There was no room on the floor of the cramped motel bathroom. At least it was clean. She stepped into the empty tub, sat down, and tried to make a plan.
She could still hear the television through the door. Each time panic choked her, the blare of the twenty-four hour news cycle was a comforting drone that anchored her in reality—she was okay, for the moment.
She pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Think. How could she get past Bennett and Mick to freedom?
Suddenly the door to the bathroom opened and Mick came in, unbuttoning his pants. Oh, God. This was it. Blood pounded in her ears and she gagged.
He came to stand at the toilet, facing the wall where she leaned. “Relax, bitch. I’m just taking a piss, but, you’ll get your turn. Look all you want.” She squeezed her eyes closed, likely the reaction he wanted. He laughed and shuffled closer to her as he urinated. As the stream of urine thinned, he darted his hand out and crushed her breast in his thick fingers. When he shook himself dry, he gave her breast another painful squeeze and let go. She refused to cry out, but her eyes teared.
He left. The television still blared. She was still okay.
It was her stupidity that had gotten her kidnapped; only her brains would get her free. If she could get out, there would be help. A motel receptionist or something.
A phone rang and someone turned off the television.
“How long now?”
It had to be Ethan.
“Shit. What should we do with her?”
He must be delayed.
“Let me take her to headquarters. We have defenses there.”
Didn’t he know Ethan hated to be second-guessed? Stephen wouldn’t get anywhere by sniveling.
“I don’t like it at all. I feel like I’m trawling with live bait. I don’t want to catch sharks.”
Did that mean he expected Andre?
Mick said, “Ask him if we can—”
“Shut up. Ethan, hurry. This was a bad idea. As soon as you get here, we’ve got to leave.”
No one spoke again and the television remained quiet. The silence got terrifying fast.
She didn’t let herself tremble in the bathtub for long. This was her chance, before Ethan arrived.
She studied the bathroom door. It was standard motel issue: wide, laminated plywood with a levered handle. There was a full half-inch between the beige-on-beige tile and the bottom of the door. If she pressed that lever slowly, the door would probably swing silently over the low pile of the carpet and into the entryway of the room. She would be near the exit, but would have to sneak all the way around the bathroom door to get out.
What would she find on the other side—an escape route or Mick and Stephen ready to pounce? She tiptoed over the tile and gripped the lever as lightly as possible. Pressing down only a millimeter, she listened for squeaks and clicks in the mechanism of the door latch, or for reactions on the other side. Nothing.
The handle went all the way down just as silently. She inhaled with relief, then held the breath for her next task. It was time to crack the door and take a peek.
A mauve bedside lamp filled the room with a jaundiced glow. Mick was nowhere to be seen. Stephen sat on the bed, legs extended and leaning against the headboard. He was cleaning under his fingernails with that bizarre gold-handled dagger, which was way too big for a manicure. The chances were, even in the shadows, if she opened the door wider, he would catch the movement. If she moved very gradually, maybe…
Her pulse hammered. She counted every centimeter. It was just like counting her breaths to ward off a panic attack. Twelve whole inches opened up before her—plenty of room to slip through.
Goose bumps rose up on her arms. Stephen was still engrossed in his nails. She moved her body along the wall slowly. Stephen had hardly budged. Was he too intent on his personal hygiene?
Her best route was clear. She closed the bathroom door. Pressing against the wall, she glided at a snail’s past toward the exit. She was almost free—
Something whistled past her head. The dagger, now stuck in the exit door. Deep, chilling laughter rang out and Stephen clapped slowly. “God, that was fun. You looked exultant. I don’t know what Marasović told you, but fucking a vampire doesn’t make you invisible.”
Her eyes flicked to the door. Should she run for it?
“Don’t bother. Mick’s out there chain smoking with his left hand so he can pull a trigger with his right.”
Her hope of escape vanished. She reached for the bathroom door again, to return to the sanctuary of the tub.
