Craved: A Vampire Syndicate Paranormal Romance (The Vampire Syndicate Book 2)

by Rebecca Rivard

  I shifted my position to keep my wrists from pressing too hard against the cuffs, but they were designed to fit snugly.

  How in Hades had Zaq busted out of here, anyway? The cell was tightly sealed, with no windows and a fitted door. Unless he’d done a Houdini, someone had helped him.

  Maybe the same person would help me, too?

  I glanced around as if the walls had answers, but I could barely see my hands on either side of my head. Even a dhampir’s eyes require a certain amount of light to see.

  I was trapped in a sealed cell, edgy…and getting edgier by the minute. Unable even to pace back and forth to relieve my tension.

  Gods, Rafe. You really fucked up this time.

  At least I’d taken Étan out before they’d captured me. Zoe could never be forced to mate with that prick.

  Too bad I hadn’t taken out her mother, too.

  I jiggled a knee. Inhaled. Exhaled.

  Zaq had survived. I could.

  Where was he now? Maybe he was already home. Unless he hadn’t escaped, but had been moved to another location.

  My lungs constricted.

  No. Zaq had escaped. He was safely back in America, being fussed over by Mom. I had to believe that or I’d never survive whatever came next.

  I pictured the bite marks on his throat and jiggled my knee harder.

  Inhaled. Exhaled.

  Peered at the silver cuffs and the bolts securing them to the concrete.

  It won’t work.

  But I had to try.

  I took a deep breath and threw my weight into pulling the cuffs from the wall. The poisonous metal ate into my wrists. Agony seared me, followed by the stomach-churning stench of silver and my own burning flesh. I clenched my teeth and tried not to whimper like a baby.

  The cuffs didn’t budge.

  I stopped, regrouped. Eyed the cuffs again.

  Could I fade into the shadows to ease the pressure on my wrists, or maybe slip out of the cuffs altogether?

  Probably not.

  I attempted it anyway, dredging up what little energy I still had to attempt it. But as I’d expected, the silver blocked my magic.

  I shifted on my feet and stared into the darkness. Not sure which was harder—waiting for something to happen, or knowing that when it did, it would probably be even worse than this enforced inactivity.

  If only I could pace off the tension. I was the kind of guy who was always moving, always doing. Something Zaq and I had in common. As the eldest, Gabriel was the heir-apparent, and Father and Tomas expected more from him. It had made Gabriel a bit of a control freak; he never lost his cool in public, and even in private he was the calm, take-charge brother.

  But Zaq and I had more leeway, and we took advantage of it. Zaq might be the big-hearted Kral, but that didn’t make him a saint. Whenever he returned from doing his good works, we got together and partied all night, sometimes with Gabriel and sometimes just us two.

  I formed my right thumb and index finger into a thumbs-up. “Wherever you are, bro, have a drink for me.”

  My eyes closed. I slid down the wall, but my weight caused the silver to bite more deeply into my wrists. I groaned and pushed myself back upright.

  After that, I drifted in the darkness. Sleep tugged at me, but each time I nodded off, the silver ate into my wrists, forcing me to stand upright. My calves were cramping, and I desperately needed to piss.

  The minutes ticked by. Something teased at me. How had Étan known it was a Kral outside Philippe’s salon? Jean-Michel had been with them, so Étan had known I was a fake. But he’d said, “Thrice-damned Kral bastard.”

  My eyes popped open.

  No one had known I was with Zoe except Tomas and my father. And neither of them would’ve told the Tremblays I was on my way to Paris with Zoe. It had to be the mole.

  Who the hell was it?

  Someone high up in the hierarchy, that was for sure. High enough that they’d overheard Tomas saying something, or maybe Tomas had told them himself.

  A growl scraped my parched throat. Every single man and woman in the Kral Syndicate had sworn a blood oath of loyalty to my father. The spy had broken a sacred promise.

  When my father found out who it was, he or she would be staked. No questions asked, no quarter given.

  Unless I found the bastard first, in which case I’d do it myself.

