by C. P. Foster
If they hadn’t all been looking at her before, they were now.
“What?” The judge took a step toward her, pupils dilating.
An old and powerful mind probed hers, trying to entrance her into speaking the truth, but she had perfected her defenses against this particular talent. Hadn’t Sutherland told them she was immune? Maybe they hadn’t believed him. Or maybe this one thought she would succeed where he had failed. Sarah raised her chin and held the creature’s gaze. The mental pressure intensified for several seconds before it abruptly ended.
“I killed him,” she said, louder this time.
“Ridiculous!” Romero jumped up and started toward her, but his companion caught his arm again, and he stopped, glaring. “This creature is pathetic even by human standards. She could not possibly have killed my son!”
“That’s exactly how I was able to!” she shot back, suddenly furious. “He had his hands around Vanessa’s neck, and I saw the stake on the floor. He must have heard me moving, but he was so sure I was no threat that he just ignored me right up until I shoved that stake straight into his heart!”
Vanessa rushed forward a few yards before one of the guards appeared in a blur of supernatural speed to catch her.
“Don’t,” Morgan urged, putting a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I don’t care!” she hissed. “What are they going to do, kill me? I died a long time ago.”
All the vampires were on their feet now. Only one stayed back, a female who took in everything without expression, just watching while the rest moved closer. Small and delicate, with chestnut-brown skin and black hair, she must have been a teenager when she was turned. Yet her youthful appearance could not hide the air of ancient patience that hung about her. She waited, eyes following everything.
Sarah’s guards stood shoulder to shoulder between her and the crowd, and fear returned like the taste of copper in her mouth.
“Do you know the punishment for a human who dares to kill a vampire?” Romero demanded. His mouth twisted in a feral snarl.
“Is it any worse than what your son already did?” she snapped.
“You tell me. The punishment is to be flayed alive. You understand what that means? You are given just enough of our blood to keep you conscious while we peel the skin from your body. When it is done, you are dropped into a vat of salt water until you either drown or die of shock.”
Sarah stared at him. It was just a saying among humans: “I’m so mad, I could skin him alive.” No one really thought about what it meant.
She grew calm, then. The more horrible the threat, the easier it was to let her emotions float far, far away. Feeling left her, making her voice cool and almost toneless. “You’d better hope human authorities never find out. If they know you’ve done something that awful to a human, you can bet they’ll do something about it. Just watch what happens when it gets splashed across the five o’clock news. You just watch.”
James squeezed her shoulder. He looked to his child and then back at Sarah, and there was an odd sheen to his eyes.
“It’s not true!” Vanessa cried. “She’s lying, trying to protect me!”
Sarah interrupted quickly. “No, it’s the other way around. She’s been trying to protect humans, and now she’s trying to protect me from being skinned alive.”
“Quiet.” One of the judges, a plump girlish creature with dimples and curly brown hair, searched the crowd until she spotted the person she sought. “Sutherland. You and your team were the first to arrive. What did you see?”
The crowd shifted to allow him to make his way forward. His brows had drawn together, and he shook his head. “First thing I saw was the human and Miss Van Sickle. They were a few feet apart, facin’ each other, with the remains of a vampire pooling between ’em. A silver chain and a stake lay in the pool, along with Romero’s signet ring.”
“You could not tell who had done what?”
“We assumed Vanessa’d killed him, but I can’t discount the human’s version. Either of ’em might’ve done it.”
Arguments broke out among the vampires as the judges closed into an uneven circle and conferred amongst themselves. Vanessa stared at Sarah with pleading eyes.
It had been an impulse. She hadn’t thought, she’d just acted, but now that she had time to consider, she knew it was right. What sort of life did she have left, anyway? Maybe if Vanessa lived, she could stop this from happening to other humans. Her own life wasn’t worth much, but it might be if she could save Vanessa’s.
