by Tessa Dawn
The vampire.
Their interaction in the barn earlier that morning.
The fact that he would be coming back later that night.
Natalia felt abominable for keeping the secret, for in truth, she and Santos had made a connection, however tentative—but she just couldn’t risk the drama and the confrontation. She couldn’t risk the lives of the women in The Fortress.
Sighing, she tried to close her eyes and go somewhere else in her head—perhaps a sandy beach in the Bahamas or a winter wonderland in the gorgeous Swiss Alps—anywhere but where she was. As far as Natalia was concerned, the sooner they arrived at the restaurant or the theater or some country club—wherever Oskar was taking her—the better.
She could get through this night.
She would get through this night.
Sunday was only two days away…
And even though it would usher in an entirely new set of challenges…fears…realities, it would also open the door to new opportunities.
The limousine turned on to a narrow, winding road, and Natalia leaned forward in her seat.
What the hay?
It was heading in the opposite direction of the city—of the majority of the metropolitan area’s nightlife entertainment—onto a back, country road: a gravel drive lined with high, arching English oak trees and virtually absent of businesses or houses. Perhaps ten or fifteen minutes later, the vehicle slowed to a halt at the edge of a narrow creek, and a faint golden light began to glow outside the window.
Natalia pressed her nose to the glass, trying to see more clearly in the darkness.
The golden light was coming from a candelabra, set atop a white linen table erected beside the stream. There was a bottle of Champagne—or perhaps it was wine—chilling in a sterling silver bucket of ice next to a glorious centerpiece of exquisite flowers: coral roses, purple lilies, white orchids, and baby’s breath.
Natalia gulped.
Less than five feet away from the table, someone had erected a platform, and for all intents and purposes, the first word that came to mind was sultan. The platform was bordered by four conical posts, not unlike a tent, and all four sides were draped in a pale lavender gossamer film, some sort of ethereal fabric, the front of the drapes drawn back. Good Lord in heaven, she had to catch her breath. There was a bed on top of the platform: a soft, plush white canvas lounge, covered in overstuffed pillows.
What the hell was Oskar planning?
As if she couldn’t figure that out.
No sooner had the nausea-inducing thought crossed her mind than the door to the limo opened.
Natalia scooted away.
She reached for a nearby button to roll down the window between the backseat and the driver—to hell with this, she would ask him to take her home. Sure, Oskar would be angry, and it probably wasn’t wise to provoke such a powerful man, to toy with a criminal she already knew to be a stone-cold killer, but she didn’t believe he would hurt her. They weren’t yet married, and he couldn’t send her home bruised or battered.
Besides, Oskar needed Luca, and Luca needed Oskar…
And Natalia just needed to go home.
As she held the button, the window scrolled down, and Natalia’s jaw dropped open.
What!
How?
Wh…wh…
No.
The driver wasn’t there. The front seat was simply empty. And she’d never heard him open the door. Falling back against the plush leather seat, she searched her mind for a reasonable explanation: What the heck was going on? Limousine drivers didn’t just disappear into thin air.
And then Oskar Vadovsky’s cruel, deep voice pierced the summer night’s air. “You look lovely this evening, Natalia. Please, come. Get out of the car.”
She turned her head to the side in slow motion, terrified to meet his gaze.
Oskar was standing in the doorway like a titan of a man in a pair of black linen trousers and a blood-red silk shirt, the top five buttons undone, revealing a corded muscular chest and pecs made of steel. And didn’t that just strike a demonic visage considering his long, straight, black-and-red hair. Hell, the man wore it halfway down his back.
She shivered, refused to move, and his charcoal-gray eyes receded to black. “Is there a problem?” he purred, his voice as dark as the looming sky. Moonlight reflected off his severe, chiseled features, alighting his gorgeous but ruthless face, and Natalia pressed her hand to her chest.
“I…I just need a minute to catch my breath.” She forced cordiality into her voice. “I thought perhaps we were going to a restaurant, or maybe to see a show at the theater. I just…I’m surprised… Where are we, Oskar?”
