Caleb

by McCarty, Sarah

  She struck out with her mind, hit that invisible wall again. Vincent laughed. Blood poured into her mouth in a torrent she couldn’t avoid. It was either swallow or drown. Oh God, she’d rather drown but her survival instinct wasn’t quite ready to give up. She swallowed. The foul blood hit her stomach. The cramps were immediate. Violent and vicious.

  “If you puke on me, I’ll let you drown in your own vomit.”

  He meant it. Her face felt cold and clammy. Her stomach writhed in a knot of wrenching pain. No way could she not vomit. No way could she drink more of his blood. It burned like acid inside. She swallowed back her gorge. Two more shallow, desperate breaths and she knew her options were coming to an end. She either had to surrender or die. She looked straight into Vincent’s burning eyes, Caleb’s order ringing in her memory, and went with the only option she could accept.

  Right before she vomited, she groaned, “Fuck you.”

  18

  THEY were taking her to see Caleb. Allie stood just ahead of Vincent and her guards in the doorway of the room that had been her prison for the last two days and kept her mind locked on that fact. Held it as a talisman against the weakness that had her swaying. She had to see Caleb. Had to know he was alive. Of all the doubts that had plagued her since she’d last seen him, that had been the worst. Wondering if Vincent had killed him. Wondering if the kernels of hope Vincent handed out that Caleb was alive were just more of his sick mind games. She didn’t know how she’d missed it during their dates, but the man was seriously warped.

  He delighted in pain, gloried in inflicting mental torture. Not just on her, on everyone around. Including the pathetic hopefuls who thought conversion was theirs for the asking. His to deliver. If they’d bothered to study up, they’d know Mother Nature didn’t work that way. She had her own plans, complete with checks and balances.

  “Get moving.”

  A hand landed in the middle of her back, sending her to her knees. She didn’t have to look to see who it was. One of the hopefuls. Vincent didn’t like to get his hands dirty. He preferred to have others do it. It increased his delight to pull the strings that administered the pain. It added another layer of satisfaction to his need for power.

  Sick bastard.

  He especially liked torturing her. He’d wait until she was practically delirious with pain from the hunger, or violently sick from the blood they’d forced into her, and then he’d weave tales of what he’d supposedly done to Caleb. How he’d died. How he’d suffered. He might have succeeded in driving her crazy with the emotional torture, with the worry she had that the vile blood was hurting her baby, except every time he finished a tale, he’d end with, “I let the sun finish him off.”

  He didn’t know Caleb could walk in sunlight. That was a good sign. She wrapped her arms around her chest, shuddering from the cold that was embedded so deeply in her soul that she knew she’d never get warm again, and stood in the doorway to her room, blinking against the light and the flood of color after the enforced darkness of the last fourteen hours.

  With a rough jerk on her arm, Vincent pushed her forward. “Let’s go.”

  She took a step, bracing her hand on the wall as dizziness rose. The white robe they’d put on her swished annoyingly against her bare legs. She hated the damn thing. It was too long, too white, and left her too vulnerable.

  “If you don’t keep up, I’ll leave you where you drop,” Vincent snapped impatiently.

  “Bastard.” She took another step. The distance between them widened. Allie bit her lip against the hunger tearing at her strength, pushing back the waves of nausea that built, swell upon swell. The hall seemed to stretch forever, too long to contemplate walking if she fixated on the end. By keeping her focus on Vincent’s back and the mechanics of putting one foot in front of the other, she got herself moving.

  The hunger blossoming inside magnified the sound of every heartbeat of the hopeful bimbettes lining the passage. One of the males stepped in front of her, hand out. He was just as perfect as the women. Perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect lashes. Perfectly handsome. She waved him aside. Walking was easier now that she had momentum, and she couldn’t afford to falter. The man stepped aside with a small bow, the move sending his perfect blond hair sliding over his perfect broad shoulders. Had Vincent and his cronies physically altered the people or had they simply pasted an illusion around them, making them merely seem nauseatingly perfect? Next time Vincent interrogated her she’d ask. She needed new material to goad him with when he started on his perfect race mantra.

