by Tracy Tappan
She filed her nails vigorously, planning how she was going to pan Mürk’s head in at the end of this, take out her chopsy temper on—
Headlamps sliced onto the service road where she was parked behind Delta’s hangar. It was a Sky Chef van. She returned to filing her nails. No worries, blokes, I belong here. The vehicle slowed as it drove closer. See something you like, nosy parkers?
The van stopped so suddenly, it rocked violently on its shocks. The side door slammed open.
Bother. She was in no mood to make explanations to some half-sharp airport employees about—
There was a blur of motion, and—ha-shisssh. A breath rushed past her lips as a muscular arm was suddenly banded around her throat in a choke hold. Who the bleeding hell moved that fast? The scent of Vârcolac hit her at the same moment an animal growl resonated in her ear. Ah. A vamp. Looked like she was going to get into a ruck tonight, after all. Bully. Dropping her nail file, she missiled an elbow into her attacker’s gut, doubling him over, then spun around and drove a fist into the back of his neck.
He fell to his knees, groaning.
She flung off her high heels and kicked out.
He moved with that inhuman speed again, hooking her heel with his palm and flinging it up.
She stumbled backward a few paces.
Her attacker sprang to his feet. His eyes and blond hair blazed in the headlights.
Shit a brick! It was that handsome crumpet of a vamp whose cock she’d sucked off about a week ago. She laughed, a razor-edged thrill coursing through her. After what she’d done to this bloke, he’d surely try to kick seven shades of shit out of her. This was going to be a right awesome fight!
Standing poised on the balls of her feet, her breath leaving her mouth in a vapory cloud, she aimed a nasty smile at the crumpet as—
He was behind her again. A ruthless shot to her kidneys had her biting back a shout. He swept out her legs and took her to the ground, planting a solid knee in her lower spine. His palm came down on her head and ground her cheek into the asphalt. She grunted. Impressive. She herself was fast, but the crumpet was blinding fast.
He jabbed a hypodermic needle into her arm.
Oops. Hard cheese for him. Drugs didn’t knock her out, just made her go Rău. Vicious. Powerful. Unbeatable.
But then…
The landscape teetered and grew heavy, pushing her lids closed. What the devil…? Well now…Turned out she might be in a bit of a pickle here, after all.
When next Pändra opened her eyes, she was surrounded by inky blackness and the smell of oil, petrol, and the distinctive aroma of Vârcolac. She heard the steady hum of an engine plus the monotonous whap-whap-whap of rubber tires over asphalt.
She was in the boot of a car.
Testing her wrists, she found that her arms were bound behind her back, both with hard plastic spot-ties and metal handcuffs.
She almost laughed. She’d wanted to find herself some trouble, hadn’t she? Wonder what’s in store?
The vehicle slowed, easing forward over a bump, then stopped. The engine shut off, and she tensed, preparing herself for battle. The double whammy of security around her wrists would be a piece of piss for her to break. She just needed more space than this boot provided.
Helpful to know the vamps had no idea who they were dealing with, though.
But battle didn’t come.
A cacophony of peculiar noises started up instead: the slithering whisk of a bicycle chain derailing and the reverberating clank-clank of a wrench hitting a pipe. Then Finn MacCool—the giant from her childhood fairy tales—mumbled in his sleep, the steady mum-mum signaling movement again, this time downward. Down? Right odd, that. She kept herself at the ready, waiting. Seconds ticked into minutes and minutes ticked into a small eternity. Where the feck were they heading? Into Hell itself?
She had plenty of time to ponder how the crumpet had managed to trank her. Nothing existed that had the super-capabilities of rendering a half-Rău unconscious, not that she knew of. So had she been dosed with an enchanted drug? But none of the Vârcolac possessed the power of enchantment. Did they?
Finally, with a jolt, they stopped. The bike chain whisked again. The car roared to life and drove slowly forward, maneuvered, then stopped once more. The engine shut off. For good this time, it seemed. Car doors slammed and voices spoke, one sounding urgent. Footsteps pounded off and faded. Keys rattled at the boot.
Pändra pulled in a long breath, bringing her power into focus.