  Because I would get out of here. And after I’d broken Zoe out, too, I’d damn well find out who’d helped put me here. And then they’d pay.

  Night turned into day. Even in the dark, my body sensed the return of the sun.

  The cell shouldn’t have gotten quieter, but it did. The vampires in the mansion had sought their day sleep.

  I licked dry, cracked lips. It was starting to sink in that I was in deep shit. The kind you can’t charm or bribe your way out of.

  The knife wounds had scabbed over, but they’d been inflicted by silver blades. The healing process had pushed my metabolism into high gear. That feeding at Le Sang Bleu in Pigalle had become a distant memory.

  I was so thirsty I’d have drunk from a fucking rat, but Philippe was too clever for that. The cell was clean and completely sealed. Not that I could’ve caught a rat anyway, restrained as I was.

  A glass of blood-wine swam across my vision, joined by a rare steak.

  I blinked, and they wavered and disappeared.

  Great. Now I was hallucinating.

  But that didn’t stop my mouth from watering.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, Zoe stood a few feet away, smiling at me.

  I smiled back. “You finally stood up to your bitch of a mother. That must’ve been a helluva shock.” I frowned. “But you shouldn’t be in my cell. You have to leave before they catch you.”

  Zoe kept smiling. One of her tentative, I-can’t-believe-you-really-want-me smiles.

  My chuckle held zero humor. “You’re not really here, are you?”

  She moved a slim shoulder.

  I dragged my gaze from her. When I looked again, she was gone.

  I drifted, semi-conscious. Hungering for blood, my mouth so dry it hurt to swallow. Trying to ignore my throbbing wrists, which only made me notice them more.

  How long would Philippe leave me here with no food or blood?

  Fear clogged my throat.

  A dhampir couldn’t die from dehydration. But I could go insane.

  21

  ZOE

  The yellow guest room was across the hall from the library. Jean-Michel didn’t release me until I was inside. He closed and locked the door.

  Philippe always put me in here. He knew I loved the room’s sunny colors and pretty silk bedding. The primrose-sprinkled coverlet was turned down, and the small refrigerator would hold my favorite blood-wines.

  I dragged my hands down my face.

  How had I not seen that my life was nothing but a series of plush, expensively-decorated prison cells? I might not be bruised and bleeding, but I was as much Victorine’s prisoner as Rafe in his concrete-block cell—and had been from birth.

  Jean-Michel stood with his back against the thick, silver-reinforced oak door. Not saying anything, just looking at me.

  “Go ahead, say it.” I lifted my chin. “I’m a traitor. I snuck a Kral into Philippe’s lair. If it wasn’t for me, Étan would be alive.”

  The old soldier managed to look both sorrowful and wise at the same time. “Not a traitor. A woman in love.”

  I made a small, bitter sound. “Tell that to my mother.”

  He spread his hands. “Victorine is…Victorine. You’re not going to change her. But maybe you can find a way to work with her.”

  “What if I don’t want to work with her? What if I want out?”

  He pursed his lips. “You don’t mean that.”

  I put a hand to my throat and stared at him. Where had that come from?

  For as long as I could remember, my single, all-consuming goal had been to take my place at Victorine’s side as h
er lieutenant. But the past few days had been eye-opening.

  I’d felt free. Happy.

  Coupled with what I’d found out tonight about my mother and her part in Zaquiel’s kidnapping, my entire world had been turned upside down and sideways.

  I was no longer sure what I wanted, except that whatever it was, I wanted Rafe to be a part of it. No, I needed Rafe to be a part of it.

  “You’re free,” he’d mouthed.

  “Don’t I?” I said slowly.

  “Stop it.” Jean-Michel glanced at the room’s single camera.

  “They can’t hear me. You know this room’s not miked.”

  “Shut up anyhow.”

  I shrugged and obeyed. I wasn’t sure how much Jean-Michel could be trusted anyway.

  I sank onto the mattress. Reaction was setting in, and with it the fear that despite what Philippe had said, Rafe wouldn’t survive the night.

  Because if Victorine had her way, Rafe Kral was dead.