  Allie hugged her middle. Holding on to her sanity with a scant thread, reaching for humor. Who knew bad guys could be so disgustingly pedantic? It wasn’t like she was ever going to share his narcissistic dream of a genetically superior race. She would never feel for him what she felt for Caleb, and if she ever did, she’d slit her own throat.

  She made it halfway down the corridor before pain writhed like a wild thing inside her, and for a moment she didn’t have the strength to hold on. She braced her hands on her knees and landed back against the wall.

  “Damn you, Caleb,” she muttered to her knees. “You owe me for this.”

  She took a breath as the pain lessened, garnering strength in the void before the next assault. Despite his threat, Vincent waited, implacable and unconcerned. Obviously, he didn’t see her as a danger.

  That she could make work for her. Vincent absolutely believed she was no threat. Too unskilled, too . . . weak to be dangerous. But she had skills. Things she’d discovered in the hours he’d tortured her. And as long as he kept believing her to be nothing more than a loudmouthed blowhard with grandiose ideas of her own importance, she might have time to hone those skills. And escape.

  But she wasn’t going anywhere without Caleb. He might be overbearingly protective and old-fashioned in his ideas, but he was honest, loyal, and caring. And he was hers. Besides, he was still the hottest thing she’d seen, and her hormones would shoot her if she just up and left him behind. Hormones could be very demanding things, she had discovered.

  So could hearts.

  She ignored that prompting from her emotional side. She wasn’t going there right now.

  Vincent checked his watch. The first sign of impatience she’d seen.

  “I thought you were in a hurry to see that cowboy.”

  Bastard. She pushed off her knees, her bones aching with weariness and weakness, and went forward. Away from the sunlight. Deeper into the mountain. They passed doors left and right, but she did not hear the strong, steady heartbeat she was listening for.

  She needed Caleb. Way down beneath the hunger, deep in the bottom of her soul. Right there on the level of gut instinct, she needed him. And he needed her. He was way too serious if left to his own devices, missing a lot of the fun around him. And as for how she needed him? She forced herself to continue walking. And sighed.

  Quite simply, the man understood her. He didn’t think less of her for the way she laughed even when something bad happened. He understood it was her coping mechanism. Sometimes, she thought he even appreciated it. Men could be strange beings, but until she had encountered a vampire male, she had never understood that there was a man who might just fit her. Who would take her humor in times of stress as an asset. That was a very endearing asset in a man.

  They reached the end of the corridor. The only option was a sharp turn to the right. Vincent took it and she followed, moving with mechanical precision. The sense of leaving sunlight was stronger now. She wondered if this meant they were going underground.

  The corridor ended at a big, impressive-looking door. On the right side perched a small panel of flashing lights, and the closer they got, the sturdier the door looked. Caleb must have put up a hell of a fight if they had decided he was dangerous enough for heavy steel doors and electronic bar locks. Allie strained for the sound of life, any sign of life, beyond the thick panel, but there was nothing.

  It took excruciating seconds for Vincent to punch in the code. H
e didn’t bother to hide it, which tossed a new ember of worry onto the pile she was collecting. Why wasn’t he worried about her knowing the code?

  The door slid open on an almost silent whisper. Inside, a row of fluorescent lights ran the length of the ceiling, reminding her of every science lab she’d ever seen in every horror movie she’d ever watched. Not comforting.

  She took a step inside, driven by hope. There was no sign of Caleb. Behind her, the door hissed closed. She spun around, lunging for it, catching it halfway. It continued on its track with the same silent precision with which it had opened. Eventually, she had to jerk her fingers free or see them crushed. Why didn’t she have vampire strength?

  Vincent caught her arm and pulled her back. “You said you wanted to see the cowboy.”

  “Caleb’s not here.”

  He motioned to a door at the other end of the room. “He’s in there.”