A tall figure pushed its way to the stage. Lord Scott’s shout cut through the other voices. “Enough! I call a meeting of the Covenant Council. This goes beyond the scope of the Tribunal.”
The noise dropped to a murmur, and the judges broke their huddle to face the crowd again.
“Agreed,” the lead judge said. “Chairperson?”
The petite woman who had stood back from the rest finally spoke. “Let us convene. Sovereigns or their representatives will remain. All others shall clear the room. The accused, her creator, and Miss Miller will be held in my suite. It is the most secure.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Vampires aren’t the only sadists in the world. They’re just better at it than anyone else.
—Dr. Elisha Lynn, Vampire Psychiatrist, PhD, MD
The countryside at night was all dark shapes, dotted with lights from houses and streetlamps. As they drove farther from DC toward her appointment with Julius Craft, those dark spaces stretched wider and deeper.
Angie spent the time going over the research she had done into the Belle Époque. The costume helped her get into character, with its swan-bill corset forcing her body into an unnatural posture, restricting her breathing to shallow, rapid inhalations. No wonder women fainted so much back then.
They’d been driving for nearly an hour when two loud thumps rocked the car. Joseph swore. Angie glimpsed a figure clinging to the hood, its face twisted into the enraged expression of a vampire in a killing frenzy. She froze in shock. Joseph’s reflexes were better than hers. He immediately took evasive action, trying to shake the thing off. The second thud must have been another vampire landing on the roof.
Her first confused thought was that Craft had started early in order to surprise her, but that was absurd. If it wasn’t him, there were only two other possibilities. She’d fooled herself into thinking she was safe.
The window to her left shattered into a thousand pebbles of safety glass, making Angie cry out and throw her arms up for protection. In the next instant, the car door was torn off its hinges with a banshee scream of metal, followed by a crash and clatter as it bounced down the road behind them. She lurched to her right, trying to get as far away from the threat as she could, but the seat belt kept her in place.
Not for long.
The straps disappeared, ripped apart as if they were made of tissue paper, and a hand grabbed her by the arm. Angie screamed. She tried to twist out of the crushing grip, but instead found herself yanked from the vehicle. The force of it wrenched her shoulder from its socket, causing such blinding pain that she hardly felt her body hitting the pavement. Dimly, she heard the screech of brakes as Joseph brought the car to a halt. Gunfire boomed. Ron wasn’t far behind, but would he get there in time? Angie tried to move, and pain slammed through her again. It was all she could do to rise onto her hands and knees. Before she could go more than a few inches, she was lifted off the ground, slung over someone’s shoulder, and moving at faster than human speed. The world blurred.
The agony of the dislocated shoulder nearly made her vomit. At first, she was too disoriented to do anything, losing precious seconds before she began to fight back. Angie twisted desperately and attempted to catch hold of the creature’s hair, but the corset limited her range of motion. She couldn’t do more than flail at his upper arms. In the distance, she heard another screech of tires, followed by more gunshots. Ron must have arrived on the scene. Either he or Jo
seph shouted something incomprehensible, and then brilliant light splashed across the trees like yellow paint. On its heels came the sound of an explosion that made her abductor whip around and curse. She recognized his voice.
Rimbeau.
“They’ve just killed your friend.” She gasped for breath, barely got the words out. “You’re next.”
Rimbeau threw her to the ground, igniting a whole new level of pain. The blackness of unconsciousness replaced the light.
When she came to, a hand grabbed the tangled mess of her hair and yanked her head up so she stared into Rimbeau’s face.
“I can hardly believe,” he said, “that you had the gall to travel to Denver. It may be an independent city-state, but it is in the heart of my realm. Did you really think I would not have spies there? One of my people saw you at the airport and followed you here, where you were kind enough to wait for me to arrive.”
He was right. She had underestimated his desire for revenge and hadn’t been as careful as she should have. The odds were in her favor, after all. What were the chances one of his people would see her in a city of hundreds of thousands of humans? They couldn’t keep every city in the United States under surveillance. But the Denver airport wasn’t just anywhere, it was a major hub, and in the heart of his territory.
