Finally it dawned on him why she'd been so persistent that they celebrate Christmas. Her family was far away, and humans tended to become melancholy around the holidays. She felt comfortable with him and she wanted to share a day that was important to her. If she'd have him, he'd let her decorate his home however she wished for the holiday.
"Tremayne?" Her voice brought him back to the present.
"It was so easy to be with you," he told her. "Our souls…" He was going to say recognized each other, but speaking of tree spirits and souls only proved to remind her how very old he was, how very non-human he was. "I had the feeling you suspected I was a vampire when you came by the pub, after we took care of Lorelei. What tipped you off?"
"My brother called me with information."
"From whom?"
"Does it matter? For all I know, probably another vampire. Your kind isn't all that loyal."
He harrumphed, but she ignored him.
"My brother didn't have a name. His informant told him the vampire owned a business. Every preternatural being we came across seemed to hint you were one of them."
"So you challenged me to walk in the sun," he said. "What if I had burst into flames?"
She sighed. "Then I would have known. But you didn't fry. How is that possible?"
He could lie, but they had enough of those between them. "Sheerin, my cousin, invents things. He had an experimental concoction, and I took it. Didn't know if it would work until I stepped outside. Lucky for me it did."
"You could have died," she said.
Did he note concern in those words? "It was worth the risk. No matter what you're thinking," Tremayne said, "I never misled you, Cassandra. My feelings for you are genuine. If you'd open up your heart, you would see I'm telling you the truth. I never meant to hurt you."
"But in the end, you did. I'm a hunter of your kind. How did you think this would all end?"
He opened his mouth, but closed it again when Shakespeare's low menacing growl pricked his ears. In the next second, he picked up the scent his hound must have detected, too: holly, mistletoe and woodsy cologne. What an odd combination. If the intruders were trying to camouflage their approach, they were doing a poor job of it, but even with the blast of aroma for a warning, discovery still proved too late.
A sharp sting burned his neck and on instinct his hand slapped at the area. He pulled out the offensive stinger and stared at the dart. His gaze riveted to Cassandra with disbelief. "You set me up."
"Tremayne—"
He never knew what lie she was about to spin. The world tipped on its axis and his legs gave out. He hit the ground hard. "Hunters…" They would know how to properly drug a vampire. This was it for him.
He heard feet fast approaching, shouts, curses and Shakespeare's whines… Then all went black.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Cassandra paced the room that was void of furniture, except for the decorative medieval torture device. Tremayne lay slumped on the ground, restrained in Iron chains bolted to the wall. The smell of burnt flesh hit her nostrils and she tried not to be ill. Iron was a vampire's kryptonite. It weakened them and would eventually kill them if they were exposed to the metal for a long period of time.
Shakespeare's head lay on his master's lap as he waited patiently for him to awaken to the world of the living. A few heartbeats later, a low moan drew her attention.
"Finally," she breathed in relief.
Shakespeare whined and gave Tremayne a slobbery kiss across his face.
"Stop it, lad," Tremayne's voice croaked with a gravelly growl. He blinked then focused his attention on her. His eyes were like blue shards of glass, accusing and sharp in their assessment. "Cassandra?"
She moved closer, but not too close. He was an injured vampire. In the next moment she was glad she heeded her own warning. He flew to his feet and lunged toward her, his eyes flaming red with fury. The chains held fast and he didn't go very far before he fell to his knees.
He breathed in a ragged breath. "Why are you doing this?" he asked her.
Pain was evident in his voice, and not just from the physical discomfort. He spoke from the heart. It saddened her to think this was where their relationship had ended – both of them leery of each other.
"I didn't do this."
His head snapped up and his gaze leveled on her.
"I was taken captive, too." She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "Look around. I'm locked inside the room with you."
He sat back on his haunches and rubbed a hand through his disheveled hair, the action made him grimace, the iron manacles cutting into the flesh at his wrist.
The room was four walls of concrete with only a small window ledge on the far wall, high near the ceiling, leading her to believe they were in a basement, an oddity for this area. But then, kidnappers didn't usually follow normal protocol. The chains on the wall proved that well enough.
Her gaze lingered on the window. She might be able to fit through it, but reaching it proved a problem. That, and the fact she didn't want to leave Tremayne behind. God only knew what their captives had in store for him.
"Who took us?" His eyes narrowed.
Without him stating it, she knew he did not trust her. She couldn't blame him. Only hours ago she tried to stake him with an arrow. "I don't know."
He snorted with a harrumph.
"I don't. Two seconds after you went down, I was hit with a dart, too. I woke up only moments before you did.
He scooted back to the wall and leaned against it. "Isn't this just a corker?" he said, his words dripping with sarcasm. "I've survived battles, and yet, I'm taken down by a sleeping potion." He fell silent then and rubbed his upper arm.
Her gaze landed on the raw flesh where the manacles kissed his skin. She unzipped her leather jacket and removed it, tossing it on the ground. It wasn't until she shimmied out of her T-shirt that he narrowed his gaze on her.
