A female vampire bent over the bare, muscular shoulder of a man. Her hands curled into his skin, covering his bare torso from behind, and the tendons and veins in his neck were distended as his head tipped to the side. Even through the skinny crack, she could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, the muscles in his arms bunching. His hands were fisted on the bed, making no move to fight off the vampire.
Macey swallowed hard and was just about to close the door when the man shifted and she saw his face, taut with arousal and pain. Chas.
Without thinking—without allowing herself to think—Macey shoved open the door and launched herself into the room. Both faces whipped up at her entrance, but it was too late—she had her stake in hand and was on the female in an instant.
One sharp thrust, and the undead was gone.
Macey spun away to catch her breath, not certain she’d seen what she thought she’d seen…not ready to face him and find out. Her heart pounded and her insides were in turmoil. But the image of his expression was burned into her mind. Stark, beautiful, and filled with pain.
She heard him behind her—rising, pulling on his shirt. When she finally turned, it was to find him facing partly away. His mouth tight, his movements sharp and quick.
“I—”
“Any news about Vioget?” He had a stake in his hand, and his eyes were cold and dark.
“No. I don’t think Alvisi has him. But I killed four vampires—now a fifth—and I think the others might know something is happening.”
He nodded curtly. “The smell of ash—it can spread like smoke. That’s why it’s not the best idea to stake them here.”
Was he criticizing her for killing that vampire? Macey shook her head but held her tongue. She knew what she’d seen. She just wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“Let’s go.”
“Where to?”
“Out of here. You’re obviously leaving a trail behind you, and we’ll soon be discovered if we don’t leave.” He started toward the door.
She had no choice but to follow him. “Back to the club?”
“For now.”
But two steps later, the sound of voices approached, and the back of Macey’s neck grew icy cold. She and Chas looked at each other at the same time, and without speaking, ducked into one of the rooms.
“Alvisi,” he breathed into her ear as they peered out the crack of the door.
Sure enough, the count and a trio of his female attendants in their blue frocks and feathery headdresses were heading down the hall toward them. Macey sniffed, wondering if the scent of ash was still heavy enough in the air for the undead to notice. Chas was very still, standing behind her to look out above her head. She could smell the iron scent of his blood, still clinging to his throat and shirt.
Alvisi and his group strolled closer, the women giggling and the count bragging vociferously about something. A large male undead followed behind, obviously a bodyguard of sorts. None of them paused, and Macey felt some of her tension ease…to be replaced by a stab of disappointment.
What a coup that would be…to kill Count Alvisi. One of the most powerful vampires in Chicago—in the world, at least according to Sebastian. It would be so easy. He was right there, walking right past. Hardly guarded at all. She’d handled three on her own, and Chas was here now.
Macey’s hand or body must have tensed, preparing to throw the door open and bolt out after the vampire count, for Chas clamped a firm hand onto her shoulder. A clear warning.
She shook off his grip and eased the door open a smidge wider. By now, the group had passed by and disappeared around a corner of the hall.
“Don’t make a scene,” Chas muttered, his words hot and barely audible against her ear. “We’re outnumbered.”
She pulled away and glared up at him. “We can get Alvisi. Now’s our chance.”
“Possibly. But—”
They both stilled and looked back out the crack. Two voices, two figures were approaching. One male, one female. At least one of them undead, based on the chill over the back of her neck. Macey peered out through the awkward opening and her belly dropped. She went cold.
Chas must have felt it, for he gripped her arm—but she was already throwing the door open. “Flora,” Macey cried, stumbling out into the corridor. “Flora?” It couldn’t be.
It was. Her redheaded friend, dressed in a sparkling blue frock with a feathery blue headband—ornamented in front with a blue circle, just as the landlady had described—and long white gloves. She was with a pale-skinned man dressed in a suit with a matching blue tie and handkerchief.
There were fresh bite marks on her neck.
“Macey!” Flora came to a dead stop.
