We waited, but after nearly thirty seconds of radio silence, Dominic murmured, “I don’t know if this matters, but you did not say ‘over.’”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, for the love of—” I pressed talk. “Over.”
The walkie-talkie instantly crackled to life. “All of the doors in the first chamber have markers indicating the cell’s occupants. None of them say Bex. I’m moving on to the second chamber. Over.”
Dominic snatched the walkie-talkie out of my hand. “Do not leave the first chamber. What do the markers say?”
“You have to press talk,” I said, pointing to the button. “And then speak. After you say ‘over,’ then release the button so Walker can talk.”
Dominic blinked at me. “We cannot communicate simultaneously?”
“It’s not a phone. That’s why we say ‘over,’” I reminded him. “It’s a—”
“A walkie-talkie. Yes, I understand. I prefer my cell phone.” He pressed talk. “What do the markers in the first chamber say?” He released the talk button.
I reached over and pressed talk for him. “Over.”
Dominic shook his head. “This technology is outdated.”
I raised my eyebrows. “The problem isn’t with the technology.”
“If it doesn’t utilize service towers, how does it—”
“The cells are labeled with names and numbers; dates, I’m assuming,” Walker said, his crackling voice interrupting Dominic’s complaints. “Over.”
Dominic pressed talk. “Read the names.” He glanced at me. “Over.”
“What does it matter? They’re not Bex. Over.”
“It matters because I never utilized the cells in the first several chambers. If they are occupied, and if they are not Bex or one of the Day Reapers…” Dominic’s voice trailed off, his expression pained.
I stole back the walkie-talkie. “Just read the names, Walker. Over.”
“I’m already at chamber four. I’m not walking all the way back. We don’t have time for a recitation. Over.”
Dominic jerked violently.
“How many cells is that?” I asked.
“More than just the Day Reapers,” he said tightly.
The radio crackled between us. “I’m approaching the first door on my right of the seventh chamber. It’s the first that is not marked. Over.”
Dominic stared into my eyes, and I raised my eyebrow, ready for his call. He pressed talk. “Open the cell. Over.”
Seconds ticked by in years.
The walkie-talkie finally crackled. “The cell is empty. Over.”
I blew out a breath in pent anticipation.
“The cells only appear empty. Remember to shut and seal the door behind you,” he said. He released the talk button and waited.
I snatched the walkie-talkie out of his hands and pressed talk. “Over.”
Dominic rolled his eyes. “Jesus wept.”
The walkie-talkie crackled. “I have shut and sealed the door, and I’m moving into the next unmarked cell. Over.”
“Copy that,” I said.
Silence.
“This cell is empty too,” Walker said. “Over.”
I glanced at Dominic, but his expression was as hard and unmovable as granite.
Walker continued cell by cell, but after exploring all of chamber seven, eight, and half of nine, Dominic shook his head at me. “He skipped a cell. He must have. The alternative is unthinkable.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What’s the alternative?”
“That Jillian imprisoned the Day Reapers in random cells within random chambers. To check each cell in every chamber one by one in the Underneath would be impossible.”
“How many chambers are there?”
Dominic gave me an arched look. “Enough to accommodate centuries worth of past and future imprisoned vampires. Tens of thousands of chambers.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling overwhelmed by the scope and magnitude of such a search. “Crap.”
“Yes. Crap, indeed,” Dominic growled.
“Maybe she’s not imprisoned in the Underneath. Maybe—”
“She’s here,” Dominic insisted.
“Fine,” I snapped. “If she’s not in chambers seven, eight, or nine, and forgetting that she might be in chamber ten thousand and one, where else in the Underneath might she be? Bex’s name wasn’t on any of the occupied doors. We have nowhere to search except behind the next door.”
The walkie-talkie crackled. “Unless you have a better plan, I’m moving onto chamber eleven. Over.”
Dominic ignored him. “Say that again,” he said to me.