A slow, raspy hum rumbled in the air, and for a moment, Natalia could have sworn it was coming from his throat. “I wanted a more private setting,” he explained. “I wanted you all to myself.”
She cringed inwardly. “Oskar…”
“Natalia, you have been promised to me for quite some time, yet I have only seen you in your father’s presence, in the presence of his guards or your escorts. Enough is enough, sweet minx. There is no need to prolong the inevitable. You belong to me, Natalia. And I am not such a patient man.” He extended his hand a few inches forward, glaring at her satin-gloved fingers. “Now then, come.”
Natalia placed her hand in Oskar’s—what else could she do?
She was no longer certain, not in the least, that the merciless thug wouldn’t hurt her.
As he pulled her out of the car, his enormous, barely leashed strength evident in his grip, she reached for her handbag, containing the burner phone—it had to be close to 8:30 PM, and she had promised to text Santos around nine, whenever the make-believe guests arrived at the fabricated dinner party. If she didn’t text in the next half hour, the male would certainly check in or call. She would have to find a way to steal a moment alone, even if she had to insist that Oskar take her to town to make use of a restroom, and she would have to find a way to avoid that bed, even if she had to feign a migraine headache.
“Leave it,” Oskar growled, gesturing with his chin toward the purse. “There will be no distractions this evening, Natalia.” His voice was more than commanding—it was laced with a latent threat.
Feeling real, tangible fear for the first time that evening, Natalia set her purse back down on the seat. Why the hell had she lied to Santos…again?
Oh, yes…
The Fortress…the women…the very high stakes.
Oskar and Santos together.
Her father’s armed henchmen surrounding the house.
Natalia wasn’t free to choose.
Natalia had never been free…
Wetting her bottom lip in a nervous gesture, she slowly climbed out of the limo, and that’s when Oskar shut the door behind her, pressed her against the panel, and molded both of his powerful, unyielding hands to her slender, graceful hips. “I’ve chilled Champagne; I bought you flowers; I’ve arranged a more comfortable…repose…for our enjoyment; and your father does not expect you home before morning.” He grasped her jaw in the palms of both hands and raised her chin to anchor her lips where he wanted them. “Do you have any idea how long I have waited to taste you?” With that, he covered her mouth with his, and his kiss was equal parts ravenous and savage.
Natalia had to force herself to kiss him back…just barely.
She had to force herself not to bite him.
As her stomach turned queasy and her palms began to sweat, she had to force herself not to puke in her mouth.
“Oskar…Oskar. Wait!” She weaved and bobbed, drawing back her chin, and then she quickly turned her head to the side. “Please, slow down…” She gentled her voice, trying to pretend like she didn’t feel threatened. “I’d like to have a glass of Champagne, take a look at the flowers, perhaps we could talk for a bit—now that we’re finally alone.” She wrung her gloved hands together, twisted out of his reach, and strolled leisurely toward the table, trying to fake like she was still in control
. “Come,” she said sweetly, eyeing the opposite chair, “I’ve been eager to get to know you better.”
He halted for a moment, and she tried to read his expression: It was leery, hungry, predatory. But to his credit, he nodded his head in an almost antiquated, old-world gesture, and then he took three long, noiseless strides in her direction and slid her chair back from the table.
Exhaling with relief, Natalia stepped sideways toward the proffered chair, and that’s when Oskar sidled up behind her, wrapped an iron-clad arm around her stomach, and tugged her back against him. He pressed his harsh, thick lips against her throat, nipped her skin, and nuzzled the crook of her neck. And then he brazenly raised his hand to her chest and kneaded her breast through her gown. Flicking her nipple before he let go, he sauntered to the other side of the table, took a seat, and reached for the bottle. “Sit, Natalia. We will drink, and we will talk. And then, my dear tease, we will fuck.”
