There wasn’t much to say at this point anyway.
The first night, they healed quickly from their beatings, exchanging energy to keep each other strong, trying to come up with a way to fight back. The next morning, as if White Suit had heard them, the overhead lights were turned on bright, and only when Fitz felt the distinct nausea and exhaustion seeping to his bones, did he realize the bulbs had to be special UV lighting, to induce feebleness and lassitude, imitating the sun.
With no fresh blood to recover from their wounds, they grew weaker every passing day, their injuries slow to heal. He flinched, wrapping an arm around his middle. His ribs were fractured, making it a challenge to take in a breath. One never felt more related to humans than when their supernatural strength was depleted.
It’d been days since he’d fed from the vein, even longer for Spencer. Eventually, they would be so infirm there would be no recovery. Clearly, White Suit was a master tormentor and believed he had all the time in the world. If he hadn’t so much time, Fitz was sure the suffering would be going on 24/7 until one of them died or gave Marex up.
Thing was, there was nothing to give up. Neither he nor Spencer knew Marex’s headquarters, agenda, or the names of those in his faction.
White Suit didn’t believe them.
Even if Fitz knew everything, he wouldn’t have told him shit, knowing it would be his doom. And if he was meant to die this way, then it wouldn’t be by betraying Marex to a fucking fat, spineless human. At all costs he would protect his family name, his reputation, his legacy.
And above everything, protect Gaelen.
Her name hadn’t been mentioned thus far, which meant one of two possibilities: they didn’t know about her or they were saving her as the final piece of torture. What would he do if it was the latter?
Gods. Please. If I see her face down here other than in my dreams, I will damn you all.
He meant it. It wasn’t a wise move to damn the gods openly, but he would if something happened to his Gaelen.
The deadbolt made a sharp clank sound as it was moved to the unlocked position.
The lights flickered out.
What was happening?
He checked his watch. 4:00 AM. Hours before White Suit’s daily consistent arrival of 7:00 AM.
What did that irregularity mean? Someone new? The UCC was going to take over? They were to be dragged outside before the morning sun on their knees?
With a snarl, Fitz stood and approached the bars.
He would go to his knees for no one.
The heavy metal door screeched open and feet started down the steps.
Halfway down, a pair of high heels and slim ankles showed first, baffling him, then a pair of feminine legs.
A woman. As if this new tactic would make a difference.
More footsteps behind her followed. A whole group was coming.
Spencer’s scratched voice broke the quiet as he rose. “Who’s that?”
“I don’t know.” Fitz stepped closer, peering through the bars. The faint light from a square window above provided the only illumination, his night-sight debilitated.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the woman in black looked around the space, then spotted him to her right. She turned and faced him.
His jaw went slack. Gaelen?
Was this real? Or had White Suit pumped some hallucinogens in the vents to conjure her, make him do or say anything he wanted?
Her expression changed. “Fitz,” she breathed in relief.
Three men and two women stood in a V formation behind her like soldiers, looking as though they were ready to fight to the death for their provocative leader. She looked so different… her clothes, makeup, hair, but she was his fated.
Knowing it would singe his skin, he gripped a bar with his left hand and reached out through them with his right, ignoring the pain. “Are you really here?” he roared.
Spencer yanked him back. “Fitz, don’t!”
She rushed toward them, but Fitz yelled at her to stop. “Stay away! The bars are toxic.”
Only a small gasp and her watery hazel eyes gave away any modicum of fear, but her voice was authoritative and clear as she turned her head and instructed the group behind her. “Find the keys. Hurry.” She turned her head the other way to the woman flanking her left. “Iris. Give me your gloves.”
The young woman removed her kid gloves, handed them over, then joined the others in the search for the keys. Gaelen slipped them on and closed the distance between her and the holding cell, gripping the poisonous metal bars, her lips millimeters away. “Thank the gods I found you,” she whispered.
He went to her, and Spencer—who must’ve been either speechless or saving his voice—let him go. Fitz covered her hand with his, feeling her warmth, her rose scent and erotic sensa filling his nose, giving him peaceful, yet robust calm. He dropped to his knees, and she followed. She pushed her arm through, the long sleeve of her lace top protecting her from the full impact of the poison.
“Gaelen—”
“Take from me.” She looked behind her. “Victor. You have long sleeves. Please give Spencer your vein.”
The man didn’t hesitate to come toward the cell.
Fitz and Spencer exchanged glances. This was not the Gaelen they knew. Not only did she look different, but her entire speech and manner was that of a vampiress beyond her first one hundred years. She amazed him the first night, she amazed him now.
She was his new goddess.
Fitz cupped the outside of her hand, moved her sleeve up, and forced his teeth to grow. Shaking, he sank his teeth in her inner wrist, her blood hot and sweet, filling his mouth. The perfection of serenity, of drinking from his one and only fated, manifested a cycle of hunger and slake, emptiness and fulfillment. He gave a short groan and sunk into deeper. Gaelen’s cry wasn’t that of pain, but of sensual nurturing, knowing she was giving him all he’d ever need.