When Rimbeau let go, she looked around. They appeared to be in a featureless metal box, elongated and empty. At the far end was a huge pair of doors, bolted shut. A humming sound vibrated through the floor, and she smelled diesel exhaust. An occasional bump sent a fresh spike of pain through her shoulder. He had her in the back of a panel truck.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Rimbeau grinned to show fully extended fangs. “I promised Soul Killer she could have you when I was done. Alive. I think she has something special planned.”
Icy fingers of terror curled around her heart. Angie’s mind raced. She knew every nuance of emotion must show on her face. Rimbeau’s grin widened as he watched.
“Not so sure of yourself now, are you,” he mocked.
Angie cradled her arm to take pressure off the injured shoulder, and edged away until she could lean against the wall of the truck. At least the corset had loosened enough to allow her to breathe properly. The ties must have broken during the struggle.
Rimbeau followed and crouched in front of her, his face so close their noses nearly touched. She could not tear her eyes away from his. This was the gaze of a sociopath, no matter what his species. He leaned in until his lips brushed her ear.
“Torture,” he whispered, “is like sex. It is better when it lasts longer. I’ll have two nights with you, and I intend to make the most of them.”
She flinched, evoking a laugh. The vampire caught hold of her hair again and jerked her head to one side to bare her throat. Fangs ripped open her vein. Her blood gushed into his mouth, spilled down his face, and soaked her clothes. The movement jogged her arm so one pain blended with the other. It built exponentially but didn't quite reach the point that would allow her to escape into unconsciousness. With her good hand, she clawed at him, trying to find a vulnerable spot on his face or neck, but he ignored the feeble attempts and drank as much as he pleased, stopping only when she went limp.
Rimbeau dragged her from the wall and knocked her onto her side with a hard slap. Angie’s face felt as though it were on fire. When she tried to crawl away, he caught hold of her hips and hauled her back.
“What an inspiring position.” He laughed, making her acutely aware of the fact that she balanced on her knees and one hand, her ass resting against his crotch. Panic sent her scrambling, but she could not get a good-enough purchase on the smooth floor of the truck, and he was far too strong.
Fabric ripped. Part of the dress fell away, and the underclothes followed, leaving bruises and friction burns behind. She panted, twisting and kicking as hard as she could. This was no negotiated session, no fantasy with boundaries to protect her. It was rape. The real thing did not arouse or thrill her in any way.
Rimbeau let go with one hand, almost long enough for her to wrench out of his grasp, but then he caught her again and yanked her back to him. She expected him to invade her vagina. Instead, his fingers thrust into the tighter, far more tender opening of her anus and tore at the delicate flesh.
She screamed.
Blood dripped warm from the shredded tissue, trickling down her thighs and lubricating her for him. Rimbeau held her with an iron grip and set the tip of his cock at the entrance. She flung herself wildly from side to side, too terrified to care about the pain of her shoulder, but he jerked her back and thrust forward at the same time, impaling her like a spear. The horror of this violation matched its physical agony. Sobs as loud as screams were torn from her over and over as his belly slapped her ass.
Detachment came at long last. It was not a conscious act, like the usual way she stepped outside of herself to keep control of fear or pain. Her mind simply shut down and went numb. She still felt the agony of everything he did, but from a distance, as though it did not concern her. Angie went limp and let him yank her around like a rag doll.
It didn’t take long for him to come. He shuddered briefly before shoving her away. Angie lay there, paralyzed with pain and humiliation. She had felt this before. The violations she’d survived so long ago had left wounds on her psyche that had healed only on the surface. He had just torn away the scabs.
She shook with rage as much as weakness. Angie turned her head enough to look at him. “So much for making it last.”
