by Tina Folsom
“I’m not one to rat—”
“Who?” Zane interrupted.
Oliver hesitated. “Samson asked Thomas, and apparently he’d noticed something.”
A curse rolled off his lips. Maybe bringing up Thomas’ attraction to Eddie hadn’t been a good move after all, particularly since everybody knew that Thomas would never act on it. He was Eddie’s mentor, and Eddie was straight. No wonder Thomas had felt the need to pay him back for that slap in the face. “I guess I deserved that.”
Oliver gave him a confused look.
“Don’t ask.” He owed Thomas an apology. Shit, he hadn’t apologized to anybody in decades, and now he was about to apologize twice in the space of an hour. His life was definitely changing.
“Ready for takeoff,” the pilot’s voice came through the intercom.
Zane fell silent until they were in the air. But the opportunity to talk to Thomas in private didn’t present itself because it was time to work out their action plan.
***
Samson’s connections assured that a safe house from which they could operate was available to them upon their arrival in Seattle.
Finding the location where Müller was holed up, wasn’t an easy task. Even though the partial phone number narrowed down the search to a specific neighborhood, there was still a large area to cover. While Thomas worked his magic on the computer to pinpoint Müller’s headquarters by way of elimination, Amaury used his expertise to dig into title records to search for evidence that Müller had purchased a property, rather than merely rented one. Zane made sure he scanned for all names, Müller or any of his known associates had used in the past.
During the day, the humans who had come onto the mission with him—Oliver, Nina, and two bodyguards—combed the area, but Nina raised a valid point: “We need a picture of Müller.”
“There was a picture in Portia’s wallet,” Zane remembered. “Shit, I didn’t think of that.” He hadn’t had a clear thought since the moment Portia had run off. Some bodyguard he was!
Gabriel’s hand came down on his shoulder, making him jerk his head. “Don’t worry, I know what Müller looks like. I’ll transfer my memories into Samson’s mind, and he can draw us a picture.”
Gabriel looked over his shoulder at his boss. “Isn’t that right?”
Samson nodded. “Not a problem.”
“I envy you for your gifts sometimes,” Zane admitted. Gabriel’s gift of being able to access anybody’s memories and transfer them to someone else was probably the coolest skill he’d ever seen in action. And the fact that Samson had a photographic memory and was an expert at painting and drawing, wasn’t too shabby either.
“You shouldn’t,” Amaury said from behind him. “Certain gifts can be a curse too.”
Zane nodded. Amaury’s gift of sensing everybody else’s emotions had been a literal headache until Nina had come along and healed him.
When nighttime traded with daylight once more, the humans ventured out and continued their search, checking out targets Thomas had picked for them. In the meantime, Zane was relegated to pacing. His feet carried him to the room where Thomas had set up his computers and was hacking into every system imaginable.
After a brief knock, Zane opened the door and entered.
“Hey,” Thomas greeted him.
“Hey.” Zane shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he shut the door behind him.
“What’s up?” Thomas asked without taking his eyes off the monitor.
“Can we talk?”
His colleague swiveled in his chair. “What about?”
“About what I said.”
“What did you say?” There was an uncharacteristic tightness in Thomas’ voice.
“About you and Eddie.”
Thomas stiffened and crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“There is. I want to apologize.”
Thomas’ mouth dropped open.
“You heard right. It’s none of my business, and it was inappropriate.”
Thomas nodded slowly. “I guess none of us can choose who we are drawn to.”
“No. That’s why I shouldn’t have said it. It must be hard enough for you as is.”
Thomas gave a bitter laugh. “I curse the day I met him … Yet, if I could go back in time, I would still offer to be his mentor. Screwed up, huh?”
Zane shook his head. “You’re a good man, Thomas. I wish for you to get what you want, because I know how much it hurts not to.” He took an awkward step forward, not sure whether to hug Thomas or simply turn to leave.
His friend gave him a tired smile. “You know that I was the one who told Samson, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter. You did what you had to do. If the shoe were on the other foot, I would have done the same. No hard feelings.”
“No hard feelings.”
Thomas swiveled back to face the screen and Zane turned to the door. When he twisted the door knob, Thomas cleared his throat.
“I hope you get her back, Zane. I think she’s good for you.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Portia felt the hunger pangs getting worse. Her stomach clenched as she writhed on the bed she was still chained to, and her throat felt as dry as sandpaper. Her father had made good on his threat and was starving her to force her compliance. She’d long stopped crying. Disappointment about her father’s disregard for her feelings had made way for despair many hours earlier.
With every hour that passed, she became weaker, drifting in and out of sleep, feeling near delirious from the thirst and hunger for anything, be it blood or human food. The state she was in, she would bite into anything that came close enough to her mouth.
Portia clenched her jaw shut, desperately trying to ward off the need to sink her fangs into something. Before her eyes, the room began to swim, the furniture in it seemingly moving on its own, tilting to one side and then the other. The gas fire in the old fireplace flared as if mocking her, its heat intensifying. She knew then that her mind was playing tricks on her and that she was beginning to hallucinate from starvation. If she were human, starvation wouldn’t set in for a long time, but her hybrid body demanded more fuel to burn than a human body.