Slowing, he swallowed his last from her, withdrew his teeth, and kissed the puncture wounds he left behind. Maybe he’d taken a little too much too fast, for he was overwhelmed, his eyes burning, watery. He dropped his head back and licked his lips.
“I found the keys,” said one of the men.
He and Spencer were freed.
Gaelen crashed into him. At last his fated was in his arms again, but he when he started to sway from the dizziness, she immediately set his arm around her shoulders to keep him from falling. “Adam.”
The man took Fitz’s other arm and slowly they walked up the stairs. Victor and Nick helped Spencer.
When they emerged, there was a car waiting. Though his strength was slowly starting to return, and his wounds showed signs of repair, Fitz knew it would take a lot more blood, rest, and an ice bath to get him back to prime health.
“He needs more blood,” Adam voiced Fitz’s thoughts after helping him in the backseat of the sedan.
“How much more?” Gaelen asked.
“More than what you can safely give in one night. Mona and I will ride with you, so he can feed from us. Victor, Nick, and Iris will go with your friend.”
Spencer said nothing, head hung, while the two holding him up nodded their assent to Adam’s suggestion.
Fitz poked his out of the car door. “No. Spence comes with us.” He didn’t know these people and suspected Gaelen barely did, even though she’d apparently accomplished something quite extraordinary by enlisting their help.
“It’s all right, Fitz—”
A voice called from down the alleyway. “Spencer? Spencer!”
He looked to his right and witnessed Zo in full sprint, in platinum heels. She nearly toppled him over, clutching his face, pressing her forehead to his. “Omigods. What did they do to you?”
Zo was in on this rescue, too? By the gods, he didn’t know if he could take any more surprises tonight. “Take care of him, Zo.”
She nodded, swallowing, not even glancing in Fitz’s direction as Spencer lifted his arms from Victor and Nick’s shoulders
and held her.
Adam looked up and down the alley. “Let’s get out of here.”
Gaelen agreed and went to the front passenger seat to allow Mona and Adam to sit on either side of him in the back. The driver didn’t say one word as they pulled away into traffic.
Immediately, Adam offered his right forearm, and with Gaelen’s encouraging nod, Fitz took it, and fed hungrily, knowing the muscular male could take it. Adam’s head fell back, gritting his teeth. When Fitz saw his Adam’s hand curl to a tight fist, he knew he’d taken enough. He released Adam’s arm, breathing hard, letting the blood thrive and wind through his body. Gods, he was starting to feel like himself again.
Mona offered her neck, but he declined, sensing Gaelen wouldn’t enjoy watching him feed from another woman in that manner. Though her wrist was small and her veins thread-thin, he fed from her with gratitude. The blood seeped from the corners of his mouth and onto the woman’s arm. Once he finished, she licked off the leftover with a small smile.
“You didn’t have to be gentle with me,” she said.
“You didn’t have to give me your blood. Either of you.” He dropped his head back, feeling his eyes droop, licking his lips. “Thank you.”
The next thing he knew, Gaelen was whispering his name. “Fitz. We’re home.”
He jerked awake, realizing he’d blacked out. The car was stopped. Adam and Mona were gone.
“Here,” said the driver handing back a wet wipe. “I suggest you clean up before the building security guard sees you.”
Gaelen thanked him and wiped the excess from his chin. This time, however, when he stood up, he felt like he’d just awakened from a long, refreshing nap. No, he wasn’t well, however, he was getting there.
Once inside the loft, she rushed to the bathroom, turned on the bath water, and poured the entire bucket of fridge-made ice in it. He couldn’t recall mentioning to her exactly how vampires had to heal, but was grateful she knew. Glad to get out of his filthy clothes, he undressed and got in the cold bath.
“What else do you need?” she asked worriedly, her cool mask of earlier gone. “I’ll go to the store for more ice—”
He snatched her wrist. “No. Stay here.”
With an exhausted sigh, she knelt beside the tub, crooking her arm on the edge, and resting her head on it. She stared at him and he at her, both wanting answers. How had she found him? How the hell did she get not one, but five people—not even including Zo—to help?
She looked at him, tears filling her eyes. With a frustrated noise, she pushed up and went to the sink.
“Gaelen…”
“Why were you taken and held prisoner?” she asked.
“It’s complicated.”
“Do you think I’m too stupid to comprehend complicated underworld dynamics? Well, uncomplicate it and explain to me. I was going out of my mind, Fitzgerald.”
“Of course I don’t think you’re stupid. At all. How can you ask that?”
She swiped a tear from her cheek. “If I hadn’t found you…who knows what would have happened?”
His guilt expanded. “Gaelen. I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything—”
A cell phone went off. She hesitated, then reached in her back pocket to look to see who was calling. “An international unknown number.” She hit the answer button. “Hello?”
Fitz’s brows drew together in question as she listened to the caller on the other end. She met his gaze and shook her head, indicating she didn’t know who it was. A moment later, she told the caller, “Yes. Hold on.” She covered the mouthpiece. “He says his name is Dison Huxford. And he needs to speak to you.”
The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. Reluctantly, he took the phone from her. For all he knew, Dison Huxford could be Mr. White Suit, calling to tell him they were standing in front of his door.
Tamping down his paranoia, he put the phone to his ear. “What do you want?”
