, but each “no luck” meant Antonia was still missing. And Ophelia.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t check the club?” Something inside of Bastian nagged at him to go there. Sharpe’s Point was where she would’ve gone first to look for Master Gaston. She had contacts there she could gather info from.
Demetrius answered in that maddening, placating tone of his. “If we go there, any vampires working for the underworld will, one, know that we’re hunting for Antonia and, two, know that we know Ophelia is missing. We’ll lose our advantage.”
Yes. Demetrius had said it before. But he’d been wrong before.
“We have a couple hours before dawn. We have time,” Bishop reassured him. “And then Fyra and I can take over when the sun comes up. We’ll find them.”
Bastian took a measured breath. He let it out. Took another.
They’d been doing drive-bys and inspecting property all night. They were no closer to Antonia than before. Each minute they didn’t find Antonia was more time the demons had to get what they wanted from her. They wouldn’t take their time, not after all the trouble from the last several days.
Rourke was driving, and Demetrius was in the front. Bishop made the backseat feel like it was half the size it should be. His shoulder width crowded into Bastian’s space, which only heightened his irritation at the loyal male who was willing to out his demon nature to everyone to search for Antonia during the day.
The club. His intuition was screaming at him by now. The club. The club!
But Demetrius wasn’t listening to him. He was too used to being in charge and Bastian was too used to following orders.
The club.
He’d try one more time. “One of us just needs to go inside—”
Demetrius cut a hand through the air. “Ophelia would want Antonia to be a priority. Don’t you agree?”
Hell yes. But it’d make sense that where they found one, they’d find the other.
He needed to go to Sharpe’s Point. He knew Ophelia, and she’d start there. It was her orientation point, but even more important, he just knew. Besides, it seemed better than driving up and down every road in Freemont hoping to smell brimstone.
He snarled to psych himself up. Do it.
He opened the door and jumped out. Before he crashed to the ground, he flashed, but not before he heard the clatter of an object hitting the pavement.
With an oomph, he arrived on his feet. The momentum propelled him into the doorframe of the club. His shoulder jammed, but after leaping out of a moving vehicle on a dark country highway, he’d deal with it.
He blew out a breath. So, that happened. He hadn’t thought of himself as a jumping-out-of-a-vehicle guy, but his females were in danger, and while Ophelia could handle herself, he didn’t want to risk it.
Patting his pocket, he swore. Dammit. His phone was lying somewhere in the middle of the highway.
He strode through the mirrored doors of the place. A one-eighty from last time. There was no borrowed suit that cost more than his yearly wage. There was no slicked-back hair. He was in black from head to toe, with a shoulder holster peeking from under his arms and knives strapped to his belt. He’d even helped himself to a stake should the need arise.
The smattering of clientele looked him over, lines marring their perfect features.
He glanced behind the bar, expecting Marcus to recognize him.
No one was there, but a male waited at the counter to be served. A draft carried through the building like an exit door had been opened, but maybe it was just from his arrival.
He scanned through the faces and found the female who’d hit on him. She was perched on an older male’s lap. Her true mate? Bastian didn’t care.
Marching to her table, he frowned back at the bar. It bugged him that Marcus wasn’t at his post. He’d gotten the impression the male had been in the service business long enough to have greeted a few centuries. It’d be unlike him to leave a patron waiting for service.
The female’s mouth twisted as he approached. She found his new style disgusting? As if the suit changed his entire being.
He cut to the quick. “Has Ophelia been in here tonight?”
The female kicked her chin up. “I don’t bother with her.”
“Yes or no.”
She lifted an arrogant eyebrow. “Nor do I answer to you.”
The male started to bluster, but Bastian put his hand up exactly like Demetrius had done earlier. He held Clarice’s gaze but tipped his head to the male. “Does he know?”
She paled. “I’ve not seen Ophelia tonight.” Her mate shot her a curious glance. Not Bastian’s problem.
Damn. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t been here at some point. His gut told him to not give up. “Where’s Marcus?”
She looked genuinely confused. “How should I know?”
“Does anyone else ever tend bar?”
The male placed his hands on the table. Bastian recognized the old boy move of I’ve had enough.
He could draw his weapon, but he was outnumbered in this place. Any others who chose to get involved would not take his side.
“The male Ophelia was with the other night. Who was it?”
“You mean Master Roberts?” Clarice sniffed. “I haven’t seen him either.”
Roberts…Roberts… That name wasn’t familiar. “First name?”
Her mate rose. “You will leave my mate alone. I don’t care about LeFevre, but Finneus Roberts is a male of worth and you will do well not to—”
Bastian spun and marched away. “Marcus!”
