by PG Forte
My very dear Mr. Quintano. I’m writing to request another interview with you. Since you saw fit to reject my hospitality this past summer, I’ve endeavored to make this new invitation somewhat more compelling than the last. I do hope you enjoy the gift that accompanies it, especially since I thought so long and hard before deciding what it should be. In the end, I opted for poetic justice. An eye for an eye—it’s really quite fitting, wouldn’t you agree? You’ve deprived me of my offspring and so I, in turn, have taken one of yours.
By now, I’m sure you know what it is I desire from you, Invitus. I realize you were disinclined to be cooperative when we discussed the subject last, but I remain hopeful that time will have changed your mind and I will now find you more amenable to suggestion.
After all, what am I asking for? Nothing more than a small share of the power you’ve so ruthlessly wielded over others for centuries. By what right do you refuse me this favor?
If you value your sweetling’s life, you’ll come to the address below prepared to accept my terms. If not, I shall, of course, be pleased to return him to you all the same, albeit a little at a time.
Damian peered over his shoulder. “What’s all this now? Julie? What’s wrong, chica?”
“Here. See for yourself.” Conrad handed him the letter then turned to Drew. “What else?”
Drew’s face turned a shade more pale as he reached into his jacket pocket and removed a small leather box. A snarl lifted Conrad’s lip as he stared at it.
“They did something bad to him,” Julie moaned. “I know it.”
“Hush now,” Conrad said, patting her absently. Once again his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He quashed them ruthlessly, snatched the box from Drew’s hand and lifted the lid, already knowing what he’d find inside.
“Ay, Dios.” Damian buried his face in Conrad’s neck. “Pobrecito. My poor boy.”
“How bad?” Julie gazed at Conrad piteously, tears sparkling in her brown eyes, so very like her brother’s.
“Stop your crying.” He admonished, quickly closing the lid on the sightless eye that would never sparkle again. “It could be worse.” At least there was only one.
“Worse?” Damian repeated hoarsely.
Conrad glared at him. This was no time for foolish sentiment. Nothing would be gained by giving way to grief. Tears would not restore Marc’s sight. They would not persuade his captors to release him. Left unchecked, their emotions would only lead them into making dangerous blunders. He’d already made one mistake in not moving sooner to track down his enemy. He could not afford to make another. He snatched the letter from Damian’s hand and shoved it at Drew. “Take this address,” he ordered. “Find Georgia. Tell her to meet me there. Do it now.”
Drew nodded. “Y-y-yes, of course. Right away.”
As Drew hurried away, Damian laid a hand on Conrad’s arm. “You’re not thinking of going there by yourself, are you?”
Conrad shook him off. Why ask the question when he already knew the answer? “Here,” he said as he pushed Julie into Damian’s arms. “Take care of her.” Then he turned and headed down the hall, his mind already too preoccupied with strategizing to waste time on good-byes.
His enemy had made a grave error in judgment—one that betrayed a total lack of understanding of the Lamia Invitus mindset. Brutal gestures such as this might serve very well to terrify someone whose soul had not been allowed to steep for centuries in such things, but for someone like himself, someone who’d done and seen much worse, it could only serve as an unfortunate reminder of who and what he was.
Conrad made it as far as the garage before Damian, with Julie in tow, caught up with him.
“Querido, wait,” Damian called, startling an already overly nervous Brennan who hovered uneasily just inside the garage doors, waiting to lock up once Conrad had gone. “I’m coming with you.”
Conrad shook his head. “No.”
“Listen to me,” Damian said, quickly insinuating himself between Conrad and the open door of the car he’d been about to get into. “What good will it do Marc if you get yourself killed trying to rescue him? Have you forgotten what happened the last time you went off this way?”
“Lower your voice!” Conrad ordered. He would not have his weaknesses discussed in front of the staff. He shot a fierce look at Brennan, who shifted a step closer to Julie and fumbled blindly for her hand, clearly seeking her protection—and cleverly putting himself beyond the reach of Conrad’s fury. Conrad gritted his teeth, forcing himself to speak calmly when every instinct he possessed was insisting he shove Damian aside. “Last time I was caught off guard. Believe me, it will not happen again.”