  Why would Vincent have Caleb locked in a sci-fi-horror-movie-thriller-lab environment that was cold, sterile, and intimidating enough to put the fear of God even into her. “In that particular room? Now?”

  “Go through and find out.”

  “Why do we have to play these little games?”

  “Because it amuses me.”

  “And by all means the great Vincent, the most superior person in the world, must be amused.”

  He inclined his head. “Yes.”

  “I am so not impressed.”

  Her sarcasm just rolled off his confidence. And why shouldn’t it? He knew he had the upper hand. He knew she would do anything, agree to anything, to see Caleb. The only positive was that he thought the reason she wanted to see Caleb was the horrible wrenching pain in her gut.

  The reality was she had a plan. Not the best plan, but a good one. She just needed to find Caleb alive to set it in motion, while keeping the whole concept of a plan under Vincent’s mental radar. Not so easy, since, not only was he a bastard, he was a nosy one. She accepted Vincent’s invitation to go ahead of him. When she got within ten feet of the door, she felt it—a slow steady seep of energy through the portal. There was a restless edge to the energy. An intensity she recognized. Caleb. He had to be crazy with worry, wondering what had happened to her.

  The locks turned with an impressive series of clicks and clunks. That, more than anything else, stated how dangerous they considered Caleb. Which might put a damper on her plan, except—she looked down at her unfettered hands—they still didn’t see her as a threat. The element of surprise was going to have to be the edge she needed.

  The door took its own sweet time sliding open. She tapped her toe, a scream of impatience echoing in her head. Adrenaline surged. When the door finally opened far enough, she practically leapt into the room.

  Caleb was on a table in the center of the room. His big body strapped down with bands that shimmered on his wrists and ankles. There was no reaction to her entry into the room. No stirring of his fingers. No twitch of his toes. No increase in the energy. She stepped closer, the hunger clamoring at the knowledge that he was there.

  She knew he wasn’t dead, which meant something else, something more substantial than the steel, bound him. The farther she moved into the room, the more the flicker of the lights bothered her. The normal white light of the previous room faded, leaving her with the disorienting rhythm of this one. She reached for Caleb with her mind. She hit that same wall of buzzing sound. Instead of pulling away, she probed, using her eyes and her senses. Gradually a pattern emerged. The buzzing vibrated in tandem with the flicker of the light. Interesting.

  She stepped up beside Caleb and touched the table. Her hand trembled. “Hi, sugar.”

  He didn’t say a word. She looked over her shoulder at Vincent. “What did you do to him?”

  “He’s merely being contained.”

  “Contained?”

  “Yes.”

  She touched the edge of his sleeve with her pinkie. She bet he’d kicked some major ass before they’d brought him here. “Scary when he’s in a snit, isn’t he?”

  “He’s strong.”

  There was an element of confusion in the statement, as if Vincent didn’t understand how that could be. That was interesting. She had known Caleb was strong, but without a benchmark to use as a guide, she had just assumed he was normal for a vampire. But to Vincent, he was an unexpected threat. A very powerful, very young—she glanced at his face—very handsome threat. Every sophisticated, aging man’s nightmare.

  She took a breath. Caleb’s scent invaded her senses, worming down to the burning pain, fanning the flames, driving them higher. She fell to her knees and gripped the edge of the table as agony buried everything else, panting as muscles wrenched in spasms. Vincent made no effort to help her. She cut him a glare.

  “Apparently,” she gasped, “chivalry went out the window with the new superiority.”

  She caught what might have been a surge of energy from Caleb. She strained, but it was gone as fast as she reached for it. Vincent, however, was giving off big-time energy. Nervous, anticipatory energy. He expected something to happen. But what? Just her feeding couldn’t be the answer. What was he hoping to gain from getting her down here? She grabbed the edge of the table—the cold metal chilled her fingers to the bone. How had Caleb endured being imprisoned in this cold place?