She didn’t think. Macey lunged at Flora’s companion, aiming for the center of his chest, but before she shoved it home, someone grabbed her arm and whipped her through the air.
Crash. She slammed face-first against the wall and crumpled to the ground. Breathless, dragging herself to her feet, Macey whirled just in time to see Chas slam his stake into the man’s torso.
Ash exploded and, with smooth, lethal movements, the grim-faced Chas spun toward Flora.
“No!” Macey screamed, and launched herself off the wall. She hurtled into her friend just as Chas thrust the stake down.
Macey cried out as the sharp point drove deep into her shoulder. Pain exploded through her torso. Chas shouted a curse and yanked the weapon back, but she hardly noticed through the chaos that ensued. Running footsteps, shouts, and others came on the scene.
Clutching at the wound, gushing with blood, Macey stumbled against Flora. “What…happened?” she managed to say. “When?” From behind her, Macey heard Chas struggling with a new assailant.
Her friend stepped back, looking at her with cool, emotionless eyes. “I wanted something more. Something I was never going to get working in a pool or in a damned garment shop.”
Someone jostled Macey and she bumped against the wall. Her vision was flashing with black and white lights, and her hand was covered with warm, slick blood. “Flora…” Her knees buckled. Am I going to die?
“I’m happier now. I have a place. My sire adores me, and I’m very valuable to him. The friend of the new Gardella. I had no idea you were so…important, Macey.”
A great force sent Macey sprawling onto the ground. Someone shouted, something slammed into the back of her head, and everything went dark.
SIXTEEN
~ Of Guilt and Devastation ~
The pain was what dragged her back to consciousness. The pain radiating through her shoulder like a deep, continuous thud. That, and the block of ice covering the back of her neck.
Macey remembered everything just before she dragged her eyes open. But when she did so, she was surprised to find she was alone. The room was dark, lit only by a single, naked bulb. Small, close, and windowless. Little more than a closet.
She was on a cold, concrete floor, lying on her side in a pool of her own sticky blood. Gingerly, she used her right hand to push into a sitting position; the left side of her body was in too much pain. As she sat up, she felt at the wound below her left collarbone. Sticky, globular bits of blood clung to her hand and frock.
“Macey.”
The gritty voice came from behind her, and she recognized it as Chas. Staggering to her feet, she used the wall as a support and turned to find him crumpled in the corner. A large bookshelf pinned him in place.
Though every movement was agony and her knees trembled, Macey still had her strength. She pulled the bookshelf off him, and the exertion caused blood to start flowing from her injury again. Chas groaned with relief as the heavy wooden piece was maneuvered away. He was bound with his arms behind his back and legs together. With the weight of the bookshelf on him, he obviously hadn’t been able to move near Macey or even find a way to loosen his bonds.
But now the weight was gone, and he was already struggling with the ties around his wrists. “How are you?” he grunted. “Need a doctor, proba
bly. Ugh.” This last was the sound of triumph as the ropes loosened. He whipped his arms free.
Macey had already fumbled open the knots around his ankles and now sat, leaning against the wall. Her vision was mottled with black dots and her head felt as if it were spinning. She pressed a hard palm to her wound, trying to stop the renewed bleeding. “What happened? Where are we?” Chas moved into the small circle of light, and she saw blood on him. Everywhere. Throat, arms, the front of his torso. Someone—or several someones—had feasted. Her insides shriveled. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
His smile was humorless. “Both of us are. Left for dead. But they don’t know how strong we are, Macey. That’s one of their weaknesses.” He edged closer. “Let me look at that.”
She reluctantly moved her hand, and he pulled away the torn edges of her silky dress. He hissed something dark and short, then looked up at her. “You’re lucky to be alive. Two more inches…”
Macey pulled away. “You had no business going after her like that.” A wave of despair and anger flooded her, washing away the dull, throbbing pain. God, no. Not Flora too. Not Flora.
“You had no business interfering like that. What were you thinking? You could have been killed.”
