by Jess Haines
Her expression turned sardonic. Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Sorry, just asking. I’m not exactly familiar with mage-work like that.”
Even as I said it, I realized that wasn’t true. Maybe the collar she was wearing was something like the collars on Christoph and Ashi, Royce’s unwilling “guests” back in New York. They were werewolves, but because they had attacked him on his own turf, Royce had chosen to hire a mage to find a way to prevent them from using their supernatural strength or shapeshifting powers. Thanks to the collars they wore, they were, for all intents and purposes, human.
Better than being dead, I supposed, though Ashi might have disagreed with me.
“I require a mage to remove it,” Iana said. “Max will never do it of his own accord.”
Arnold might not like the idea, but if I could get this woman to help me escape I would do anything to help her. Even without knowing what kind of Other she was, whatever she was capable of without that collar, it couldn’t possibly be worse than what Max was doing to me and the rest of these people now. I was willing to bet that, like Royce, now that she had known captivity she was unlikely to hurt anyone without serious forethought once she was freed. She would probably need shelter. Friends. Someone who understood.
Even if Arnold wouldn’t help her, I wouldn’t stop until I found someone who could. She had to believe it—and so did I—if I was going to get her on my side.
“If we can get out of here, I know someone. He’d help you.”
She didn’t reply, her gaze going distant as she gave another tug at the metal band around her neck.
I tried again, a little more forceful this time. “I promise. If we can find a way out, I know a mage. He can probably do something about it for you.”
“What makes you think you can? I’ve been that monster’s prisoner since he was driven out of Boston during the police strike. A century, mortal. What makes you think you can find a way out of here when I am so much more than you and I’ve been trying for a hundred years?”
“Hey,” I said, tone sharp to cut through the despair she was radiating before it could infect me, too. “Don’t give up before we’ve even tried. You didn’t have me here before. We’ll find a way.”
The flat look she gave me wasn’t encouraging. I mustered up a glare, hiding creeping doubts behind a not-so-false anger that she wasn’t even willing to give me a chance.
“Are you going to help me or not? If you prefer to stay here, by all means—”
Her voice was soft, raw, but I still shut up when that haunted gaze met mine. “Please. I can’t remember what I looked like. I can’t be like this forever. Stuck in this body. This weak. I can’t.”
She probably didn’t realize her nails were digging into her skin, thin rivulets of golden liquid trickling down her forearms, accompanied by that sick-sweet smell of her strange blood. I grabbed her wrist, pulling until she noticed and stopped hurting herself. Glowing eyes narrowed and focused intently on me.
“Listen,” I said, “we’ll figure out a way out of this. Help me, and I’ll figure out a way.” Somehow.
Another voice from behind startled me. “You promise? You’ll get us out of here?”
If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought I was looking at Mouse’s twin. The mute vampiress had been turned by Max, and he’d been very intent on getting her back when he invaded Royce’s home, so maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised to see someone who looked so much like her. This girl was shakier, maybe, human and still talking, but otherwise a dead ringer.
Startled by that thought, I glanced around the room at the others peeking in warily from behind furniture or just beyond the doorways in the other rooms. Max was keeping a bunch of humans on hand for I-really-didn’t-want-to-think-about-what. At first I thought they were all women, but then I spotted a single man in the back, hollow-eyed, slender and swarthy. Even though his skin was naturally a darker hue, he looked too sallow to be healthy. As soon as he noticed I was looking at him, he averted his gaze.
Now that I was paying more attention, it looked like most of the women here—save for myself and Iana—were short, curvy brunettes. Most had pale skin and a fragility about them that made them all look like china dolls. They looked delicate and easily breakable, and, in some cases, already broken. The lost and hopeless or empty expressions were more prevalent than those with hope.
Knowing Max had a type was enough to set my skin crawling all over again.