As the lid swung upward, she snapped her elbows wide, flinging her bindings off, and exploded out of her confined space like a dynamite-activated Jack In The Box. She landed light on her feet with her fists up.
The man who’d opened the boot swiftly stepped back and settled into a sure-footed fighting stance, too. He had long, swooping teeth tattoos running the length of his forearms and jet black hair. He was some breed of Om Rău by the look of his black eyes.
She flew at the man like a deranged character spawned out of Mortal Kombat, a lifetime of martial arts training turning her into a blitzing machine of kicks and punches—spinning back kick, hammer fist, back fist, roundhouse kick, knife hand, elbow strike.
Her opponent blocked everything, moving as fast as she did.
Breathing roughly, she large-stepped back out of his striking range and stared at him. Now what? She’d kept him on the defensive the whole time, stopping him from landing any offensive blows, but she hadn’t sorted him out, either. No headway was being made here.
“You done?” her Om Rău opponent drawled nastily, his voice sounding like it came directly out of Hell.
Shite, how far down had they traveled into the earth?
She sensed movement behind her and whirled, planting a brutal fist right into the chops of some dodgy black-haired Vârcolac.
He stacked it backward onto his arse, then clumped the rest of the way to his spine, completely buggered out. Blood welled up into the chalice of his mouth and gushed over the sides, running down his cheeks to paint the floor in burgundy.
Another Vârcolac standing nearby, also black-haired, but with prominent sideburns, stared down at his chum in frozen shock.
Her Om Rău opponent sneered his upper lip at her, exposing the tip of a fang. So he was one of those part-vamp, part-Om Rău she’d heard tell about. Wonder if this chap was Tonĩ’s hubby and thus Raymond’s most-hated? Wouldn’t want to be that.
She took another large step backward as the Rău-vamp stalked over to the fallen Vârcolac and crouched down at the man’s side, examining his mouth.
The Rău-vamp’s head snapped up. “You broke his fang,” he growled.
The one with sideburns looked even more gobsmacked than he had a moment ago.
What was all the fuss about? People got cabbaged in fights all the time.
The Rău-vamp powered to his feet, his voice lowering into deeper octaves of Hell. “You’d better hope he can still feed, lady. If you issued Breen here a death sentence, there’s nothing on this earth that will save you. Vinz,” he barked at Sideburns. “Get a couple of Dragon warriors down here now. As damned strong as she is, I doubt we can take her hand-to-hand. We need men with speed.”
Like the crumpet at the airport? No blooming thanks. She wasn’t dossing about for that. As Sideburns sprinted off, she dove into the driver’s seat of the vehicle she’d arrived in—a Lincoln Town Car—and slammed the door shut, locking it.
The Rău-vamp gave her a frigid glare as he stalked toward her.
“Sorry, love, my regrets and all.” She cranked over the engine. “But I’m otherwise engaged and can’t piss around with you.” She knew bog all of where she was, but maybe if she started bashing into the walls of this garage she’d eventually get somewhere. She put the car into gear and gassed it forward, aiming to run down her opponent along the way.
The Rău-vamp took a single large step up, planting a combat boot on the hood of the car, then continued to the right and down, landing by the driver’s si
de door with amazing agility for a man of his size. He punched her car window. The glass cracked and bowed inward.
Not bloody good. One more blow like that and the man would have access to her. She gave the Town Car some welly and roared toward a wall hung with items of a mechanic’s trade, each tool chalk-outlined on a pegboard.
Her Rău-vamp opponent materialized in front of her, both hands slamming onto the hood of the car, denting metal. Forward motion ceased. The wheels kept spinning, throwing up gray smoke and the ghastly scent of burning rubber. The high-pitched squeal set her teeth on edge.
“Get her out of the car!” the Rău-vamp ordered.
Another man had just entered the garage.
Not a blond Dragon as requested. This vamp was— Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. Bejesus…she’d never seen his like on earth. With his massive body, eyes of blackest black, hair that was a shaggy beast’s mane, and a face built of steel girders and concrete, augmented by a broad nose crooked from a former break, he was the most fearsome being ever created. He was tattooed with long, swooping teeth on his forearms, like her Rău-vamp opponent, but also around his neck.