"Well darlin', I don't believe I'm in the mood for a quick tumble." He lifted his arm and the chains scraped against the stone floor. "Or are you into kinky stuff and I didn't know it?" His brows lifted high on his forehead.
Cassandra strode toward him with a determined glint in her eye. "Don't make me hurt you." She hunkered down beside him. She struggled to tear her shirt in half. "They make it look so easy in the movies," she murmured under her breath.
Tremayne let out an exasperating huff and yanked the shirt from her hands. Even in his weakened state from the iron, he was able to rip the material with ease.
He was strong, stronger than any human man, and yet, he had never hurt her. He'd always been gentle. He'd never bitten her either and there had been plenty of opportunities. It also explained why she'd never spent the entire night with him. He would send her home before dawn, or he would leave her side with a quick kiss goodbye and a promise to call her the next day. Had the ploy been to keep her safe?
"Well, darlin'?" he asked.
His Irish lilt thickened when he was angry. She didn't know that about him. Until now, they'd never argued. She pursed her lips. This was probably just one of many things she didn't know about him.
With impatience, Tremayne held up the shredded T-shirt. "Am I to tie you up with these or do you have some other devious intentions?"
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Cassandra's white-lipped expression spoke louder than words. She grabbed the material from his grasp and reached for his hand. With quick jerking movements, she shoved the T-shirt beneath the manacles so that the iron did not touch his skin.
Remorse hit him in the chest first, before being replaced by gratitude. Then the full impact of her gesture hit home. She still cared about him. His heart quickened at the thought.
"What are you smiling about?" She met his eyes with a flash of anger.
He didn't reveal his thoughts; she'd only reject them. "Thank you." He gestured toward his restraints.
Her features softened, her eyes searching his. Did she look at him in hopes of seeing a glimpse of the monste
r she believed him to be? He reached for her, tucking a wayward strand behind her ear. Realizing what he was doing, he let his hand fall away. An array of emotions flitted over her features: fear, compassion, and perhaps, regret. She shook her head and her green eyes glistened like jewels as they pooled with frustrated tears.
"I'm sorry, Tremayne." She choked back a sob and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
The sudden movement startled him and he almost lost his balance, but recovered quickly. He still maintained some of his vampire reflexes, despite the iron seeping into his pores and weakening him.
Hesitantly, he patted her back. He feared this tender moment would quickly pass and be replaced by her hostile stance once more. "It's all right."
She pulled away to look at him. "It's not all right. I tried to kill you."
"If you truly meant to spear me, I believe you would have, luv. You didn't even come close to hitting me with your arrows."
She harrumphed. "I most certainly did too. I heard your bellow."
His brows lifted, and she realized what she had admitted. "I was conflicted. You healed without complications. Besides, only cutting off your head would truly kill you."
He chuckled. "I guess I should consider myself lucky you were at odds with your decision to end my life."
Shakespeare padded over to them and settled in close, deciding he needed to be in on the heart-to-heart too.
Cassandra didn't seem to mind. She reached for the hound and rubbed him behind his ear. If a dog could sigh, the old boy would be doing it now.
"I've been trained to kill vampires," Cassandra said. She needed to work through this and he would let her. "I was given a vampire kit on my thirteenth birthday."
"I had guessed it was your fifth."
She glanced at him and her lips twitched. "Did you now? And that didn't scare you away?"
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "Not in the least." He inhaled her scent of honeysuckle and closed his eyes. Cassandra did things to him – made him feel things he'd never felt with any other woman. His hand roamed down her scantily clothed body. He may be a vampire, but he was also a male. Cassandra was an alluring woman fully clothed, but she lay in his arms with only a bra keeping his fingers from touching those lovely –
"Tremayne!"
Cassandra's sharp tone interrupted his course of thinking. His eyes met hers and she arched one lovely mahogany brow. "We're locked in a dungeon –"
"Most likely a basement," he corrected, and that won him a snort. Most people thought snorting rude and coming from a woman uncouth, but not him. Cassandra had a way of snorting that set his libido on high. It was damn sexy.
"Basement, dungeon … whatever." She waved her hand in a flippant manner. "We're in danger, don't you agree? I'm sure someone didn't capture us and lock us up so we could work out our differences. Be serious. What do you think we're up against?"
She was right. They needed to concentrate on finding a way to escape. It was just he'd been so pleased she didn't hate him, that for a moment, he'd forgotten about their predicament.
"I don't know." But she was right in thinking this couldn't be good. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to capture them. Capture being the important word. They could have straight out killed them, but they hadn't. He ruled out that their captors were any of Cassandra's clan. The Hayes' killed first and asked questions later. Well, all except for the company present. His lovely huntress hadn't made up her mind if she wanted to end his life.
Rogue vampires? No, again they wouldn't take prisoners. He would be dead and Cassandra would become their blood slave until she too succumbed to death. For the life of him, he could not guess who would take them prisoner.
He pulled on the chains that bound him to the wall. The chains were long enough to give him room to pace the prison, but not enough to reach the door. He glanced at Cassandra's T-shirt stuffed beneath the manacles. Red stained the fabric with blotches of his blood. The cloth lessened the effects of the iron, but it didn't completely protect him from the metal. His gaze landed on the lone window situated on the adjacent wall.
