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

by Rebecca Rivard

  Her eyes narrowed. Her powerful will beat at me. “Now, Zoe.”

  We both knew I’d have to obey in the end—she was my prima, after all, and my dominant—but I dredged up the strength to ask, “And if I refuse?”

  “We’ll lock you in Rafael’s cell. He’s shackled to the wall, helpless, and you haven’t fed since what—Saturday night? How much longer do you think you’ll last before you give in to the craving? A day? A week?” Her smile sent a shudder down my spine. “He might understand, but he’ll hate you for it.”

  No.

  My skin went hot and my stomach went cold and my heart forced out blood at a furious rate.

  Because she was right. It had been three nights since Rafe and I had fed in Pigalle, and I already craved fresh blood. Blood-wine was a pale substitute for the real thing.

  If I was locked in a cell with Rafe, I couldn’t be sure my vampire wouldn’t capitulate to the blood lust. He might even give me permission to feed from him, but we’d both know it hadn’t been a real choice.

  I couldn’t do that to him.

  I fisted my hand on the phone.

  “You won’t win,” I said in a voice as vicious as my mother at her worst. “The Krals are bigger and more powerful than us. This vendetta is going to blow up in your face and you’ll take the entire Tremblay Syndicate down with you. When word gets out that you’re working with Slayers, Inc., every syndicate in the world will turn against us, but you’re too blind to see it.”

  Her icy reply matched the danger-blue edging her irises. “Make. The. Call.”

  I obeyed. There was no point in continuing to refuse. If I didn’t make the call, she’d have someone else do it, and then throw me in that cell with Rafe.

  Forcing me to phone Zaquiel was her way of punishing me.

  He answered immediately. A pitch and intonation that was too much like Rafe’s, but with an eerie flatness that it hurt to hear.

  I explained who I was and why I’d called. Victorine hovered nearby, listening.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Zaquiel asked.

  My mind blanked. “I—” I glanced at my mother, then lifted my chin. “Because they’re forcing me to. But I can tell you that they mean it. If I could help, I would.”

  Victorine’s lip curled.

  “Then get him away from them,” said Zaquiel.

  I swallowed. “I can’t,” I said lowly.

  “I see.” His disbelief smeared me from three thousand miles away. “Tell them I’m already in New York,” he said, and ended the call.

  Victorine thrust out her hand. “The phone.”

  I handed it over. “Tell me something. Did you ever love me? Or have I always been just another piece on your gameboard?”

  Her face tightened. Something moved way back in her eyes. For a moment, I thought I’d gotten through to her, but she stalked out without answering.

  “Yeah,” I told the closed door. “That’s what I thought.”

  I went to the sideboard and picked up a wineglass. But instead of pouring myself some blood-wine, I stared at the glass. Hearing that voice in my head about what a princess does and doesn’t do.

  I drew back my arm and hurled the glass at the door.

  It was Thursday evening before I saw my mother again. I’d been awake for over an hour, but I was still in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking.

  How could I get Victorine to see that her obsession with the Krals wasn’t just a problem for me, but for the whole Tremblay Syndicate? That if she didn’t change course, she was going to take us all down with her?

  There was a perfunctory knock on my door, and then Victorine strode inside.

  “Get up. We leave for Montreal in a few hours.”

  “What?” I bolted upright.

  “We’re leaving,” she repeated impatiently.

  I brushed my hair back from my face. “Now?”

  My mind worked. This might be the chance to escape I’d been waiting for.

  She gave a curt nod. “We’ll be traveling part of the time during the day, but that can’t be helped. I’ve arranged for a closed box for you to travel in.”

  Jean-Michel followed Victorine into the room and held the door open. I grabbed a bathrobe from the foot of the bed and shrugged into it as two of Philippe’s people carried in a stainless steel box.

  I swallowed a spurt of panic.

  As usual, my mother had thought of everything. Locked in a box, I’d have absolutely no hope of escape.

  And here I’d thought things couldn’t get any worse.