Santos Olaru stood next to Ramsey and Saxson at his kitchen counter, glancing at the blueprints they had retrieved from Keitaro and Zayda. The female had done an adequate job, filling in various details that both illuminated The Fortress and brought the horror to life.
She’d placed X’s next to each guard’s station and O’s to indicate captive women. She’d drawn lines along halls where the guards patrolled and drawn in any physical obstacles or barriers. She’d even listed shift changes and routes—which doors were used most often and which remained closed. Staring at the map of the complex, it was hard for Santos to reconcile the damaged girl he had seen in Keitaro’s living room, the one who had so regressed so easily, with the one who had tackled this diagram.
Tuning his brothers out, he reached once again for his cell phone, skimmed his messages, and scanned the time—it was 8:45 PM, and he hadn’t heard a word from Natalia, at least not yet. His stomach tightened with both apprehension and anticipation as he told himself for the umpteenth time to just be patient: The two of them had made definite inroads at the Giovanni compound earlier, and Santos had been looking forward all day to their playful game of poker, to a chance to get to know her even better, an opportunity to deepen their connection.
And that’s why he couldn’t go all stalker-hunter and blow up her burner phone with texts.
She’d said she’d text around nine, as soon as the guests arrived for the dinner party, and that meant she still had fifteen minutes to check in.
In truth, it was just counterintuitive for a vampire male to be apart from his destiny during the tenuous period that encompassed his Blood Moon, but Natalia’s situation was different, and there were a lot of lives at stake. Hell, Zayda’s marked-up blueprints had underscored that fact in bright, bold ink.
“Santos…Santos!” Ramsey’s gruff voice interrupted his thoughts. “Where the hell are you, brother?”
He sniffed and redirected his attention to the vampire. “Where the hell do you think?”
Saxson chuckled then. “It’s maddening, isn’t it? All the shit you start to think and feel the second you meet your destiny…” It was more of a statement than a question.
“What time are you supposed to hook up?” Ramsey asked.
Santos shrugged a nonchalant shoulder. “No idea just yet. I’m hoping she’ll be free by ten thirty or eleven. Dinner shouldn’t take much longer than that.”
Ramsey nodded, then eyed the cell phone sideways. “She checked in yet?”
“Nope,” Santos answered, feeling curiously annoyed by the question.
“You gonna wait much past nine before you text her?” Saxson inquired.
“Nope,” Santos said. There was no use in lying.
“And the moment you know the guests have arrived…” Ramsey’s voice trailed off—it was a rhetorical question.
Santos smiled. “Then I’m out.”
Saxson laughed. “Stalker Olaru, misting through the shadows, watching through a window across the street.” All three brothers laughed, though no one really thought it was funny. A vampire could never be too careful…too trusting.
“Whatever it takes,” Santos said, dryly.
Just then, Ramsey bent over the blueprints and pressed his finger over an “O” in the diagram. “You know,” he rasped, “I get that we’re going in blind, and we know that these females are facing some kind of imminent threat. According to Natalia, they can all be executed in less than fifteen minutes if something goes awry, and we don’t know if we’re dealing with explosives or what—just heavily armed sentries carrying automatic rifles. But look at all these O’s. Presumably, these are all women in separate cells, right?” He hopped from one cell to the other, pointing several examples out. “Then look at each wing…the end of each hall…there’s all these communal shower stalls. So why the hell does the plumbing snake into each individual cell? What the hell do you need a communal shower for if there’s one in every cage?”
“Maybe restrooms…toilets,” Saxson offered.
“Maybe,” Ramsey grunted. “But that doesn’t make much sense. Why put in that much plumbing, then place the latrines somewhere else?”
Santos nodded thoughtfully. “I noticed that myself—the first time I glanced at the blueprints.”
“That’s a helluva lot of pipe work,” Ramsey offered.
“No doubt,” Saxson said.
