Blood and Bondage (13 page)

Oliver tried the knob on all three doors,
although each of them was locked tight. The only way to access the interior
would be to enter a numeric code into the keypad to trigger the release of its security
mechanism. More crucial than that, he didn’t know which threshold Anaïs had
passed. If she’d intended to rendezvous with Oliver, she’d have no doubt told
him which one and provided the digits necessary to gain access inside.

The more Oliver stood there, the antsier he
became. Resting his forehead against the door frame, he tried to hone in on the
unique telepathic connection he shared with Anaïs. As long as she allowed him
to, he could pick up fleeting thoughts that popped into her mind. In general,
proximity didn’t matter. However, the fact that Oliver hadn’t detected a single
snippet of her unequivocal voice for close to half an hour didn’t bode well for
her safety.

With his brow still pressed against the
partition, Oliver’s temples started to throb. The tempo mimicked the loud bass
of the acid rock that shook the plaster off the walls. Pain shot through him, from
the middle of his forehead to the back of his skull, a consequence of trying too
hard to decipher her signature siren call. He needed to find somewhere quiet to
think. Only then would Oliver have a chance at finding his mate.

Mate? How that particular word had woven its way
through his subconscious, Oliver couldn’t tell. Was that what Anaïs was to him?
In that instant, he didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on the possibility. If
what he feared most turned out to be reality, he had precious minutes to locate
her before
Pierre
taught her the true meaning of torture. Then, it wouldn’t matter what he felt
for her; she’d be long dead.

Glancing to the right, Oliver spied another door
down the corridor. The word Exit hovered above it in bright red lights. He
needed to get away in order to drown out all the other noise and listen for
Anaïs’s voice. Oliver shoved open the door, emerging from the shadows and into
the dark, empty alley behind the club. For a few minutes, he paced the short
distance between Blood & Bondage and the building next to it, trying to
clear his head. Then, he hunkered down next to a dumpster and closed his eyes.
Taking in several deep inhalations of air through his nose, he attempted to
ignore the pleas of pleasure coming from the patrons inside.

Fuck me. Feed me. Free me. A chorus of desperate
murmurs tunneled through his mind. They overpowered his ability to distinguish
the myriad of sounds that echoed around him. But the slow, deliberate breaths
soon helped. He felt the tightness in his shoulders relinquish its unwavering
grip. The convoluted chaos of his thoughts subsided too, allowing him to focus
his energy on the frequency of Anaïs’s familiar pitch.

Go fuck yourself! I’ll never submit. I’d rather
die first. His lover’s angry tirade came through loud and clear. Even now,
there are powerful people looking for me. My godson is the leader of the
New York City
coven. He
won’t let you get away with this.

Fuck!
Pierre
had gotten to her. Oliver pressed his hands to his eyes as her words blinded
him with rage. His gut instinct had been to spring to his feet and bust down
all three doors until he’d rescued the damsel in distress. But he knew that
would never work. The vampires in the club would pounce on him in a heartbeat.

The only option Oliver had left was to try and
communicate with Anaïs through the power of thought. Maybe the tendrils of desire
they’d fed these last two weeks had forged a bridge between them, one that
enabled silent communication to run both ways. Because Anaïs had tasted his
blood, there was a slim possibility that she might hear his thoughts. It was a
risky move and he had no guarantee that it would work. By letting their stream
of consciousness run rampant, others who shared his telepathic gift could intercept
their thoughts and use that information for their own gain. Nonetheless, Anaïs
was worth the threat of exposure.

Oliver rested the back of his head against the
brick building behind him. He tuned into the once-stilted speech that now flowed
from his lover.

Anaïs, baby. Can you hear me? Tell me where you
are. Several nerve shattering seconds passed. Oliver couldn’t pick up on
anything, not even the slew of four letter words she’d spewed earlier at
Pierre
. For a while, he
didn’t think the connection was working.