Heart pounding, she stomped the gas pedal to the floor. Wheels complained eeeeeee. The
Rău-vamp’s arms shook on the hood.
Whopping Vamp stepped forward and peeled the car door off the vehicle like it was no more than tin foil from a frozen ready meal.
Jesus suffering—
Her new adversary plucked her out of the car.
Rău-vamp let go and jumped aside. The vehicle skidded sideways, ramming into a rack of wood-working tools. Saws, hammers, screwdrivers, plunkity-plunkity, all came crashing down onto the hood.
She threw a hard purler at Whopping Vamp.
He swatted the hit aside, and drove a punch into the side of her face.
Holy double fuck.
His fist was Thor’s hammer.
The room went black as she thumped down onto the cement of the garage floor with enough force to crack her kneecaps. She garbled a curse, unable to manage anything coherent.
That monstrosity’s blow had unbolted her lower jaw bone from its hinges and now her mandible was hanging by the skin of her cheeks. Her immortality ring kept the pain from completely overwhelming her, but she still staggered as she pushed to her feet. The room reappeared into scrambled images of gray. She thrust a hand against her chin to puzzle-piece her bones back into place. Her acid blood laced through her fingers and dripped to the garage floor, siss-sissing onto the concrete.
Whopping Vamp arrowed behind her and grabbed both of her arms, cranking them behind her back until her elbows met. Her jaw swung loose again without her palm as a prop, more acid sizzling to the floor.
Concentrating on her power, she gave an experimental tug. Well, shite. She’d be buggered if she could break this trog’s hold. Clenching her hands into fists, she dipped her chin down, preparing to fling her head up and splatter the Whopper with her acid blood.
“That’s enough, Pändra,” commanded a female voice.
The familiar timbre of power in the woman’s tone dug deep into a place inside Pändra, making it impossible for her to disobey. She froze long enough to draw in two breaths, then lifted her head slowly and met the woman’s regard. Cold dipped her from top to toes.
This woman’s eyes were the same startling shade of blue as Raymond’s.
It was the infamous Tonĩ.
Chapter Fourteen
Pändra cautiously watched Tonĩ take a step closer.
“You and I have some extremely vital business to conduct,” Tonĩ told her. “I need you to stop fighting. No more violence of any kind. Can you promise me that?”
Pändra’s heart skipped a beat. How absurd that Tonĩ would be willing to trust her word, but it was obvious she did, and somehow it…made her want to comply. She nodded.
“Please, let her go, Nỵko,” Tonĩ said to the Whopper.
Pändra’s arms were released. The Whopper—Nỵko—stepped back from her, though he didn’t go far.
The other Rău-vamp also remained nearby, heavy boots planted in a wide stance.
Pändra shoved her chin back up again, keeping her focus on Tonĩ as she waited for her immortality ring to work its magic and re-secure the joints of her mandible bone. Cor, but Tonĩ was beautiful. Raymond would be pleased to know just how stunning she’d turned out.
Tonĩ glanced over at the black-haired bloke laid out on the garage floor. “What happened to Breen, Jaċken?”
“She broke his left fang,” Rău-vamp retorted.
Tonĩ’s blonde eyebrows rose. “I thought fangs were too strong for that.”
“Usually that’s the case, but…” Jaċken sneered. “She’s a bit on the strong side.”
Two vamp males raced into the garage, one had cowlicked light brown hair, the other had hair so blond it was nearly white.
Jaċken gestured them to a stop. “Kasson, Jeddin, stand down for now.”
The two men gawked at the bloody-mouthed, unconscious vamp sprawled out on the garage floor. He was quite the spectacle, that one.
Pändra dropped her hand from her jaw and rotated it once to test it. When it didn’t fall apart, she spoke to Tonĩ. “You have Raymond’s power.”
Silence.
Chatter-chatter-chatter went an air vent, like pebbles tumbling through an aluminum pipe.
Tonĩ gave Pändra a flat stare.