“How can you be so sure? What makes you think you’re not doing exactly what they expect you to do?”
Conrad shook his head. His enemy’s expectations, whatever they were, did not concern him. “What I think is that they’ve not the slightest idea what it is they’ve unleashed with their actions. Besides, I won’t be alone. Did you not hear me instruct Drew to locate Georgia?”
“You expect me to pin my hopes for your safety to that? What if he can’t find her? What if she arrives too late? It would not be the first time!”
“And so what do you suggest? Shall I wait to act? For how long? Until they serve up another piece of him, perhaps? Would that suit you better?”
Julie whimpered softly and buried her face in Brennan’s chest, forcing Conrad to take an even tighter grip on his emotions and his efforts to control his tongue. He hated that she was upset, hated that he could not take the time to ease her fears, that he had no idea what he might do to comfort her as he had when she was still a child. Things had been so much easier then.
“Of course I don’t want you to wait.” Damian glared at him reproachfully. “I’m very well aware of the urgency of the situation. Just don’t go alone! And consider; do you really wish to involve Georgia in this? If what you suspect is true, why should she not suit your enemy’s purposes just as well as you? What makes you think they’ll let either of you go, once they get their hands on you?”
“Let us go?” Conrad smiled coldly. “I think, rather, if they’re lucky, we might let them live. Though, I doubt it.” He’d promised to protect Marc. Tonight he’d failed in that charge. That by itself was enough to send him into a murderous rage. But the twins had been mere newborns when he’d made that promise. He hadn’t yet spent decades learning to know them, to love them. Now, someone had dared to lay hands on his son, the child of his heart. He didn’t imagine anything could stop him from killing whoever was responsible for hurting Marc.
A flush had mounted Damian’s face. He pressed closer to Conrad, lowering his voice until he was nearly whispering. “Please, amor, will you not take me with you? It is our boy we’re talking about, you know. I have a stake in his welfare too. Besides, I can be most useful in a fight.”
Conrad sighed. He could hardly dispute either of Damian’s claims. “Get in the car.”
“Wait.” Julie extricated herself from Brennan’s arms. “I’m coming too.”
Conrad shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”
“But I want to help. He’s my brother. I have a right to be there.”
Another claim Conrad could not dispute, but enough was enough. “It’s too dangerous. I will not allow it.”
A spark of sympathy flared in Damian’s eyes. “Conrad,” he murmured entreatingly. “She has a point. Why not let her come along?”
“Why not?” Conrad glared at him. “You know very well why not. Or do you, perhaps, wish to lose them both?”
“Of course not. But I do have some experience with how it feels to be left behind, unable to come to the aid of those one loves. Besides, we can’t be certain of Marc’s condition. What if he can’t walk on his own? Another set of arms might prove very useful, you know.”
“Please let me come,” Julie begged. “You have to. I’ll go crazy if I have to wait here.”
Conrad growled impatiently. He had no time
to waste on these futile arguments. He glared at them both. “You get Marc and you get out—and that’s all you two do. Leave everything else to me. Understood?” They both nodded. “And, Damian? About Georgia. You know what she’s capable of. You know you’ve done nothing to endear yourself to her. If she does join the fight, whatever else you do, do not get in her way. Don’t give her any reason to attack you, instead of our enemies.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Someone was crying. Marc frowned as the soft sound wended its way into his consciousness, demanding action. Dreaming, he thought, as he struggled to free himself from the thick fog that seemed to have him pinned beneath its gentle weight. This is for sure some crazy-ass kind of dream. There was a throbbing in his temple that suggested otherwise, however, and a stinging itch that seemed to be located somewhere behind his face—as though an entire hill of ants had taken up residence inside his skull. He shoved the unpleasant sensations to the back of his mind, rolled onto his side and forced his eyes to open. The room that swam into partial view was nowhere he recognized.
