by C. Gockel
“That depends upon you. Will you drop the investigation?”
“I’m not on the board. I don’t have a voice in the decision.”
“Come now, you know that isn’t true. You will inherit your father’s shares and properties.”
“But not his position on the board,” she insisted.
It was true too. An interim chairman would be selected, and later a vote would be held. She would have influence as majority shareholder, but no one with sense would allow a twenty-three-year-old woman with no experience in the business to take the chair. The closest she had ever come to running a business was selling cookies at summer solstice!
She shifted under the intensity of his stare, careful not to catch his eyes with hers. “I could pay you to let us go.”
His glare intensified. “Do I look like a merchant to you?”
He looked like a goddess cursed fiend to her! A damned psycho with a god complex! “No but—”
“Then do not attempt to bargain with me. You will stop this investigation. Say it.”
“But I can’t!”
“Say it!”
She swallowed. “I’ll stop the investigation,” she whispered.
He beamed. “There, I knew you could do it.”
But... he was a maniac. He really was mad! She couldn’t do what he wanted, not because she didn’t want to—she didn’t want to because Wilson was a snake—but because she literally couldn’t prevent an internal investigation that her father had already initiated! There were people already working on it. Wilson was already finished, though he didn’t know it yet. The story would break very soon. Her father had only been holding back long enough to discover how the transfer of funds had been accomplished. He’d wanted Stephen’s agreement to let him investigate that aspect, but he hadn’t counted upon it. His investigators were digging like mad already. Within days, a report would land on each director’s desk.
“You’re letting us go then?”
“You can’t!” Terry said. “You promised that I could have her. You promised—gah!” Arcadian’s hand was around Terry’s throat before Marie knew he had moved.
“Do not tell me what I cannot do, Terry Sayles,” Arcadian hissed. “It’s your fault and failure that forced me to this measure. You were ordered to bring her father to me, not kill him! This girl was to be your reward for that task. A task you failed to complete!” he roared, shaking Terry like a rat in a cat’s jaws. “You failed me; you’re lucky I do not kill you for it. Take my forbearance as your reward.”
The door opened and a man entered. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“What is it?” Arcadian said, still glaring and throttling the life out of Terry.
Marie willed him on.
“You asked to be informed of any AML developments.”
Arcadian turned to face the newcomer, still holding Terry off the floor by his neck as if he’d forgotten about him. Marie shivered at this evidence of his strength and mental state.
“What news, Cadmon?”
“Newman came himself this time, sir.”
“He’s here now?”
“Yes sir.”
“Did he say why?”
Cadmon hesitated, glancing at Marie. “Yes sir. He came because of her. He says...” he swallowed nervously and glanced at the others in the room. “He said because you... because we didn’t take care of business in a timely, manner, he’s had to take matters into his own hands, and that if we can’t supply what was promised he’ll find another supplier.”
Arcadian hissed, his fangs descending and his eyes burning red suddenly. “He dares? He dares come here, into my House to say that to me? Is the man a fool?”
“I would venture not, sir. I think he might be shrewd enough to have taken precautions.”
“Hmmm, probably so. I always liked that about him. Very little else to like, eh?” Arcadian laughed, and everyone mimicked him. The sound cut off as if with a knife, and everyone instantly fell silent again.
Marie stared. They were all frightened of him, she realized. They worked for him, yet they were scared spit-less to cross him or even speak up. What kind of man engendered that in his own friends?
Arcadian frowned when he noticed Terry and gently lowered him to the floor. “Terry my dear fellow, I was just thinking about you, and here you are! Take Miss Stirling back to her cage will you?”
Terry swallowed nervously, his eyes huge. “Yes sir, at once sir!”
“Good man. I need to speak with Newman and calm him down.” Arcadian turned to Marie and gave her a polite but tiny bow of the head. “I’ll come down later to finish our chat. I won’t be long.” He strode out, and his entourage hurried to follow.
Before Marie could react, Terry was on her, pinning her in place on the couch. “Get off me! He’ll kill you for this!”
“Only if someone tells him. He gave you to me, and I’m taking what’s mine before he changes his mind.”
“He already did. He’s letting us go!” She shoved at him, but he was stronger than he looked now.
“Then there’s no time to lose, is there?”
She gasped as his fangs punctured her throat. She tried to fight, but a warm lethargy stole her will and she was suddenly floating. It felt wonderful, and when he began fumbling at her clothes and groping sensitive flesh, she didn’t care. She moaned and arched against his hand cupping her sex, and thrust against the heel of his hand. Fingers slipped inside her and her climax was immediate. She screamed her pleasure, or tried to, but a hand clamped over her mouth stifling her ecstatic cries. All chance of rational thought or protest shattered in a mind-blowing wave of pleasure that engulfed her entire body. Terry’s mouth on her neck, sucking and swallowing her life became her world. Her blood flooding into his greedy mouth was all that mattered. She didn’t care about anything other than what her body was feeling. Another orgasm shook her, and then another, and another, each one ripping through her in an unending stream of poor bliss. They blended together and they went on, and on, and on...
