by Juliet Lyons
“It’s so typical of your generation, Mila, to assume everything is about you.” He sighs, kneeling on the bumpy ground before me. His hand goes to his trousers, and for one awful moment, I think he’s reaching for his fly. The relief is short-lived, however, when he pulls a shiny object from his pocket. A knife.
My heart pounds so fast there is a rushing noise in my ears. I stare, lips trembling uncontrollably as he holds the silver blade out, shuffling backward until I hit the rough surface of a wall.
He grins, making no attempt to close the gap. “No, it isn’t about you. Or about any of the other girls, really. You see, I’ve been waiting for centuries to get even with your beloved hero. He murdered my sister.”
Even though I know about the ring and the likelihood of the connection, I’m unable to suppress a gasp. “Sister?”
I study him in the low light, searching his features for similarities to Adrienne in Vincent’s essence. His thick hair is the same shade of obsidian. He has her smooth olive skin, but it’s the eyes that set them apart. Adrienne’s were amber, deep golden wells of emotion; her brother’s eyes are as dark as a raven’s. The golden hue that shone from their depths the night of our date has vanished. They are as flat and lifeless as two black holes.
“Yes. My older sister. I was only twelve years old when she died.”
“Vincent didn’t kill her,” I blurt out. “It was an accident. He—”
I break off as he looms in on me with the blade, pressing the tip into my nose. “I’m sorry,” he hisses. “I wasn’t aware you were around three hundred years ago.”
I swallow loudly and close my mouth.
He retracts the knife. “I was there, though neither of them knew it at the time. My foolish sister was so in love with him. The duke’s son—her prince. Even after he married someone else, she was still just as besotted, more than willing to ruin herself by becoming his whore.”
His eyes blur out for a few seconds, lost in the realms of the past.
“Adrienne was like a mother to me. Our natural mother had died in childbirth with my youngest sister and Adrienne was the eldest girl. She raised most of us. We all adored her. She was kind and gentle but capable and strong too. Fearless, really. She set her heart on your Vincent Ferrer from an early age and there was no talking her out of it. Though God knows my father tried.”
It’s ridiculous given the situation, but a pang of jealousy tugs at my heart. Staring into the face of Adrienne’s brother bridges the gap between past and present. Although dead for centuries, Adrienne has never felt more alive.
“Vincent loved her,” I whisper, instantly wishing I hadn’t as Moreau’s black eyes flash with anger.
“Shut your mouth,” he snaps, seizing my chin roughly. “You don’t kill the one you love.”
Of course you do, I think. It happens every day.
He releases me with a shove, my head banging into the rough wall behind me. I bite my lip to keep from crying out.
“The night he came for her, I was awake,” he continues, eyes narrowed. “I followed her into the garden and watched as he led her away. I was angry with her, annoyed she could be so easily led. I sometimes helped my father in the gardens of the estate, and I knew how affairs between ladies and gentlemen were usually conducted. They would walk out with chaperones. Only when a couple were married could they behave like my sister—dashing off into the trees hand in hand, the luminous glow of love shining from her face.
“I kept pace with them to a clearing, watching as he pawed at her, his filthy hands all over the place—and she with her head flung back in surrender, enjoying every second. I was about to go back to the house when her countenance changed. She screamed, stepping away from him. It was then I saw his fangs, blood snaking down her white neck into the collar of her nightgown. Adrienne ran away and he chased her. I followed them. It took me a while to catch up. I wasn’t a particularly athletic child. I heard more screaming, but when I emerged from the trees, there was no sign of them at all.
“That’s when I figured out where they had gone. I crawled to the edge of the cliff and looked down at the rocks where my sister lay dying, the monster hanging over her. It still stings that she died in such terror, that the image she took to the next life was of his gloating face.”
Vincent would never gloat, I want to say, but I keep silent, watching the gleam of the knife as it catches the light of the flame.
