He moved forward and she stopped him by shaking her head. "Not so fast, please. May I ask one question first? Why me? Why me out of all the women in this city?"
Mikhail looked surprised. "You don't remember? Don't I look familiar?"
She shook her head once more.
"Of course, you were very young at that time. A child, really. With your mother having so many men in and out of your dingy hovel, why would I have stood out from the herd?"
It was as if ice water were dumped over her head. Dozens of shattered images replayed through her mind like a scratched record. The pattern of the musty old armchair where she'd hidden when her mother "entertained." The strange grunts and cries that had come from behind the closed door. All of her "uncles" wanting to hold her and fondle her. A teddy bear missing one arm. A tall blond man with cold skin and icy eyes.
It was that last night, a handsome blond man with a present for a small child. It had been a glorious china doll, the likes of which a little white trash girl had never seen. She remembered the familiar sounds of sex, the rattling bedsprings and the screams afterward. But these screams had been different, more terrifying. Still, she'd remained behind the chair, too frightened to come out. When the door had opened, Shai remembered feeling so relieved that everything was just as it had always been.
Only it wasn't her mother who emerged from the room, it had been Mikhail. He'd ripped her mother's throat out and drained her like the others. What he hadn't taken, he'd left to soak the bed and the floor around it.
She remembered being picked up and hugged by Mikhail, looking over his shoulder to see her mother lying in a pool of blood, her limbs bound with black silk scarves and her eyes staring accusingly at the young daughter she'd never wanted.
"I see you remember." He commented.
"Why? Why did you kill her?" Shai whispered. "She was all I had."
"Time makes your memory fuzzy, my love. She was but a whore, one of the countless in the world. She beat you, she starved you and she allowed men to pay her to fuck her. How long would it have been until she'd forced you to whore for her? How long would it have been before her customers began to look at you, paw you?" he roared. "She deserved to die!"
Her vision wavered and she felt the world threatening to recede as she struggled to remain upright. To faint now would certainly spell her death. Her only chance was to enrage him enough to forget himself, let his guard down and let her near enough to destroy him.
"You were too late, Mikhail." She feigned nonchalance. "You were years too late. I don't believe you killed her for any altruistic reason. No matter what she did to me or anyone else, no one deserved to die like that."
"I was not too late!" he snarled. "I saved you, damn it!" He began to walk around her in a slow circle like an animal stalking its prey. "Did you know your mother liked kinky things in bed? She loved to be tied up and whipped like a dog."
Shai clamped her lips shut to keep from screaming. Nothing he said mattered to her, she wouldn't let it. Her mother was dead and there was nothing she could do to rectify the past. All she could do now was save herself.
"You killed her to hide the fact that you couldn't satisfy a woman in bed," she taunted.
His face twisted with rage. "You fucking bitch."
She knew she had to push him over the edge. There was a slim possibility she could survive in hand-to-hand combat. If not, hopefully, he was so angry he'd destroy her quickly. "I heard her laughing while you were with her. I never heard her laugh at the other men, only you. Why is that? Are you defective below the waist? Can you get it up at all?" She gave him a scathing look. "I don't think so."
A cry of rage ripped from his mouth and he lunged at her. She braced herself and pulled the dagger from her pocket and aimed for his throat. With a snarl, Mikhail impaled himself upon the razor sharp tip. An almost comical look of disbelief crossed his face as blood squirted like a geyser, dousing Shai and the floor around her. She staggered back, scrubbing furiously at her eyes and sliding on the slick floor. The taste of blood filled her mouth while a dull roar filled her ears.
The world tilted wildly and she fell to the cement. She struggled to open her eyes only to see Maeve move toward her, as if to help, but Mikhail backhanded the young woman, knocking her to the ground where she lay still.
He loomed over Shai, calmly pulling the knife out of his throat. He smiled a feral smile. "You lose." His voice was raspy from his damaged vocal chords. "Don't you know you cannot kill a vampire? I told you before you watched too many movies."
