Vermilion Lies

by L. D. Rose

  “Fortunately, that won’t be necessary.” The sire paused before him, slipping the tip of the KA-BAR beneath the double barbells in Dax’s eyebrow. Dax ceased breathing and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the strike.

  “Don’t move,” Alek warned as he grabbed Dax’s wrist and raised it. Dax tensed, instinctively trying to wrench his arm away, alarms blaring from every recess in his skull when he realized what the sire was about to do.

  “Don’t, hybrid,” Alek growled, the sire’s grip on his forearm like wrought iron. “Or I swear I’ll peel the skin off your face and feed it to you.”

  Dax rasped in sharp, panicked hisses, his cool chi humming just under his sweating skin, harnessed power ready to surge into action. But if he so much as let it breach the surface, it would freeze his own hands into solid blocks of ice.

  Alek smirked at his obvious struggle. “Cyrus used those gloves on your brother. And they worked quite well, trust me.”

  Rage nearly sent Dax thrashing on the hooks like a madman, his gums throbbing around his extracted fangs with the need to rip that bastard apart. “I’m going to watch you burn, you sick fuck,” he spat.

  Alek pressed the knife harder into Dax’s brow, drawing blood and setting Dax’s teeth on edge. “Just relax, Dax.” The sire laughed softly, wickedly, his hot breath whispering over Dax’s radial pulse. “It’ll be easier if you do. You might even like it.”

  And with that, Alek sank his razorblade fangs into Dax’s wrist and sucked hard.

  “No,” Dax uttered desperately, bleakly, before he was drowning under a torrent of sensation.

  Visions flickered across his retinas like an old movie reel, cut in black and white. His reflection staring back at Cindy as he held her at gunpoint, his eyes wide in his busted face while she gazed at him with despair and the tiniest spark of hope. He saw everything through her eyes as she looked at him across a table while he bit into a Macintosh apple, watched him writhe with pleasure as her mouth worked its magic, laughed with him as a snowball sailed over an empty beach. He felt her horror and sadness at discovering Maddy’s corpse, the fire of lust while he took her in front of a mirror inside an abandoned rectory, the warmth of love when he vowed to return to her with nothing short of devotion.

  Faster and faster, the images flashed across his eyes, an electric blue glow misting around her fingers as she shivered uncontrollably, the fear of him leaving, of being alone again, of losing her beacon of light in an ocean of darkness. Hearing Lawan’s distant cry, “Cindy, run!” but she fell in the mud instead, filled with misery and grief. A familiar voice, close and menacing, “Not this time, cherie,” and the picture zapped out as if a plug had been yanked from its socket.

  Awareness slammed into Dax like a two-ton wrecking ball as Alek pulled his teeth out of his wrist, the maelstrom of sensations altering sharply to the here and now. Warm blood dribbled down Dax’s forearm, but the sire compressed the wound with his palm, putting pressure on it.

  Lifting his dark head, Alek leveled his eyes with Dax, scarlet red irises with twin black pupils slashing vertically through them like a viper’s.

  Gawking at the devil’s face, Dax tried to make sense of what he’d witnessed, the out-of-body experience leaving him stupefied. When he managed to speak, only one word manifested from his garbled thoughts, and they both said the name in unison.

  “Jacques.”

  Alek’s lip curled with disgust, blood smeared around his mouth as the blade dropped away from Dax’s brow. “Fool.”

  “What’s he going to do to her?” Dax demanded, his pain dulling with the strength of his worry, his own dire situation briefly forgotten.

  “He’s running.” Alek visibly shuddered when he released Dax, closing his eyes momentarily as if composing himself. “I’ll take care of him . . . them.” When his lids snapped open, his eyes reverted to their stygian void, but a hologram sheen of blue flitted over their surface, leaving as quickly as it came.

  Dread coiled in Dax’s belly like a python, squeezing his guts.

  Shit.