  It took everything she had to pull herself up, fighting the hunger, her weakness, and her weariness. Vincent laughed when she slipped. The bastard. He could laugh now, all he wanted, but one of these days he was going to be the one to suffer. And she was going to be the one to make it happen. She shifted her elbow onto the table and hauled herself up. Her fingers brushed the roughness of cotton. She grabbed hold. The thick, solid muscle of Caleb’s arm felt alien and cold. So cold. She leaned over him, bracing her weight on his chest.

  He was cold all over. Her Caleb who was always so warm. Who kept himself warmer than he would like because she had a tendency to chill, was colder than she’d ever dreamed of being. She glared at Vincent. “You are so going to pay for this.”

  “I’d probably be more impressed if either of you could stand upright on your own right now.”

  He probably would. She pushed up with her hands, bracing her elbows. She didn’t know how she was going to do this. She had so little strength left. And the pain? Oh my God! The pain was absolutely unbearable this close to what she wanted. Allie opened her palm over Caleb’s biceps. Even relaxed they were firm, the curve pressing into her hand, shaping her grip. He lay beneath her touch, unmoving. This was so wrong. She shifted her weight to her left hand. She touched his shoulder, too afraid of touching his cheek, afraid the lack of response would break her heart. Allie glared at Vincent. “I can’t feed from him like this.”

  Vincent merely raised his eyebrows as if she were a recalcitrant child. “Yes, you can.”

  She took a breath as another spike of pain drove the air from her lungs. It took a moment to recover before she could continue. “Let me put it this way, I refuse to feed from him like his.”

  “I hardly think you’re in a position to refuse anything.”

  “I don’t see it that way.”

  “And I’m supposed to care about that?”

  “If you want me to live past the next hour, yeah.”

  Vincent didn’t move, just stared at her. She ignored him. He’d give in. He had to. He wanted her too badly to argue, and she wanted Caleb back too badly to give in. Allie slid her hand over Caleb’s shoulder to the strong column of his neck, up to his chin. The rasp of his beard touched her fingertips, evoking memories of other times it’d touched her skin. It had been different then, the touch backed by the laughter and the heat of his desire. Neither of which was evident now. She pulled herself up and touched her mouth to his.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  No response. Not even a flicker of an eyelash.

  She traced the slight crease at the side of his face, the place where his smile would form if he could move and see her fussing ove
r him. “Have you let him feed?”

  “Not hardly.”

  She glanced at Vincent from the corner of her eye. “Then we have a problem.” The table creaked as she shifted her weight back. “He won’t have enough blood to replenish me.”

  “Then suck him dry.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t do that.”

  “Think about how he stole your life. Took you away from your family, killed you, imprisoned you.” His smile cut deep. “That should help.”

  So one would assume. The only thing that wounded was the mention of her family, but she hadn’t given up on finding a way to make that work. She just needed more time. “I won’t feed from him like this.”

  “I could make you.”

  She braced her hand over Caleb’s restraint. “No. You can’t.”

  The energy coming off it was familiar. Had a familiar pattern. And it, too, flickered with the same rhythm as the lights. Another clue, but to what? She closed her eyes, concentrating.

  “You are incredibly stubborn.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Her arm quivered with the effort of supporting herself.

  “Would you really die rather than feed from him in his current state?”

  “You really don’t know me too well, do you?”

  “You haven’t provided me with much of an opportunity.”

  “Well, you’ve had clues.” She brushed her bangs out of her eyes with her shoulder. “I do what I want, when I want, and how I want. And I’m not real inclined to settle for anything less.”

  “And you like your food moving?”

  A glance over her shoulder showed Vincent staring at her with something almost approaching respect. “I like it at least conscious.”

  “You know, I really shouldn’t humor you, but I find that we’re so much alike, it’s difficult not to indulge your moods.”

  She blinked. “Thank you.”

  When the pain hit this time, the room wove out of focus. She dug her nails into the band and the table. The band throbbed and glowed, responding rather than resisting. “I’m about to pass out.”