Her hand stalled on the handle when Stephen said, “Come here.”
“Fuck you.”
“If I have to come get you, I’ll drag you back to this bed by your pretty hair.”
The courage to defy him came easy. Her dusty sandals remained firmly in place. In three long strides, he had his blade in his belt and his hands around her neck. She spat in his face. He didn’t bother to wipe the spittle off, but with a shove, he forced her onto the bed and pointed his knife into her chest as if she were a butterfly about to be pinned.
The sharp point bit into her skin and pressed into her sternum. Wet blood spread hot on her shirt.
“Take off your pants,” he said.
She looked him in the eye. “Don’t you need Ethan’s permission?”
He smiled, letting her know the attempt to provoke him had merely glanced off his cruel intentions. “Don’t worry. Ethan won’t mind sharing. Take off your pants.”
“No.”
He struggled to hold the dagger and open the button on her jeans, but it was no comfort. Even if she could get away, Mick was right outside and would be happy to provide an extra set of hands. She jerked under Stephen, resisting with her last bit of fight.
Then something changed. First the room cooled. Mick must have come back in. She looked at the door. The Hunter came flying through it and thudded onto the carpet. Behind him, a big scary vampire took up the whole doorway—Omar.
“Let her go,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” Stephen said. “She’s all I’ve got to bargain with.”
Andre pushed past Omar, baring his teeth. Expressions of fury and relief warred on his face. “Get the fuck off her.”
Stephen kept his dagger poised at her heart while he yanked her to sitting.
“Hunter, you have no options.”
“Who do you think taught Ethan to cut? I can have her entire heart in the palm of my hand in ten seconds. And you can’t turn her then.”
“You may nick a big artery,” Andre replied, “but I’ll have your entire head in the palm of my hand in five seconds. Then I’ll turn her.”
“No!” she shouted.
Andre’s head jerked to her. His jaw hung loose, and his eyes blazed with some awful emotion. “You would rather die than—”
“Omar, you do it. I mean, if I’m going to die…” She wouldn’t have him stuck with her forever in order to save her life.
Andre’s face twisted, and she shied away from its raw emotion.
She was in Omar’s arms in the next second, and she whipped her head around to find Andre again. He had Stephen and Mick by the scruffs of their neck.
“All right?” Omar stood her on her feet.
“Yeah, I’m all right,” she said, but the simultaneous sobs betrayed her bravado. “That was way less than five seconds.”
“He was bluffing, to distract them,” Omar explained. “They’d never have been able to hurt you.”
Andre didn’t speak.
“What are you going to do with them?” she asked.
“We have to kill them,” Omar replied. “It’s the only choice.”
In this world, she had to be willing to protect herself. “Let me do it,” she said.
“No.” Andre took a menacing step toward her.
“What do you mean, no?” she shouted. “You saw—he was going to rape me. They said they’d give me to the other Hunters.” Her voice trembled.
The stare b
etween them stretched out. He was deciding something, but she didn’t know what. Was he checking for injuries? From the feel of things, her face showed the worst of them. Everywhere his gaze hit her body, she burned with shame. She was a fool.
Abruptly, he severed the stare and dropped Mick. His hands were around Stephen’s neck before she saw him move, squeezing the life out of him. As he avenged her, something primal thrilled at the display. And envied it. If she were strong like him, she could protect herself. Would she feel queasy regret to remember this moment later? Maybe.
Omar slung Mick over his shoulder. The fat Hunter’s head hung at an unnatural angle.
Andre didn’t say anything else. The set of his jaw kept adrenaline pumping, even though she was safe. How angry was he?
“I’ll clean up,” Omar said. “Kos will be here any second. We’ll get rid of the bodies.”
A phone rang in Stephen Bennett’s pocket. “It has to be Ethan,” Zoey said. “If you don’t answer, he’ll know something’s happened.”