35
Revelations
Stephen awoke and sprang to his feet snarling in fury the instant the sun’s tyranny and power over the day released him. He slammed into the bars of his cage before he realised they were there, and howled in pain. They were electrified. They had caged him like an animal. Where was Marie, what had they done with her? The thought of her dead or harmed almost unhinged him. His eyes blazed in fury. When he freed himself, he would slaughter every AML sympathiser in the city. He would make them beg for death before the end, and then he would drain them dry! More, he would hire Rachelle’s necromance to bring them back and hold them on the edge of death while he tortured them into gibbering mindlessness! There wouldn’t be a single one of them left sane before he gave them the mercy of death.
His fangs ran out of their own accord at the thought.
His eyes darted around his prison looking for escape. The bars of the cage were thick. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to overcome them. The electrification was overkill. Pain wouldn’t stop him from attacking the bars if he’d had any hope of escape that way. He didn’t. The cage had been built with his people, or maybe shifters, in mind. AML were psychopathic fundamentalists, but they knew their business. They weren’t in the habit of underestimating the monsters they hunted, and the strength of the bars proved they hadn’t here.
There was no escape.
He reached for Edward and found nothing. Had they killed him? No! There was no reason to assume that, but what else could prevent him reaching his human servant? Nothing he could think of. Grief clogged his throat and his rage built again. It threatened to send him careening into madness where he would spend it and his strength attacking the bars. No, he would not be a fool. He would husband his strength and spend it wisely upon killing his enemies.
He forced the rage away. He needed to be ready for any opportunities that might arise. They hadn’t killed him, and they could have done that at any time while he slept the day away. They must want some
thing from him; he couldn’t imagine what, but something. He must find a way to turn their need against them.
Edward...
He closed his eyes wanting to howl his grief to the heavens. The thought of his old friend dead was like a dagger in his heart—sharp and immediate. They had been together many years. His poor friend... but wait. Wait a minute; just wait. There was no reason to think that Edward was dead. He hadn’t seen or felt him killed, and he would have. The blood bond meant that if Edward had been injured or killed he would have felt it, and he hadn’t. There was hope then. Yes, he would concentrate upon hope. He must assume all was well with his friend and that he was being blocked somehow, but how? He knew of no way. It didn’t matter how, he decided firmly schooling his emotions. He would not assume Edward was dead until confronted with his corpse, and even then, he would invent a way to bring him back!
He took a calming breath. Some magic or other trick was blocking him. That was what had happened. AML wanted him to assume they had killed Edward. They wanted him to despair. He would not be fooled.
He stepped close to the bars, careful not to touch them, and took stock of his new situation. He was underground. He could sense the earth all around him. It was part of being vampire, this affinity with the earth. His cage was one of many in the room; each one a steel cube roughly twenty feet on a side. Their occupants were diverse; most were human, one or two were shifters, but he wasn’t the only vampire. Three of the cages held newborns.
He reached out to them, trying to sense their lineage, but something was wrong. He couldn’t sense a bond; he should be able to sense it easily. He might not recognise their maker if he was new to the city, but familiar or not the bond should still be there. He frowned, feeling only emptiness from where they lay. That wasn’t right. They weren’t awake yet but that was normal for such young vampires, and he could tell that these three were very young. By the feel of them, they were only a few days old, certainly no older than a week. They probably wouldn’t wake for hours. Asleep or awake didn’t matter; he should easily detect their bond with their maker, but it was absent. That was impossible. Bestowing the gift always forged a link between a maker and his child. Always. That was one reason why so few were turned. The bond was intense and very personal.
There was something very wrong with them. They didn’t feel quite as weak as they should. Even inert he could sense their strength. They were far beneath him; that at least was as it should be, but their essence wasn’t a constant low-level hum in his head. Their auras were flaring like the vampire he had killed… was it only last night? These three were akin to O’Neal. Sired by the same maker then? If so, there was something very wrong with Michael. His children were unstable, probably due to the absence of the bond, which was an impossibility... he frowned again at the sleepers. It was no longer impossible and these three were proof.
“Mister Edmonton, do you know me?”
Stephen turned to his left to regard a man in the cage next to his. He recognised the face, but had no name for it. “I recognise you from Marie’s home.”
The man nodded and winced. He put a hand to the back of his head and brought it back bloody. The sight of the blood made Stephen hyper aware of his hunger. He hadn’t fed before his visit with Marie, and he’d spent the strength that he drained from his enemies fighting them. He doubted he would be allowed to feed tonight. He kept his distance in case something unfortunate occurred—his fangs were tingling, and that was a warning. He needed to feed within the next few hours, sooner if possible.
“I’m Andrew—Mister Stirling’s chief of security.”
“Forgive me for saying this, but I must question your competence given the circumstances.”
Andrew grinned briefly. “Me too. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. Miss Stirling’s father is dead did you know?”
He shook his head. He did not remember seeing that, but he’d been busy with their attackers at the time.