Then a single word whispered through his mind,
making the hairs on his neck stand on edge. Torture. She must be trapped in the
Tunnel of Torture.

I’m coming for you. What’s the code for the
door?

Again, not even a hint of his lover’s weak,
labored articulation could be heard. Instead, a spasm in his brain triggered an
agonizing pain. It rendered him almost completely immobile. His muscles flexed and
his vocal cords seized up. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head in his
hands as an unimaginable affliction stole his ability to move, let alone speak.

Suddenly, a series of digits zipped through his
mind one after the other, like the film strip of a silent motion picture. As
each number flashed before his eyes, the soul-wrenching sting forced him to
cower into a ball, then collapse on top of a heap of smelly, discarded trash.

7, 5, 4, 8, 1.

Oliver leapt to his feet, ignoring the excruciating
sensation that consumed him to the core. On his way to the Tunnel of Torture,
he managed to find a pay phone. He called Adam and put in an urgent request for
reinforcements. Then, he ran to the door in the center of the hallway and
punched in the five-digit code. Once inside the tiny receiving room, he
hesitated, counting backwards from ten to one. He couldn’t do much to free
Anaïs with a pounding headache. Perhaps if he calmed down a bit and let his
adrenaline kick in, the ache in his head would subside.

After a few tumultuous seconds, Oliver could
finally think. He palmed his hip and felt the full-size stake taped to his
side. Next, he undid a strap holstered to his ankle. It held the twin vials of
serum that would temporarily anesthetize his opponent. If for some reason, he
wasn’t able to kill the son of a bitch, at least he could hold him off until
back up arrived.

The element of surprise was on Oliver’s side.
Instead of flinging open the door of the chamber, he slid through the heavy
metal barrier, leaving only a tiny crack exposed. Peering inside, he couldn’t
see much other than a fathomless cavern filled with red desert rock. But what
he heard had been enough to make his blood run hot. It was his lover’s
desperate plea. His eyes glazed over, all he could envision was a deep, crimson
haze of fury.

Creeping on the balls of his feet, Oliver
tiptoed through the dim lit cave. His back remained pressed firm against the
smooth stone wall. He looked from left to right, making sure that no one sprang
from the shadows and tried to attack. With the stake firmly in his grip, he’d
be ready to retaliate.

Crouched down low, Oliver made it to the end of
the tunnel that opened up into an expansive underground grotto. In addition to
the manmade beauty of his surroundings, he could see Anaïs’s half-naked frame
manacled to a guillotine. His lover’s head and hands were fastened to the
contraption, making it damn near impossible for her to budge. Deep, bloody
gashes lacerated the normally-pristine skin of her back and buttocks.

“
Pierre
,
why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?” Anaïs pleaded with him.

“Darling, killing you is the last thing I want,”
Pierre
laughed,
grinning maniacally. “Those other girls were merely bait, a strategy I used to
reel you in.”

“What is it that you want from me?”

“I’ll take nothing less than your heart and
soul.” The madman ground out the words with another crack of the whip. “And this
time, you’ll obey me. Now and when we get back home. If not, more people will
die. Maybe even your boyfriend. What’s his name again?”

“Don’t touch a hair on Oliver’s head,” Anaïs
shouted, yanking on the chains that kept her held in place. “You’ll pay if you
do.”

“Tsk. Tsk. Somebody’s fallen head over heels for
her food.”
Pierre
moved closer. He wrapped his arms around her waist, then used two fingers to
pinch the tips of her puckered nipples. “For that, you’ve earned another thirty
blistering lashes.”

Pierre
had his back turned as he leaned over their lover’s naked flesh. It
was the perfect time to pounce. Light on his feet, Oliver lunged for the cage,
hurling open the door with barely a sound. Still, the vampire employed
superpower speed and agility to react on instinct. Like a fly, he swatted the
human away. The stake went flailing through the air as his body flew back,
ricocheting against the barbed wire mesh of the cage.