“Which part? That Bex might be in chamber ten thousand and one or that her name wasn’t—”
“Her name,” he said, suddenly fierce. “It’s not Bex.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, Bex’s name isn’t Bex?”
He gave me a look. “You think Madonna’s or Cher’s mothers named them with only a first name? ‘Bex’ is a nickname.”
I arched a brow. “You know who Madonna and Cher are, but you can’t work a walkie-talkie?” I shook my head. “Okay then, what’s Bex’s real, full name?”
The fire in Dominic’s eyes banked, and his expression returned to granite.
I blinked. “What’s wrong?”
“She would not want Ian Walker to know her real, full name,” he said.
“It’s not as if he has the ability to use her name to entrance her, like I could as a night blood,” I pointed out. “I think between the two, she’d prefer we not leave her to rot inside the Underneath.”
Dominic’s frown deepened. “No matter Walker’s inability to entrance, informing him of her full name is still giving him knowledge over her that she would not want him to have, and if I know anything about Walker, I know he’d create some crazy plan to use that knowledge against her.”
“At least she’d be alive to face him and his crazy plan.”
Dominic clenched his hand into a fist as he thought over the limited options before him. Finally, he came to a decision and held out his empty hand to me.
I slapped the walkie-talkie into his palm, and he pressed talk. “Change of plan. Jillian may have used an alternate name to mark Bex’s cell. Over.”
“An alternate name?” Walker asked. “Why would she do that? Over.”
Dominic’s expression was unyielding as he said, “The Day Reapers have internal nicknames they use for correspondence that only Masters are privy to. Jillian may have used these alternate names to mark the Day Reapers’ cells, hoping that, should someone in the coven attempt a rescue, as we are attempting to do now, we would not find them. Over.”
“Tell me the name, and I’ll double back through the chambers. Over.”
Dominic shook his head—a slow, nearly unconscious motion. When he spoke it wasn’t into the walkie-talkie. “He knows I’m lying.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe—”
“Yes, I do. I can hear his excitement and anticipation like the chime of Christmas handbells.” Dominic cocked his head. “Can’t you?”
I listened to the silence of the cave and gaped, astonished. I could hear the chiming crescendo of Walker’s anticipation, the tolling of the bells. “Oh,” I said for the second time in as many minutes. “Double crap.”
Dominic’s unyielding, granite expression broke into a reluctant smile. “Double crap, indeed.” He shook his head, sobered, and pressed talk. “Yes, turn back and look for the name Beatrix Beautreau. Over.”
The radio crackled. “You got it. Over.”
Something shifted in the air, something minute, and if I hadn’t been listening so intensely to the texture of emotion on the air from Walker’s bells, I wouldn’t have even noticed it.
I grabbed Dominic’s forearm and squeezed.
“What
are you—” Dominic saw my expression and froze.
I pointed to my ear and cocked my head. Dominic’s gaze turned inward as he listened. I saw the exact moment he heard what I heard, whatever the hell we were hearing. His otherworldly eyes widened, and something I dreaded more than any other danger we could face crossed Dominic’s expression: fear.
“What is that?” I asked.
“We need to leave. Now,” Dominic said. He barked as much into the walkie-talkie, his snapped “over” like a well-aimed bullet.
“I don’t understand. What—”
“It’s Jillian. She knows we’re here, and she’s not surprised.” Dominic ran a hand through his hair.
“You don’t know that,” I said, but even as the words came out a second time, I could hear the rising desperation in my tone. Of course Dominic knew; he knew fucking everything, damn it. “You could be wrong.”
“I’ve heard that emotion from her before, when she ambushed me and left me for dead in that alley,” Dominic insisted. “It’s the sound of relief and triumph and deep, roiling regret.”
“You don’t know that!” I whisper-screamed at him. “She betrayed and attacked you months ago, and you didn’t even know it was her at the time. You’re projecting. You—”
“I know what I heard. That sound is coming from Jillian. She’s coming for us and not coming alone,” Dominic said. He pressed talk. “Walker, do you copy? Abort mission. Pull out now. Over.”