  I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, trembling and furious with everyone from my mother on down.

  Damn it, Rafe wasn’t supposed to get caught. No one was even supposed to know he was in Philippe’s lair. We’d planned how this would go down. I’d do the snooping and he’d stay in the background, and we’d leave with no one the wiser.

  But Victorine and Étan had known it was Rafe in the hall. I’d heard Étan say his name. Someone had told them he was with me.

  I glanced at Jean-Michel. “How did they know it was Rafe there in the hall? His glamour was letter-perfect. Even I thought he looked like you.”

  His mouth set. For a minute, I thought he wasn’t going to tell me, but he must have decided it didn’t matter if I knew.

  “Someone high up in the Kral Syndicate is working with Victorine.”

  “Very high up,” I muttered.

  And very well-informed.

  It was as I’d suspected. Holy Dark Lady, this conspiracy had more heads than a hydra. How many people and syndicates were involved? And what else had Victorine not bothered to tell me?

  My head spun. I felt unmoored, questioning everything I’d been told about the Krals and the blood feud.

  I’d accepted Victorine’s story as the truth, but I was an adult now. An adult who, as Victorine’s lieutenant-in-training, had seen how far she was willing to go to remain in power.

  Looking back, Victorine had never explained why Karoly had staked my father. Maybe my father hadn’t been the innocent victim Victorine had made him out to be. Maybe he’d attacked Karoly, and Karoly had staked him first.

  I massaged my forehead.

  One thing was certain. I had to rescue Rafe.

  I should be pissed off that he’d jumped in when Étan had started smacking me around. But the woman in me couldn’t help swooning a little that he’d risked everything to protect me.

  He staked Étan for you. He was defending you.

  The hierarchy in a vampire syndicate was clear. Étan was my dominant—no one but Victorine would’ve stepped in to defend me.

  But Rafe had, and I was damned if I’d let him be punished for it. If anyone should be in that cell, it was me.

  I pictured Zaq Kral’s vampire-marked throat and swallowed sickly.

  Jean-Michel was still watching me. I took my hand from my face and rose to my feet, uncomfortable at letting him see my weakness. I’d been trained too well, and I couldn’t be sure whose side he was on.

  “Excuse me,” I said, and went into the bathroom.

  The tie holding my ponytail had fallen off, leaving my hair an untidy mass around my face, and the black dress was spattered with blood. My eyes were wide and shocked, and I had fading marks on my cheek where Étan had hit me.

  “You’re free.”

  Relief surged up in me, wave upon wave of it. I gripped the edge of the sink, gulping in air.

  Thanks to Rafe, Étan was in his final grave. Neither Victorine nor him could force me to accept him as my mate. I told myself I wouldn’t have caved to their combined pressure, but I wasn’t completely, one-hundred-percent sure.

  Rafe had saved me in more ways than one, and I suspected that had been his intention from the moment he’d attacked.

  I splashed cold water on my face and glanced at myself a second time. This time, I winced.

  You’re a princess, Zoe. Act like one.

  Keeping up my polished image was so ingrained in me that I’d washed my face, brushed my hair, and was reaching for a lipstick when I jerked my hand back like the little metal tube was a live wire.

  That was Victorine’s voice in my head, telling me I had to be perfect. To always put on my best possible face.

  I set my hand on the mirror. The surface was smooth, cold, unforgiving. Like my mother.

  I dragged my fingers down the glass, smearing it—and returned to the bedroom without touching up my makeup.

  I poured myself a glass of blood-wine and offered the bottle to Jean-Michel, who helped himself to a glass as well. I considered him and decided to take a chance.

  “They kidnapped Rafe’s brother, you know. You heard Étan. And they were drinking Zaquiel’s blood—I saw the photo. Philippe or one of his people. Maybe more than one.”

  Distaste touched his lean features. “I didn’t know.”

  I stepped closer. “They’ll do the same to Rafe if I don’t do something. You have to let me out of here.”

  “I can’t. You shouldn’t even be asking me.”

  “Please.” My fingers tightened on my glass. “I saw the cell where they held Zaquiel Kral myself.”