  The vampires set the steel box down by the wall and left. Jean-Michel followed, leaving me alone in the room with Victorine.

  “When we get back to Montreal,” she said, “you’ll be confined to Isle de Minuit for the next year. If that doesn’t cure you of this…attraction, you can stay there for the next decade as far as I’m concerned. With your new mate.”

  “My new mate?” I repeated.

  Étan was dead, and Rafe clearly wasn’t an option.

  A smug smile. “Several men have expressed interest. You’re a prize, cherie.”

  Dread wrapped itself, serpent-like, around my chest. “What about your promise to let me choose my own mate?”

  “You clearly aren’t capable of it. So, I’ll be interviewing your suitors when we return. They’re all strong men who can impregnate you. I don’t need you, Zoe. I can take your spawn and raise him or her to be my lieutenant.”

  I’ll kill you first.

  I kept my mask firmly in place, but inside, whatever love I’d felt for Victorine shriveled to nothing. She’d finally gone too far.

  I would not mate with a man I didn’t love, and I was damned if I’d allow Victorine to raise any spawn of mine.

  I had allies in the Tremblay Syndicate, vampires who’d back me when I let the world know what my mother had done. When we got back to Montreal, Victorine would have a civil war on her hands.

  But first, I had to get out of Philippe’s lair and back to my home territory, even if it meant leaving Rafe behind.

  “As you wish,” I said expressionlessly.

  I waited until Victorine had left. Only then did a few tears trickle down my face.

  Because I didn’t want to leave Rafe behind. It would take time to organize any kind of resistance against my mother.

  Time Rafe didn’t have.

  I scrubbed the tears away and went into the bathroom to wash my face. I’d learned a long time ago that crying got you nothing but red eyes and a stuffy nose.

  After that, I downed two glasses of blood-wine in rapid succession. It wasn’t the same as fresh blood, but it was better than nothing.

  I needed to be strong, to be the woman Rafe seemed to see in me.

  To be the woman I wanted to be.

  I took a shower and pulled on some underwear. When I returned to the bedroom, Lainey Q was seated on the Louis Quinze chair filing her nails.

  She grinned. “Hello, love.”

  I expelled a breath. “Go away, Lainey.”

  “I don’t think so.” She stowed the nail file in a pink-and-black designer bag. “Get dressed.” She lobbed a black dress and a pair of little black socks at me. “We have to talk.”

  I caught the clothes. “I don’t need a stylist,” I snarled. “I need a fucking fairy godmother.”

  “Or a slayer,” she said.

  I narrowed my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  A shrug. “Get dressed. Then we’ll talk.”

  I got dressed. Lainey watched closely as I sat on the chair to put on my boots.

  I stilled. My silver stilettos were back in their sheaths. I glanced at her.

  Her mouth curved in a half-smile I couldn’t interpret. “Vampire chic.” She waved a hand at my outfit. “I like it. The stilettos are a nice touch.”

  I growled. “Take a picture.”

  “Maybe I will.” Her hand went to her purse.

  I eyed the stilettos. Itching to pull one out and slit her silly
throat.

  “Tonight,” I said in a cold voice, “is not a good night to fuck with me.”

  Lainey stared back, unconcerned. I didn’t even sense an increase in her heartbeat. And she seemed different—calmer, less empty-headed, her whole vibe more self-assured.

  I straightened in the chair. “Who are you—really?”

  “Lainey Q. Stylist to the stars—and a frickin’ awesome slayer, if I say so myself.”

  “Why are you here in a vampire’s lair?”

  “Not to stake you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I didn’t think you were. Unless Karoly sent you.”

  “Nope.”

  My lungs compressed. “Rafe,” I breathed. “You’re here for Rafe.”

  She looked back without speaking, but I knew I was right. I’d have realized it sooner, if I hadn’t been thrown off by the fact that she’d attached herself to me, not him.

  My fangs pricked at my gums. I eyed the stilettos again. I was faster and stronger. I could kill Lainey before security had time to react.

  But that wouldn’t save Rafe. They’d simply assign another slayer to kill him. Once Slayers, Inc. got a contract, they always followed through.