The man on the other end had a British accent. “I understand your wariness, but you can relax, we have a mutual ally in common. Marex Daulton.”
He paused. “Notice I haven’t hung up yet.”
“Bad news travels fast and I heard you’d been detained by a human. Is this true?”
“How did you hear that?”
“Might I suggest you put me on speakerphone, so your fated can hear this?”
He did and set the phone on the edge of the tub. “Go on.”
“I’m employed by a royal, and I hear things. The humans responsible for successfully framing and unsuccessfully failing at having Daulton executed finally have a face. I believe you met him. Was the man who’d held you hostage wearing a white suit, glasses?”
Fitz raised his gaze from the phone to Gaelen. “Yes.”
“Then the puzzle pieces connect. His name is Jerome Lyle. One of your country’s top one-percent, as they say. I suggest you leave the city. He has resources; he will find you if he wants to. Unless, of course, you find him first for a little payback. After all, he is only human.”
The idea of revenge made him mentally salivate, but it would have to wait. “Thanks for the information.”
“It is the ultimate currency, is it not?”
“Does Marex know about him?”
“Frankly, I don’t know. He’s not exactly easy to track. Listen. I’ll be at the Centurias with my pürist. The more of us on Marex’s side there, the better. Can I expect a favor in return for this information?”
Gaelen answered for them, “You can.”
Fitz agreed. His apathy toward the revolution had turned a page. No matter how he’d felt at the beginning, he was fully invested now, his life having almost been taken because he and Spencer chose the right side. “We’ll see you there.”
Nine
Her life was about to change.
Again.
Gaelen flipped out the sheet to cover the sofa, her mind in a constant state of spin, her old life feeling as though it’d happened to someone else. It’d been three days since she brought Fitz home, but they weren’t staying. Not after that phone call from mysterious but helpful Mr. Huxford, who Fitz later remembered had helped Marex escape from UCC custody by sending a getaway driver.
That night after the call, Fitz told her everything about the what and why of his kidnapping and torture. She had remained calm while he explained, but on the inside was screaming. All this time, she’d been so ignorant! And Fitz had kept her that way. He insisted he did it because everything about the underworld was new to her, and his aim was to not get involved beyond giving Marex a key. The more he talked about why he went with Spencer, the more her anger dissolved to understanding—and admiration for his loyalty to his friend—but she still felt as though he should’ve trusted her more.
Nevertheless, they couldn’t go back and change anything, and in the end, she’d found him. That was all that really mattered.
She tugged and smoothed out the sheet to completely cover the tufted sofa, picturing the look on Fitz’s face when she told him her side of the tale. There wasn’t much to tell, since she couldn’t really explain why she was able to use her power of persuasion and influence so easily on other vampires, only that she’d taken all his advice and put it into practice.
And practice made perfect on the first attempt, she thought with a smile.
After talking for hours, Fitz had been exhausted, still not fully recovered. She wanted to make love so badly, feel close to him again. That first morning, he’d reached over and stroked her pussy with his fingers, whispering the things he wanted to do to her, making her come quickly, but only feeding the flames of her desire, instead of cooling them. It’d been three days, and she was biting the pillow every night, aching for him.
By the looks of him when they awoke, his wounds had disappeared, and his scent was headier than ever, telling her his health was regained. The desire for sex was consuming her, and she could barely contain the insanity.
Their little world inside the loft would be no
more after tomorrow. They were going to the northwest, to a house in Washington State, as far away from this Jerome freak as they could get. He told her a lot of vampires didn’t actually own properties, other than their family estates, and that residences like the loft rotated between one’s allies. Apartments and homes were in fictitious names so no one would know who their neighbors truly were.
A vampire could never stay in one place forever. Spencer was leaving, too, had procured an invitation from Marex himself to join his small circle somewhere in Canada.
Underneath the sofa, she found the red silk blindfold Fitz had used on her to help her focus with her energy intake. A small smile moved her mouth.
Wait a second. What was she doing? Why was she waiting for him to seduce her?
It was their last night in the loft, their last night in New York, and she wanted to make the most of it. Getting an idea, she went upstairs to the bathroom, where Fitz was shaving in nothing but a towel. Her nails dug in the frame, her hunger about to explode.
“I’m going out,” she told him casually.
He met her eyes in the mirror. “I’ll go with you.”
“No need. I’ll be right back.”
She was gone before he could come after her. He called her name, but she ignored him, tying on her trench coat and leaving the loft. Served him right to be a little worried about her for once.
The boutique salesgirl smiled as Gaelen walked in a few minutes later. “How can I help you?”
She looked around, seeing negligees, garters, feather whips, teddies. “Tonight is special. I need something that’ll remind my—er, husband, what he’s missing.”
The salesgirl grinned. “This way.”
In less than thirty minutes, Gaelen was slipping on her coat over her new, expensive lingerie. “Thank you, Melissa. You’ve been a big help. Could throw those away for me?” she said referring to the boring bra and panty set she’d come in.
When she approached the loft door, she waited and drew in a breath. Would she have to use her newly found seductive power to get her man to make love to her? She wasn’t beneath doing it.
Fitz Page 10
