Compelled

by D. B. Reynolds

  She paused to listen. There were still no sounds from either inside or outside the house.

  At this point, Cyn took a leap of faith and confronted what she considered to be the weakest part of her plan. Nick had said she was some sort of magic detector, and Raphael hadn’t denied it. She still had trouble with the whole magic thing, but if they were right, then Marshall’s room full o’ magic should ping on her senses. The problem was, she’d never done anything like this before, and didn’t know how to turn on her magic detector.

  Feeling rather stupid, she took a step into the hallway and shook out her arms. She was more into exercise and weights than yoga, but as she stood there in the silent house, she did her best to enter into a meditative state, trying to clear her mind and open up to . . . whatever. Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed the hour, which harshed her Zen, but once her heart settled back into a regular rhythm, she tried again.

  When it came, she first dismissed it as a cool breeze from the window behind her, but she quickly realized it wasn’t coming from her back. Then she thought maybe the air conditioning had kicked on, but the weather wasn’t hot enough for a/c, and she couldn’t hear any movement of air through vents, or the sound of a compressor. She frowned slightly. The sensation was interesting, if somewhat odd. She’d certainly never felt anything like it around Raphael, but maybe her magic senses had been muddled by the intense sexual attraction between them. Or maybe this really wasn’t magic she was feeling at all. Hell, maybe, she was coming down with a cold.

  With no other clues, however, she followed that cold feeling to the basement door. Of course. Put the creepy magic stuff in the basement. She took time to study the door before opening it. If Marshall was going to secure anything, it would be his collection. Finding no obvious signs of an alarm, she slowly opened the door, then just stood there for a moment looking downward and listening with all of her senses. A light had come on, showing a set of stairs that was a lot nicer than the usual damp concrete things you saw in the movies. Cyn wasn’t all that familiar with basements, having never lived in a house that had one. California didn’t have basements for the most part, and the young ladies at the school she’d attended in France were not permitted to venture to the basement. But these stairs were a dark, polished wood, as good as anything you’d see in the main part of house.

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully. It made sense that Marshall would finish his basement nicely if he was going to keep his very expensive magic collection down there. You wouldn’t exactly put a few million dollars’ worth of artifacts next to the water heater in a moldy basement.

  With the first step she took beyond the door, the sensation of cold grew stronger. This wasn’t the naturally occurring colder air of a basement, this was far more sinister. It was as if something was reaching right into her chest, something ice cold and vaguely malevolent. Her frown deepened. Who knew what kind of devices Marshall had down there? The manacles were certainly bad, but she could imagine all kinds of awful things that were far worse.

  She didn’t want to go any farther, but she had to. She unsnapped the safety strap on her holster, slung her backpack over one shoulder, and tightened her grip on it, then headed downstairs.

  The motion-activated lights snapped on progressively as she went downward. By the time she stepped onto the basement floor, the room was fully lit. More than anything, it resembled a so-called man cave—big leather furniture around a heavy coffee table and a huge screen on the opposite wall. Beyond that was a pool table to one side, and beyond that. . . . Beyond that was what Cyn was looking for. By now, that cold feeling was like a sharp blade of ice stuck in her chest, drawing her closer. Whatever was in that room wanted her to find it.

  She shivered. This wasn’t the manacles she was feeling. She’d touched the manacles in Hawaii, and now that she thought about it . . . yeah, they’d been oddly cold. But she’d been so busy getting them off Raphael, and then everything that had followed, that she hadn’t made the connection before now. But it hardly mattered, because this new feeling was like the manacles times a thousand. If she’d been reluctant before, she really didn’t want to venture any closer now. She sighed, knowing she had to do it, had to see what was in there, to see if it was what they were looking for.

  With determined strides, she walked over, did a quick scan of the door for obvious alarms or traps, then turned the knob and stepped inside.

  Marshall’s collection looked more like a very fine curio shop than a dangerous and valuable assortment of magical artifacts. The room was not that large, maybe twenty by twelve feet with a twelve-foot ceiling. Glass and steel shelves lined the walls, with several waist-high glass cases set up in the middle of the room. There seemed to be a climate control system inside that was separate from the rest of the house. The air was dryer and much cooler than the rest of the basement had been. But it wasn’t the cool air that sent chills shivering up and down her arms, it was the stuff sitting on the shelves all around her. Maybe not all of it, maybe not even most of it, but somewhere in that collection was something evil.

  Oddly, the concept of evil was something Cyn had never really bought into. To her mind, evil was something concocted by people to justify their own ambitions or sick needs. But as she stood there in that sterile room, she believed for the first time in the existence of true evil, and she felt tainted just by being there.

  Fighting the nausea roiling her gut, rubbing her arms against the chill, she was suddenly glad for the long-sleeved jacket and gloves which protected her bare skin from whatever lingered in that room.

  “Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Let’s just find the damn manacles and get out of here.”