The male’s absence bothered him. It wasn’t right. How odd was it that he wasn’t in his standard spot when others were missing? Was he in trouble as well?
Or was he the lighter fluid for the fire?
His steps slowed. It made so much sense. Marcus had dirt on everyone. He knew personal information, had financial information that could be hacked, and if he was anything like the other vampires in servic
e Bastian knew, he probably harbored a well of resentment toward the wealthy he’d endured his whole life.
The back door. Bastian charged in the direction of where the draft was coming from. Patrons were rising. They were going to confront him. He needed to leave.
Finneus Roberts. He sifted through his memory. He didn’t recall a Roberts manor. Had Zoey and Stryke cleared one?
Bastian didn’t pass anyone on his way out the back. Whispers of warning licked up his spine. The people inside were starting to demand answers. He was an outsider asking after their kind.
Recalling a secluded area in the trees close to Nadair’s manor, he flashed there. Stryke and Zoey had cleared this place, but he wanted to verify it with his own senses. No sound. No movement. No new scents. He flashed to the door and went inside. He went straight for Nadair’s hidden office. He filed through the papers until he found a map.
Had the team cleared the Roberts’ manor yet? He’d find out when he got there, but he needed to go.
He searched the map for the nearest property he’d been to. The manor was on the other end of Freemont. It was probably why Bastian had never met the male in person. If he was single, he likely didn’t entertain and the Gastons knew their neighbors the best.
He found a spot where he’d been earlier in the night. A moderate-sized house closer to the city than most. He ditched the manor and flashed as soon as fresh air hit his face.
It was as dark and silent as it had been before. Perhaps the owners of this place were out buying groceries and would fret over the strangers’ scent lingering in their place. Or perhaps they were customers at Sharpe’s Point and would think Bastian’s display and their home invasion were more than coincidental.
Either way he didn’t care. Did Ophelia’s team think about inane stuff as they feared for the life of their friends and loved ones? Or was it a sign that this life wasn’t for him?
He shook himself. It didn’t matter. Until Antonia and Ophelia were safe, this was his life. He took off in the direction of the Roberts place.
There was no straight shot, but he didn’t stop. He ran, sighted ahead of him, flashed, and as soon as his feet crunched snow, he was off. Some flashes only took him a hundred yards through the shadows and low-hanging branches. He couldn’t afford to run headfirst into a tree trunk.
The building approached and he slowed, swinging around to the back where the servant entrance would be. It seemed like a good place to start. The door might be monitored less—if there was anyone here.
He let his senses roam. Snow was trampled around the entrances, but that wasn’t odd since people lived here.
Bastian inhaled deeply. The fresh scent of snow and cold filled his lungs. He was too far away to tell if there was a demon present.
He took a step and paused before his boot crunched through a layer of snow. A dark form appeared by the door and darted inside.
Marcus.
It was safe to assume the male was part of the problem, if not one of the roots of the demon problem.
Waiting for a few seconds for the male to clear the entrance, Bastian finished that step he’d been about to take.
Snow crackled and he stiffened. No one was outside to hear, but his nerves were strung tight. Instead of walking across the clearing to the building, he flashed to the entrance, landing in the same spot Marcus had.
He listened at the door, his breath suspended in his lungs.
A shriek ripped through the night. Bastian wanted to tear the door off its hinges and charge inside, but he forced himself to wait.
“Father!”
At Antonia’s frantic shout, he ripped the door open.
Darkness greeted him, but the stench of blood and brimstone carried on the air. He followed the smell as it grew stronger, until he thought the air around him should be tinged red.
He drew his sidearm, the instructions for using it rushing through his head. When he cleared the corner, the sight almost dropped him.
Master Gaston grappled with Ophelia. He was getting pummeled by feet and fists, a gigantic knife handle sticking out of his gut. The male’s eyes were all black. When was the last time he’d been in charge of his own body?
“I will cut her throat!” Marcus shouted, but Ophelia didn’t stop. Submitting to the males would be far worse.
Bastian aimed for Marcus’s head, but Antonia was tall and there wasn’t much of the male exposed that Bastian could hit without possibly hurting her.
Marcus whipped around. Antonia’s terrified gaze blazed with hope when she saw Bastian. She struggled but was no match for Marcus.
Grunts sounded behind them. Bastian didn’t dare take his eyes off Marcus to see how Ophelia was doing. From the glimpses in his periphery, she was in a dress that was falling off and her feet were bare.
“You’re the one ruining everything,” Marcus said. He was out of breath from Antonia’s struggles.