“Terrified, I ran back to the house and woke up my father. When I told him who did it, he didn’t believe me—the duke and his family were supposedly imprisoned in Paris at that time. Then, when I mentioned the fangs, he thought I had turned soft in the head, that my words were the foolish ramblings of a grieving child. Do you know what he chose to believe in the end? What everyone chose to believe?”
Adrienne’s pale face flashes into my mind. Witnessing her tragic death in Vincent’s essence was heartrending enough, but hearing this—the fallout of that tragic night—is unbearable. “What?” I ask, a tremor in my voice.
“That she killed herself. That she was so distraught at the news of her lover’s imprisonment she could no longer bear it. My father declared it suicide. After all she did for us, he betrayed her memory.”
A heavy silence falls. Without Moreau’s voice filling the chamber, I make out the muffled rush of traffic somewhere above us.
“Vincent didn’t mean to hurt her,” I whisper, bracing myself against the wall. “It was an accident.”
Moreau digs the knife into the loose earth as if he hasn’t heard me. “Afterward, I began to doubt myself, but I knew what I saw and I set out to prove it. After the revolution ended, vampires became my obsession. I grew up and moved to Paris, determined to seek them out, to expose the monsters to the world. I chased down every lead and came up with nothing. How ironic that in the end, they found me.”
He pauses, glancing up at me wide-eyed, as if realizing I’m still here. “Her name was Esme. An ancient, of course. Word had gotten around about a young man chasing vampires and she decided to pay me a visit. The rest is history.”
“I don’t get it,” I say, voice quavering. “If it’s revenge you want, why not go after Vincent? Why murder innocent people? Women with families and little brothers—just like you once were.”
At once, the knife is pointed into my face. I’m so startled, my heart spasms with fear. I lose control of my limbs again, trembling violently.
He snatches a fistful of my hair and pushes me back against the wall, aiming the blade at the space between my brows. He is so close I can smell sweat on his skin, the stench of gasoline on his fingers. “I stopped being that child the moment the ancient got her hands on me. That child is as dead as my sister. Do you have any idea what it was like? Becoming exactly like the monster who took Adrienne from us? It was my own personal hell. The only advantage was that I finally possessed the strength to end Ferrer’s life—except he was impossible to find. I searched everywhere, but he’d shunned vampire society, hiding among humans like the coward he is. It was only when vampires went mainstream that I discovered his whereabouts, working for the police of all things, masquerading as some kind of hero. I even heard through an acquaintance of mine he was helping round up vampires for their part in historical crimes. Finally, I seized my chance. But I’d waited too long to merely destroy him. I wanted him to suffer first. That’s when you came along.”
I gulp loudly, my eyes never straying from the knifepoint.
“You are the cherry on the cake, Mila. Not killing you after our date was the best thing that could have happened. Before you, he was completely alone. I was messing with him in the professional sense, sure, but I soon realized the only way I’ll ever really be able to teach him a lesson is to kill someone he cares about. When I saw you together in Leicester Square, I knew I’d hit the karmic jackpot. The next day in his car, I watched you both, too besotted to consider who might be watchin
g. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place. You’re my ultimate weapon, Mila. When I kill you in front of him, he’ll know exactly what it’s like to watch someone you love die—like I watched Adrienne all those years ago.”
A cold icicle of fear stabs my heart. “How do you know he loves me? Maybe I’m not that important to him. Maybe it’s just a fling.”
He shakes his head slowly, a gloating smile on his lips. “No. He feels something for you, and who can blame him? I haven’t changed my mind about you, Mila. I’m still going to be sad to kill you.”
Rather than churning my insides with more terror, his words trigger a different instinct—survival. My gaze flickers from the knife to his black eyes and back again, before sweeping the room for an escape route.
The rumble of traffic pulses through the wall behind me, the distant rattle coming from somewhere above my head. The two walls on each side and the one opposite are blank, which means I’m more than likely leaning against the wall with the exit.