"Bastard," she croaked. She watched in disbelief as the gaping wound closed itself, but she noticed he was much paler than before.
He began to remove his tie and unbutton his once-elegant shirt. "And to the victor, the spoils."
Her head throbbed and she was having trouble breathing. Everything seemed to move in slow motion around her. Grayness beckoned at the edge of her vision and she longed to give in to it. Curling onto her side, she clutched her legs, drawing them up into a fetal position.
"This is no time to play the innocent angel," he crooned, tossing his shirt aside. With a wave of his hand, she was stripped naked and clothed in a white silk nightgown. From the hard cement beneath her, a bed materialized, cushioning her battered body. Blood-red sheets adorned the bed and soon she was bound to the brass head- and footboard with black silk ties.
"Time to accept your new lover."
She wheezed painfully. Her ribs creaked, as if they were under a great deal of pressure. The pain was excruciating; yet nothing was touching her. She was freezing cold and her teeth chattered uncontrollably. She tried to move away as he settled on the edge of the bed, but her limbs wouldn't cooperate.
He roughly cupped one breast, but she could barely feel his hand. He was speaking to her, but she couldn't understand his words. It was like someone had turned down the volume on the television and all she heard was white noise.
A sudden movement swung her attention from Mikhail and toward an approaching shadow. All of a sudden, the sound was back with the bang of a gunshot.
Val stepped into the pool of light, anger flashing in his black eyes as he looked at the two of them on the bed. "Enough!" he roared.
Mikhail jumped up from the bed, his expression feral. "You? What are you doing here?"
"Stopping you," Val shot back. "I should have killed you years ago."
Mikhail laughed, a bitter, harsh sound. "Who are you kidding?" he sneered. "It was your mistake that made me into the monster I am."
"You're correct. I did create you and I will destroy you. It's my duty. You've wrought enough havoc in this world. It is over."
He withdrew a gleaming-edged sword from the scabbard at his waist and moved gracefully towards Mikhail, each movement deliberate, deadly. "You cannot escape. Give in to me and I'll show mercy." He spared a glance at Maeve, lying still on the cold cement floor. "Which is more than I can say for you."
"You won't get away with this, Val. You cannot kill another vampire. The Council will not allow this."
"Says who? I'm one of the oldest on this earth. I make my own laws."
A sword materialized in Mikhail's hand. He waved it at his adversary. "So be it. To the victor, the young woman." He slashed the air, not even close to the other man's sword. "Just think of me between those beautiful thighs." He nodded at Shai. "She won't even remember your name."
She raised her head weakly at the crash of swords. Val had Mikhail on the run. His movements were graceful, efficient, while Mikhail flailed wildly like a fish out of water. The blond vampire struggled to keep his footing as Val relentlessly backed him toward the wall.
Her head fell back to the bed as the sounds of battle grew muted and began to fade in and out. Snatches of their angry words washed over her.
"First blood to me," Mikhail chortled.
Shai turned to watch, her heart in her throat as her vision dimmed.
"Merely a scratch, 'twill be healed in moments." Val lunged and slashed at Mikhai
l's sword arm, nearly severing the appendage. "And the last will be to me," he growled. "Now you die."
A wave of pain crashed over her and she gave an agonized groan. Her stomach rolled. She hurt so badly. How could she stand it much longer? She was dying. She had to be. She couldn't feel anything from the waist down and she was so damnably cold. Mikhail's furious screams broke into her thoughts.
"This is not over," he snarled. "I'll destroy you and your rabid bitch!"
For a blissful moment, there was silence, then the crash of a sword striking cement. Val appeared next to the bed, his sword in one hand, his dagger in the other, and blood soaking his shirt. Shai forced her eyes to remain open as he leaned over her.
"My love," he whispered.