  Jean-Michel blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Zoe. But I can’t.”

  “Please. You don’t have to do anything. Just look the other way.”

  He set down his glass with a thunk. “I’ve sworn a blood oath to Victorine. You’d ask me to break it? You think I’m a man of so little honor?”

  “No.” Appalled, I gaped at him. “I don’t think that, not at all. But don’t you see? This is bad for everyone in the Tremblay Syndicate. If Victorine’s behind Zaquiel’s kidnapping, then she broke the truce. Karoly Kral already suspects her. If he can prove it, she’ll be in big trouble. And if the other syndicates find out she’s working with Slayers, Inc., she could take us all down with her.”

  It wasn’t an exaggeration. The vampire code was simple but harsh. You could lie to another vampire, cheat another syndicate—if you could get away with it—but when it came down to it, you fought your own battles.

  You didn’t use the slayers to settle scores.

  If word got out, Victorine would become a pariah in our world. She’d be seen as weak and lacking in honor. The other syndicates might even band together to take her out.

  “Rafael Kral broke into Philippe’s lair,” Jean-Michel pointed out. “He staked Victorine’s lieutenant. Now he has to take the consequences.”

  “To save his brother,” I shot back. “That’s the only reason he came to Paris.”

  “Zoe.” Jean-Michel sighed. “Drop it. I can’t help you, even if I wanted to. She’d know it was me.”

  I pulled up short. He was right. Victorine would never buy it. She’d know Jean-Michel had helped me, and this time, his punishment would be even worse.

  My stomach sank.

  “I’m sorry,” I said stiffly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  I set down my wine glass and sat on the silk-covered Louis Quinze chair next to the bed, contemplating my little black boots. Jean-Michel stood between me and the door. Even if I somehow sneaked past him, I’d never get to Rafe, even in the shadows. Security would have everything locked down tight.

  What had Jean-Michel said about Victorine? That I wasn’t going to be able to change my mother, but that maybe I could find a way to work with her.

  With Étan in his final grave, the game had changed. Victorine needed me more than ever. I was the only viable candidate for lieutenancy.

  Could I pressure her somehow?

  I crossed one ankle over another and then f
roze, staring at my boots. They’d taken my stilettos, but not my phone.

  The slim rectangle pressed against my inside right ankle.

  If only I knew how to get hold of Rafe’s father, I could text him. Or I could contact someone I trusted, like Brien, and ask him to pass the message along.

  With me vouching that Philippe was holding Rafe Kral prisoner, the Paris Primus would have to get involved.

  And Victorine would never trust me again.

  My heart thudded in my chest. One slow thump, then another.

  How had things come to this?

  Dawn was coming. My eyelids closed against my will.

  I forced them open. “I’m going to bed,” I told Jean-Michel.

  He nodded. “Take off your boots, please.”

  I licked my lips. “Why?”

  He crouched and pulled off them off himself. I watched helplessly. It was useless to fight back. He’d call for back-up and the end result would be the same.

  “This is why.” He palmed my phone and rose to his feet.

  My mouth curled. “You call this honor? What they’re doing is wrong.”

  “I’ll see you at sunset. I have to lock you in. Philippe’s orders.”

  “You do that,” I said bitterly. “I always admired you, you know. After my own father died, I looked up to you. You were about the only person who didn’t suck up to me because I was the prima’s daughter. I liked you. And I respected you because you had integrity.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “Victorine’s my prima. I can’t serve two mistresses.”

  Sleep weighted my eyelids. I could no longer resist it.

  “Get into bed,” Jean-Michel said, not unkindly, and I obeyed because I had no choice.

  My last thought was that I’d failed Rafe.

  22

  RAFE

  Day passed back into night. The door opened and the tiny lights around the cell’s perimeter brightened.

  My heart bumped against my rib cage. I straightened to my full height.

  One man, the Italian guard.

  He locked the door behind him.

  I waited tensely. My arms might be pinned to the wall, but I still had use of my lower body. He wouldn’t take my blood without a fight. He’d win, but at least he’d be hurting.