Vermilion Lies

by L. D. Rose

  The air whooshed out of her lungs and Cindel clamped her mouth shut.

  Alek had told her, years ago. She scoured her mind for the answer, searching her memories, one of the few light moments in the endless dark.

  “You were reborn with virgin blood.”

  Alek smiled, a seductive curve of lips as he swayed with her during one of his black-tie galas in the Metropolitan’s Great Hall. The majestic event was one she’d never forget because she’d worn that gorgeous emerald Oscar de la Renta, unaware he’d ruthlessly tear it off her later that night.

  “Where did you find me?” she asked as he nuzzled her neck, breathing in her sweet scent. She’d spritzed on his favorite perfume, of course, her world constantly revolving around him. He kissed the black satin tied around her throat, the band symbolizing his claim over her, and goosebumps spread over her skin.

  A chuckle of pure male satisfaction. “In heaven, my little angel. In Cielo.”

  Cielo. Heaven.

  He’d never told her what it meant, or how she’d gotten there, or what had happened. Was it a metaphor? An actual location? She couldn’t remember her godforsaken life prior to him. But he never failed to mention how she’d loved to dance, especially for him, before she turned.

  And eventually she’d lost that desire too.

  Jacques’ angry words yanked her back to the present. “She won’t tell me. She might not even remember.”

  “Then perhaps you should persuade her to try her very best.” Sinister intent oozed from Ballard’s voice. “Or I can do it for you.”

  “No.” Jacques threw his hands up in a halting gesture. “I’ll handle it.”

  “Soon, Montague. We must strike while he’s vulnerable. While they’re vulnerable.”

  Caldre glided past him toward the rocky bluffs, moving with the honed grace of an ancient predator. Jacques spun on him. “Where are you going?”

  “To give you privacy. And to make sure the bloody job gets done.”

  Jacques gaped at him, jaw slack. She could no longer see Caldre, making the fine hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. “Now?”

  “Yes, now. Do you want asylum or not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then get on with it.” The words ended with a spine-tingling growl.

  Glowering, Jacques swiveled toward the lighthouse, looking up at the windows. Cindel drew back again, but at the echo of his curse, dread congealed in her gut like tar.

  He’d noticed her.

  Panicked now, she clumsily hopped up the remaining stairs, scaling two at a time in some instances. The door below whipped open and Jacques bellowed, “Cindel!” as she passed the second window.

  Almost there, almost there . . .

  Pushing her luck too far, she stumbled just before reaching the top, the door leading to the lantern room mere inches away. He sprinted up the stairwell, easily catching up with her, and snatched the chain between her cuffs before she could steady her feet.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he hissed and wrenched her back.

  Her heart plummeted into her stomach like a cannonball as she fell.

  He made no attempt to catch her as she tumbled down the stairs, her confined little world flipping on its axis as she crashed into stone edges and rock walls. Pain exploded from every corner of her body, each blow to her head launching fireworks behind her retinas.

  When she finally rolled to a stop, she lay sprawled on the landing, her every muscle screaming with agony. The spiral staircase twirled like a top and she could no longer draw in breath without eliciting bolts of pain from her ribs.

  Her bones were surely broken.

  Jacques unleashed a howl of rage and frustration as his heavy footsteps descended toward her. Cindel tasted more blood, warmth trickling into her ears as she squeezed her stinging eyes shut.

  Let them think you’re weak . . . until you’re not.

  “Tell me where he is,” Jacques growled, advancing on her. “Where’s Alek?”

  She hugged her aching belly, curling into a ball on the floor. “I don’t know,” she rasped.

  He grabbed her hair, yanking her head back, and she yelped as he brought his seething face close to hers. “Tell me where he turned you. Tell me where he brought your beloved hybrid.”

  A match of anger lit inside her, a fuse sizzling toward the well of kerosene at the center of her. She bared her fangs, her gums tightening as she hissed, “I don’t know.”