“What the fuck?” Craning his neck, he glanced around. The throbbing in his head increased. Stars flashed in his field of vision when he tried to focus. An incipient panic danced at the edge of his awareness. Something’s wrong. Where am I? How did I get here? His hand felt leaden as he raised it to his face in an attempt to brush away whatever was interfering with his vision.
“It’s gone.” The voice was Heather’s. Marc oriented on the sound. She was seated on the floor, arms clasped around her knees, heedless of the tears that streamed down her face as she rocked back and forth. “It’s gone,” she repeated in dull, hopeless tones. “She took it.”
It? She? “What’s gone? What the hell are you talking about?”
She glanced up at him quickly, then away, her expression pained. “Your eye.”
Unable to make sense of her words, Marc took inventory of his features. Cheeks, lips, nose, brows, eyelids: everything in place, everything just as it should be except for the sticky, congealed substance surrounding one eye. Clearly that was the problem. He rubbed impatiently at the gunk, freezing when he felt his knuckle dig into the socket, sinking deeper than it should have been able to. The resultant stab of pain pushed the elusive panic front and center. His stomach heaved. No. The room spun as he sat up too quickly, drawing in ragged gulps of air. His fingers shook as they probed and pressed, searching for another explanation. No, no, no! Shock joined with the pain and the panic to burn away the last lingering wisps of fog. He was fully conscious now, wide awake and shaking with fear. It can’t be true. It can’t be.
“You wrote me a note,” he said, still trying to piece together his memories. “You sent a letter to the club asking me to meet you…didn’t you?”
Heather shook her head. “How could I? I’ve been locked in this cage since last night.”
Cage? He looked around again, his heart rising further into his throat as he took stock of his surroundings. Trapped. He was trapped. He jumped to his feet, practically toppling over in the process. One unsteady step later, he grabbed Heather by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, as well. “Where are we?” he demanded as he shoved her against the side of the cage. “Who did this to me? What the hell’s going on?”
“Let me go.” She struggled in his grasp. “Leave me alone.”
The scent of fear and blood hit him hard. Her fear. Her blood. He stilled as his brain registered the disheveled state of her clothes. They were torn, bloodied. He wasn’t the only one who’d been hurt. A wave of protective energy surged through him and he pulled her close. He wanted to roar with anger and forced himself to speak quietly, instead. “Listen to me,” he ordered as she continued to flail at him. “Listen. Calm down. It’ll be all right. Do you hear me? I promise. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again. Trust me?”
He had no idea where the words came from, or why she should believe him, but he meant every one. Maybe it was just easier to focus on her problems rather than his own. Maybe he was simply lying to them both. Heather nodded. Her lips trembled and tears filled her eyes as she continued to gulp for air. Occasional shudders still racked her frame, but she settled at his words, no longer fighting him.
“Okay, then.” Marc brushed the hair back from her face. “Now, tell me what’s happening. What’s this all about? How come I don’t remember anything?”
“I think they drugged you. They shot you with something. Some kind of tranquilizer, I guess. And I don’t know what it’s about—not really. I mean, no one’s told me anything. They just… I thought… At first I thought they were angry with me—with us—because you were spending time with me. I thought they were using me to get to you, that they just wanted to hurt us both. But then…when they took your eye…I knew there was more to it than that. I don’t think they care about us at all—not really. They’re using you to get to someone else.”
“Who?”
Heather shook her head. “I don’t know. I just know that’s why they hurt you. Your eye, they…they took it out just so they could send it to him.”
His eye… “I don’t wanna talk about that now.” Marc shuddered at the reminder, anguish roiling in his gut until he pushed the thought of his disfigurement away. He’d freak out if he let himself think about that right now and wouldn’t be able to function. He’d deal with it later, after he’d gotten out of this mess.