A tiny voice tells me it’s pointless, that even if there was a wide-open door in front of me and my hands weren’t tied, I would still never make it. He is a vampire, after all, and I am only human. But my survival instincts will not be crushed.
I glance down at his body and see my chance. Moreau kneels in the chalky dust, his knees on either side of my thighs. Without a second thought, I bring my leg up as fast as possible, whacking my shin into his groin. His surprise buys me a chance to duck under the knife and out from under him. On legs shakier than a newborn foal’s, I slide up the wall. Glancing up, I realize there’s a flight of steps running above me, a lumpy mass of shadows signaling where the staircase begins. I lurch toward it.
I manage two steps before I’m flung across the room. Hitting the opposite wall, I crumple into a broken heap, pain exploding like fire all over my body.
Moreau’s shadow looms over me. “Really, Mila? What did you think would happen?”
I say nothing. Curling into a ball of misery and pain, I brace myself for further attack. Instead he crosses the lamp-lit room to the shadows at the bottom of the narrow stairs and lifts something out of the darkness. The smell of gasoline intensifies, and with a lurch of horror, I remember the strong scent on his hands as he waved the knife at me. A can of gasoline glistens menacingly in the dim light.
“I put a lot of thought into it,” he says casually, as if discussing holiday plans with a hairdresser. “I decided when the time comes, I’m not going to have time to kill you myself.” He twists off the can’s red cap. “A lit match can do it for me. Inspector Ferrer will soon follow, don’t worry. But first, I’ll enjoy seeing his reaction as he watches you burn.”
He lifts the can and tips it up. As the liquid begins to splatter on my body, soaking through my clothing, I finally start to scream.
Chapter 18
Vincent
I don’t remember much of the frantic journey back to Scotland Yard. By the time I arrive at the imposing, gray hulk of glass and metal, my mouth is bone-dry, my skin whipped to ice by the wind. A long tear runs down the front of my shirt, though I have no idea how it got there.
I leap up the stairs two at a time. Until I know Mila is safe, I’m spinning on a knife’s edge, dread and fury sending waves of emotion through me like a wild electrical current.
I fall into Lee’s office, shoving the door open so violently it smashes into the wall behind it with a deafening thud. Cat and Ronin whip around, mouths agape. Lee jumps out of his swivel chair.
“Where’s Mila?” I demand, staring frantically between them, stunned by their apathy.
Lee jabs a thumb over his shoulder to the far corner of the office. “She’s on the phone.”
Though I know she isn’t here, I dive across the room anyway, scattering chairs and wastepaper baskets in my haste.
I glare at the three of them, their expressions rapidly turning to looks of horror as it dawns on them they’ve let her slip away.
“She took a phone call,” Lee says, blinking rapidly. “She was standing right there.”
Without answering him, I whirl around, diving back out into the corridor.
“Mila!” I yell, running the length of the offices. “Mila?!”
I fling open the door to the ladies’ bathroom, but the cubicles are all empty. “Mila!”
Lee and Cat join me as I speed toward the elevators. “Why?” I demand, my fists clenched into tight balls to keep from grabbing him again. “Why did you let her leave?”
Lee shakes his head in bewilderment. “Her phone rang and she couldn’t hear properly, so she went to the other side of the office. I thought she was still in the room.”
Cat rakes her hands through her curls, clutching her head. “Ronin and I…we were arguing. Things got out of hand. She must have gone into the corridor.”
“You were arguing?” I emit a growl before slamming my fist into the wall. “I trusted you,” I say. “I trusted all of you.”
Before Cat can answer, the elevator pings. Burke and several armed officers burst through the metal doors like rats from a sewer hole.
Burke surveys us with a tight-lipped grimace.
“Miss Hart?” he asks me.
I shake my head. “Gone.” The word sticks in my throat like tar.
The backs of my eyes prickle as Burke begins barking orders at his team. “Get security on the CCTV footage immediately. Clegg, put the whole building on lockdown. Inspector Ferrer?”
I snap my head up.
