Pallas: Vampire Romance (Vanguard Elite Book 5)

by Annie Nicholas

  “Last I checked. What sort of greeting is that?”

  What was she doing here? It was difficult to imagine Harold killing Bob. The guy was a pussycat where Bob had been an overbearing jerk. Sure, Harold had helped set the fire to the manor but he claimed he’d been bullied into it by the others.

  “Sorry,” he gave her a chagrined smile. “Come on in. I’ll make us a fresh pot of coffee.” He stepped aside.

  “That sounds like a slice of heaven.” She noted the empty living room and dining room.

  “I’m in the process of selling the place. Started moving stuff out.” He must have seen her surprise.

  “Oh, are you staying local?” She hadn’t heard about the move.

  “I’m going back to New York City.” He poured two cups, his back turned to her as she sat at the kitchen island. “Sugar?” he asked.

  “Two.” She hadn’t eaten since last night and would have taken the whole bowl.

  He offered her the cup. “Sorry, no creamer. Fridge is pretty empty.”

  She drank half the cup in one long swig. That should clear the cobwebs.

  “Rumor in town is the vampire killed you and stole you into the woods.”

  She choked on her second sip. “What?” She bet she knew who started that story. First name Agent, second Thomas.

  “Half the town is in the woods helping Homeland search for your body. The other half is at church praying for your soul.”

  She set her empty cup down. Touched that the town would rally together for her. Except for one thing. “You didn’t want to help?”

  “Nah, you wrecked my life.” He gestured to his empty house. “My wife will get most of this and I can’t find a decent bank to hire me. I have to go work in an accounting firm.”

  Her throat locked, her spine went rigid, and her tongue felt thick. She blinked her vision clear. “It’s hot.” She unzipped her jacket and recalled she wasn’t wearing a shirt. With numb fingers, she clutched it closed.

  Harold’s eyes popped wider. “You are hot.”

  “Stop.” She got to her feet and her knees went watery.

  “There’s blood on your jacket, Sheriff.” He nudged her hands apart.

  “Someone shot me.” She stared at her healed abdomen and heard Ian’s voice in her head. He’s the one who shot me. “Did you shoot a shifter in the woods last fall?”

  “Right in the gut, but he attacked us first.”

  “And he let you live.” She cleared her dry throat.

  “His mistake.” Harold gripped her upper arm. “Are you a closet shifter?”

  “No.” She shook her head but it made the room spin. “What was in my coffee?”

  “Don’t you worry your pretty head about that. How did you heal if you’re not one of those filthy animals?”

  “Pallas…” She tugged loose of Harold’s hold, but he followed her stumbling retreat and grabbed her jacket with both hands.

  He dragged her across the kitchen toward the garage entrance from inside the house. “Everyone thinks he killed you. I think it would be nice if they found your body like they did Bob’s. They can have a nice funeral. Maybe it will get televised then the nation could cry out for that asshole’s head.”

  Oh my God, she was going to be his next victim and if he succeeded, there would be mobs hunting vampires across the country. She twisted in Harold’s arms and tried to flip him over her shoulder, but her legs folded under his weight. She had lost a lot of blood yesterday and the drugs he had slipped into her coffee didn’t help her balance.

  “The townspeople already know I’m fine. They’ll find you out.” She yelped as he grabbed her by the bun.

  “You’re lying. You didn’t even know they were looking for you.” He pulled her over the threshold into the garage. “They already think you’re dead. Let’s not disappoint them.”

  Using her legs, she hooked them to the door frame, halting their progress. The garage was well lit and Harold had converted it into Frankenstein’s laboratory. Complete with metal stretcher, rubber tubes and big glass jars of…red paint?

  She shook her head, trying to clear her foggy thoughts. Not paint. Why would she think paint? Because the reality of it was so serial killer crazy.

  “Is that Bob’s blood?” Her voice rose an octave. She’d known coming here that there was some chance Harold was guilty, but the level of his crazy surpassed her expectations.