“A heart attack I think. Our hosts were very upset. They wanted him for something. Money probably.”
“AML fundraisers are often bloody affairs.”
Andrew nodded glumly.
“Where is Marie?”
“She’s here. They dragged her off a few minutes before you woke up. Someone wanted to speak with her. I don’t think they’ll hurt her, not now her father is dead. They need her.”
Andrew didn’t sound entirely certain of that, more hopeful of her safety than sure of it. Stephen had to hope she was safe too, because there was little he could do to affect matters. Andrew moved closer to the bars and Stephen backed up hurriedly. He was excruciatingly aware of the fresh blood perfuming the air.
“No closer.”
Andrew frowned, but stopped his advance.
“I’m in need of blood. I will not vouch for your safety if you come too close. Take this as my warning and apology in one. If you come any closer, you’ll become breakfast.”
“Is that a joke?”
“Not a very funny one, but no, not really. I did not feed last night and I doubt our hosts plan to indulge my hunger tonight. These bars will keep you safe from me, but I advise you not to approach within reach.”
Andrew nodded and took an extra step back. “Thanks.”
“You are welcome,” he said but wished he could have apologised after he’d drank from the man. His hunger snarled and spit in the back of his brain, urging him to feed. It wasn’t enough to take control of him yet, but it would eventually. A starving vampire was little more than a ravening beast. “We need to escape before I lose all control.”
“How long do we have?”
“A few hours. I can control it for that long. If we’re still here tomorrow night, I advise you to keep your distance and trust nothing I do or say. Do not look me in the eyes for any reason.”
Andrew had already been avoiding eye contact. “Have you any ideas how to escape?”
“There’s no escape,” one of the other prisoners said. He was human, around thirty or thirty-five years old, and red haired. His unshaven face looked haggard, hinting at the length of time he’d been a prisoner. “They’ll feed you to your friend or one of the other vamps around here. That’s what you’re here for.”
Stephen pursed his lips thoughtfully. “If so, what am I here for, do you know?”
The man nodded and indicated the newborns. “You’re here to make more of those freaks.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“You’re not the first vampire to occupy that cage. I’ve been here a long time. Months I think. I’ve lost count of the days. He told me what they did to him.”
“And what was that?”
“They drained him and used his blood to make more vamps like the freaks there.”
Drained. The thought chilled him. “Why do you call them freaks?”
“It’s what he called them. He said they were abominations and unnatural. Kind of funny when you think about it.”
“How so?”
“He’s undead. It’s a bit rich calling them abominations when he’s one himself don’t you think?”
Stephen frowned. Either this man was an idiot, or he didn’t care what happened to him. “A fully signed up member of AML are you?”
“That was a while ago, in college. I say live and let live these days.”
“Sure you do,” Andrew said, sounding disgusted. “What did they say when you tried to re-join and talk your way out of here?”
The man scowled. “They laughed.”
“This vampire,” Stephen said. “Did he have a name?”
“Fabion or something like that.”
“Fabron? Michael Fabron?”
“You know him?”
He nodded.
“A friend?”
He nodded again.
“Small world eh? He’s not dead if that’s what you’re thinking. They took him out a while ago to drain him again. They always do that when you guys are asleep. I guess it’s safer.”
That made pe
rfect sense and horrified him at the same time. They were taking no chances. He would be completely helpless to prevent them using his blood as they liked, just as Michael was now. Was this perversion of the gift the reason for the lack of a bond between Michael and his children? He couldn’t see why using blood that way would have that effect, but perhaps there was more to the process than he knew.
“They’ll bring him back soon. You better hope they don’t put him in with you or your friend. They get off on watching.”
“How do you mean?” Andrew said uneasily.
“He’ll be mad with hunger and won’t be able to stop himself. They like to bet on how long he can hold out.”
Poor Michael. He was such a gentle sort, relatively speaking of course. He was a powerful master of a House, and no master could afford to be too compassionate, but Stephen knew him well. Michael did not like to kill. His particular flavour of power meant he rarely needed to hurt anyone. His food loved him, and he loved them in return. This forced draining and feeding cycle would be hateful to him.
“They might throw him in with you,” Andrew was saying.
“They might,” the man agreed. “I’ve been stuck here so long, it might be a relief. Of course, they could do worse.”
“Oh?” Stephen said.
“They might turn me into one of the freaks. See those three?”
“I see them. What about them?”
“They were prisoners like me last week. We used to talk. Not much else to do down here. I bet all they’ll want to do is eat me now.”
There wasn’t much doubt of that. They were young and uncontrolled. They had no master or bond to keep them sane. What he didn’t understand was the purpose in turning them in the first place. AML wanted all of his kind dead. In fact, they wanted everyone who wasn’t pure human dead. They didn’t discriminate when choosing their victims. If you had any non-human blood in your veins then you were the enemy and fair game, even if that blood was generations in the past. Have an elven great-great-grandfather? Watch out. If AML learned of it, you’d find yourself on their to do list. Why were they creating vampires? What was their purpose?