She blinked as she caught his worried expression and tried to reassure him with a smile. "What happened?" she groaned as more chills wracked her body.
He dropped the sword to the floor and cut away her bonds with the dagger. He pulled out a handkerchief and began to wipe the blood from her face. "He's gone, Shai. You did it."
She shook her head, stopping when the movement caused the pain to increase. "No, my love, you did," she panted.
"Did you make the right decision?" he asked. His voice was low, urgent. "You do believe I had nothing to do with these murders?"
"I was foolish. I was so afraid of trusting you. I've been hurt so many times. But that girl is gone now."
His eyes glinted devilishly. "I hope some of her remains with you."
"She does." Her eyelids drooped.
His hand stilled. "Shai, did you drink any of his blood?"
"N-n-no," she chattered as a violent icy chill shook her body.
He pulled the blankets around her in a vain attempt to warm her. "It splattered all over your face. Not even a drop entered your mouth?"
Shai frowned. She remembered stabbing Mikhail and his blood erupting from the wound. It had struck her in the face and mouth. It was possible that she'd swallowed some of it.
She nodded. "Yes, it's possible, but it was only a little. I'm just so glad that t-t-this is over," she chattered. Why was she so terribly cold? She forced her eyes open once more, looked up into his eyes and saw something had disturbed him. She tried to push away and he refused to let her go. She frowned. "What..."
"My angel. You're dying," he whispered.
She stared at him, uncomprehending. He looked about to cry. Was it because of her? "I can't be dying," she whispered. Tears filled her eyes as she became aware of the breath-stealing pain, spreading through her body as her organs ceased functioning. She raised a trembling hand to his cheek, shocked to see purple veins showing through her pale skin. "I can't... I just can't leave you," she cried softly.
"Do you want to stay with me?"
"More than life itself," she whispered as her eyes began to close. She felt so terribly weary. It was too much of an effort to keep her eyes open.
"You have chosen...wisely." His voice was whisper soft as he lowered his head to her throat and his teeth plunged into her neck. Her screams filled the storeroom.
The transformation began...
* * *
Retribution
Book II: The Shadow Dwellers
by
J. C. Wilder
Copyright © 1999 Lisa Hamilton
Previously published by Dreams Unlimited.
Cover Art by Emily Black
Cover Art copyright © 2001
Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1 [www.ltdbooks.com]
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data
Wilder, J. C., 1965-
Retribution [computer file]
ISBN 1-55316-072-X (electronic) ISBN 1-55316-930-1 (REB 100 1200)
I. Title.
PS3623.I45R48 2001 813'.6 C2001-902071-6
Dedication
If you are truly blessed, someone will enter your life and demonstrate that courage, strength and dignity are more than just words in the dictionary.
This one's for you Daddy.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the following people, without whose support there would be no J. C. Wilder.
Carol - Your friendship and wisdom mean more to me than you will ever know.
Julia - For saying "You Can" every time I say, "I can't."
Debbie - For listening to me blather about vampires, were- cats and witches...oh my!
To the Ladies of the Keep - may the Moet always be chilled, may the bonbons always be Godiva, and may the DB's always dance in your honor.
Chapter 1
Current day - London, England
Conor MacNaughten gripped his partner's generous hips as he thrust into her. Her magnificent breasts, highlighted by the harsh noonday sun, jiggled with his movements and with each thrust an excited cry broke from her lips. Damp blonde hair obscured her features as she dug at the tangled sheets with red-tipped claws. The scent of sex filled the air.
Catherine had the best breasts he'd seen in years, at least for breasts that were organically grown. Large and pert with coral shaded aureoles and distended nipples, these beauties were a feast for a starving man. And Conor MacNaughten considered himself a starving man. His hips never slowing, he leaned forward, took a firm nipple into his mouth and suckled deeply.