Rimbeau stared. She might have been even more surprised than he at the words that came out of her mouth. The control she’d exerted over herself for so long was nowhere to be found. All her bitterness and anger surged to the surface, unleashing her tongue for the first time in nearly a decade.
“You’re insane,” the vampire said. “Or do you think you can provoke me into killing you?”
“I think I can make you dance a jig if I want,” she snarled. “You’ve got the self control of a spoiled child. Did you seriously think you could charm me into falling in love with you? I’m a good actress, Rimbeau, but even I couldn’t have pulled off that fantasy. You’re pathetic.”
In a flash of speed, she was on her back and pinned beneath him. He clutched her jaw so tightly she thought it might break. The hard floor against her abused ass made her writhe and try to twist to the side to get relief, but he did not allow it.
“I’ll show you control,” he hissed. “The hell with Soul Killer.”
Angie laughed. “You’ve already lost control. When was the last time you openly attacked a human?”
He released her jaw and gave her a scant second of reprieve before his hand cracked across her face. Her vision swam out of focus. Then his hand was back, around her throat now, squeezing hard enough to make her struggle for air. The other brushed her dislocated shoulder. He pressed one finger on the joint, and she tried to scream but could not produce a sound. Animal instinct drove her to lash out. Her fingernails raked his face, narrowly missing an eye, but he caught her wrist and forced it out of the way. His head lowered so sharp fangs grazed her cheek. “Who’s dancing now?”
The tips sank into her just enough to break skin. He left delicate tracks from the outer corner of her eye to the side of her nose. She went still, afraid she’d injure herself worse if she tried to get away. His tongue slithered over the shallow wounds, making her shudder with revulsion. Rimbeau drew back a few inches, then struck. His teeth scraped her cheekbone.
Involuntarily, she began to struggle again. His weight left her, but an instant later he hauled her upright and ripped the corset in half to strip her nearly naked. Fangs already dripping with blood sank into her breasts over and over, ravaging the soft flesh until it was slick and red. The wounds did not heal as vampire bites usually did. The furrows and slashes remained open, bleeding profusely.
Out of the chaos of hysteria, she heard herself screaming, “Go on, rip me to pieces. Show me that con
trol you bragged about!”
Rimbeau stopped. He cocked his head to one side as though listening to some inner voice. Then he grinned. “You are very good at provoking me. But it won’t work.”
Almost jovial now, he sat and leaned his back against the wall. He hauled her across his lap with casual ease, one arm cradling her shoulders while his free hand moved over tattered flesh. Angie didn’t even try to struggle. Her ears were ringing, a strange wailing that rose and fell over and over. She was going into shock. Couldn’t that kill you? Perhaps it would, if she were lucky.
With surprising delicacy, his fingertips slid over her wet skin. “Shh,” he whispered, though she no longer made any sound. “It’s all right. I promise I’ll be gentle.”
Angie trembled and tried to curl inward, but he had different ideas. Rimbeau forced her to unbend so he could stroke her side. He ran his thumb over reach rib. When his hand stopped moving, the thumb pressed against one of them. The pain seemed trivial compared to the rest of her injuries. Then he drove in harder, one point of pressure intensifying until it became intolerable. He didn’t even have to work hard. To him this was indeed gentle.
The bone bent.
Angie started to squirm, but his arm around her tightened, and fresh pain throbbed through her dislocated shoulder. Rimbeau brought his lips to hers so she tasted the metallic tang of her own blood. He kissed her, and the bone snapped.
She opened her mouth to scream. He slid his tongue inside as if he could drink in the sound. Angie tried to twist her head away, but his fangs caught on her lower lip and she stopped, afraid he would tear it off. His thumb moved up to the next rib.
Rimbeau eased back from the kiss to gaze into her contorted face. He smiled with the sweetness of a lover. Slowly, he began again. Only a little pain at first, increasing by increments. Fresh tears poured down her face, burning the wounds there and mingling with blood that had begun to dry and go tacky.