“You’re a dead man!”
Pierre
screamed as he lifted Oliver’s limp
frame above his head, then tossed it nonchalantly over the top of the roofless
metal enclosure. He landed with a thump on the cold, stone tile. Every inch of
his body ached something fierce. No doubt, the bastard had shattered several of
his bones.

Shrugging off the pain, Oliver stood and
re-entered the cage, ready for the start of round two. Thus far, his opponent
had won round one, but no matter what, he’d push through the agony until he had
the vampire’s head in a sling.

As he stalked toward the brutal murderer, he
heard Anaïs’s weak, breathless voice. “Please. Don’t hurt him, Pierre. I’ll do
whatever you say.”

“Too late, my sweet. I let your other playmates
live. This one, I’m sending to hell.”

He threw Oliver against the fence, holding him
suspended off the ground with the sheer magnitude of his grip. Eviscerating
pain shot through the right half of his body, and he realized his shoulder had
been lodged against one of the jutting barbs. As blood gushed from the wound, the
vampire’s eyes froze, shifting from obsidian to red, then back again. The claws
on his fingers elongated, piercing the skin around his victim’s neck. In the
next second,
Pierre
’s
incisors emerged, inches from his enemy’s pulsating jugular.

The vampire’s proximity was crucial, even if it
meant letting him take a bite out of his flesh. Otherwise, Oliver wouldn’t get
close enough to stab him in the heart with the tranquilizer he’d stuffed into
the pocket of his jeans. Even though bloodsuckers were technically considered
dead, the organ in their chest was an anomaly. It proved to be the only area on
their bodies that wasn’t impenetrable.

Without warning, Oliver felt the vampire’s fangs
sink deep. The loud sound of the suction pumped through his veins,
reverberating in his ears like the wail of a siren. His eyes fluttered shut as
a heady, intoxicating sensation rolled over him. On the verge of
unconsciousness, Oliver reached into his pants and pulled out the vial of paralyzing
serum. The tips of his fingers crawled up
Pierre
’s
cool, shirtless flesh, until they hovered over the muscle directly above his
heart.

A moment before his body grew limp, he raised a
weak, shaky hand, then jabbed the shard of glass into the bloodsucker’s chest.
After that, everything else went black.

Chapter Fifteen

Coming Home

Oliver squinted as the early morning glint from
the sun shone through the grates of the plantation shutters. A glimpse around him
confirmed that he’d slept in an unfamiliar bed. The walls of the room had been
sprayed with a pale shade of blue. Puffy marshmallow-white clouds painted on
top of the base coat, complimenting the tranquility of the luxurious space.

Oliver pulled himself up into a seated position,
the motion of which forced him to grab hold of his upper arm and wince. The
pain in his shoulder made him spasm and moan. He must’ve been asleep for quite
a while, long enough to make him temporarily forget about the injury that
Pierre
had inflicted. As
he leaned back against the cushions on the bed, a knock sounded at the door.

“Hey there, boss man.” Eva poked her head in
through a crack in the door. “How you feeling?” Her sympathetic half-smile made
him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Damn, he’d missed his best friend the last
couple of weeks. With his emotions all jumbled up inside, especially when it
came to Anaïs, he needed her to help him sort everything out.

“Doing alright, considering I was bitten by a
vampire,” Oliver said with a slight shrug of the shoulders. It was a natural
reaction. Still, it made the ache in that area infinitely worse. “Where am I?”

“Miravale.” Eva said, her body cringing as the
word rolled off her tongue. She had to know that the last place Oliver would
want to be holed up was inside Andreas’ lair. The sprawling
Connecticut
mansion owned by the
Kristopolous family hadn’t been where he’d expected to spend his recovery. Eva
must have sensed his obvious discomfort.

“Don’t give me that look,” Eva said, wagging her
finger in his face in admonishment. “Andreas felt responsible for your
injuries. He wanted to help.”