  She began a methodical search, starting with the shelves nearest the door on her left and going around the room. It took longer than she’d expected. The displays were five shelves high and a yard or so wide, with every shelf eighteen inches deep and packed with . . . stuff. Some of the items were recognizable. Not that they looked magical—whatever that meant—but they were in recognizable forms. There was more than one crystal ball, which was almost a cliché, and several different pieces of jewelry. There were also any number of boxes—wooden, stone, lacquered, jeweled—you name it, there was at least one box made of it. There were obvious weapons, daggers or knives mostly, and a few bigger blades, as well. But then there were the odd pieces, the ones that defied description. She might have expected those to give off the most dangerous vibe, but that wasn’t the case. In fact, once she stopped and focused her supposed talent, it was clear that the most dangerous pieces were those in the display cases in the middle of the room.

  “Nice of him to sort it for me,” she muttered, wondering what kind of person would spend time and money on a collection like this. How did he know what this stuff did anyway? Maybe he was a magic detector, like her. That wasn’t a pleasant thought.

  She trailed her fingers over the glass of the display cases, feeling the chill through her leather glove. She was cruising along, pausing whenever something caught her eye, when she was abruptly struck by a sudden sense of urgency. The house was still quiet, but she had a bad feeling it wasn’t going to stay that way much longer. Or maybe it was just her subconscious mind warning her to get the fuck out of there. Either way it was time to find the manacles and leave. She picked up the pace.

  She’d reached the final display case, which ran the width of the room at the back, and had just about resigned herself to the possibility that Marshall hadn’t added the manacles to his collection yet, when she spied them in the middle of a group of decorative bracelets. She’d been a little worried that she wouldn’t recognize them when the time came. She’d only seen them that once, and admittedly her attention had been elsewhere. But there was no doubt in her mind now. They lay in the center of the case, and she knew if she touched them with her bare hand, she’d find them slimy and cold, just as they’d been when she took them off Ra
phael back in Hawaii.

  Scanning the edges of the case, she searched for a lock or hinge, but didn’t see anything obvious. Marshall wouldn’t have locked himself out of his own collection, so there had to be a way. But time was running out, and she didn’t give a fuck about Marshall. So with a quick glance at the still-open door, she pulled out her gun and, turning her face aside, slammed the butt of the weapon against the top of the case, shattering the glass and scattering shards all over the contents.

  Cyn was sure Nick would have a field day in this room and would probably castigate her later on for not grabbing whatever she could carry, but she was only after one thing. Let Nick do his own breaking and entering. Their deal—hers and Raphael’s—was for the manacles, and that’s what she’d deliver.

  Scooping them up with one hand, she swung her backpack off her shoulder with the other, and was about to slip them inside when a voice interrupted her.

  “You should really wrap those in silk. Magic is a tricky thing.”

  Cyn spun around to see Isaac Marshall standing in the doorway, looking smug and proper in a three-piece suit. He smiled.

  “Cynthia Leighton, if I’m not mistaken,” he said. “A vampire lord’s mate. You’re going to be my best acquisition yet.”

  She stared. Fuck that. The Glock was still in her hand. In a single move, she spun the weapon into firing position and pulled the trigger. But not fast enough. The bullets pinged off the inside of the closed door, followed by the unhappy sound of a heavy bolt being thrown.

  “Well, shit,” she muttered. Raphael was not going to be happy about this. Her only consolation was that Isaac Marshall would get what was coming to him once Raphael got hold of him. Creepy fucker thought having all this magical crap made him more than he was? He was about to discover just how insignificant one human could be in the face of a very pissed-off vampire lord.

  RAPHAEL WOKE IN a fury. He didn’t know whom he was more angry with—Isaac Marshall, who’d dared to imprison his Cyn, or Cyn herself, who’d gone off on her own this morning despite his ordering her not to. He swore to himself this was the last time this was going to happen. From now on, he was locking the damn vault door and not giving her the exit code.

  He picked up his cell phone and called Steve Sipes.

  “My lord, I take full responsibility—”

  “Don’t bother. We both know she’d have figured out another way to do whatever she wanted. She took one of the SUVs?”

  “Yes, my lord. Early this morning. She said she was having lunch with a friend in New Jersey.”

  Raphael made a rude noise. “Well, at least this way she has a vehicle we can track.”

  “Yes, my lord. I’m sending the GPS and address to your phone. The residence is owned by Isaac and Georgia Marshall.”

  “Send that information to Juro, as well. We’ll be down shortly.”

  Raphael disconnected and tossed the phone onto the side table as he climbed out of bed. He headed for the closet to get dressed, but first he took a moment to calm his mind and reach out to Cyn. She was the most courageous human he’d ever met, but she hated being helpless. And even though he was angry that she’d defied him, he didn’t want her to be afraid. She needed to know he was on his way, because nothing and no one would ever stop him from reaching her.

  Banishing the anger from his thoughts—Cyn would know he was pissed, he wouldn’t need to share that emotion with her—he reached out to her. There was no bond on earth stronger than that between a vampire lord and his mate, especially not when he was the lord in question.