  “You liar.”

  He kicked her hard, his boot socking into her solar plexus. Pain and fury erupted from that well, swirling like lava in her veins, blending until she couldn’t distinguish one from the other.

  He seized her face, blunt fingers digging into her cheekbones. “Don’t make me do this, cherie. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  Hurt her? Sucking the blood and saliva from her tongue, she spat in his face, the crimson fluid spraying his eyes. “Fuck you.”

  Shoving her back roughly, he roared, the harsh sound bone-chilling and feral. Haphazardly wiping at his face, his hand balled in the fabric of her sweatshirt, Dax’s sweatshirt, lifting her off the floor as he cocked his fist in the air.

  “Now I understand,” he snarled, his expression mad with rage, red embers igniting the black coals of his eyes. “Why he beat the shit out of you, you fucking little tramp. You’re going to tell me where he is or I’ll break you, cherie. I’ll tear you apart. If you thought Alek was a monster, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  And as she stared up at his savage face, her blood boiling with hatred, she felt it.

  The ice-cold burn of power rushing beneath her skin, racing from her heart to her hands, an answered prayer dredged up from the bog of her soul. The faint but divine energy—Dax’s energy—infused her with strength, with courage, and that tiny spark of fickle hope.

  No shivers, no trembling. Her fury was too hot for that.

  Laughter bubbled from her lips, softly at first, but it amplified into something terrifying, something maniacal and dangerous.

  Let the predator out and prey.

  Jacques’ ferocity faltered with confusion, but he quickly recovered, growling as he wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed.

  “Shut. Up.”

  Cutting off her air, he throttled her laughter, but her jaw loosened and her eyes closed as the energy diverged to meet his grip. When her skin rapidly cooled under his hands, he gasped and released her, as if she’d singed him. In a way, she had, and she tucked her legs in, landing on her knees.

  Better to die on your feet than live on your knees.

  Letting out a vicious curse, Jacques pulled his gun, swinging it toward her.

  And she raised her cuffed wrists, dislocating both of her shoulders as she looped her arms forward.

  Shock and horror besieged his face, his eyes widening as her bones snapped back into their joints. She didn’t feel a thing, nothing but the frigid power blasting through her nervous system, her every sense numbed to near extinction. The door she’d imagined not so long ago—the same blood red door as the lighthouse—manifested in her mind, rattling violently in its frame as a rampant blizzard howled behind it.

  “What the fuck—”

  She grabbed the gun by the barrel with both hands, her palms glowing a brilliant blue, and she mentally wrenched open the door with all her might, unleashing the storm.

  Brutal winds. Sub-zero temperatures. A deafening roar reverberating against the granite walls of the lighthouse as the gun froze in his hand. Ice crackled over his skin and swept up his arm, coagulating blood vessels, rupturing cells, freezing him alive.

  “Stop, Cindel! Please.” He begged for mercy, but she ignored him, her raven hair whipping fiercely, her lips parted in a sort of ecstasy.

  Al
l she could feel was the blood tunneling in her veins like liquid nitrogen, her heart soaring on an adrenaline high unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  Creeping down his belly, crawling across his throat, slivers of ice constricted around him like snakes, choking off his pleas. The squall picked up, the energy intensifying to epic proportions, as if she were the storm, the lashing wind, the center of this wild cyclone she could hardly control.

  His heart ceased beating, coal eyes frosting over, his muscles stiffening as his body petrified. His mouth hung open, fixed in a perpetual scream, transforming into a statue of a vampire’s terrified final moments.

  Then it all just . . . stopped.

  The blizzard vanished, sucked back into the red portal, the door shutting of its own accord as if satisfied with the chaos it wrought. Still on her knees, Cindel dropped onto her hands, the sheen of ice across her palms crunching under her weight. Exhaustion barreled over her as she stared at the frozen floor, a virtual ice rink inside the lighthouse, the spiral staircase frosted halfway up its length.