Her father would win after all. Desperate to survive, she would bite any man her father presented to her. It would seal her fate. She would become part of a group of fanatics, imprisoned by their lunatic ideology and their crazy notion of ruling this world.
Portia pulled hard on her restraints, her shoulders and arms feeling virtually numb from the long hours they’d been in this position, stretched out over her head. The silver clanged against the heavy steel beam it was attached to, and now that she was getting weaker, she felt the effects of the silver even through the bandages on her wrists that were meant to protect her skin.
Heat started pouring through the protective cloth, and she felt the start of a burning sensation. She shifted her position, trying to minimize the contact with the silver.
A loud thud from downstairs jolted her. Then a shout. More shouts.
Were her hallucinations getting worse?
Portia lifted her head, trying to focus her eyes, but everything was fuzzy. The door toward the hallway seemed crooked, the dresser opposite the bed seemed to move on its own. Dizziness overwhelmed her, forcing her to drop her head back onto the pillow. More noise pounded in her head, mocking her like drums beating down the time until the midnight ceremony that would seal her fate.
Glass shattered nearby. Vibrations rippled through the house.
Then she felt it, the presence that was comforting and soothing. She sighed contently, allowing herself to drift deeper into her dream. There in her world of fantasy, Zane was by her side, the man who loved her, who looked at her like she meant the world to him.
“Portia!”
His voice was so close, so strong. He would save her from this madness and wipe away the memories of the last two days and nights. In her dream, they were ba
ck at his cabin in Tahoe, making love in front of the fireplace.
“Oh, baby girl, what has he done to you?”
Zane’s question didn’t fit into her dream. No, she didn’t want to be reminded of her situation; she wanted to relive happy times.
Her head thrashed from side to side as she tried to shake off the intrusion into her dream. “No!”
A strong hand captured her face.
Her eyes flew open. Her vision was blurry. Somebody was there. A face she recognized but knew couldn’t be real.
“No,” she breathed.
“Baby girl, look at me.”
Portia watched his lips move, his breath ghosting over her skin as he did so, and inhaled his words and his scent. Blinking her eyes, she pushed through the fog that surrounded her.
Shock made her catapult from her prone position, but the restraints jerked her back. “Zane!” Was she still dreaming?
“I came for you.”
As the words sank in, her mind sobered. He was real, all right. But it was no reason to rejoice. He’d come for her. What was it he’d said the last time she’d seen him? That he’d kill her like he’d kill her father.
Panicked, she scrambled backwards, and for the first time she truly saw him. Zane was dressed entirely in black. He wore a long sleeved figure hugging t-shirt and black jeans. Over it, his leather jacket was open. She glimpsed an array of weapons in its inside pockets. Weapons to kill a vampire—or a hybrid.
Portia opened her mouth, wanting to scream, not for help, but out of desperation, but Zane clamped his hand over her mouth.
“I’m sorry, baby girl.”
Tears brimmed at her eyes. Why was he still calling her this? How could he be so cruel when she already knew he’d come to kill her?
***
Portia looked frightened. Frightened of him. She’d been about to scream, but Zane couldn’t allow that.
His colleagues were attacking from outside on the ground floor on the other side of the large Victorian mansion to draw Müller and his cohorts to that side of the house, so he’d been able to slip in through a window on the second floor and search for Portia. He couldn’t risk her alerting her father.
Zane glanced at the silver handcuffs around her wrists. He cursed. He had brought weapons to kill vampires, but he hadn’t expected that her father would be keeping Portia captive with silver, the only metal he couldn’t break. Frustration howled through him, and his free hand clenched into a fist.
Portia’s frightened eyes pinned him.
“I would never hurt you,” he hastened to assure her.
Her expression went from fear to doubt.
“Please trust me.”
When a tear rolled down her cheek, he swept it up with his thumb. “Please don’t cry, baby girl.”
He slowly removed his hand from her mouth, ready to clamp it back on should she decide to scream. But her lips remained silent, and her eyes drilled into him.
Then he saw the cords in her throat move. “Tell me you don’t love me,” she murmured so quietly he almost didn’t hear it.
“I can’t do that.” His heart expanded as he noticed a sparkle in her eyes. Hope blossomed. She hadn’t given up on him yet. She hadn’t stopped loving him despite the cruel things he’d said to her.
“Zane.”
Gently, Zane caressed her cheek with his palm, even as he listened to the sounds of fighting from below. “Forgive me for the things I said. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
She raised her head to come closer, and he took the invitation and lowered his lips to hers. As he took her mouth in a desperate kiss, he pressed her to him. The silver handcuffs clanged against the steel beam as she tried to move her arms. The sound brought reality home. He had to free her. He pulled back, releasing her.
She tried to reach for him, her fangs suddenly protruding farther from her lips.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m thirsty …” Portia averted her eyes.
“He’s been starving you?” He wanted to howl in frustration. Had he known, he would have brought bottled human blood for her.
She nodded. “He wants me to blood-bond tonight. I told him I wouldn’t … mate with the man he’s chosen.” Her voice broke off, evidence that she was weak.
They had no time to lose. “We have to get you out of here. Now.”