The woman who had spoken to me was biting her lower lip, doe-eyed and clearly frightened. Whether she was scared of me or Iana or maybe of Max overhearing our plans was up for debate. Still, there was a sliver of trust in her gaze that made me ache for her. I only hoped I was worthy of whatever confidence she and the others trapped here might put in me.
“If I find a way out of here, I’ll come back for you. All of you. I won’t leave you here.”
Couldn’t leave them, more like. The thought of what Max must have been doing to these people sickened me to consider. No wonder they were so frightened. Mouse had failed to obey him once and was rewarded with decades of torture and the loss of her voice. What it must have taken to make a vampire as old as she was, who should have been able to heal most any wound instantly, lose her voice was too horrific to consider for long. What might he do to these girls if I found a way out of here and he thought they had helped or supported me somehow?
Not to mention that he might have Sara and Devon in his clutches. I had no idea what he or Fabian or Gideon might have done to the two after capturing us and knocking me unconscious. Devon was a White Hat—a human who was part of the Kill All the Supernaturals Because They’re Scary and Different club. He was probably still alive, if a bit emotionally scarred, since Gideon had taken a shine to his good looks. Of course I was worried about him, but I considered Devon to be smart and capable enough to find a way out of the mess. On the other hand, Sara, my best friend and business partner, should never have come with me to California. She didn’t have the experience with vampires that I did, and it was my fault she was taken. Maybe even dead. She shouldn’t have had anything to do with the Others, and had only come to Los Angeles because she had unwittingly been dragged into messes of my making.
The more I thought about what had happened to us and what Max might be planning, the angrier I became. I had to take a few deep, slow, measured breaths to keep my vision from turning hazy with whatever Other-ness was infecting me. I clenched my fists and focused grimly on the need to plan over the desire to dissolve into a helpless, hysterical wreck. Max frightened me, yes, but he had to be stopped. If I got out of here and he couldn’t get his hands on me, I had no doubt he’d take out his frustrations on anyone he thought might have done something to aid me. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to these girls, not to anyone.
This was about more than just me. This was more than just my personal safety and liberty at stake. Not only these victims surrounding me with their cautious, fragile hope, but whoever else might be stuck in the lower levels, and any men, women, and Others who might be taken in the future for Max’s slave auctions.
Not to mention any Others Max was planning to kill or enslave as he carried out his plots to take control of more territory. Clyde Seabreeze might only have been the first—or maybe only the first vampire whose territory was taken in Max’s name that I knew about. After all, I had witnessed his failed attempt at wresting control of New York from Royce. Who was to say it had been the first time he’d done something like that? And it had been clear from his tactics that he did intend to take control of the area and the weaker vampires in it, not destroy them. Even if he wasn’t a nice person, the former Master of Los Angeles could still be alive, captive somewhere. If this Ian Taft person was next on Max’s to-do list, he had to be warned. They all needed to be saved.
There had to be a way to stop this operation. As scared as I might be, I had a purpose now. No matter what might happen to me, I had to find a way to destroy Max’s empire, stop his plots to t
ake more power and land, and free these people. No matter how tempted I might be to give in to fear or weakness, I couldn’t afford it anymore. There was too much at stake.
I started pacing, needing to work off some of my jittery energy so I could focus. Alternately flexing and clenching my fingers, I ignored the others as they scattered. Their fear of me wasn’t helping my concentration.
Max obviously wanted something from me, but how he intended to make me an obedient little puppet and what he thought I might be able to do for him or give him was anyone’s guess. Chances were, he was either going to use me as bait or to hurt Royce again. Or, seeing as he had taken so much interest in the Sunstrikers, he might think my connection to the werewolves would give him a way to make another attempt at taking control of New York.
If I was going to get out of this mess, I had to be smart about it and come up with a way to fool Max into thinking I was beaten and cowed.
The trick would be maintaining what was left of my sanity and not falling into the trap of being beaten into submission. Somehow I would have to fool him into thinking he was exerting his will over me while holding on to my plans of escape and revenge. If he managed to break me down enough to truly control me, or lost his temper and gave me another taste of his blood to bind me to him permanently, I might as well already be dead.