“Flora is my friend. My best friend.” Her words were choked and tears welled in her eyes.
“Not anymore.” His voice was flat. “Goddammit, Macey, you better understand that right now. She’s not your friend anymore.”
“You don’t know that. It’s Flora. She wouldn’t…do something like that.”
He thrust a bloodied arm in front of her. “This is her work.”
Macey turned away. “No.” She shook her head. Tears spilled freely, and her belly was an awful, churning mess. Not Flora. Never. Rage and disbelief warred inside her, and she wanted to roar with pain, to lash out at someone. Destroy them.
Who’d done this? Who was to blame? Who?
But she knew… in the pit of her conscience, she knew.
Chelle. Mrs. G. And now Flora. Macey had no one to blame but herself. And…
“Alvisi.”
Chas looked up at her voice, his expression taut. He’d poured something on his wounds—holy water, from the small vial in his hand. She heard the hiss of pain as he dumped another small dose on his chest.
Macey dragged herself to her feet. Her head wasn’t as frothy, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped. Her jaw was tight as she ground out the words. “I’m going to kill him. Do you know where he is?”
For a minute, she thought Chas would argue. Or try and talk her out of it. But he replied, “I have a suspicion. But don’t forget Vioget. We have to find him.”
“No. Alvisi first.”
“Macey. You can’t put your personal retributions ahead of the good for all. If the undead get those rings, we—”
“Alvisi,” she said from between clenched teeth. Tears burned her eyes.
And what about Flora? What will you do when you see her again? Her insides roiled alarmingly. Drive a stake into the heart of her best friend?
Never.
You must.
She stilled. The sounds and sensation over her neck told Macey undead were approaching. They exchanged glances, then wordlessly got into position on each side of the door. Macey had the stake from beneath her skirt, and Chas pulled one from some hidden location on his person.
When the door opened, they moved in tandem. Slam. Thrust. Shove. She got the first undead, Chas the second—and he would have gotten the third on his backhand swing if she hadn’t yanked the startled vampire out of the way.
Despite the pain in her shoulder, and the fact that she barely reached the lanky vampire’s chin, Macey whirled him against the wall. “Where’s Alvisi?” Her stake hovered over his heart. Chas made a sound that resembled a surprised laugh, but she didn’t spare him a look. Anger and resolve boiled inside her. There was no room for levity.
“Uh…he’s in his private…quarters.” The vampire looked as if he might have been barely twenty when he was turned—and a skinny, gawky young man. “Don’t…push that.” His goggling eyes focused on the wooden pike settled on his chest.
“I won’t. If you take me there.” Macey pulled out the silver cross from behind her gown for added insurance.
“I will.”
“What were you doing here?” Chas interrupted. “Coming to get us?”
“We were…she told us we could feed.” The vampire’s eyes darted about. “We haven’t fed in three days. She said you’d be easy.”
Macey didn’t want to ask who “she” was. She didn’t want to know if it was her dear, clumsy, funny Flora. Surely it couldn’t be. Surely Flora wouldn’t say something so crass. Macey avoided looking at the telltale wounds on Chas’s arms. Her stomach was still upset, still churning, and a sensation of dread cloaked her as she and Chas ushered the vampire out from what was, indeed, little more than a storage closet.
“No funny business,” Chas warned. “No detours, and keep away from populated areas. Or instead of staking you, we’ll throw you out in the goddamned sun to fry. Slowly.”
Their guide seemed to take Chas at his word, for he led them quickly and efficiently through back hallways. They encountered no one. Macey was glad, for she was still weak, and her injury bothered her. It would slow her on the left side, her fighting arm. Chas seemed to be himself, however, despite the great loss of blood. Or perhaps he was just better at hiding his deficiency.
The ever-present frigidity at the back of Macey’s neck was nearly unbearable when they approached a set of double doors. “No guards?” She poked the stake into the vampire’s back.
“No. Not here. He doesn’t need them. This is his private quarters.”