  The sire moved past him and snatched a wooden cart, the portable chopping block half-decayed but clean. An unfolded knife roll rested on its stained surface, except it contained medical paraphernalia instead of blades. Needles, syringes, gauze, IV bags with anticoagulants—a portable donation kit.

  Except this donation wouldn’t be voluntary.

  “No.” Dax swung away from him, a futile freaking useless attempt at escape. Lightning bolts of pain rewarded him for his efforts, crackling across his shoulders as he roared.

  Alek laughed as he raised the KA-BAR and sliced into the fabric of Dax’s cargo pants, cutting across his inner thigh. Panic raced up Dax’s spine, firing off every nerve as he tried to swipe at the leech to no avail, the sire easily dodging his strikes.

  “Stop resisting, hybrid.” Alek’s cool fingers dug into the fabric and tore it open, exposing the edge of Dax’s groin. Dax struggled to fend him off again, kicking with his boots and punching with his heavy fists, fighting through the agony bellowing from his back.

  Then his limbs went shockingly numb, once again anesthetized as they hung limply at his sides.

  Alek snickered at the terror and rage on Dax’s face, as if the sire couldn’t get enough of his anguish. Pushing his fingers into Dax’s femoral pulse, the bastard grinned with delight at the strong, rapid beat, the vessels like goldmines down in his legs.

  “Don’t fret, Knight. It’ll be venous, I assure you.” Alek poured rubbing alcohol on a wad of gauze and wiped Dax’s bare skin, disinfecting it. “No buckets for you, unlike your brother. I prefer to harvest my blood with a little more cleanliness.”

  Dax stared helplessly as the sire pierced the big veins between both of his legs, one right after the other, the pinches barely penetrating the din of pain from the rest of his body. Alek threaded large bore catheters into the pipelines of his vessels, each with their own tubing system and donation unit. Dark blood rushed into the tubing toward the bags, coating the plastic in a garnet wave before pooling at the bottom in a steady flow.

  Alek lifted the bags and set them on the cart, moving the table out of reach. “Quick filler.” He smirked and Dax would’ve given anything to crush his fucking skull under his boot. “I like that.”

  The sire ditched the paralysis and Dax regained mobility, flailing sluggishly, his movements slow and delayed. Spitting out a curse, he almost yanked both catheters out, but he abruptly lost motor function again, screaming furiously into the labyrinth of his mind.

  “Looks like I’m going to have to keep you disabled, Frosty.” Alek tsked and raised the KA-BAR, sliding the blade back beneath the barbells in Dax’s brow. “Too bad. I would’ve enjoyed this far more without it.”

  Shoving the knife up in a hard, swift motion, the blade sliced the barbells cleanly off his face, stainless steel clattering to the floor as Dax howled soundlessly, imprisoned in his own body.

  And when Alek grasped and tugged on the stud in his lower lip, the sire’s expression a study in unrepentant malice, Dax knew he was in for a world of suffering, an eternity of torment. But all he cared about was how he’d failed Jon, his brothers, and the vampiress who’d managed to steal his heart when he least expected it.

  I’m sorry, Cindy. Forgive me.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Cindel awoke in the backseat of the Charger, the wheel well droning underneath her.

  The splintered shards of a headache penetrated the back of her skull, her scalp tender from the pistol-whipping. She’d been bound by her ankles and wrists with tungsten, folded up and tossed in the back. The midnight sky blurred by, a skeletal canopy of black trees barely visible past the windows. Her gaze wandered along the car’s rooftop before settling on the driver’s seat, adjusting to the light. Jacques drove in complete silence, his eyes fixed on the road, his
hardened profile backlit by the red glow of the dashboard.

  Cindel shifted and nearly groaned as a sharp pain shot between her knotted shoulders, thanks to the contorted position she’d slept in. Jacques cast a glance over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as she attempted to sit up.

  “Don’t try anything stupid,” he warned as she slid across the backseat with her cuffed hands against the door. Bracing herself, her fingers curled around the handle and tugged, but the door didn’t give way.

  “Child locks, cherie.” He pitched an exasperated sigh. “You never fucking listen.”