“And another thing that doesn’t make sense,” Ramsey said. “These four hired killers…Luca’s mercenaries…whatever…they’re somewhere in four different countries. So how the heck do they get the call and transport back to the ole U.S. of A. in less than fifteen minutes? I’m just not buying it.”
“You don’t think the threat is real?” Santos asked, feeling suddenly uneasy.
“Oh, I think it’s very real,” Ramsey said. “Luca’s too smart to leave his shit that exposed. He definitely has a doomsday plan. I’m just saying: These hits that he’s preordered, they were never meant to be up close and personal.”
Santos stared harder at the drawing, this time focusing in on the electrical grid and what he could discern from the wiring. “Remote control,” he said, speaking to no one in particular.
“Some kind of detonator?” Saxson chimed in.
Ramsey shrugged his massive shoulders. “Don’t know. But whatever it is, we need to stay mindful of those pipes.”
A cryptic silence settled over the kitchen as all three sentinels considered the same possibility: poison gas or a chemical nerve agent, something that could kill in less than five minutes.
No one had to speak a single word.
“Well, hell,” Saxson finally said, “we designed our plan to get in and out in less than fifteen minutes—ten at the least, hopefully twelve, but we can’t pull it off in less than five.”
“Nope,” Ramsey agreed. “We would need a whole new game plan.”
Santos shook his head in frustration; unfortunately, he agreed with Ramsey. “What say you, brothers? Time to call Nathaniel, Kagen, and Nachari—see what the warriors and the wizard think?”
“Yeah,” Saxson answered, without hesitating. “We need to draft a plan B.”
Santos picked up his phone to pull up Nathaniel’s number—telepathy wasn’t always necessary, and depending on what a warrior was doing, it could sometimes be intrusive, if not rude—and he absently checked the time…and his messages…again.
What the hell? he thought, frowning.
It was 9:05 PM, and Natalia hadn’t texted.
Maybe she got hung up, or there were too many eyeballs watching…
Whatever.
He was still free to reach out.
Tapping his message icon, he opened the screen and scrolled down to her name. Touching the phone once more, he opened the message platform and tap-tap-tapped three words: Baby, what’s up?
Chapter Fifteen
The bottle of Champagne was empty.
The conversation had been stilted at best.
The moon was hanging low in the sky, casting dark, haunted shadows over the candelabra and the flowers, and th
e river had increased its pace. It was almost as if all of nature was reacting to the sick, perverse energy coiled in the meadow.
Natalia glanced over her shoulder at the limo and thought about her phone. “Oskar,” she said, mildly slurring her words. She’d had way too much to drink, but it had been unavoidable. She had done everything she could to stall her fiancé, and if she were being honest, she had kind of been hoping he was a happy drunk. Hell, miracles sometimes happened, but no such luck. The alcohol hadn’t even fazed him. “I really need to use the restroom…all that Champagne. Would you take me into town, just for a couple of minutes?” She waited with bated breath.
He jerked his chin in the direction of the limo, indicating the pasture just beyond it. “See those trees on the other side of the road.” He tilted his chin again. “See that river right behind us?” He snorted. “You can’t be that spoiled, Natalia. Pull up your dress and go take a piss.”
Natalia seethed with anger. “What is wrong with you tonight?” She slid back her chair, stood up defiantly, and planted her hands on her hips, deciding to take a different tack—clearly, kindness, subservience, and avoidance wasn’t working. “You have never spoken to me like this before, Mr. Vadovsky. You have never treated me like a piece of meat. I am your fiancée—I am going to be your wife! But not if this is what the future looks like.” She held up both hands in a pacifying gesture, hoping to give him an out. “Look, maybe you had a bad day; maybe this isn’t a good night. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones—we can try it again another evening—but for now, I’m tired, I’ve had too much to drink, and I’d like to use the bathroom like a lady. Please, Oskar, just take me home.”
Oskar Vadovsky stared at Natalia Giovanni like she had suddenly grown two heads.
What the hell did he care if she was tired, ticked off, and unwilling to play ball?