  With a strength she didn’t imagine he had, Harold forced her to release her hold on the door frame and dragged her the rest of the way to the metal table, complete with leather straps. “Of course that’s his blood. What did you think I did with it after I drained him?”

  “I hadn’t given it much thought.” She allowed him to prop her against the edge of the table. He gave her something solid to grip on in the sea of vertigo rolling her world. Fury sparked in her heart. “You think you can do the same to me?” This loser was blaming his problems on everyone else except the true source. Himself. It was his bigotry that had driven him to this low point. Nothing else.

  He pushed aside the rubber tubes that she now saw were connected to a hand pump at one end, a long needle at the other. “The world wants that bloodsucker to be guilty.” He planned on bleeding her dry and blaming Pallas. The two fake puncture marks on Bob’s neck were from the needles Harold used to pump his blood out even after he was dead.

  “None of this will solve your problems. It won’t bring your wife back or give you a better job.” She was scrambling for time. The longer he took to strap her to the table, the better chance that she had for her head to clear and escape.

  “Don’t patronize me, Sheriff. I know that, but I’m going to drag that vampire even lower.” He pulled her to her feet so they were face to face. “If you stop fighting, I promise not to make it hurt.”

  She cranked her dizzy head back and smashed it into his nose.

  He cried out, clasping his hands over his face. Blood trickled between his fingers. “Bitch!”

  Pain shot through her brain, clearing the fog long enough for her to jerk her knee up to connect with his ball sac.

  His grunt echoed in the garage and gave her a soul deep satisfaction. Years of training gave her the muscle memory to fight even when the world wanted to stand her on her head. He bent in half, clutching his groin.

  Grasping the side of the table for balance, she used the other knee on his already bashed-in face. She scanned for a weapon. Anything, since she’d lost her gun yesterday. She tripped and fell forward onto her hands and knees. Crawling, she escaped Harold’s grasp. Her fingers brushed against a cold metallic thing. She swung the crowbar around and it connected with Harold’s knee.

  He swore and fell back. “You’re going to pay for that.”

  “You need to try harder.” She got up on wobbly legs, crowbar ready. “I bet your head will make a nice popping sound when I smash it.” She was all talk and hot air though. Her vision narrowed. She didn’t want to be a victim. She spent her whole life fighting that stereotype.

  She had been eight when she lost her mother to a couple of thugs. Her dad had never told her the details of her suffering. He didn’t have to, the haunted look in his eyes when her name came up with was enough. She’d vowed never to be so helpless. Yet, here she was.

  Harold snarled. “Just wait and see, I’ll get even. It might not be today but you will always have to watch over your shoulder.” Then he ran out the garage.

  She heard the front door slam shut. Her farce had scared him off. Go her. The crowbar slipped from her numb fingers as she shuffled back into the house, gripping the walls like Spiderman.

  She couldn’t pass out. What if Harold returned? The kitchen came into her tunnel vision. It was like trying to navigate by using a periscope while on roller blades. Fuck me, what had Harold slipped in her drink?

  The phone was mounted on the wall. She dialed nine-one-one and waited for the answer. Her vision went black. “Officer down.”

  She wasn’t sure if she’d just thought
those words or had really managed to say them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A sharp pain in Leona’s arm woke her from a coma-like sleep. Had Harold returned? Was he draining her blood while she’d been unconscious? She sat up, yanking the needle from the crook in her elbow.

  “Easy, Sheriff!” A startled voice sounded by her ear.

  Instinct gripped her and by reflex, she swung around knuckles cracking as she punched his chin.

  Hands grasped her shoulders, pinning her to the stretcher. She kicked out, connecting with flesh.

  “Watch her knees.”

  A blur blocked her field of view. “Sheriff, it’s me, Joe. You’re safe.” He ducked as she swung. “You’re safe, dammit, woman.”

  The words finally registered. “Safe?” That seemed true. Harold didn’t have accomplices. There were too many hands holding her down.

  “Whatever you gave her worked fast,” Joe said.

  “Too fast.” A paramedic she recognized rubbed his jaw. “You’ve got a strong right hook, Sheriff Lee. You with us now?”