The radio crackled. “I found a cell marked with the name Beatrix Beautreau. Over.”
Dominic closed his eyes, looking pained. “If we don’t leave now, Jillian and whoever she has sent to kill us will surround us. We will be ambushed.”
“If we leave now, we won’t have the opportunity to save Bex again,” I argued.
“The bones in that cell might not even be hers. This could all be a fucking trap,” he spat.
“We knew going in there would be risks. Jillian coming for us doesn’t change that; it just means we need to do whatever we’d planned to do now. Right now,” I said. “Because there’s no going back.”
Dominic touched my face, his thumb sliding slowly across my cheek. He pressed talk. “Open the cell. Over.”
I bit my lip and tasted blood.
The radio crackled. “It’s Bex. Over.”
I grasped Dominic’s wrist and pulled his arm and the walkie-talkie to my mouth. “Are you sure? Did you find her eye patch? Over.”
“Yes, she’s wearing an eye patch, but besides that, she’s not as deteriorated as she should be. She’s badly burned, but her burns are not to the bone. I can easily recognize her face. Over.”
Dominic dislodged his wrist from my grip. “Have you crossed the threshold? Over.”
“Negative. Over.”
The shifting emotion on the air grew louder, like the electric gust of a summer storm.
“What weapons do you have on you? Over,” Dominic asked.
“Every weapon,” Walker said. “What’s the plan? Over.”
“Bex might look unconscious, but when you cross the threshold, the scent of your night blood may revive her. Incapacitate her before she gains consciousness. Cassidy and I will fend off Jillian up here—”
“We will?” I asked.
“—so be quick about it. Do not inflict unnecessary or permanent harm,” Dominic clarified. “But ensure that she will not impede our escape. You have two minutes to get her and get out. Over.”
“Copy that. Over and out.”
Dominic handed me the walkie-talkie. “You stay here and guard the corridor,” he ordered. “I’ll stand guard at your back.” He jerked his thumb at the other side of the crevice.
“We are facing whatever is coming for us alone?” I asked. “Without weapons and backup? That’s the plan?”
Dominic squeezed my hand and stroked a finger down one of my extended talons. “You are our weapon,” he said.
I waited for him to laugh and hand me a silver-loaded shotgun from Walker’s pack, but when he just continued stroking my talon, I realized that wasn’t a punch line. “You’re serious,” I said, stunned.
He blinked, staring at me as if I was the one mentally deranged. “Of course.”
I felt the slide of blood down my chin and realized I was biting my lip again. Hard.
Dominic released my hands and wiped the blood off my chin with a smooth swipe of his thumb. “They’re coming, ready or not.” He licked my blood off his thumb.
“I’m not,” I said. “If I’m all that stands between us and Jillian, we’re dead meat. Literally, dead fucking meat. How can you even think that I—”
Dominic cupped my face in his hands, surrounding me with his sheer size and confidence, and effectively cut off my rant by pressing his mouth against mine. Despite the urgency of the moment, with Jillian and her coven bearing down on us from above and Walker facing Bex from below, Dominic’s lips were soft and coaxing. I pressed closer, demanding more of him, needing to feel something real and solid and unmovable in my hands, something that could give me the courage and strength to face the impossible.
He responded to my duress, wrapping his arms around my back and urging our bodies hip to hip, chest to chest. He tightened his grip on my face and slipped his tongue between both our fangs. I met him stroke for stroke, fisting my hand into his shirt, clawing my nails down his back, and writhing in his arms. His muscles, like silk-wrapped steel, surrounded me, his strength held me, and his well-versed, thorough tongue scorched mine, but instead of taking all that muscle and strength and experience into me, his kiss only illuminated the insurmountable distance Dominic and I had crossed to find each other and this moment, and in surviving that journey, how much we had to lose.