“Bastian.” Antonia brandished a knife. Bastian’s eyes went wide and he tensed around his gun.
He inclined his head only a millimeter, but it was enough. She slammed her arm down.
The chef’s knife was imbedded in Marcus’s thigh. He howled and his grip loosened. Antonia elbowed him and ducked.
Bastian fired. The first shot hit the wall next to Marcus’s head. Antonia’s hands flew to her ears and Bastian’s started ringing from the blast.
Marcus released Antonia and spun away. Bastian willed his heart rate to slow and fired again.
Marcus grunted as the shot nailed him in the shoulder. Bastian stepped to the side to make room for Antonia to scurry behind him. Before Marcus could recover, Bastian took aim and fired again.
This one hit him in the chest and he collapsed on the floor.
“Turn around, Antonia,” Bastian said. Ophelia wrestled with Master Gaston. She acted as if she was clueless to what was going on behind her, but Bastian knew she was absorbing every detail. And Antonia didn’t have to see her father hurt her friend, and she didn’t need to see her friend kill her father.
She also didn’t need to see what Bastian was going to do next. He holstered his gun. All his life he’d heard a stake to the heart was deadly, but it had never been a real concern.
He withdrew one of the stakes at his belt and stood over Marcus’s prone body.
The male pried an eye open. He was healing but not fast enough to be a threat. Bastian clenched his jaw and swallowed hard. Marcus was dangerous, though. They still had to find and rescue Quentin, and Roberts was presumably at large and partnered with the underworld.
Bastian couldn’t take the time to see if Antonia was looking or not. He gripped the stake and raised it. With as much speed and strength as he could muster, he plunged it into the male’s chest. Marcus had time to form a no with his mouth before he disappeared in a cloud of ash. The tip of the stake hit the floor and splintered but didn’t shatter.
The act gave Master Gaston pause. He glanced from the pile of dust to Antonia, his face twisted in rage. He wasn’t afraid for his girl’s life, he was pissed she’d ruined his plans.
Ophelia took a step back and kicked the male center mass. The force flung him backward into a closed door and he fell through. She jerked a knife from a scrap of cloth tied around her thigh and lobbed it into the room. A cry of pain answered.
“Ophelia.”
She spared him a glance, blood streaming out of her nose and her hair wild around her face. Tendrils were plastered across her mouth, stuck in the blood, and her eyes flashed with determination.
He tossed her the bloodied stake. She snapped it out of the air and her lips thinned as she marched through the doorway.
“Father,” Antonia whimpered. It was a sound of utter disappointment, like she knew the father she thought she had was gone—or had never existed—and accepted his fate.
Antonia smashed herself into Bastian’s chest. He folded her into his embrace. A shout came from the room, then silence.
His heart slammed. She had to be all right. “Ophelia.”
Someone shuffled along the floor from the doorway. His hand floated to the handle of his gun. What if she hadn’t made it?
He wasn’t ready to consider a world without Ophelia. She’d nestled into his life and filled all the barren places he hadn’t known had been empty.
A limping Ophelia emerged. He barked out a laugh. “I almost doubted you’d come out on top.”
Her shocked gaze lifted, and a wry smile twisted her mouth. “Almost. He fought better than I assumed. My mistake.”
Her expression fell, and she looked at her now empty but bloodied and bruised hands. One wrist was swollen and discolored. She winced as she brushed dust clinging to them on her tattered dress. It barely covered what it needed to, and he didn’t care, but it was a hazard to fight it. All her weight was on one leg; the other almost looked shorter.
“I’m sorry, Antonia,” Ophelia said. She meant it. Her tone was as heavy as her expression.
Antonia shook her head. She pried herself away from Bastian and staggered to Ophelia.
“My parents never loved me. I know that. I’m sorry you got hurt because of me,” she mumbled.
Ophelia patted Antonia’s back with her better hand, the other one held out to the side so it wouldn’t get bumped. She caught Bastian’s gaze and tipped her head toward the door. “You need to get her to the compound. Now.”
Just him? “What about you?”
“Oh, I’m not done yet.” She gently guided Antonia to the exit. Her gait looked painful, and her features were drawn, but she never said she was in great pain. “Get her safe and let the guys know where the fight is at. I think the others are still here and might’ve heard the shots. They’ll come looking for us first.”
She popped open the door with her hip and peeked outside. “Hurry.”
He was immobile. Antonia’s safety was priority one, but he didn’t want to leave Ophelia. She was injured, she’d been through hell tonight already, and she lacked adequate protection and weapons.
“I can go after them,” he offered.
Bastian GP Page 21