  If my mother didn’t get him first.

  “So you don’t work for Victorine.”

  “No.” She stiffened her spine, insulted. “I work for Slayers, Inc.”

  “But you were in Montreal with Victorine’s permission. And now here you are in Philippe’s lair.” The evidence was piling up. My mother was in this up to her eyeballs. “How did you know Rafe was in Paris?”

  She examined her nails. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

  “You didn’t say anything at the Crimson Ball.”

  “Rafe was at the ball? I figured he never showed up.”

  I stared at her. “You knew he was in Montreal.”

  She nodded.

  “So a Kral is working with you and my mother. Someone high up.” I was curious if she’d verify what Jean-Michel had told me.

  A mocking smile. “Very good, Princess.”

  My jaw tightened. Never had I wanted to use compulsion on a human so bad. Too bad Lainey was immune.

  “Tell me one thing. Did Victorine always mean to break the truce?”

  She moved a shoulder. “I have no idea what she intended, but I can tell you that she only came to us last year.”

  A year after that summer in Montreal. By then, it must have been clear to her that I wasn’t going to get over Rafe, especially after I’d tried to see him in New York.

  “So everything Rafe told me was true. Victorine’s working with Slayers, Inc. to take out him and his brothers.”

  “Did he tell you that? Guess there’s some brains to go with that smokin’ body.”

  My hands fisted. “Shut up.”

  “Or what?” A taunting smile. “You’re not in charge anymore, Princess. Now get in the box. Victorine’s orders.”

  I raised my chin. “I want to see Rafe first.”

  “He’s fine. Now get in the goddamned box.” She dropped her voice and said without moving her lips, “I’m here to get you out.”

  My eyes widened.

  “Don’t act surprised,” she warned. “Just nod.”

  I scrutinized her, but her face gave away nothing.

  I obediently dipped my chin. “You want me to get in the box.”

  “Yes,” Lainey replied in a normal tone, then dropped her voice again. “Just long enough for me to freeze the cam for a few seconds. Then I’ll let you out of the box. You hide in the bathroom, and I’ll restart the cam before I leave. When I open the door to the hall, you can follow in the shadows. I’ll leave a side door on the ground floor ajar.”

  She gave me the door’s location.

  “What about Rafe?”

  “They’ll be switching guards on the lower level in exactly six minutes. You can rescue him first, or leave him behind. Your choice.”

  I met her eyes. “I’ll need time to get him free of the cuffs.”

  She considered that. “A power failure would do it.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Of course. But the mansion’s backup power will come on in thirty seconds.”

  I stared at her. Why would a slayer help us? But I had no choice but to trust her. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll owe me.”

  “Anything.”

  A sly, very satisfied smile. “Excellent. I’ll be waiting on Pont Notre-Dame with tickets and fake IDs for you both. Now if you’d get inside…” She gestured toward the steel box.

  I climbed into it and crouched down. Lainey started to lower the lid.

  “Oh, and Zoe?” she said. “Back in Pigalle, thanks for calling Rafe off. He caught me by surprise. You’re not as cold as you want people to believe, are you?”

  “It would’ve been too much trouble to dispose of your body.”

  She laughed and shut the lid.

  I had a bad moment when things went dark. If Lainey had lied and engaged the box’s lock, I’d be on my way back to Montreal by morning, leaving Rafe to fend for himself.

  A heartbeat passed, then another. Four of my heartbeats all together while I listened tensely for the snick of the lock engaging.

  I set my hands on the lid, straining to hear what was happening through the half-inch-thick steel. My reflexes were ten times faster than a human’s. If Lainey did attempt to lock me in here, I’d have a fraction of a second to react, but that would be enough time enough to shove the lid into her lying face.

  The lid lifted. I was never so glad to see someone’s face. “You have three seconds to get in the bathroom,” she whispered.

  I made it in two.

  She shut the lid again and opened the door to the hall, and I faded into the shadows and slipped past her.