“I wager he’ll know either way,” Omar replied. He took the phone out and crushed it under his foot. “But, I’ll wait here in case he shows.”
Andre stepped closer, crowding her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Without answering, he hooked one arm below her bruised breasts and carried her outside, where he pushed off into the air.
“Shit. Andre, put me down.” Again, he didn’t respond. She closed her eyes so she didn’t have to look at the ground. Pressed against him, she could feel the anger coming off him in waves that made her teeth vibrate and her skin itch. His spine was as rigid as a pylon. Worst of all, there was no affection in the way he gripped her.
All she wanted was him curled around her, big arms wrapping her in reassuring warmth. But she wasn’t going to get it, because nothing had really changed between them. What right did she have to his comfort, if she wouldn’t accept his love?
Chapter 38
ANDRE TRIED TO IMAGINE he was a rocket with steel casing, piercing the midnight blue sky with precision. Or maybe a comet, a ball of ice plummeting through space. Anything other than what he was—a warm-blooded male holding the trembling woman he loved, but who did not want him.
Holding her close, feeling the shudders wracking her body and the tears blown off her face on his, only worsened the sting of her rejection. He wanted to cradle her and promise to protect her forever. But the last time he mentioned forever, she had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him.
His fangs had not gotten the message, though. It took all his concentration to fly when he could smell her blood and hear it pumping through her veins.
Circling above his house, he located the Hunters’ lookouts. But no one moved to attack them as he descended with Zoey and set down lightly in the back of the house.
He could not look at her. Roughly, he dragged her inside by the wrist, the one he had been stroking yesterday when he realized he wanted her stay. Davo. He had to get away from her.
Lena rushed to the kitchen door.
“Oh my God. Is she okay?”
“Get a first aid kit and come upstairs to tend to her.”
“I’m fine,” Zoey said. “I’m not hurt beyond a few bruises.”
He ignored her. Picking her up, he carried her like a child.
“Andre, I’m fine. I can walk.” She pushed against his chest in protest. Her hands lingered, like she would wrap them around his neck. Then she quickly pulled back and clutched them to her chest instead.
He ground his molars so hard he thought they might actually crack. Useful habit when trying not to bite her.
In her room, he dropped her on her bed and left.
“Incompetent idiots! Do I have to do everything?” Ethan threw his phone onto the dashboard. For a split second, he marveled at his reaction. No woman had ever caused him to lose his temper. Few things did.
Something had gone wrong, and Zoey had slipped from his grasp again.
He clenched the steering wheel. His father had not been paranoid to think she was such tempting bait. Marasović must have a serious hard on for her, and Ethan could not blame him. His mind overflowed with fantasies of breaking his little ice queen until she begged him for mercy, until she submitted to him body and soul. But that would have to wait.
He called the Hunters back to headquarters.
After trying to reach his father for several hours more, Ethan followed Hunter custom—he assumed his father was dead.
In the ramshackle house, he took command of the mission. Dutiful son was a role he’d played easily, but he did not grieve the death of his father. Still, he cast his eyes downward as the Hunters and initiates crowded into the living area.
“Today has been the worst of many unsuccessful days in this difficult operation against Marasović.” He tinged his words with false emotion and the compassionate faces around him showed that it rang true. Perfect. Could he strike the right tone with the next statement? “My father was a courageous and skilled Hunter, but he called you here against my advice. I knew we weren’t ready to attack.”
He focused on one face at a time, making sure to touch everyone with his eyes. “None of us expected a shield in place to ward us off Kaštel Estate. Even more unexpected was that two long-exiled vampires retain the ability to fly. There are mysteries that must be solved before we strike at them again.”
“You’re calling off the operation?” asked one of the initiates, shoulders slumped.