Emotions that I’d never dreamed of experiencing again, and especially not with this man, bloomed from our collide: passion and trust and intimacy and understanding like I’d never believed could exist thrived in the microscopic space between his body and mine—as much one person as two people could be. The groove of his scar—what was once an intimidating addition to his frightening appearance—now reminded me of his humanity and compassion. The hard bulk of his fangs behind his lips, once undeniable proof of his monstrousness and our incompatibility, was a comforting reminder that he’d thrived in this life with dignity and pride, and that I could, too, no matter the frightening savagery of my new appearance.
Dominic tore his lips from mine, his breath harsh and uneven, and terror like I’d never felt before—minutely comparable to the horror I’d felt when coming face-to-face with Nathan as the Damned—doused the flames of our kiss.
I shook my head, frantic. “I can’t lose you.”
His hands tightened around me. “You won’t.”
“You can’t know that.” I punctuated my outburst by pounding my fists into his chest. “When we started all this—when we first met and I discovered the existence of vampires—I was alone. I didn’t think I had much to lose except my life, but that was worth the risk if it meant gaining a good scoop, furthering my career, and exposing the truth. Now…” I grazed my fingertips over the jagged dip and pull of his scarred lip and shook my head. “It’s not just my life on the line anymore.”
“After being transformed, I thought I was stronger for surviving the loss of my humanity and family, like steel cast in fire.” Dominic loosened his grip on my back and ran his finger gently over my cheek. I could hear the reverberating howl of the Damned, but Dominic didn’t pull away, and neither did I. “Meeting you was like being cast into fire all over again. I am all too aware of the distances we’ve crossed together, of the delicate, precious bond we formed when neither of us was looking, but I’m not scared of everything we have to lose. We are stronger together than we are alone. Together, we can survive anything,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “We will survive this.”
I shook my head. From th
e vibrating impact tremor foretelling their approach, we wouldn’t be facing Jillian. Or maybe we would, but in addition to Jillian, we would be facing the Damned.
He stopped my protests with both hands on my cheeks.
“We survived our best friends betraying us. We survived your brother being Damned. We survived the loss of my coven and your humanity. Together, damn it, we will survive this.”
His conviction was absolute, which I suppose was good, considering I had enough fear and doubts for the both of us as one of the Damned turned a corner in the tunnel and charged.
Chapter 9
Time is a puzzling thing; we mark it in years and dissect it into months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds, so we’re keenly aware of exactly how long it takes for time to pass. One minute takes sixty seconds whether you’re bungee jumping or waiting in line at the post office, yet one minute for the first can pass in what seems the blink of an eye and the latter can seem like an eternity. We lament the time we’ve lost, stress over how time flies, bemoan how time drags, and fear how little time we have, yet no matter how we perceive the speed of time, it ticks on, second upon second, a steady, man-made mechanism to measure our finite lives. Knowing all of this, time must have continued ticking after I caught sight of the Damned bearing down on us at the end of the tunnel—in fact, I know that it did, because I could hear the mechanical spring of Walker’s skeleton watch fastidiously keeping time—but for me, it seemed to instantly and utterly stop.
Beyond the banal ticking of Walker’s wristwatch, I could sense the relentless, consuming rage from the approaching Damned. I heard the static roar of their driving hunger, smelled the salivating anticipation of that first bite—the juicy tear and warm flood of blood from my punctured heart—and tasted the spicy pepper of its contracting muscles. The Damned were suffering, craving peace from a thirst they couldn’t slake, comfort from a place that was home, and love from a woman who wasn’t family.
The creature was nearly at the crevice, only a few yards from reaching us. I watched it approach, not necessarily in slow motion—I knew how fast and powerful and unavoidable a force was barreling toward us—but with an unconcerned confidence I’d never experienced before, especially not when facing such a physically intimidating creature. In my former life, I’d have been frightened to the point of being physically ill when coming face-to-face with the Damned. In my former life, my body hadn’t matched the fierce strength of my spirit—had, in fact, been deteriorating without my permission for years.
Day Reaper Page 10