Chapter Six
Max came back for me a few hours later, though he took a different approach. He entered the room, scanning the stricken faces of his captives until he spotted me. The smile that curved his lips could have been considered charming if it wasn’t so devious.
Instead of making a grab for me or using his mind-mojo to order me around, he stayed by the door and held his hand out to me.
“Shiarra, come with me. I won’t harm you.”
I eyed the outstretched hand with open distrust. Yeah, right. And I’ve got some beachfront property in Kansas to sell you. Though I bit my lip to keep from saying the words out loud, I couldn’t bring myself to move any closer to him. Pretending to be cowed wasn’t that hard since he scared the shit out of me. Pretending to be obedient was something else entirely.
Irritation flashed over his features once it sank in that I wasn’t about to jump to obey. He started to move forward before thinking better of it, staying by the door and gesturing sharply for me to come closer.
“Would you like to be returned to that room in the basement? I’m not in the habit of rewarding insolence, girl.”
As badly as I wanted to bristle at his tone, the last thing I wanted was to be trapped underground again. At least in here I could see daylight, and I wasn’t completely alone.
Resigned, I trudged over, though I didn’t take his outstretched hand. The vampire’s fingers locked around my wrist. It wasn’t just the chill of his touch that made me shiver, goose bumps breaking out over my skin.
He led me out of his bedroom and through a winding corridor, then downstairs to a large room with one door, two fold-out chairs, and nothing else. The windowless walls were whitewashed, the chill from the floor tile nipping at my toes as we shuffled inside. The drain and slight dip in the floor didn’t bode well for this place’s purpose. Compared to the opulence of the rest of this palace, the austere surroundings were at once both striking and imposing. He let me go, seating himself in the nearer chair to watch me with cold detachment as I stood there like an idiot, nervously fidgeting with the hem of my robe, waiting for him to say something.
When it became obvious that no explanations were forthcoming, I inched over to the other chair and sat down. Slow, careful, just in case it wasn’t here for me—but he didn’t stop me, and still didn’t say anything. I adjusted the robe as much as I could to keep it from gaping open.
The silence was unnerving the hell out of me. “Why am I here?”
“Patience. You’ll see.”
Well. That was helpful. I fished again, curious if he’d spill anything useful.
“Why did you take me?”
Max glanced at me, one brow arching as his expression turned quizzical. “Why would I not take you when the opportunity presented itself? You are valuable in the eyes of my enemy.”
It made a twisted kind of sense, but it didn’t give me any clues about why I was in this room or what his plans were for me. Not knowing with certainty why he kept threatening me with binding without following through was driving me around the bend. There had to be a reason for it. Like Royce had when I first met him, Max was manipulating my fears to make me do what he wanted. It didn’t mean his threats were empty, but it did mean he was avoiding the easy way of controlling me—through a permanent bond of blood—for reasons he wasn’t putting on the table.
Though I wasn’t hopeful he would answer, I figured it couldn’t hurt more than it already did to ask.
“So what am I here for? What are you going to do to me?”
He smirked, his tone droll. “I suppose you’re afraid of being ill-used.”
“Yeah, you know, this whole master-slave thing you’ve got going on has put some really unnerving mental images of chains and leather junk holders in my head. Can’t imagine why.”
His blank expression told me my admittedly twisted and inappropriate humor was lost on him.
“Look,” I said, “I don’t know what you want, and I don’t really want to die.”
Max shook his head, his brows knitting and mouth twisting into a frown. Bordering on irritated. “I believe I have already expressed that you are worth more to me alive than dead. For the moment, all I want is for you to obey when given an order.”
“Come on, that’s not what I mean. Chances are, if you don’t tell me what’s expected of me, I’ll piss you off and bad things will happen. To me. A lot. I don’t like that idea, and I’d like to avoid that scenario of me being a whipping post as much as possible. Can you give me some clues here? Please?”