He needed to be his most persuasive, or these kids might start a feeding frenzy. Hunters did not like to go home without a kill. “I’m suspending the operation until I’ve gathered the knowledge we need to prevail against our enemy. You all are a fine fighting force and I—”
He looked at his shoes, then back up to one eager face. “I hesitate to speak this way about my father, but I attribute the need to retreat to his hasty decisions. You all are not to blame.” With the sweep of his hand, he absolved all of them of responsibility.
“I will find a way through that shield and I will discover why Marasović remains powerful enough to fly. With those answers, I have every confidence that we can exterminate him and his household. Those of you who long to earn your daggers will have your chance.”
One of the younger initiates whooped at Ethan’s promise and several of them began cheering. Their enthusiasm was a drug. He was unstoppable.
“How long will you need?” A question cut into his euphoria. The skeptic was a full-fledged Hunter who looked to be slightly younger than Ethan.
“Derek, right?” The man nodded yes. “I’m not entirely sure, perhaps a month or six weeks. But I won’t rush. We need to be prepared to face him next time.”
“How do you hope to gain an advantage and solve the mysteries you mentioned?” Derek asked.
Still riding the initiates’ excitement, he drew on their energy. He had carefully planned what to reveal—just enough to cause a stir. He wanted their trust. But more than that, he wanted them to spread the word about his research.
“I think the answer to Marasović’s persistent power might lie in our past. I’ve been researching the history of our people and I’ve uncovered clues about our origins that I plan to explore.” He stepped back and dropped his volume. “Now, I’d like some time alone.”
Dismissed, the Hunters began to gather their things and plan to depart. An excitement buzzed among the gathering, and again Ethan knew his suspicions were right. The Hunters wanted to know where they came from and if their myths were true. If he could unlock those secrets it would earn him the right to lead them.
More importantly, he needed to know what happened when vampires and Hunters mixed. Because Lucas living in Andre Marasović’s household could be a serious problem. He had not expected him to seek protection there. Now there were two people in that house that Ethan needed: Lucas to kill, Zoey to keep. Eventually, he would have to find a way inside. But first, he needed to know the secrets of the codex.
> The Hunter Derek approached Ethan. “I’m still curious about the other vampires. I heard the wine contains some kind of message to them. I can follow that trail with Marasović’s distributor, if you’d like.” It was a logical lead. Ethan needed time with Oliver’s translation and the images in the codex. Plus, two other academics knew of the book and he would have to take care of them. Should he delegate the task? A clever face and intelligent golden eyes stared back at him, waiting for an answer.
“Yes. I could use the help.” He extended his hand.
Zoey got dumped onto the bed without any ceremony. She didn’t want to see Andre’s angry back, so she rolled away and curled her knees to her chest. He slammed the door. She shivered, already longing for him to return, even if it had been his fury keeping her warm.
She stood to climb under the covers, and saw two black suitcases on the floor. Each had an orange ribbon tied on the handle. Someone had gone to her apartment—Andre.
A brown felt box captured her attention and she clenched the quilt in her hands. She hadn’t seen it in years.
She fell to her knees and unstrapped it from the suitcase. It was heavier than she remembered. When she stood, she teetered forward and the box spilled before she could consider the wisdom of opening it. Her wedding band and Michael’s were the last things to fall out. They thumped onto the quilt and she felt it in her chest.
Steeling herself, she flipped a photo over. They sat in crowded booth on her twenty-first birthday, and he was kissing her cheek. Underneath it was a picture from a gray day at the Eiffel Tower. What a sweet boy-turned-man he’d been.
Closing her eyes, she waited for the panic. Surely deep despair was only seconds away. But it never came. She didn’t even want to erase him from her memory. In the cold, empty recesses of heart, warmth seeped in.
Lena burst into her room. “Okay, let’s get you fixed up.”
Zoey jumped. “Lena. Thanks, but it’s not necessary. I’m fine.”
“You have a huge bruise turning purple across the left side of your face and your lip is split open.” Lena held up her first aid kit and a basin. Then, her eyes flicked to the items scattered on the bed. “Zoey, is that your husband?”
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