  “I’m fine.” She nodded. “What happened?”

  The hands holding her released and she sat on the edge of the stretcher while the paramedic bandaged where she had ripped out her IV.

  “Kind of hoped you could tell us that.” Joe crouched in front of her. “We were told the vampire killed you at the crime scene and snatched your body into the woods.”

  Over his head, she spotted the whole dang Alberg sheriff’s office. Concerned expressions painted on their faces.

  “Pallas didn’t hurt me, he saved me.” She rose to her feet and groaned as her knees reminded her how she had abused them. “Homeland Security shot me.” She cleared her throat. “Shot at me.” That was a close slip.

  “Your blood was all over the snow.” Joe fingered the hole in her jacket.

  She shoved his hand away. “Fine, he shot me but it was a graze. Nothing to worry about.”She pointed to the garage. “That’s a crime scene. You need to get your gear together and collect evidence. You’ll find some huge jars of blood that should match Bob.” Her head ached and she touched the swollen bump between her eyes. “Harold killed Bob. Equipment he used is in the garage.”

  Calmly, Joe rose to his feet and checked out the garage.

  Murray helped her stand. “You look like a raccoon.”

  “Thanks, keep the sweet talk for after hours.” She smirked as his mouth flapped for a response. “You need to put an APB out for Harold. I think he took off on foot. I never heard him start his car.”

  Murray studied her stance. “Maybe you should let them take you to the hospital. You were barely breathing when they arrived.”

  One of the paramedics held up a bottle from the counter. “You should have blood drawn to confirm it but I think he used liquid oxycodone to drug you.”

  “That’s the same stuff that came back from Bob’s tox screen.” Murray shook his head. “Who would have guessed Harold had it in him to kill family?”

  “Can you draw my blood now? I have a manhunt to organize.” She happily returned to the stretcher to rest her aching head and let the paramedics do their thing. With her and Bob’s toxicology screens matching, she could definitely clear Pallas of any charges.

  Harold thought she would have to live the rest of her life looking over her shoulder. He had it wrong. She wouldn’t rest until she caught him. “Murray, let Homeland know we resolved Bob’s murder and to call off their search parties for Pallas.” She had a bone or two to pick with Agent Thomas.

  “About that.” Murray knelt next to her, his face pale. “Homeland caught a few of the wolf shifters. They plan on using them for bait to trap the rest of the pack or Pallas.”

  “Fuck.” She spat out the word like a bullet. Pallas wouldn’t abandon his wolves. He’d walk right in, knowing it was a trap, to set them free. “Details, Murray.”

  The paramedic finished his blood draw, labeled the vial and handed it over to Murray to deliver to the lab.

  “I—I’m not sure. I haven’t details, but last I heard, they were heading toward the vampire’s home.”

  Her heart sank. She hoped Pallas would be smart and leave this to her. She wouldn’t let Homeland harm his wolves, but deep down inside she knew he would do something foolish. “Give me your car keys.”

  “Sheriff—”

  “Take care of the evidence. I’m counting on you.” She held out her hand expectantly.

  Slowly, he pulled out his cruisers key ring. “You should get seen by a doctor, Leona. You were shot, and your face and the drugs…”

  She snatched the keys from his hands. “Don’t worry, it’s like high school all over again.” She left him and the paramedics before any of them protested.

  Leona’s steps slowed as she exited Harold’s house. A disco hall of red and blue lights illuminated the street. Officers from her staff and state troopers crowded the front lawn. She even spotted one or two Homeland Security agents. As one, they quieted and stared.

  “T—thank you.” She managed to say. They all had come to her rescue. She never would have guessed how much her town cared. First, the search and prayers, then this grand display of support. She cleared her throat and blinked away her unshed tears. Stupid drugs, making her act all weird. With a nod to her people, she took off toward the mess of vehicles parked on the road. “Follow me. We have some shifters to rescue.”

  Murray’s cruiser was easy to spot. It was the one with all the empty coffee cups on the dashboard. No matter how much she complained about keeping the damn car professional looking, he treated it like a trashcan.