The sound of raucous laughter from beyond the door indicated three or four, maybe five people. Mostly female from the sound of it.
Macey whipped her captive around to face her. “What’s your name?”
“Ricky.”
“All right, Ricky. Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to bring me in there as if I’m still your captive. My hands will be behind me, and you’ll make it look as if I’m still tied. You stay out here,” she added, looking at Chas. “You can join us at the appropriate moment.”
Her companion nodded, pursing his lips. “Go on.”
Turning back to Ricky, she tucked the silver cross back down inside her dress. “If you get me close enough to take a strike at Alvisi, I’ll let you escape unscathed. And so will he.” She gestured to Chas, who rolled his eyes but nodded agreement. “If you leave and don’t come back. If I see you again anywhere in the vicinity of The Blood Club or Alvisi, you’re dust. Understood?” She ground the stake deeper, poking through his shirt.
Ricky nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his eyes wide. Macey might have had a flicker of sympathy for him if she were in a better mood—and if he hadn’t chosen to become an immortal, blood-sucking fiend.
“Let’s go.”
Chas moved out of sight of the door. Ricky opened it, then shoved Macey through. The gawky undead did a good job playing his role, holding onto her arm, directing her toward the vampire count. She kept her hands behind her back, with a stake hidden up her sleeve and pressed against her spine. She knew she looked beaten and bedraggled, bloody and exhausted as she was.
Attempting to appear cowed and weak, Macey took stock of the room. The scents of lavender, blood, and oil paint mingled. Apparently, Count Alvisi fancied himself an artist, for he stood in front of an easel in one corner of the chamber lit by electric bulbs—presumably to give him the best artificial lighting for his work. He brandished a palette and brush, and a nearby table held pots of paint. Two female vampires were arranged on a divan, draped in diaphanous white clothing. The filmy, toga-like attire did nothing to hide sharp pink nipples, the dark shadows at the juncture of their thighs, and a myriad of bite marks in intimate places.
In two armchairs, with a small table between them, Flora and a fourth female vampire sat. They ha
d goblets filled with something red. Macey suppressed a shudder and looked away, but not before she caught Flora’s eye.
Macey quickly averted her gaze, unable to bear what might be in her friend’s expression. Focusing on creating a devastated facade, she allowed herself to be manhandled toward Alvisi.
“She wanted to see you,” improvised Ricky.
Count Alvisi looked up. “The Venator.” He sounded pleased. “A pleasant surprise.”
Macey was close enough to see the mole on his cheek, and that he had begun to turn gray at the temples before he was turned. Close enough.
With a glance at Ricky, she threw him off and launched herself at the count. His palette and brush went flying, and the other vampires shrieked as she grabbed Alvisi by the collar and poised her stake over his heart even as her wound twinged in warning. The sound of a door slamming open behind her told Macey Chas had appeared, right on cue.
“How’s this for a pleasant surprise?”
The count’s eyes were wide with shock and fear. Macey pressed her advantage, aware that Chas had already dispatched one of the undead. She didn’t turn to see whether it was Flora.
“I hear you’re one of the most powerful undead in the world,” she taunted. “You could have fooled me.” He shrank inside his shirt, tried to brighten his eyes with a glowing thrall, and failed when she flexed her fingers, tightening the stake against him. “Where’s Sebastian Vioget?”
“Vioget? I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you.” Amid the sound of feminine grunts and flesh pounding flesh, Chas staked another vampire behind her. But Macey heard shouts and running footsteps in the distance. Damn.
“I don’t know where he is. Haven’t seen him.”
“Have you heard anything about him? Iscariot? Does he have him?”
“Iscariot.” At this Alvisi showed emotions other than fear: disgust and hatred. “I wouldn’t know. We don’t mingle.”
Macey’s control, which had been teetering for days, slipped. “Why did you take my friend? Why did you do that to her?” Her voice was too high.
“Who? What? I don’t know what you me—”
Roaring Midnight (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles | Macey #1) Page 23