  That’s what I’m talking about! I knew you had it in you.

  Her chalky white hands stung, no longer lambent, her breath choppy and her heart pounding erratically against her broken ribs. The volume on reality turned back up as her chilled blood resumed flowing, a widespread ache magnifying slowly but surely all over her body, her hair damp and sticking to the cold sweat on her forehead. Nausea rolled through her, knotting her stomach, a spell of dizziness casting over her as she closed her eyes.

  When a shudder wracked her bones, swift and unforgiving, she bumped into Jacques’ frozen corpse.

  Ice split with an awful crack, setting off a discord of snapping and crunching sounds as the frozen sculpture of the vampire she’d once trusted keeled over. Cindel tried to clutch his ankle in vain, but the icy cloth of his pants slipped between her fingers, and his body shattered on the stone like glass.

  The terrible noise burrowed into her gray matter, interred in her nightmares for all time.

  Whimpering, her shivers didn’t cease, only worsened as her teeth chattered to near breaking. The silent gloom closed in on her and she struggled to settle her quaking muscles, clenching her jaw.

  Without warning, the door to the lighthouse flung open with a bang. Inhaling sharply, Cindel’s spine snapped straight as she lifted her shaking hands in preparation to face off Ballard.

  A battle she would surely lose in her condition.

  But Ballard wasn’t standing there. It wasn’t the Sire of New England aiming an assault rifle at her head, green eyes wide in a ruggedly handsome face.

  “Whoa, whoa, Elsa!” The male immediately dropped the gun, the weapon swinging limply from the strap across his chest. His voice was familiar, an unmistakable Irish brogue. “Easy now. Friend, not foe.”

  She blinked once, twice, ice chips clinging to her lashes. Hybrid.

  Kayne.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Cindel crumpled to the floor with a relief so profound it brought tears to her eyes. “Thank God,” she wheezed.

  He rushed over to her, skating across the icy granite. “God here, at your service.” Although she sensed he was joking, he didn’t smile when he said it. His warmth pumped into the wintry air in a halo around him, fortifying his deep emerald aura. He hesitated to touch her, eyes searching hers with worry and a glimmer of fear.

  “Guess Rome was right about you taking on Dax’s trait.”

  She nodded, shaking too hard to speak.

  “He told me you and Dax are all glad-eyed with each other. So we’re on the same team, yes?”

  She had no idea what ‘glad-eyed’ meant but it sounded positive. She nodded again, desperate for him to believe her.

  “All right. But if you try anything . . .” He gave her a pointed look.

  She adamantly shook her head and he acquiesced.

  Removing the strap of his rifle, he took off his military jacket, the lining a thick fleece like the blankets in the rectory. The pockets were heavy, probably stuffed with grenades for all she knew, but she gratefully accepted it as he draped the coat over her shoulders.

  Noting the handcuffs around her wrists and ankles, he frowned. “Shit. Do you know where he left the key?”

  She shook her head, refusing to so much as glance at Jacques’ disintegrated body. The stench of incense and blood pervaded her senses, her belly rumbling in response no matter how morbid. She couldn’t stop picturing the expression on his face, his eternal silent scream.

  Jacques. Her very first victim.

  And you’ll kill more, far more for Dax—for your freedom—if that’s what it takes. You’ll never be subjugated again.

  The hybrid regarded the corpse with pinched eyes, as if it pained him to look at it. “Damn, lass. That’s a signature Dax fatality if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “We need to find him,” she uttered between chills, regaining the strength to speak at the mention of his name. “Alek has him.”

  “Alek?” Kayne’s lips parted. “Konstantinov?”

  She nodded, chin quivering, her vision blurring with hot tears. She prayed he was still alive.

  Please let him be alive.

  “Bloody hell.” Kayne rose from his crouch and approached Jacques’ body. Emitting a grunt of disgust, the hybrid rummaged through the dead General’s pockets, combing every layer of his uniform.