  The vehicle started easily in the cold weather. She shoved the loose strands of hair from her face and raced for the manor on the other side of town, her backup close behind.

  Watching Leona walk away into the human neighborhood and potential danger had driven daggers into Pallas’ gut. He wanted to carry her away and lock her in a room, but that would kill the blazing fire he loved in her. She was a warrior and such a path was never safe. He had to trust her skill and judgment. These were her people and she was their sheriff. She had possession over them. He had to honor her territory like she had the pack’s.

  Before he changed his mind about letting her go alone, he had turned his back to her retreating form.

  Clare blocked his path and wagged her tail.

  “Oh, shut up.” As he passed her, she nipped at his ankles playfully. “Yes, yes, I like her.” He didn’t need a translator. He knew how to speak wolf. Probably better than these young shifters. “Let’s hunt.” As soon as he said those words, his core group of best shifters—Ian, Clare, Darrell, and Penny with Alistair and Julia—perked their ears forward.

  One of them yipped, unable to control their excitement.

  “Quiet.” He took a walk with the wolves around the outskirts of town. Things seemed much quieter than yesterday. Fewer agents out searching. The church parking lot was full of cars. At this time of night, most of the citizens of Alberg were tucked in their homes. Something had changed.

  He crouched in the snow as the wolves huddled around him. “I don’t like what I’m seeing. Let’s find out what these Homeland people are planning. I want positions, numbers, and anything you might overhear. Circle the town and we’ll meet at the pond by the manor. Don’t be seen. Be the shadows.” He could get closer to the agents than the wolves but they could pick up scents better.

  Of all the things he wished he had, it would be their noses.

  “Go.” He rose as the pack scattered except Ian. Pallas eyed the alpha. “I don’t need a guard dog.”

  The wolf sneezed.

  “Keep up then.” Pallas ran, not slowing his pace for the shifter. Yet Ian managed to stay at his side. Pallas headed straight for his home, using his mind tricks to suggest things into people’s thoughts if they spotted them. He wanted a closer look at what had been done on his property and possibly retrieve a few personal items.

  In the stark forest surrounding his propert
y, they hovered behind the bare branches. There were many vehicles parked by his garage. Pallas ground his teeth. They better not have touched his car.

  Homeland had built something new on his grounds. He peered, focusing his gaze. A cage? They couldn’t believe that would hold him. The ground moved within the structure and he realized that there were animals sleeping inside. One of them stretched and sniffed the air. It pointed its head in their direction.

  Ah, shit, Homeland had caught some of the pack. Pallas grasped Ian by the scruff as the alpha leapt forward. “Easy, you can’t help if you’re caught as well.” Keeping his hold on Ian, Pallas assessed their situation. “It’s a trap.” He stroked Ian’s fur, more for his comfort than the wolf’s. The last time someone used his wolves against him, the pack had died. He wouldn’t live through that again. “What to do? What to do?”

  A low growl rolled in Ian’s chest.

  In the distance, a police cruiser turned onto the long driveway that led to the manor. The crazy driver sped on the ice almost losing control.

  Pallas crept forward, spreading the branches for a better view, heart in throat. He recognized the driving style. Controlled chaos even on his icy, dirt driveway.

  Leona.

  Closing his eyes for a brief second, he reached out to the local rodents. None of them wanted to venture out in the cold but their simple minds were easy to control. Yet, he only used one. The mouse lived under the barn, close to where Leona had parked.

  On four paws, he ran over a thick snow. Shadow to shadow, he managed to reach a vantage point as Leona stepped out of the police cruiser.

  He recoiled. His mind snapping back into his head so hard he was dizzy. She had been beaten. That fucker Harold had laid hands on his woman. He jumped back into the field mouse, who was still where Pallas had left him.

  Leona leaned against the car, favoring her right leg. Her mind wasn’t as sharp or protected like usual. Something had happened to make her fuzzy around the edges. She shouldn’t be at the manor in this state. Homeland would take advantage.