“Your fear is understandable.” He rose, stalking closer on light feet. There wasn’t any point in running away, but I was too cowardly to hold my ground. I rose and scooched away until my back hit the wall.
I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t meet his gaze. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to flail and scream when his hand closed over my throat. Not that I could have managed a sound once his fingers tightened. The pressure startled me enough to open my eyes, if only to slits, as my own hands came up to his wrist to try to pull him off of me.
“Don’t fret, my dear,” he said, breathing the words in a low, menacing hiss. “It’s not your place to worry about these things. You’re still under the impression you have free will. Until you’re convinced of your place, we’ll take it one command at a time. Relax and be still. Just do as you are told and you’ll find it is not so terrible to be mine.”
Not so terrible. Says the mass-murdering, slave-trading, misogynistic sociopath. His total confidence that I would be “convinced of my place” made my muscles quiver and twitch, but if doing what he said would save me some pain, then I would make an effort to play along—for now. I stopped pulling at his wrist, loosening my grip. As I did, so did he, his hand withdrawing to rest against my cheek instead. Though I gasped for breath, I stayed where I was, not wanting to provoke him into doing something else to hurt me.
On the bright side, since I was both human and a girl, maybe at some point he would underestimate me in a way I could use to my advantage.
His fingers lingered on my chin, drifting up to run the pad of his thumb over my lower lip. Resolution to play along or no, I flinched and slapped his hand away, turning my head to the side and bracing for the inevitable retaliatory blow.
It never came. Instead, he laughed.
“Oh, I see now. You think your virtue is in danger of compromise, don’t you? Is that why you shy from my touch?”
“It occurred to me,” I muttered.
“Not to worry,” he said, his tone gone light with mirth as he strolled back to reseat himself in the chair he’d earlier vacated. “I’m afraid you’re not up to my standards,
my sweet. In all practicality, you’re hardly malleable enough for the purpose, and you will be no good to me if I break that fragile spirit of yours.”
Thankful for the added distance between us, I peered at his features to see if I could detect any signs of a lie without opening myself up to being bespelled. I didn’t see any facial tics. That coupled with the inflection of his voice and his eyes remaining steady on rather than sliding away from or seeing through me made me fairly certain he was telling the truth. He might feed on or even hit me again, but he didn’t have pantsfeelings for me. Score one for the home team.
Marginal relief at having one of my most pressing worries put to rest eased some of the tension knotted between my shoulders. I was by no means in the clear yet, though, and the courage that I’d scraped up to grill him about his plans had deserted me.
There was nothing of interest in here but him, and considering he might try to pluck my eyeballs out if he caught me at it, staring at the guy wasn’t an option worth exploring. I picked at the remains of one of my broken nails, attention fixed on my hands, though I watched from the corner of my eyes as he plucked imaginary lint from his tailored slacks.
It was probably only a few minutes, but it felt like hours later when the door opened, several figures outlined in the frame.
Sara, pushed from behind, stumbled inside and fell to her knees. I was across the room like a shot, kneeling to wrap my arms around her and glare up at whoever had pushed her.
Fabian, master vampire of San Francisco and conqueror of Los Angeles, grinned down at us, his pet necromancer Gideon following in his wake. A pair of zombies brought up the rear. I didn’t recognize the first one, but a pang of loss and regret sliced through my heart when I saw that the other was Tiny.
The big man’s eyes were sunken and filmed over, his mouth slack and dark skin turned a mottled gray in death. His head lolled unsteadily, probably due to how Fabian had snapped his neck when he killed him.
Once both zombies were inside, Gideon kicked the door shut and leaned against it to survey the room. Tall, slender, and dapper in a dark green suit that would have looked ridiculous on someone else, he smirked and gave me a little finger wave when he noted my attention was on him.