Zane pressed his finger against the little wireless device in his ear to connect to the command center. “Thomas, I’ve found her. He chained her with silver. We need wire clippers, and human blood. Quickly.”
“Location,” Thomas requested.
“Second floor, south-west corner bedroom.”
“Understood.”
From downstairs the noise intensified. He hoped his colleagues could keep Müller and his thugs at bay until he had freed Portia and brought her to safety. Only then would he return to finish off Müller.
Portia’s eyes darted toward the door. “Who’s with you?”
“Half of Scanguards. They're fighting Müller and his people.” He refrained from referring to Müller as her father, hoping to keep reality away from them. Because reality was a cruel mistress. The fact was he hated the father of the woman he loved, and he was here to finish him off once and for all.
Their gazes clashed. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”
Zane withstood her scrutiny for a few seconds before he broke the contact. “I’ll kill anybody who hurts you.”
When he got no answer, he looked back at her and noticed that she’d closed her eyes again.
Panic seared through him. “Baby girl!”
“So tired,” Portia mumbled. “So thirsty.”
He had to do something before she slipped too far. He needed her coherent to get her out of here, and the way she looked right now, he wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk. Even though he knew that vampire blood would provide her only with temporary nourishment, it would boost her strength for a short while, long enough until he could get her human blood. It had worked for him when he’d fed off the Czech vampire at the camp. It would work now.
“You have to feed.” He propped her head up.
Portia opened her eyes halfway, and he placed his wrist at her lips.
“Do it, baby girl, it’ll ease the thirst.” Even if it would weaken him by a fraction, it needed to be done. He couldn’t bear seeing her suffer.
When her mouth opened wider and her fangs grazed his skin, Zane shivered involuntarily. God, he’d missed her. It seemed impossible, but in the short time that he’d known her, she’d become a part of not just his life, but of him.
The sharp tips of her fangs drove into his skin and lodged in his flesh. Heat suffused his body as she began feeding from him.
“Oh, God,” he murmured, trying to hold back the clawing need to slide over her and take her. This wasn’t the time or the place.
The sound of the door hinges creaking behind him, made him spin his head around.
“You!” Müller’s furious glare lashed at him as he charged into the room.
In a split-second, Zane took in his opponent. He looked just like he had then: dark blond hair and high cheekbones. But he was also different. His mouth was twisted into a snarl, and fangs protruded from it. His eyes might have still been brown, but now they shone red. He was in full fighting mode.
With Portia’s fangs still lodged in his wrist, Zane lost a valuable second trying to pry his arm from her. Her eyes flew open, and despite her weakened state, she seemed to sense her father in the room. She instantly released his wrist, returning his full range of motion to him.
But Müller was already on him, one claw slicing into Zane’s shoulder. The jacket he wore protected him. “Don’t touch her, you filthy Jew!”
Zane jumped up and barreled into Müller, both of them crashing against the dresser. “You hurt her, you bastard!” He landed a right hook against his enemy’s cheek.
Müller’s head whipped to the side but snapped back just as fast. “You sullied
her!” He underscored his point by kicking his knee upwards.
But Zane had anticipated the move and blocked it, swiveling sideways to avoid a hit into his groin. Figured that the bastard was going for his nuts.
“She’s mine!” Zane bit out between clenched teeth.
A blow against his solar plexus silenced him, the wind rushing from his lungs faster than from a popping balloon. Recovering quickly, Zane counterattacked, serving up his fists by aiming for Müller’s head again.
Blood splattered as Müller’s skin split open near his eye.
Glaring furiously, Müller used his entire bodyweight to throw himself against Zane, robbing him of his balance. He stumbled backwards, hearing Portia’s distressed scream as he crashed into the door to the next room. The impact swung it wide open, putting Zane on his ass in the other room.
Leveraging himself against the desk he’d hit, Zane pulled himself up just as Müller launched himself at him again. Zane kicked his leg out, slamming it sideways into Müller’s knees.
Müller’s face distorted in pain. “Fucking asshole! I should have killed you back then.”
“Too late.”
Zane catapulted forward and landed a barrage of blows against his opponent while receiving several vicious ones in return. Both felt good. This fight had been a long time coming. He couldn’t simply cut it short by drawing one of the weapons inside his jacket. He needed this, needed to beat the man who’d robbed him of so much, stolen the life of so many, and tortured the most innocent of them all.
Breathing hard, his eyes scanned the room, a study. A desk with computer equipment, a book case, a chair and a chest of drawers was all it contained. Plenty Müller could use against him. And Müller would have to since they were equally strong. Their body mass was similar, and neither had any advantage in strength or agility. At any other time, Zane would have enjoyed fighting an opponent who was his equal, challenging him in every way. Not tonight. Tonight, there were only two things he wanted, making Müller pay and getting Portia out of this hellhole.
From the ground floor, he could now hear a cacophony of sounds—bodies and furniture slamming into walls and floors, shouting, as well as gun shots. Scanguards had managed to storm the house and was battling the enemy from within. Grunts and angry shouts mingled with orders and the confusion of the house’s inhabitants. His colleagues would handle them, but Müller he had to take care of himself.