“Give me your phone. I’ll put a trace on her number.” He holds out his hand. “Now!”
“She could be anywhere,” I say, holding out my phone with a trembling hand. “How could I let this happen?”
Burke snatches the phone and tosses it to Clegg, who immediately retreats into an empty office next to the lifts.
“There will be ample time later for regrets and self-loathing, Vincent. Listen to me. Her best shot is still you. But if you’re going to let your emotions get the better of you, she will die. Do you understand me?”
I briefly close my eyes. “Yes.”
“Then put those away,” Burke says, motioning at my teeth.
For the first time, I realize my fangs are out.
Lee places a hand on my shoulder. “I swear I didn’t see her leave the room,” he says, his eyes moist. “If I had, I’d have gone after her. You know I would.”
I shake my head. “Cat, where’s Ronin?”
“Probably left,” Cat says with a disgusted snort.
Suddenly he appears at her shoulder. “Not gone, actually. I was trailing his scent. They left in a vehicle. The trail dies in the garage downstairs.”
“The address was fake,” I say, staring into his calm blue eyes. “He wasn’t there.”
“I gathered that,” Ronin says. “I can trace the person who provided the address, Vincent, but she could be anywhere by now.”
My gut twists painfully. This isn’t the attitude I need him to have. “We’re tracing Mila’s phone. I don’t think Moreau will make it difficult for me to find her. This is personal, after all, but I’ll need help to get her out safely.”
“I can’t kill another ancient’s spawn without unleashing Esme’s wrath. You may have chosen to forget the laws of our kind, Vincent, but I haven’t. I still abide by them. Well, most of the time anyway.”
“I’m not asking you to kill him,” I say. “In fact, I insist on doing that myself. But he’s not going to let Mila run free. I need your strength and speed to remove her from the scene.”
“What if she’s already dead?” he asks.
My head spins. If I let my mind go to that place, I’ll never make it out again. “She isn’t dead. I feel it. Maybe because her blood is inside me. I’ve heard that can happen, can’t it?”
“You drank from her,” Ronin mutters. “Wonders never cease.”
“Ronin. Will you come or not?”
“Yes,” he says. “I won’t kill David Moreau, but I will get your woman out.”
As if on cue, Officer Clegg appears in the doorway waving a Post-it Note.
“Got him.”
* * *
Mila
I lie on the floor in the fetal position, knees tucked under my chin, eyes screwed shut as Moreau sits beside me, a Zippo lighter clasped in one hand.
He hums occasionally as he flicks the thumbwheel. Every time I hear the spark of the flame as it springs to life, my breath catches, black spots appearing in my vision.
“I must say, I thought he would have found you by now,” he says, waving the naked flame through the air.
“Where are we?” I ask in a small voice. It’s the first time I’ve spoken since he poured the gas over me and I screamed so loudly he slapped me across the face.
“Near Alexandra Palace. A street away from the house he visited earlier. Won’t he be pissed off to know he was within spitting distance all along?”
I say nothing, awaiting Vincent’s arrival with hope and dread in equal measure, consoling myself with the knowledge that if the worst happens, I’ll die staring into the face of the man I love.
Moreau continues to hum, the noise unsettling and comforting at the same time. Comforting because while he’s humming, he isn’t killing me, and unsettling because it’s a constant reminder I’m trapped here with a psycho of epic proportions.
I never could do things by halves.
When he breaks off, I open my eyes to see his features lit with eerie joy. He emits a short, bitter laugh. “I think your dashing knight might be here at last, Mila.”
My stomach churns, the blood in my veins freezing to ice as Moreau scoops up the scythe in his spare hand. Over the rush of distant traffic, I hear the sound of wood splintering. I shout Vincent’s name, trying to warn him about the weapon, and Moreau rounds on me, the chrome lighter catching in the glow of the gas lamp. But before he can flick the thumbwheel, he disappears, a dark blur knocking him across the room and into the rough stone wall, where he drops to the ground in a dusty heap.