  “Where are you taking me?” Her voice was hoarse, her vocal cords worn and frayed. She was surprised he hadn’t gagged her.

  Then again, it wouldn’t matter now, would it?

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  She looked out the fractured windshield, the dark highway stretching ahead. An exit approached and he slowed, easing toward the onramp.

  Exit 91, CT-234.

  They were heading in the opposite direction, back toward Rhode Island.

  “Why are you doing this, Jacques? Please, just let me go.”

  “Why did you run, Cindel? Why did you leave us? Me?” His heated words held a note of vulnerability that only stoked her growing anger. Almost petulant, like a child.

  She glared at the empty rearview mirror. No reflection, revealing his true nature, a monster like his sire. Their sire. “You seemed to have done just fine without me, General.”

  His jaw ticked. “Who released you?”

  “What makes you think I had help?”

  “I don’t care how fucking street smart you are now, cherie, but you weren’t then. You had help.”

  Cindel focused on the window again, trying to memorize every twist and turn through the desolate residential area. The homes were gorgeous, sprawling and vacant, likely housing the wealthy once upon a time. Now they stood like apparitions from an entirely different era. A low-lying fog crept in all directions, indicating their proximity to the coast given the recent warm spurt.

  “I freed myself from that prison.” She made that exceedingly clear. “But Taylon caught me as soon as I breathed the outside air.”

  “Taylon?” He seemed astonished. “And he let you go?”

  Close your eyes, little Red. I’ll set you free.

  She nodded tightly, even if he couldn’t see it. “Yes. And he severed my connection with Alek to boot. He brought me to Providence and I never saw him again. Victor found me and the rest is a long and dismal history I prefer not to discuss.”

  She could almost hear his molars grinding. “How did Taylon break the bond?”

  She shrugged, throwing a mental dam up against the tide of dark memories threatening to spill over her eyes. “I don’t know. All I remember is passing out and waking on a bench near the Providence train station, stripped of my link to Alek. Taylon gave me exactly what I wanted, for better or worse. But it doesn’t matter anymore—he’s dead. You replaced him. Another monster for a monster.”

  Jacques stabbed her with a lethal look, but she didn’t balk. “Looks like we all underestimated his power.”

  She thought of Jon, the Black Bullet, of his frightening likeness to Ramsden. “Yes. We did.”

  “Like you underestimate mine.”

  She nearly laughed, disdain leeching into her bitter words. “And what is your plan, General? To surrender me back to my husband?”

  “No. You don’t belong with him. You never belonged with him.”

  Cindel swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, a ball of emotion she had no right feeling. “Then who do I belong with? You?”

  His eyes locked on the road, almost as if in shame. “Didn’t you feel anything for me? There was something between us, wasn’t there?”

  Her blood simmered, her skin prickling at the memory of the blow he’d delivered to her when they first reunited. “Maybe. Once. But you’re different now. We both are. And we want very different things.”

  “And what is it you think I want?” Anger whetted his tone with an aggressive edge as the ocean opened up on either side of the car, the black waves white-capped and churning. Not a star shone in the sky, a shroud of ominous clouds rolling toward them.

  “You too desire liberation from Alek, to be granted asylum.” She glowered at his angular profile. “But you want a queen by your side—his queen. And I’m not her anymore, Jacques.”

  He sped toward the ethereal lighthouse ahead but leveled his eyes with hers. “Then what is it you want?”

  “I don’t want to be a slave anymore. To you or anyone else.”

  The Charger’s interior warmed with his ire. “Is that what you think the hybrid will give you? Freedom?”

  Leaning forward between the seats, she murmured, “He already has.”

  Jacques abruptly slammed on the brakes and Cindel pitched head-first into the dashboard, unable to stop her momentum thanks to her bound limbs. Pain rocked her as a palette of color burst before her eyes and she collapsed on the center console. He spat a curse as his hand fisted in her hair, wrenching her head up and roughly shoving her into the backseat again.

  She tasted blood dripping from her nose and lips, her forehead slick with the warm, coppery fluid.