Pändra glanced at the vent. “You’re his favorite, you know. He has a picture of you in his den, the only of his children who made it into his precious man lair. You’re about two years old, holding a red ball—”
“That’s not the matter of importance I need to discuss with you.” Tonĩ kept her expression neutral, but Pändra sensed emotional currents roiling below the surface. “The man you…attacked, Thomal, is lying in the hospital on the verge of death. Because of you.”
Near death? “Well, that’s not my doing.” Pändra made a blithe sweep of her hand. “God’s truth, someone else must’ve thrashed him after I left the hotel.”
“You don’t understand.” Tonĩ offered her a wintry smile. “When a Vârcolac feeds on and has sex with an unmated female, as Thomal Costache did with you, he goes through a cellular change that biologically connects him to that female. Thomal is now physically dependent on your blood, Pändra, and yours alone. Because of that, for the last nine days, we’ve watched Thomal wither steadily towards death while we’ve scrambled to find you.”
She went silent for a long moment. Of all the convoluted bilge water, she’d never expected to hear something like this. “That doesn’t make a whit of sense. If this Thomal chap is so dependent on my blood, what the bleeding hell did he do before I came along?”
“He fed on donor blood. But that option is no longer available to him now that he’s gone through The Change and is bonded to you.”
Bonded? That didn’t sound like something she wanted to be, not to a vamp. Not to anyone. “Well, how do we undo this effing change?”
“There’s no undoing it.”
“What? You’re codding me.”
“Unfortunately, no. The bond is permanent, Pändra.”
“But…” The beginnings of dread stirred at the back of her throat. “Truly? Never?”
Tonĩ spread her hands. “As long as you’re alive on this planet, a sixth sense radar within Thomal will know it and make it impossible for him to take in any other blood but yours.”
The hairs on the back of her nape prickled up. “I see.” Her chest burned, the hot coal that lived inside her flaring up. A crackle echoed through her ears and red flashed at the corners of her retinas.
“Pändra,” Tonĩ interjected quickly. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
“I’m sure not,” she drawled. “Didn’t you just say this Thomal chap will be released from his bond if I’m dead?”
“No one’s going to kill you,” Tonĩ insisted. “Thomal’s too weak to endure the wrenching process of unbondin
g right now. Moreover, that’s not our way. We don’t kill without proper cause.”
Pändra blew out a laugh. “What more does a girl need to do?”
“Believe me,” Jaċken stomped in. “We’re keeping the option on the back burner in your case. Meanwhile, you’re stuck here because Thomal needs your blood. You don’t like it? Go fuck yourself. You sealed your own fate the night you abused two of my men. So that means you put your attitude in check, lady, or your time here will be spent hanging from a meat hook as no more than a vein for Thomal. We clear?”
Pändra hooded her lids, trying to hide a flicker of alarm. Could they really keep her here against her will, if they had a mind to? Of course they could. That long trip down meant she was umpteen meters below the soil. “I should jolly well think so,” she returned dryly. “You didn’t exactly beat around the bush, chum.”
The bicycle chain whisked again.
She swiveled her head toward the noise, and saw two large garage doors sliding open, revealing a Pathfinder vehicle sitting on an enormous elevator platform. The idling engine shut off, no doubt because the Pathfinder had nowhere to go. The Lincoln Town Car was all skew-whiff in the way, wispy strings of smoke still eddying from the two back tires.
Three men climbed out of the newly arrived vehicle. One had long blond hair caught back in a ponytail, a bloody cut on his brow, another had a black goatee and a small gold earring, and the third, stubbly black hair and a bull skull tattoo on his arm. Each owned the kind of sculpted, muscular bodies seen on men who fight for a living…or for their lives. Hard-nuts, all, not a jellyfish among them.
Pändra’s chest shook with a tremor of claustrophobia. The three didn’t come down off the platform, but her situation squeezed in on her all at once; she was enclosed on all sides now by men of supernatural power whose breed had always been hostile enemies to her own. She didn’t know where the blinking heck she was, only that she was underground, deep enough to render escape extremely difficult, if not impossible. She was trapped, surrounded, and possibly helpless.