  “Lubimaya,” he murmured in his thoughts.

  “Raphael,” she responded, and he could hear the relief in her thoughts, could feel the depth of that emotion.

  “I’m coming,” he said simply. Their bond was unshakeable, but it was better at conveying general thoughts and emotion, rather than words.

  “Cold,” she responded, which made him frown. What did that mean?

  “Cyn,” he called, but there was no answer. She was still there. He could feel her life force, could almost reach out and touch the bond between them. If she could have responded, she would have, which meant . . .

  A string of the filthiest Russian curses left his mouth as he raced to get dressed, grabbing up his cell phone at the same time. He punched in redial with one hand.

  “My lord?”

  “I want the remaining SUV programmed with those coordinates. Did you talk to Juro yet?”

  “He’s on his way down now, my lord.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Yes, my—”

  Raphael hung up before Sipes finished and punched Juro’s speed dial on his cell phone.

  “My lord,” Juro’s deep voice greeted. “I’m on my way to the garage.”

  “Five minutes. Sipes has the coordinates, and I’ll call that damn sorcerer. Let him be useful for a change.” He hung up without waiting for a response, drawing on his vampire speed to dress faster. Cyn was waiting for him.

  NICK WAS TURNING down the street in front of the vampire’s townhouse when his cell phone rang. He did a double take when he recognized the number. Raphael was literally the last person he’d ever thought to hear from. He’d expected Cyn to call, but not the vampire. The significance of that struck him suddenly. “Damn it, Cyn,” he whispered and changed directions, heading down the alley behind the townhouse instead. “I’m outside your garage,” he said, by way of answering the call. “What’s going on?”

  As if in answer to his question, the nearest garage door rolled up to reveal Raphael striding toward him, with vampires swarming all around. He would have rolled his eyes at the spectacle, except that he didn’t see Cyn anywhere in the mix.

  Leaving the Ferrari running, he stepped out of the car and stood there, holding on to the door. “Where’s Cyn?” he asked, the only question he really cared about.

  “She went to Marshall’s,” Raphael said tightly. “You can follow us in your car, or join me in the SUV. I don’t care which, but you have two minutes.”

  “I’ll join you. Open the other garage, so I can park this thing.”

  Raphael snorted a response, but signaled one of his people. The closed door rolled up, and Nick zipped the Ferrari into the spot. A human male was waiting when he got out of the car. He tossed the man his keys and climbed into the back seat of the SUV next to the vampire, noting the huge bodyguard in the front passenger seat, not to mention the three other vamps riding with them, two in the third row and one driving. They sped out of the garage almost before his door was shut. This was going to be fun. Only for Cyn would he do this.

  “So where is she?” he asked, trying to be casual and knowing he wasn’t succeeding. He was far more capable than most humans, but even he couldn’t hide his emotions from a vampire as powerful as Raphael.

  “Inside Marshall’s house,” the vampire said shortly. “That’s all I know.”

  Nick cursed. “Why—”

  “Why is not important. What matters is that she’s there, and she’s in trouble.”

  “She called you?” Nick asked intently.

  “She is my mate,” Raphael said, as if expecting everyone to understand what the fuck that meant. Except that Nick did understand. Vampires and their mates had a weird telepathic connection. Something to do with the blood. And for someone like Raphael? With Cyn as his mate? It must be almost like talking on the phone.

  “What happened?”

  The vampire’s jaw flexed visibly, his expression revealing anger . . . and something else. Fear? What the hell?

  “Is she hurt?” Nick demanded. “Did Marshall—”

  “Tell me about this Marshall,” Raphael interrupted.

  “I’m not worried about him, he’s a normal human. But I’ve tapped every source I could find and no one can t
ell me what all he’s managed to collect in there. Tell me what happened to Cyn.”

  Raphael glared at him in the dark car. Both of them had superior night vision, and they could see each other clearly. Nick was sure the vampire intended him to be intimidated by that glare, to bow and scrape like everyone else did around him, but that wasn’t going to happen. He was no vampire minion or terrified human.

  “Tell me,” he demanded again. “I can’t help her if I don’t understand.”

  The vampire looked like he’d eaten something sour, but finally he said, “I believe Marshall has her trapped somewhere inside his house.” His eyes closed briefly, his face revealing the first true emotion, other than anger, that Nick had ever seen from him. “The last thing she said to me,” the vampire nearly whispered, “was that she was cold.”

  “Cold,” Nick repeated, thinking. “Damn.”

  “What?” Raphael ground out.

  “Fucking Marshall’s playing with things he doesn’t understand. I bet he’s shoved his entire collection into a single room so he can admire it better. But some things shouldn’t be allowed to mingle. They’ll react off of each other, feed each other. And Cyn’s wide open to that.”

  “What will it do to her?”

  “Nothing if we get to her fast enough.” The vampire didn’t say a word to that, but Nick felt their SUV suddenly speed up. “Before we go in there,” he said tentatively, “you need to know that there were objects created in the war between our people. Things intended to strip vampires of their power.”