  “See you later,” she said to Jean-Michel with a cheery, very-Lainey wave.

  I took off without waiting to hear his response.

  I raced through Philippe’s apartment and down to the lower level. This time I didn’t dare create a disturbance to get through the locked door to the cells. I pressed my back to the wall and waited for the change in guards.

  Five minutes that felt more like an hour ticked by. At last, a guard appeared and opened the door. I darted into the hall after him.

  “Blaise.” The guard on duty nodded at his relief.

  “Everything all right?” Blaise asked.

  “Yeah. He’s been quiet.”

  Blaise grinned and tapped a control, releasing Rafe’s door. “Let’s see if we can wake him up.”

  The door swung open. Rafe lifted his head and squinted at them.

  My stomach knotted. It was Jean-Michel all over again. The cuts and bruises from the fight had mostly healed, but the silver had eaten away at Rafe, turning him into a gaunt, underweight version of himself.

  “Hey, pretty boy,” Blaise taunted in English. “How are those wrists?”

  Both guards snickered as I ghosted around them into the cell.

  “I’ve got it now,” Blaise told the other guard in French. “Have a good evening.”

  “You, too.”

  Blaise waited until the main door closed behind the other guard, then reached out a long leg and kicked Rafe in the chin.

  The back of Rafe’s head banged against the wall. He hung there for a moment, breathing hard.

  Blaise sneered. “Not such a smartass now, are you?”

  Tarbanak.

  Rafe lifted his head. “Go fuck yourself,” he said wearily.

  I marked the location of the cell’s two cameras in my mind and waited for the power to go out.

  Five seconds. Four. Three…

  The cell’s tiny lights went dark. I dropped into the physical world, a stiletto in each hand, and exploded into action.

  First the cameras. I shot back and forth in the pitch-black cell, smashing the camera lenses with the hard ebony handle of one of the stilettos. That should buy us a
few minutes before security came to investigate.

  The snick of a switchblade made me spin around. Blaise was close enough to feel his breath on my face.

  I threw myself down and to the left. The lethal silver blade slicked past my right shoulder about where my chest would’ve been.

  I landed in a crouch at his feet. I bounded back up, brushing his abdomen with the back of my left hand to orient myself. I followed that with a sharp thrust of the stiletto in my right hand, shoving it beneath his ribcage and into his heart.

  His body jerked. He slashed out with the switchblade. I released the stiletto and jumped back, narrowly avoiding the sharp silver point.

  Blaise let out a savage curse in French and crumpled to the floor. The switchblade clattered to the concrete beside him.

  Behind me, Rafe snarled. “Who’s there? What the fuck’s going on?”

  I didn’t reply. I crouched down and felt for the Bluetooth earbud hooked onto Blaise’s ear, smashed it beneath my heel, then jerked my stiletto from his chest and wiped it on his shirt.

  “Answer me,” he demanded.

  “It’s me. Zoe.” I sheathed the blades in my boots and went to Rafe.

  “Zoe?” I felt him reach for me, then hiss. The scent of raw, silver-bitten flesh filled the cell.

  The lights came back on.

  Thirty seconds down. How much time did we have now?

  “Zoe.” He closed his eyes. “Crap. I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

  I sucked in a breath at the angry wounds the cuffs had burned into his wrists.

  “No dream.” I touched his face. “It’s really me.”

  His mouth contorted in a heart-breaking imitation of his lopsided smile. “Yeah?”

  I wanted—no, needed—to press my body to his, to give him a hard, I-love-you kiss. But the clock was ticking. Now that the power was back on, security would be here any minute to investigate the broken cameras.

  Rafe was still staring at me like I was a ghost.

  “Hey.” I brushed a kiss over his mouth. “I’m really here.”

  His lips clung to mine. “You’re really here,” he repeated.

  “Yeah.” I was growing worried. What had they done to him?

  He looked past me at Blaise’s disintegrating body. “Nice work, badass.”

  “Somebody had to save your butt.” I wasn’t in a joking mood, but it was that or give in to my horror at how bad he looked.