  He shut the car off, grumbling under his breath as he climbed out and yanked the back door open. She nearly tumbled onto the parking lot, still reeling from the injury, but he caught her and hauled her over his shoulder, taking her for another dizzying spin.

  She swore she would never get in another vehicle for as long as she lived.

  Writhing in his grip, the asphalt slanted in her vision as he carried her toward the lighthouse. Blinking the blood from her eyes, she spotted a gun in the holster at his hip, but she couldn’t reach it. He pushed open a rusted chain-link fence with a dilapidated sign that read,

  DO NOT ENTER

  RESTRICTED AREA

  PRIVATE PROPERTY

  Carting her up the driveway, he didn’t hesitate or struggle, holding her like she was weightless.

  When he arrived at the stone tower with its blood red door, he kicked it open and dropped her in the foyer. She yelped, landing hard on her back and rear-end while he loomed beside the doorway, fury alight on the battlefield of his face.

  “Don’t move,” he snarled with the guarantee of retribution if she disobeyed him. “Stay right there until I get back. Then we’ll finish this.”

  And with that, he slammed the door behind him, the bolt snapping home and trapping her inside.

  Cindel managed to sit up, her body aching from the fall in her restricted position. Her eyes surveyed the dark room, noting the spiral staircase ascending to the roof and the scattered elevated windows, their dusty drapes peeled back to reveal the hazy night. The entire space was barren but in remarkably good shape; any damage from the weather was minimal and she couldn’t spot a single scrap of refuse. Someone must’ve maintained it over the years, protecting it for one reason or another.

  Pressing up against the granite wall, she slowly shimmied to her feet, noticing her muddy leggings and soiled sneakers for the first time. Once standing, she winced as she straightened, her taut muscles yielding and her bones cracking with relief. She listened, hearing only her shallow breath and rapid heartbeat in the quiet room.

  She was alone.

  Planting her gaze on the stairs, she hopped toward it, just a single leap, and almost tipped over, her throbbing ankle giving out on her. Somehow retaining her balance, she tried again, and again, until she reached the landing. Absorbing the length and trajectory of her undoubtedly painful journey, she leaned on the rusted banister for a moment, inhaling deeply and gathering her fragmented resolve.

  Then she leapt onto the first step. The next. And began her gradual, winding climb
to the top.

  She certainly felt like a scared rabbit now.

  Arriving at the first window sooner than expected, Cindel carefully peered past the curtains into the night. She glimpsed Jacques on the yellowed lawn near a white flag post, pacing back and forth anxiously while another dark figure approached. The newcomer held an authoritative air about him, moving with long, confident strides as his black trench coat billowed behind him.

  They spoke quickly, Jacques still pacing and waving his arms around as the stranger glanced up the length of the building. Cindel cursed, drawing back briefly, praying he didn’t see her. Tall, ivory skin, ebony eyes, and windswept, startlingly bright red hair.

  Hair like hers.

  Ballard. Caldre Ballard. She recognized that hair anywhere.

  Cautiously pivoting on the stairwell, she curled her fingers under the window’s lip and gently tugged upward. Cringing, she anticipated a screech, but the panel quietly slid open a few inches, a cool breeze rushing into the stale room. Releasing the window, she nearly tripped forward from the impetus, but somehow maintained her equilibrium. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest as their voices drifted into her ears, and she spun back around, pressing her shoulder to the jamb and peeking from behind the curtain.

  “Where did he take him?” Ballard said, his deep British accent suave and silky.

  “How should I know? I can’t believe he even attacked the hybrids on his own.”

  “I can.” Cindel didn’t miss the hint of amusement in the sire’s tone. “Where was his last known location?”

  “The Bowery Ballroom.” Jacques shoved a hand through his hair with exasperation. “Then he dragged Dax into the subway and disappeared without a trace.”

  Ballard rubbed his smooth chin thoughtfully. “Alek is sentimental. To a fault, really, and it makes him predictable. Where did he meet Cindel?”