The moon shone high in the winter sky. Once the sun rose, the rays would filter in, licking their way toward him until his skin burned. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. He couldn't dwell on that now. He needed to think of a way to save Cassandra.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds from outside. He could hear the surf in the distance, the crash of waves as it ventured close to land. Upon inhaling, he picked up the scent of the sea. Their captors hadn't taken them far then. Perhaps they were being held in one of the beach homes close to his house. In the winter months, most of the homes remained vacant. Summer was when everyone wanted to enjoy beachfront living. When winter approached, they ventured inland. His eyes snapped open and he glanced at her.
"Get dressed," he ordered.
She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm not naked, Tremayne."
His lips curved and his gaze drifted over her skin, his eyes lingering on the swell of her breasts in the black lacy thing she called a bra. He'd call it a wicked tease. "Put on your jacket, luv," he sighed with regret. "You aren't properly dressed for the party I have in mind." He met her confused gaze and clarified his intentions. "I'm breaking you out of here."
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Cassandra hurried to her feet, excitement bubbling inside her. Tremayne, her lovely vampire warrior, had a plan. Somehow, she knew he would come up with one. She grabbed the jacket she'd tossed carelessly to the floor. Yanking her arms into the sleeves, she turned to face Tremayne again. He had risen to his feet and leaned against the wall for support. Shakespeare sat on his haunches, alert and ready.
Once her jacket was zipped, she placed her hands on her hips. "So what's the plan?"
"I'm going to toss you toward the window ledge, and you're going to escape. I can muster that much strength."
All excitement left her at once, leaving her deflated as a balloon without helium. She folded her arms across her chest. "That's your big plan? Toss me like a football."
He nodded. Clearly missing her sarcasm, he went on to explain. "I'll hold you by your waist and give you a toss up. You're strong and there's enough of a window ledge for you to grip. You can do it. You have to do it." He glanced at her now. His emotions were raw and on display for her to see.
"No, I won't do it."
"What?"
"You heard me," she repeated. I'm not going to leave without you.
"Think this through, Cassandra. I'm not going anywhere." He lifted his hands and the chains clattered on the stone floor, loud and clear. "But you can. You could go for help," he suggested, but they both knew he was grasping at anything to make her leave.
"Listen." He licked his lips before he tried a different approach. "I've had a lifetime… lifetimes," he corrected. "You haven't completed one. Please, let me do this for you. Call it…" he paused a moment then his eyes lit up. "Call it a Christmas present, if you will."
Shakespeare whined and cocked his head to the side before a growl rumbled from his chest.
Tremayne's gaze riveted to the door and Cassandra's followed his line of vision. "What is it?" she whispered.
"Someone's coming. You must hurry." Tremayne waved to her to come closer. "Please." His eyes beseeched her to listen to reason.
He was right. She was weaponless and he was chained to a wall. Their best chance was for her to go for help.
"Dammit, Tremayne." But she took the steps that separated them. She leaned in close and kissed him hard on the lips. "Don't you dare die or I swear I'll kill you."
His chuckle was a deep rumble. He clasped her face and met her eyes. "I will not die unless it is by your hands." He kissed her with sweet urgency and it ended all too soon, but there was no more time. Even she could hear the footsteps drawing closer now.
Tremayne's strong hands gripped her waist. "Ready?"
She nodded. In her next breath,
she soared through the air toward the window. She reached out and grabbed the ledge with one hand. She dangled for a moment and she thought she'd lose her grip, but she found the strength to grab on with her other hand too.
"That's it, luv. You're almost there," Tremayne encouraged.
Shakespeare's growls turned to sharp repeated barks, warning her the threat behind the door was fast approaching. She had to hurry.
She could do this. With her one hand, she reached for the latch and yanked on it. It gave and the window opened. A gust of cold air hit her with the scent of the sea. She pulled herself up, silently thanking her parents for their strict hunter's training. This stunt was nothing to the grueling regiment her parents put her through.
She was halfway through the window and to freedom, but the door flew open behind her, slamming against the wall. Shakespeare snarled then yelped and Tremayne cursed.
But it was the menacing voice that froze her in place. "Go any further and I'll end his life."
Chapter Thirty-Nine
"Don't listen to him!" Tremayne yelled to her in desperation. Cassandra was almost home free. If she didn't go, he feared what these men would do to her.
"Shut up." His captor zapped him with a 'hot shot', an electrified cattle prod. The jolt of electricity sent him to his knees.
If he had the chance, he'd wring the bastard's neck. His gaze shifted to the other man who stood like a bodyguard at the door. He was the one who shot Shakespeare the moment he'd entered the room. He feared his hound was a goner, but the mutt's snores told another story. None of this made any sense. The men kidnapped them, threatened them, but to what purpose?
There were no identifying marks on them. They wore all black, including the ski masks and dark glasses to hide their features.
Stake and Dust (Stake and Dust series, Book I) Page 18