  Nothing.

  Whirling to face her, he looked out the open door to the parking lot. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where’s Ballard?”

  “Gone.” Kayne scowled. “Fucking scuttled into the ocean like a bloody lobster. My brothers are hunting him now and they’ve got the entire area locked down. Don’t worry about Caldre, he’s probably in Bermuda by now, spineless bastard.”

  Relief washed some of her dread away. “Good.”

  Squatting down beside her again, the hybrid offered her the handle of a gun, its barrel small and chrome. “Have you ever used one of these before?”

  Yes and no. “Yes.” Although she wasn’t sure she could hold anything with her frostbitten fingers.

  “It’s a PPK. Already loaded, all you have to do is flip down the safety,” he showed it to her, clicking the metal notch on the side of the barrel, “and shoot.” He flicked it back up. “It’s yours now.”

  She took the gun with her bound hand, gripping the handle carefully. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He inclined his head, gazing at her for a beat as if he still couldn’t decide whether to trust her. “I’m going to pick you up and carry you to the car. Don’t shoot me.”

  She chuckled softly, managing a smile. “I won’t.”

  Scooping both of his arms beneath her shoulders and knees, he lifted her without much effort and slid steadily across the room. When he rested against the doorjamb, he peered outside and whispered, “Hang on,” before he bolted into the night, not even bothering to shut the door behind him.

  Clutching his ballistic vest like a lifeline, Cindel looked back at the shrinking lighthouse, the lantern bobbing and weaving as if lost at sea.

  And good riddance to it.

  Kayne punted the busted chain-link fence, arriving at the Charger in no time and hunkering behind its protection. “Can you stand?” he asked, scanning the periphery.

  “I can try.”

  He gently lowered her to the ground as she gathered her feet under her, leaning hard against him for support. He smelled earthy and warm, like rosewood and bourbon, without the slightest tinge of vampire. As he flattened his palm on the driver’s side door, the Charger’s locks disengaged, greeting its new master with a quiet welcome.

  Wait. He didn’t have the car keys, did he?

  Kayne popped open the driver’s side door and shuffled through the car, t
he console, the glove compartment, every pocket and crevice in the vehicle. Cindel tucked his jacket closer, nestling into its heat, her hand white-knuckling the PPK as she kept watch. Thunder grumbled in the distance, releasing a boom of warning as a slow drizzle fell from the pitch-black sky.

  With a victorious whoop, Kayne finally produced a small tungsten key and unlocked her handcuffs. She rubbed her raw wrists with respite as he bent and freed her ankles, pocketing both sets of restraints before he straightened.

  “Better?” he asked with a quirk of his lips.

  “Much,” she replied, meeting his emerald eyes with appreciation. “Thank you.”

  Rounding the car, he opened the passenger’s side door and motioned her inside with a chivalrous bow. “After you, milady.”

  She climbed in without a qualm, ready to get the hell out of there. He followed suit, hopping into the driver’s seat and pressing his hand to the digital screen at the center of the dash. Cindel gasped when an electric buzz hit the air, goosebumps rippling along her skin. The sensation augmented, as if they were sitting inside a circuit breaker, and suddenly the car roared to life, the electronics powering up at his mere touch.

  Kayne palmed the gearshift and grinned, waggling his brows, his aura fully charged like a battery. “I think she likes me.”

  Cindel’s jaw slackened. “How did you—”

  Snapping the gear into reverse, he slammed on the gas and swerved the car around in a one-eighty, tires squealing in protest. Cindel frantically latched on her seatbelt, bracing for another ride in this steel cage of death as he peeled out of the parking lot.

  All she cared about now was getting to Dax.

  Racing through the abandoned residential area, Kayne finally looked at her. “You know how Rome is psychic? Reads minds, controls them, that sort of thing?”

  Controls them. Cindel nodded, gulping as he blew past an empty intersection.