A hoarse cry emerged from Catherine's mouth as she bucked wildly beneath him. She reached for him and fisted her hands in his hair. He nipped at her breast, leaving a tiny love bite before lavishing attention on the other as he continued his slow thrusts. Rolling his hips easily as he slipped into her moist heat, he felt the faint tingling in the back of his calves that signaled his approaching orgasm.
"Conor...."
Mac paused, stifling a groan. While her body was any seventeen-year- old's wet dream, her voice was a definite problem. Shrill and somewhat whiny, it was the voice of a petulant five-year-old, not a mature, sexually adventurous woman. And he definitely was not in the mood to listen to it now. It had been over three weeks since he last had sex and he had some lost time to make up.
Without as so much as a "by your leave," he withdrew from her damp heat, and gathered the scattered pillows from the floor. As he bent over, his medallion swung forward on its fine gold chain and hit him on the nose. Impatiently, he tossed it over his shoulder and continued his task, piling the pillows on the bed. Grabbing her by her waist, he then rolled her over onto the pyramid of silk so that her generous backside now pointed upward.
"What are you...."
He cut her off by gently pushing her face down into the sheets, angling her backside even higher and exposing her glistening inner flesh. He thrust deep inside her once again and her muffled squeal of delight emanated from the bedcovers. Taking a firm grip on her hips, Mac settled himself in for a leisurely ride.
Current Day - South of Manchester, England
Terror and rage warred within Jennifer Beaumont's soul as she entered the sprawling house. Rage was winning the battle.
The massive front door slammed with a heavy thud as she kicked it shut. Her Italian leather pumps clicked sharply on the marble floor as she barreled toward the double doors of the library. She tossed her purse in the direction of the glass-topped table in the center of the foyer, where it glanced off the towering vase of pink and white gladioli. The arrangement tottered dangerously before righting itself.
"Damn his miserable hide," she swore as she wrenched the brass doorknob downward. She hit the oak door with the palm of her hand, slamming it backward into the wall with a crash, destroying the cozy scene inside.
The vampire Mikhail stood before the fireplace watching her entrance with an indulgent smile. Hundreds of years ago, she'd
thought Mikhail a handsome man. At six feet in height, every inch of it lean-muscled, he cut a striking figure. His pale gold hair was shorn just beneath his ears and neatly combed back to reveal a narrow face with exquisite cheekbones, sharp nose and a full mouth. With his impeccably cut black leather pants that accentuated his strong runner's legs and his flowing white silk shirt, he resembled a golden pirate of old. It was only when she looked into his eyes that she could see his one flaw.
He had no soul. His icy blue eyes reflected only emptiness.
"Damn your black heart, Mikhail," Jennifer ground out. "You've gone too far this time."
He laughed gently and held his arms out as if he expected a welcoming hug. "Darling Jennifer, is this anyway to greet your master?"
Jennifer could barely control the rage that flared as he spoke. She wanted to scream until the fine crystal of the chandelier shattered, raining down on them in piercing shards. She wished to tear him limb from limb, scattering the pieces to the ends of the earth. She wanted to personally escort his black soul to the very gates of hell.
Calling upon her infamous iron will, she restrained herself. Throwing a fit in front of Mikhail would accomplish very little. Indeed, it would only give him the upper hand.
"What have you done?" she bit out.
Mikhail's smiled smoothly, his movements fluid as he picked up a squat Baccarat crystal glass filled with a thick red liquid. Jennifer caught the scent of chilled blood, like cold wet pennies, as he slowly swirled the glass.
"I have no idea what you are speaking of, Jennifer," he purred. Never taking his eyes from hers, he took a sip of the liquid. Jennifer masked her revulsion as he swallowed.
Mikhail's smile broadened as he licked his lips and tipped his head slightly in her direction. "Is this an example of your legendary manners, Jennifer? You storm into my home, damage my library wall and so rudely ignore my guest." With one slim, pale hand, he gestured to the woman seated on the couch. "Your mother would be ashamed of you."
Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 1 Page 9