He forced himself to think clearly, rationally, to think of other things and, as his brain came back online, all the pieces started slowly sliding into place. Conrad. This had to be about him, didn’t it? A smoldering resentment ignited as he thought about the likeliest cause for his present predicament. He was “Conrad’s boy” after all, wasn’t that what everyone thought, what they kept telling him? Of course they—whoever “they” were—would choose to use him to send a message to Conrad. To get his attention. To get him to come here. Who else would they use?
For just a moment, Marc knew a fleeting sense of relief because Conrad would come—he had no doubts at all about that. Regardless of the danger to himself, Conrad would come. Conrad would save him. Conrad would find a way to make everything all right again, to fix things, somehow—just as he’d always done. All Marc had to do was wait…
Then the other shoe dropped. This time, it wasn’t going to be that easy, was it?
Heather was right. Their captors didn’t care about him. He was nothing more than a convenient piece of bait. The whole point of this setup was to lure Conrad in, to capture him—just as had happened last summer. Maybe Conrad would be smart enough to see through the smoke screen this time. Marc hoped so. He really wanted to believe his sire wasn’t so stupid he’d fall for the same trick twice. But, either way, whether Conrad avoided the trap, or blundered right into it, the chances were better than good Marc would end up dead, just the same, unless he quickly figured a way out on his own.
He took a deep breath. “Listen,” he told Heather. “We have to get out of here. Now.”
“What?” She stared back at him blankly. “How?”
“I don’t know. We’ll figure something out. There has to be a way.”
“There isn’t. Trust me.” The voice at his back was female, unfamiliar, eerily detached—and faintly amused. “I went to a great deal of expense to insure this cage was escape proof.”
Marc spun around, putting himself between Heather and the unknown speaker on the other side of the chain-link wall. “Who are you?” he asked as he sized the woman up. She was slim, dark-skinned, her long hair neatly braided, her hands stuffed deep into the pockets of the white lab coat she wore over a pair of loose trousers. She was definitely a vampire. Not part of Conrad’s clan, but not completely alien either. “What do you want with us?”
“I’ll ask the questions.” An unsettling gleam shone in her hazel eyes as she studied him with clinical curiosity. “I’m surprised to find you awake so soon. I’d calculated that you’d remain unconscious for at least a few more hours. So how are you feeling? Are
you experiencing any dizziness? Confusion? Residual weakness?”
Marc snorted. Yeah, right. Like he had any reason to converse civilly with the woman responsible for his current condition. “You wanna know how I’m feeling? Open the fucking door and let me out of here and I’ll show you.”
A wintery smile curved the woman’s lips. “I think not.”
“How’d you know I was awake?” Marc asked.
“We’ve been watching you,” the woman replied, removing one hand from her pocket in order to point out the cameras attached to several of the warehouse’s support columns.
Marc suppressed a groan. Of course there’d be cameras. How else would they know when their prey had entered the trap? The odds of any of them making it out of here alive were looking worse and worse.
Still regarding him with inscrutable interest, his captor began to circumnavigate his cage. Marc pivoted to continue facing her, careful to keep Heather behind him. The woman’s smile widened. “And so protective, too. Another surprise. Don’t you realize your little friend here is the one who betrayed you to us?”
Heather drew in a sharp breath. “Liar!”
Marc reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Leave her out of this,” he advised his opponent. “We both know that’s not true. This has nothing to do with her. Why don’t you tell me what you’re really after? Maybe we can work something out.”
The woman’s eyes lit up. “How droll. Do you really expect me to disclose all my nefarious plans to you? I can see now why Quintano would want to keep you around. He must have found you endlessly entertaining. However, this isn’t some silly melodrama, you know. I have no reason to tell you anything and I’m afraid you’re in no position to bargain with me.”
Marc forced himself to rein in his temper and match her calm demeanor. “Really? I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you…Audrey.”
It was a shot in the dark and he wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he’d missed his mark. A brief flicker of surprise showed he hadn’t though. “Where did you hear that name?”
